The Hunt

Xu Qingli had been hiding in this abandoned parking lot for several days now.

The place was underground—damp, cold, with grimy white walls still bearing the crooked red characters "No Open Flames," scrawled like ghostly talismans. Fine droplets of condensation gathered in the corners, breeding layers of mold.

During the day, the only light came from the ventilation shaft. The exhaust fan overhead, long dead from the cut power, now cast the shadow of its blades under the pale moonlight.

Xu Qingli pulled out a half-empty bottle of Erguotou he’d scavenged, took a few hard swigs, then wrapped himself tighter in his padded coat, stomping his feet to keep warm.

The hollow clatter echoed through the empty space, startling a rat or two from one patch of darkness into another.

Ever since leaving Sun Chuanhai’s place, he had been driving his van aimlessly.

At first, he had wanted to flee. But on one hand, he feared the police setting up checkpoints everywhere—panicking, he might walk right into their trap. On the other, for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about Cao Xiaojun. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the horrific image of his friend, covered in blood, curled up inside that crate.

Xu Qingli had drifted through life for most of his years, and Cao Xiaojun was the only brother he had who’d risked his life for him. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting him die unjustly in a strange place, his body never to be found.

And then there were Wu Ximei and Cao Tianbao—a widow and an orphan. Without Cao Xiaojun, how would they survive? Remembering their past bonds, Xu Qingli felt that running away without a word was something he simply couldn’t justify, morally or emotionally.

After much deliberation, he decided to stay in Qingdao a while longer—to lay low, and if possible, to gather useful clues for the police in secret. If he could help bring the real killer to justice and clear his brother’s name, that would be the best outcome.

So he abandoned the van, swapped into Sun Chuanhai’s padded coat, and made his way here through unmonitored alleys, his face hidden under a mask and cap.

These past few days, he’d been sneaking out at midnight to scavenge through trash bins for food.

Tonight was no different. With winter’s chill setting in and temperatures plummeting, he gathered some cardboard to lay on the ground and dug out a summer towel blanket to drape over himself. A girl walking her dog mistook him for a homeless man and gave him some old clothes and food. Grateful, he brought them back to stock his makeshift home.

He knew this place well. Years ago, when he’d first started working with Cao Xiaojun as a mover, he’d left Old Sun’s place but hadn’t yet found a suitable rental. To save money, he’d scraped together some secondhand furniture and camped out in this underground parking lot for a while.

The bare wooden bed was still there from back then—untouched after all these years.

Along with it remained a wooden table and a chair with a broken back.

This forgotten, desolate corner of the world had become his final refuge, unknown to anyone else.

Well, almost no one.

Cao Xiaojun knew.

Back then, when their moving business had started picking up and Xu Qingli finally had some spare cash, he rented a small house near Cao Xiaojun’s place. On moving day, Xiaojun insisted on helping. After winding through alleys, he followed Xu Qingli here and was shocked to see his brother living in a parking lot for so long. Sighing, he scolded him for not speaking up sooner about his struggles, as if they weren’t truly brothers.Back then, he had even joked with Cao Xiaojun, saying that since his secret hideout had been discovered, if anyone ever couldn’t find him in the future, they should come here—he’d definitely be around.

In the past, the two of them had walked out together, chatting and laughing while carrying their things. But now, here he was, returning alone.

At the mention of Cao Xiaojun, Xu Qingli couldn’t help but sigh.

He tightened his coat around himself, drunkenly leaning against the head of the bed, gulping down mouthfuls of liquor.

Even now, he still couldn’t figure out—who was the one behind all this?

Who hated him so much, resented him to this extent, that they wanted him ruined, to die with a false accusation?

Could it be Wang Cheng? Maybe that bastard couldn’t swallow his anger and deliberately sought revenge? But no, it had been over two years since the incident—if he wanted revenge, he wouldn’t have waited this long. Besides, even though he and Cao Xiaojun had beaten him up back then, it wasn’t a crime deserving death. Wang Cheng wouldn’t go to such cruel lengths.

