The Hunt

Old Mrs. Li's home wasn't particularly large—just two rooms excluding the kitchen and bathroom.

Her son and daughter-in-law occupied the inner room, while she and her grandson lived in the living room. The space was crammed with a dining table, coffee table, television, sofa, wardrobe, refrigerator, and an old-fashioned wooden bed wedged beside the balcony, along with various odds and ends she had accumulated over time, reluctant to throw anything away.

Tong Hao glanced around. The windowsill held five or six pots of succulents, a small round glass tank housed a dozen neon tetras, children's drawings were stuck to the fridge, and a makeshift trash box folded from supermarket flyers sat in the center of the coffee table. Wherever money couldn’t reach, Old Mrs. Li had compensated with care, filling the room with the faint scent of vanishing cream.

Only when his gaze landed on the kitchen did he frown slightly.

At twenty-something, Tong Hao still didn’t understand why women of his grandmother’s generation had a habit of secretly hoarding plastic bags and packaging boxes.

Now, he and Meng Chao sat on the sofa, while Old Mrs. Li and her grandson perched on the edge of the bed opposite them.

The boy, named Shuo Shuo, wore only thermal underwear, barefoot, clinging to Old Mrs. Li’s back. His small head peeked over her shoulder as he blinked at them curiously.

"Behave yourself, or the uncles will laugh at you," Old Mrs. Li scolded half-heartedly, giving his bottom a light pat before turning back to the two men with an apologetic nod. "Ah, they say seven or eight is the most troublesome age—such a naughty child, never sits still."

Meng Chao chuckled and winked at the boy.

"Hey there, what grade are you in?"

Shuo Shuo ducked his head back, wrapping his arms tighter around Old Mrs. Li’s neck and squirming.

"Answer properly. The uncle asked you a question—speak up."

"Second grade."

His voice was muffled and sweet, still carrying the softness of a child.

He peeked out again, eyeing the canned fruit and Wang Wang snack gift box Meng Chao and Tong Hao had brought.

Old Mrs. Li noticed too and waved a hand dismissively. "You boys, coming over is enough—why bring gifts? Take them back when you leave, I won’t accept them."

"Just some snacks for the kid," Meng Chao said, reaching out to shake Shuo Shuo’s hand playfully. "Promise Uncle you’ll get better quickly after eating these, okay?"

"Okay."

The boy tilted his head, grinning shyly, and Old Mrs. Li’s face softened into a smile as well.

Tong Hao sat stiffly with a notebook on his lap, unsure how to begin. This was his first time questioning a child, and he felt awkward.

Meng Chao, on the other hand, was far more at ease, chatting casually with Old Mrs. Li as if catching up with family. Shuo Shuo, listening in, gradually lost his shyness and settled on the bed to munch on rice crackers by himself.

The old woman’s words began to flow more freely.

Stories from the elderly often stretched too long—sometimes the same sentence repeated over and over—yet other times, entire lifetimes of hardship were glossed over in just a phrase or two.

Meng Chao listened, nodding along, slowly piecing together her life: her son worked nights driving a taxi with a partner to earn more, while her daughter-in-law pulled shifts at a food processing plant. Most days, it was just her and Shuo Shuo at home. She declared proudly that the boy had grown up on her back—closer to her than to his own parents.Old Mrs. Li refilled their teacups while rambling about the hardships of life, though she ended up consoling herself after all the self-deprecation, nagging, and complaining.

"Every family has its own way of living. The poor have their own ways to get by. Take my family, for example—though we're not well-off, Shuo Shuo has never lacked food or clothes. It's pretty good, really. Compared to when we were kids, he’s living in luxury."

Meng Chao sipped his tea, nodding in agreement, then glanced at the quartz clock on the wall, feeling it was time to steer the conversation toward the main topic.

"Auntie, you said Shuo Shuo and Cao Tianbao are classmates?"

"Yeah, their kid was sickly, so he started school late and got held back a grade. When he transferred here, he joined the second-grade class as a new student."

"So you know Tianbao too?" Meng Chao turned to the boy and made a funny face. "Grandma said you were sick—what happened?"

Shuo Shuo had already burrowed back under the covers, only his eyes peeking out, glinting.

"The doctor said I caught a cold," the little boy drawled. "Said I got too cold."

"How did you get too cold?"

"Because I didn’t sleep properly at night and didn’t cover myself with the blanket."

"Which night was that?"

"New Year’s Eve."

