The Hunt

They had truly underestimated the climate of Nanyang Province.

After traversing most of the mountain, Tong Hao already felt his cheeks burning and his vision darkening, as if suffering from heatstroke.

The back of his neck had long been scorched red and peeling under the relentless sun, and now, soaked in sweat, it stung sharply.

He took off his jacket and held it overhead for shade, while sweat streamed down his arms, trickling backward.

Just two days ago, he had been smoking in the cold northern night, and now here he was at the southernmost edge of the country’s vast landscape, trekking over mountains before dawn. Tong Hao felt like a character on a stage—one pull of the backdrop, one shift of the lights, and suddenly he was living a different life. Every step on the red soil felt unreal, as if he were walking through a dream.

After searching Ni Xiangdong’s residence that night, Meng Chao sensed something amiss, and Chu Xiao’s phone call only added another layer of mystery to the already complicated case.

Ni Xiangdong’s transfer records led to a completely unfamiliar name: Xu Caizeng.

She had investigated—this Xu Caizeng was nothing special, just a lonely old man living alone in Nanling Village, Nanyang Province, after losing his son. On the surface, he and Ni Xiangdong not only had a vast age gap but also no apparent connection, like two parallel lines that never intersected.

So why had Ni Xiangdong chosen him as the recipient of his charity?

Even if he had resolved to do good deeds, it was unlikely he would have devoted all his savings, without fail, to the same person for over a decade.

The more Meng Chao thought about it, the more suspicious he became. He had a growing sense that the secret behind Ni Xiangdong’s drastic change in temperament lay buried in Nanling Village, hidden within the layers of past events. And the emotional entanglements between Ni Xiangdong, Wu Ximei, and Cao Xiaojun were far more complicated than the rumors suggested—a tangled web that could only be unraveled by going there in person.

That same night, as soon as he returned to the bureau, he drafted an application report, left the follow-up work to Lao Ma, and dragged Tong Hao onto the earliest flight to Nanyang Province.

They had to act swiftly—Ni Xiangdong was lurking in the shadows.

There was no telling whether this unpredictable man would reappear as a benefactor or a tyrant.

After landing, they wasted no time and headed straight to the local police station. The authorities in Qindao had already made arrangements, and the local contacts were prepared. A brief meeting was held to discuss Ni Xiangdong and Xu Caizeng’s family circumstances before they checked into a nearby inn for some rest.

The next day, before dawn, Meng Chao pulled Tong Hao back onto the road.

But neither of them had expected the journey to take most of the day.

Nanling Village was remote, surrounded by mountains. The bus only took them as far as the nearest sizable town. Beyond that, the asphalt road ended, leaving only rough, bumpy dirt paths. They had no choice but to hitch a ride on a local "three-legged cat"—a modified motorcycle—squeezing into the sidecar alongside an auntie heading to town to buy chicks.

Four people and a basket of chicks, crammed together, noisy and sweaty, jolting along for the entire morning.

Yet even this ride didn’t take them all the way.The dirt road ended at the foot of the mountain, and Nanling Village was tucked deep in the valley, accessible only by a winding, narrow path through the woods. No matter how much they negotiated or how many times they doubled the fare, the driver of the "three-wheeled cart" refused to go any further. The aunt was also anxious to get the chicks back to the village, worrying that wild animals might snatch them or that the bumpy mountain road would shake them to death—who knew how many would perish from motion sickness.

Left with no choice, the two got off the cart and stood under a durian tree, staring at each other in silence, with rolling mountains stretching behind them.

In the end, it was Meng Chao who unfolded the map, mustered his energy, and took the lead onto the damp, muddy red earth.

At first, it was all novel and exciting.

Tong Hao’s eyes were filled with endless stretches of lush greenery, sights he had never seen before—fresh and exotic, a southern landscape utterly different from the north.

The path was flanked by dense vegetation, with thick branches and leaves blotting out the sky, wild and untamed. Yet, he couldn’t name a single one of them, only feeling an overwhelming sense of primal power, a beauty that dwarfed human existence.

As he walked, everything fascinated him. He even paused to admire the pomelo trees by the roadside and shook a mango tree, hoping to snag a fruit.

"This one is Excoecaria agallocha, that’s a Cyathea spinulosa, and further ahead, a Livistona chinensis and a Lagerstroemia speciosa."

Meng Chao rattled off a string of strange names as they walked—Cerbera manghas, Barringtonia racemosa, Dracaena draco, and Borassus flabellifer—each one leaving Tong Hao marveling.

But there were even more peculiar plants that Meng Chao had never seen before, so the two stopped together, gazing upward in shared wonder.

Gradually, though, the novelty wore off.

Physical exhaustion took over.

The scorching sun hung high as they trekked for hours without encountering another soul. It felt as if the civilized world beyond the mountains had vanished, leaving them as the last two humans on earth, fleeing through an endless forest.