Could it be the Bao family? Did they find out about his faked death and track him here? If so, then hadn’t he caused Cao Xiaojun’s death? But that didn’t make sense either—they were always direct in their methods. If they wanted to kill or torture him, they’d come straight for him, not go through such an elaborate scheme.

Was it Wu Ximei? Had she taken a lover outside and conspired with him to eliminate both brothers?

But he refused to believe that. Thinking back to the closeness between their families in the past, recalling all the care she had shown him, he was certain Wu Ximei wasn’t that kind of person. Xu Qingli slapped himself, angry that he could slander her innocence out of thin air.

He turned over, gazing at the cold stars peeking through the well opening, and thought of his father back home.

Over a decade had passed, and he still hadn’t dared return to Nanling Village. He didn’t know how his father’s health was. With the New Year approaching, he hadn’t even sent money this month. How would that lonely old man manage to get by…

Thoughts raced through his mind, and Xu Qingli felt his forehead burning, his skull throbbing with pain.

His eyelids drooped, his hand loosened, and the liquor bottle slipped from his grip, clattering onto the concrete floor.

Yawning, he reached out to pick it up—and touched a hand.

Someone was under the bed?

Instantly, the alcohol-induced haze vanished. His blood ran cold, his body frozen in place.

But when he reached again, the hand was gone. The cold ground held only a few scattered pebbles.

Probably just his imagination. They say suspicion breeds imaginary ghosts. Xu Qingli tried to comfort himself. Maybe it was the stress from all the recent upheavals, or perhaps he’d just had a nightmare. After drinking so much, it made sense that he’d dozed off without realizing.

But no matter how he reasoned, he couldn’t bring himself to drink any more, nor could he settle back into sleep.

Tossing and turning on the bed, unable to find a comfortable position, he finally sat up and reached out to slap the small desk lamp on.

This rechargeable lamp had also been salvaged from a dumpster—a cheap blue plastic base shaped like a pug with its tongue sticking out, topped with a dozen small bulbs that lit up with a tap. But after prolonged use, the connection had grown unreliable, flickering on and off, which was probably why someone had thrown it away.

Yet he didn’t mind. What others discarded as trash had become rare treasures to him.

If the connection was faulty, he’d just tap it a few more times. In the dead of night, even a dim light was enough to anchor him, to remind him he was still among the living.At this moment, Xu Qingli held up a lamp with one hand while gripping the edge of the bed with the other, craning his neck and widening his eyes as he thrust his head resolutely under the bed.

In the darkness beneath the bed, a pair of eyes stared back at him.

The small lamp in his hand flickered twice before extinguishing.

The vast, empty underground parking lot plunged into complete darkness, leaving only two men, each harboring their own sinister thoughts.

His heart pounded like a drum as he quietly slipped off the bed and drew a knife from the small of his back.

Carrying a knife was a trick Xiao Jun had taught him—always be wary of others, they said. Never did he imagine it would come in handy today.

His eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom, so he held his breath, unwilling to reveal his position.

Suddenly, someone kicked him from behind. Stumbling forward, he fell flat on the ground. The moment he rolled over, the assailant pounced on him. Xu Qingli hurriedly raised his arms to block, and the two grappled fiercely.

He realized their strength was evenly matched—yet while he held back slightly, his opponent fought with deadly intent.

A cold gust swept past his face. He raised a hand to block, and a frigid blade sliced across his palm, splitting flesh in an instant. A searing pain flared.

Something warm and thick oozed from his palm, dripping onto his face.

The metallic stench flooded his nostrils. Knowing he was bleeding, he snapped into a frenzy, gritting his teeth as he slashed wildly with the knife. The man atop him dodged hastily, giving Xu Qingli the chance to scramble up.