Meng Chao and Tong Hao exchanged glances—New Year’s Eve, a critical time point.

"It was snowing that night. I wanted to build a snowman, but Mom wouldn’t let me. She said to wait until morning. So," he sniffled, "I just kept leaning against the window, waiting for it to get light."

"When his mom’s around, she makes him sleep with her in the inner room," Old Mrs. Li interjected. "Says it’s to 'build a bond.' Hmph! I’m the one who takes him to and from school every day. If anyone’s got a bond with him, it’s me—"

Meng Chao brushed off her tangent and steered the conversation back. "Shuo Shuo, did you see anything?"

"I saw Uncle Cao."

The boy glanced warily at his grandmother. Old Mrs. Li didn’t say anything, but she was watching Meng Chao’s expression closely, her brow furrowed.

The child didn’t know, but the adults in the room did—Cao Xiaojun had already died on December 31st.

Tong Hao scribbled in his notebook, pausing now and then, biting his lip as if wrestling with himself. Meng Chao, however, remained perfectly composed, his tone light as he continued guiding the conversation.

"Then what? Where did you see Uncle Cao?"

"I heard the door open, so I looked through the peephole. I saw Uncle Cao wearing black clothes, coming out of his house."

During the initial statement, Wu Ximei had said Cao Xiaojun was wearing a blue puffer jacket. How had it turned into black clothes now? Still, in dim lighting at night, navy blue and black could easily be confused. Meng Chao didn’t challenge it yet and pressed on.

"What time was it?"

The boy shook his head. He was too young to have a clear sense of time.

"The kid got scared that night. When I woke up, I saw him standing barefoot on a stool, peeking through the door, saying he saw Cao Xiaojun," Old Mrs. Li clicked her tongue. "And his mom? Dead asleep inside, didn’t even care about her own child. Honestly, young people these days just don’t measure up. Back in my day—"

"Does Shuo Shuo know Cao Xiaojun?" Meng Chao cut off her complaints. "Could he have mistaken someone else for him?"

"Of course he knows him! He’s classmates with Cao Tianbao, and the two families are neighbors. He definitely knows what he looks like. Don’t underestimate Shuo Shuo just because he’s little—he’s sharp as a tack."

Meng Chao signaled, and Tong Hao jotted down a few more notes."Shuo Shuo, think about it. Did the uncle you saw have a scar?"

"The one with the scar is Uncle Ni," Shuo Shuo giggled from under the blanket. "Uncle Ni is tall and likes to play with us. Uncle Cao is short and doesn’t talk much. We’re all scared of him."

Old Mrs. Li wanted to say more, but Meng Chao didn’t give her the chance. He turned directly to Shuo Shuo.

"And then? What else happened?" he encouraged. "What about the walnuts?"

"After Grandma sent me back to my room, I pretended to sleep. When I heard her snoring in the other room, I got up again. I wanted to see how much snow had fallen in the yard—if there was enough to build a snowman."

"And then?"

"Then I saw Uncle Cao squatting in the middle of the yard, cracking walnuts and eating them. Crack, crack ."

Tong Hao leaned back on the sofa, crossing his arms and pressing his lips together without a word.

The little boy’s words were impossible to make sense of.

"How did he crack them?" Meng Chao, however, seemed genuinely interested.

Shuo Shuo crawled out from under the blanket and squatted on the **, eagerly demonstrating.

"Like this," he turned his back to Meng Chao, raising his hands in front of his chest and hammering downward repeatedly. "When Grandma cracks walnuts for me, sometimes she uses the door to squeeze them. If that doesn’t work, she uses a hammer like this—squatting down, crack, crack ."

Meng Chao’s expression stiffened. "Did you see the walnuts? What did they look like? Can you describe them for me?"

"No," the boy laughed again. "I was upstairs, and he was down there. It was so dark—how could I see? You’re so silly, not knowing that."

"What happened after that?"

"Then nothing. My mom woke up, smacked me a few times, and dragged me back under the blanket. I dozed off after that." At this point, the boy scrunched his face in disgust. "The next day, we couldn’t even build a snowman. The yard was full of people, and they trampled all the snow, making it dirty."

"Got it."

Meng Chao nodded thoughtfully, while Tong Hao beside him was utterly baffled. He had no idea what Meng Chao had "gotten."

Before they knew it, it was dinnertime. The two declined Old Mrs. Li’s enthusiastic invitation, insisting on returning to the station.

Old Mrs. Li saw them to the door, repeatedly trying to press the fruits and snacks they had brought into their hands.