Even with his youth, Tong Hao couldn’t endure this relentless, nonstop march.

After crossing two mountain ridges, his chatter dwindled, his steps grew smaller, his jacket wrapped around his head, and the water in his backpack long gone. Thirsty and exhausted, his legs moved mechanically, dragging his mind forward.

"Boss, wait."

He leaned against a palm tree, refusing to take another step, his voice parched and hoarse from the midday sun.

"Let’s rest. Please. I’m begging you."

Meng Chao, gripping a walking stick, was struggling forward a few steps ahead. Hearing this, he paused.

"Don’t stop. We’re almost there," he said, glancing at the map and pointing. "Just cross this—no, at most two more ridges, and we’ll arrive."

"That’s what you said before we crossed the last one."

"I misread the map last time," Meng Chao coaxed. "Come on, it’ll be worse after sunset. Who knows what’s hiding in these woods?"

Grumbling, Tong Hao forced himself to follow.

"Boss, why didn’t you let them drive us?"

The local police station had offered to escort them, but Meng Chao had declined, insisting that their first visit didn’t require a grand entourage—just the two of them would do."I can't quite put my finger on it, but this case feels like it's tangled with too many branches—not as straightforward as we initially thought."

He broke off a tree branch and carefully stripped away its leaves.

"Let's keep a low profile. I don't want to startle the snake."

"What snake?"

Meng Chao looked up but didn’t answer Tong Hao’s question. Instead, he posed one of his own.

"Do you remember how the locals described Ni Xiangdong?"

"Not worth mourning."

According to local police, Ni Xiangdong was indeed a local bully. So when they heard he might be involved in a murder case, they weren’t surprised.

In their words, it wasn’t just Cao Xiaojun—Ni would even silence his own father to protect himself. Yet the man was cunning and cautious, always slipping away, much to the frustration of the local police. They wanted to nail him but could never pin down solid evidence. It wasn’t until they heard he’d left to work elsewhere that they breathed a sigh of relief.

"Do you think he’s shown any signs of turning over a new leaf?" Meng Chao asked.

"Maybe it’s not our place to say this, but, uh," the young officer chuckled dryly, "some people are just born rotten."

But when Xu Caizeng’s name came up, the group exchanged blank looks—none had ever heard of him.

Only one veteran officer, transferred in just a few years prior, found the name vaguely familiar. He’d worked in grassroots policing, covering the villages around town.

After hesitating for a long while, he spoke haltingly.

"Now I remember. It might be connected to the Bao family murder case."

"The Bao family?"

Meng Chao perked up, suddenly recalling Wu Ximei’s mention that Ni Xiangdong had once killed someone surnamed Bao.

Could there be a link between the two?

"Right. Apparently, Xu Caizeng’s son got drunk and killed Bao Desheng. It caused quite a stir—people from Bao Family Village surrounded Nanling Village. We had to step in to mediate."

"His son," Tong Hao widened his eyes, "what was his surname?"

The old officer smiled. "If the father’s Xu Caizeng, the son’s naturally a Xu too."

"How many kids did he have?"

"Just one, as far as I recall. Yeah, just one."

"Then can we meet this Xu—"

"Can’t. He’s long dead."

"Dead?"

"Yeah. Took his own life about half a year after the incident."

Meng Chao listened in silence, piecing together the underlying logic.

Why would Ni Xiangdong send money to a murderer’s father? Unless—

"Boss, are you saying Ni felt guilty and wanted to support the old man?"

"No. I actually think—" Meng Chao cut himself off. "Never mind. We’re still in the hypothetical stage—no solid evidence yet. Lately, I’ve been worried I might be overthinking things. You know how it is in this line of work—you start seeing shadows everywhere, questioning everything."

He handed the finished walking stick to Tong Hao.

"Come on, just a bit further. We’re almost there."

This time, Meng Chao wasn’t lying.

The farther they walked, the sparser the trees became, and the terrain gradually leveled out. At last, signs of human habitation appeared in the distance.

Vast stretches of farmland spread before them, lush with green rice paddies, interspersed occasionally with mango groves.

On the opposite mountainside, scattered thatched huts nestled among camphor and banyan trees, each standing apart yet blending into the landscape.

A gaunt yellow ox stood by the path, slowly chewing on wild grass, its tail lazily swatting at swarms of mosquitoes.Tong Hao had long lost all awareness by this point, his head hanging low as he trudged forward with labored breaths. It was Meng Chao who finally grabbed him by the arm.

"Huh?"

Too exhausted to speak, Meng Chao simply shook his head and gestured for him to look closely.

"There."

Rubbing the sweat from his eyes, Tong Hao finally saw it—a stone stele hidden among the bushes where the old ox had bent down.

Eroded by time with its red paint peeling, yet the engraved characters remained faintly visible: Nanling Village.