But before he could take two steps, a sweeping kick from behind sent him crashing down again. He rolled away, slipping back under the bed—just as the other man’s blade chased after him, clanging against the bed frame before getting stuck, the assailant now struggling to pull it free.

Xu Qingli quietly crawled out from the opposite side of the bed, crouching low. His eyes had gradually adjusted to the dim light, and by the pale moonlight, he could vaguely make out the shapes around him.

But before he could locate his attacker, a crushing grip suddenly locked around his throat from behind.

The man’s arms were solid, muscles taut like iron shackles. Struggling was futile—all Xu Qingli could do was gasp for air. His knees weakened, on the verge of collapse. With a desperate cry, he twisted the knife in his hand and stabbed backward blindly.

The blade met resistance, sinking deep into the man’s thigh.

Yet the attacker made no sound, only tightening his chokehold. Xu Qingli’s vision swam with stars, his eyes rolling back. He yanked the knife free and stabbed again.

This time, the man grunted, his grip loosening slightly—but then he redoubled his efforts, squeezing with all his might. Xu Qingli’s temples throbbed, veins bulging as he choked.

His consciousness began to fade. Knowing his opponent wouldn’t stop until he was dead, Xu Qingli abandoned all restraint. Gnashing his teeth, he stabbed again and again, twisting the blade inside the wound.

Finally, the man let out a piercing scream and released him.

Seizing the moment, Xu Qingli staggered away, swinging his knife wildly into the darkness.

"Come out, you bastard! Fight me face to face!"

He panted heavily, his entire body trembling, teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"Come out! Show yourself!"

His voice cracked, shrill and grating.

"Come out, damn it!"

For a long time, the underground parking lot echoed only with his roars, his ragged breathing, his hysteria—each sound spreading, reverberating, until it dissipated like wisps of smoke.

Beyond that, there was not a single trace of sound.

The man seemed to have fled.

Clutching his throat, Xu Qingli groped along the ground until his fingers brushed against the small lamp. He smacked it a few times, and the light flickered back on.The faint, pallid white light could only illuminate a small patch of cement beneath his feet, offering him a limited sense of security.

Xu Qingli held the lamp in one hand and a knife in the other, scanning the surrounding darkness. The load-bearing pillars stood like silent sentinels, lurking in even deeper shadows, exuding malice and hidden threats.

Circling cautiously, he warily bypassed the nearest pillar— snap —no one was there.

He moved past another one—still no one.

One by one, he checked them all, but found nothing.

Continuing outward, he swept the light around until it caught on a small pool of blood. He couldn’t tell if it was his or the other person’s.

Xu Qingli raised the lamp higher, illuminating a trail of small, round droplets—delicate, like wildflowers blooming along a path—leading away.

Following the blood trail, he spotted something glinting under the moonlight on the upward slope of the parking lot.

He approached carefully, bending down to pick it up.

It was a phone—one he had never seen before.

Wiping the blood off, he turned it over in his trembling hands, though not from pain.

An old-fashioned model, it had no password and unlocked easily, revealing its contents at a glance.

But there were no secrets, no valuable clues.

No photos, no messages, no social media apps.

Until he checked the call log.

This phone had only dialed two numbers. One was a series of four calls to him, late at night a few days ago.

He remembered now—waking abruptly that night, seeing the unfamiliar number, hanging up three times.

Only on the fourth call had he answered, and they had spoken at length.

A sudden, searing pain shot through the scar on his left cheek as if something had clicked in his mind.

The other number looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

But he would soon find out.

Wiping the blood from his hands, Xu Qingli steadied his breath and dialed it back.

The call connected instantly.

"Well? Did you get it done?"

He narrowed his eyes but stayed silent.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end grew increasingly urgent.

"Hello? Hello? Say something—"

He hung up, letting his arm drop, his body trembling uncontrollably in the dark.

It was the voice of someone he knew.

It was Wu Ximei’s voice.