I raised a Vampire！

Chapter 1

Cheng Cheng clutched a plump white bun in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. The lingering snow on the early spring path crunched under his sneakers as he walked.

Ahead, the usually quiet entrance to the Criminal Investigation Unit was bustling with activity, resembling a crowd of seniors scrambling for discounted eggs.

"Is someone important visiting? Why’s it so lively?"

Cheng Cheng cast a quick glance but lost interest almost immediately. Stuffing the bun into his mouth, he slipped through a small side gate. The gatekeeper, Old Li, peeked over his reading glasses before returning to his newspaper.

The morning corridor was tranquil. Cheng Cheng pushed open the creaky office door, revealing an empty room. The clear morning sunlight filtered through the frosted glass, casting dancing motes of dust over the cluttered desks.

The walls were adorned with clippings and notes, and the whiteboard bore the indelible marks of erasable markers. Files and documents lay in neat stacks, meticulously labeled by year. Sitting in his chair felt like sinking into a deep well, steeped in years of hatred, betrayal, and the helpless sorrow of victims.

The act of murder, when classified, fell into categories: revenge killings, passion killings, purposeless murders, and those driven by entanglements.

His fingers hovered over the photos of the suspect and the victim. What if the killer wasn’t driven by material disputes?

"Cheng Captain, you’re here early."

The door creaked open as a young woman in a white forensic coat walked in. Her delicate features betrayed her youth—barely in her twenties. She carried a bowl of instant noodles, along with tea eggs and fried dough sticks.

"Yes, here early to go through the case." Cheng Cheng nodded but froze mid-sentence as he noticed her casually place her breakfast on an autopsy report.

Lang Xuexian eventually sensed his gaze. She shifted the noodles a fraction and offered, "Captain Cheng, want some? It’s golden broth beef flavor."

Cheng Cheng massaged his temples. "You… washed your hands after the autopsy, right?"

"Of course! I’m a professional forensic expert!"

"No thanks. Enjoy it yourself—I’ve eaten already."

Lang Xuexian glanced at the overflowing ashtray and the stack of coffee cans in front of him, then suddenly slapped her forehead. "Oh, right! I ran into Xiao Zhou earlier. He said the suspect has some… peculiarities. Orders from above say he’s to be transferred to a special department. As of today, we’re off the case."

Silence filled the room, save for the slurping of noodle broth. Then, Cheng Cheng shot up like a firecracker. "What did you say? They’re letting the suspect go?!"

Lang Xuexian, startled, mumbled around a mouthful of fried dough, "But... the special department’s delegate is already here. They’re taking him to the interrogation room now."

As Cheng Cheng’s face twisted in visible anger, she frantically waved her hands. "Don’t be mad, Captain! It’s out of our hands. Calm down. Have some noodles—they’re delicious!"

"I said I’m not eating!" he roared, inhaling sharply to steady himself.

In times of extraordinary threats, every nation has its guardians: the CIA and FBI in America, MI5 and MI6 in Britain, the FSB in Russia, and Japan’s Tokkō. In China, there is the omnipotent and enigmatic “Relevant Department.”

For ordinary people, these four words are just ink on paper. But for some, they signify the gatekeepers of another world—especially when that world veers beyond human control.

Zhu Yun City, Criminal Investigation Unit, Interrogation Room.

The crisp clack of shoes echoed through the hallway. The guard on duty cast a quick glance but snapped his head forward, standing straighter as though his spine might pierce the ceiling.

Inside, a man in handcuffs sat slumped behind a table. His skin was deathly pale, his long, unkempt hair tangled at his neck, and his half-closed eyes appeared lifeless.

But when he saw who had entered, his gaze brightened.

"You..." He tried to rise but was swiftly subdued by the officer behind him, who shoved him back into his chair. "Stay put!"

The man chuckled darkly. "Well, well, a live Bai Pai. You’re not quite what I imagined."

The newcomer stopped two meters away, flipping open a file.

"Chen Tiao. Male. Age and birthplace unknown. Arrested for suspected murder. The victim was your landlady, with whom you had financial and personal disputes. The crime scene was your residence. The murder weapon bears your fingerprints—"

"Rubbish! All lies!" Chen Tiao erupted, only to be pressed against the table once more, gasping like a bellows.

The delegate glanced at him before continuing calmly, "No alibi. Eyewitness testimony. Weapon recovered. Clear motive..."

She nodded, closing the file.

Chen Tiao’s face was ashen as paper, his wide, lifeless eyes fixed on her.

The young officer guarding him couldn’t help but ask, "The evidence is solid. We can close the case today, right?"

Before she could answer, a commotion erupted at the door. Someone pounded on it furiously, shaking the metal like a drum. The delegate stepped back as a gust of chaos swept into the room.

"You can’t take him!"

Cheng Cheng clung to the doorframe, flanked by officers pulling at his arms and legs.

"Captain Cheng, calm down!"

"You’re not allowed in here!"

Despite his strength and combat skills, the group of young officers gradually dragged him back.

"You brats!" he growled through gritted teeth like a furious old lion. "Anyone who keeps this up will run 100 laps around the track!"

The threat landed like cold water on boiling oil. The room fell silent in an instant.

"Captain Cheng, that’s not fair," someone muttered.

Finally free, Cheng Cheng dusted himself off and glared at the room. His eyes landed on the orange scarf of the delegate—a girl no older than twenty, with pale skin like porcelain and dark, pearl-like eyes that regarded him with quiet intensity.

She was clad in a black wool coat, her small leather shoes stepping squarely on his shadow.

As he studied her, she studied him—a disheveled man in a rumpled uniform under a sports jacket, his hair a bird’s nest, his face weary and unshaven. He looked closer to thirty.

Cheng Cheng: So young.

Delegate: So rough.

Though the small space was crowded, silence prevailed.

"Captain Cheng, barging into the interrogation room like this will land you a hefty report," one officer ventured.

"Yeah, and the Chief’ll expect a few thousand words—no repeats."

"Doesn’t matter." Cheng Cheng pointed to the suspect slumped in the chair. "This case is mine. Nobody takes him."

"But the evidence is clear—he’s the killer!"

As the officers argued, the girl raised her hand timidly. "Excuse me... He’s not the murderer. I don’t plan to take him. But if he stays here much longer, he’ll die."