As Meng Chao gently pushed them back, he asked quietly, "Does Shuo Shuo know about what happened to Cao Xiaojun?"

"He’s just a child. We didn’t want to scare him, so we didn’t say much," Old Mrs. Li replied, then added after a pause, "We didn’t even mention what happened to Li Qingfu. He’s too young to understand death. We didn’t bring it up, afraid it would frighten him."

Meng Chao made a mental note. Old Mrs. Li seemed to recall something else.

"You think—it hasn’t even been seven days yet. Could Shuo Shuo have just been half-asleep when he said he saw Cao Xiaojun?" She looked at Meng Chao and then at Tong Hao, as if seeking their opinion. "Do you think I should find a spiritual medium to check on him?"

Meng Chao didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked another question. "Have you mentioned this to Li Qingfu’s family downstairs?"

"No. With their situation right now, we didn’t dare bother them. After all, it’s just a child’s words—who knows if it’s true? So we didn’t bring it up." Old Mrs. Li wrinkled her nose, forcing a smile. "Officers, about this matter—"

Meng Chao understood. "Don’t worry, we won’t spread it around. We just came to check on the child today—nothing more.""Alright, thank you, thank you. Ordinary folks like us don’t want to get involved in these matters. We common people just want peace and safety."

"Understood, we get it."

"I hope we can be of some help," the old woman continued politely. "Best if we can help you—"

"Auntie, you’ve already been a huge help."

Meng Chao said this earnestly, without a trace of empty courtesy.

Only after the two of them had left the building and walked out of the stairwell did Tong Hao finally speak up, turning back repeatedly to make sure no one was following them.

"Boss, do you think the kid was sleepwalking?" He tucked the notebook under his arm. "None of this adds up. Even if Cao Xiaojun’s ghost came back, he’d go after Ni Xiangdong—no, Xu Qingli—to settle the score. Why would he come back to eat walnuts? What kind of nonsense is that?"

"Children and adults see the world differently. The same event can be described in completely different ways."

Meng Chao bent down to inspect the brick pavement in the center of the courtyard, then looked up toward Old Mrs. Li’s window.

"Xiao Tong, read me the clues from the notebook again. I need to sort this out."

Tong Hao flipped through the pages and read softly: "On the afternoon of December 31st, a scalp was found in the sewer. That same day, Wu Ximei reported her husband missing, and a wooden box was stolen from their home. Also that day, Ni Xiangdong—no, Xu Qingli—dumped a body at Floating Peak Mountain. That night, the security guard on duty died unexpectedly. Sometime between December 31st and January 1st, Li Qingfu was found dead downstairs—"

Meng Chao lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and quickly ran through the clues in his mind.

December 31st: Xu Qingli dumped a body on the mountain.

December 31st: Wu Ximei reported Cao Xiaojun missing; human tissue found in the sewer.

December 31st: Li Qingfu died.

December 31st: Cao Xiaojun was crouched downstairs, eating walnuts.

Walnuts—Li Qingfu’s head.

The so-called "Cao Xiaojun eating walnuts" was actually him killing Li Qingfu.

Shuo Shuo had inadvertently witnessed the entire murder.

"It was Cao Xiaojun who killed Li Qingfu."

Even though he had suspected it earlier, saying it out loud still sent chills down Meng Chao’s spine.

"But how—" Tong Hao stammered. "Wasn’t he already—"

"We never found his body," Meng Chao lit another cigarette. "We thought Xu Qingli had hidden it well. But no—ha. If the murder never happened, how could there be a body?"

"But all the evidence—"

"All the evidence pointed to his death—bloodstains, the dumped body, the photos. He only appeared to be dead. He wanted us to think he was dead."

Meng Chao flicked the ash from his cigarette, his head lowered, not looking at anyone.

"This game is getting bigger," he sneered, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Damn it, you’ve got guts, playing the police like this."

Tong Hao closed the notebook. "We were used?"

"Exactly. Seems someone wanted to use the police to eliminate their own enemy."

Dusk fell, casting everything into gloom. The old street was dark and silent, devoid of people or cars. As far as the eye could see, only low, dilapidated houses crouched in the shadows, motionless, like a sinister black-and-white film.

"It wasn’t Xu Qingli who killed Cao Xiaojun—"

Meng Chao glanced around, unconsciously lowering his voice as if afraid someone lurking in the dark might overhear.

"It was Cao Xiaojun who set the trap—to kill Xu Qingli."