"When did you start suspecting him?"
"That night when I got the call and learned the real cause of Ni Xiangdong’s death."
In the conference room, while waiting for everyone to arrive, Xiao Chen leaned over and pressed Tong Hao for answers.
Following Meng Chao’s posthumous request, the Nanyang police had formed a special task force to reopen the case of Bao Desheng. After a detailed forensic examination by the Sakura Ocean Medical Examiner, it was confirmed that the fragmented bones in the Xu family cemetery indeed belonged to Ni Xiangdong. The examination also revealed that the victim’s head had been struck with a blunt object before death, resulting in multiple comminuted fractures in the skull.
"If Wu Ximei has already confessed to the murder, why would she lie about the murder weapon? Unless—"
"Unless someone else finished the job after her," Xiao Chen nodded. "And that person is most likely Xu Qingli."
"Exactly. There’s no way Xu Qingli will confess now. Our only hope is Wu Ximei’s testimony."
Lao Ma pushed the door open, bringing in a gust of cold wind.
"Wu Ximei is dead."
Those were his first words as he took his seat.
"When?" Tong Hao shot up from his chair. "She was fine during the interrogation the day before yesterday!"
"Just got the news this morning. Last night, she attempted a violent escape, went berserk, smashed things, tried to grab an officer’s gun, and repeatedly attacked the police. After multiple warnings were ignored, she was shot dead on the spot."
"Why would she suddenly try to escape? She promised to testify for us."
"Actually, I suspect it was suicide."
Lao Ma tapped the table, his gaze lowering.
"Maybe she already found out about Cao Tianbao’s death. Now, with her heart turned to ashes, she no longer cared about Xu Qingli’s sentencing. All she wanted was to catch up with her husband and son, to reunite with her family on the other side."
Tong Hao opened his mouth, but the words "she got what she deserved" stuck in his throat.
Even though he resented her for dragging Meng Chao into this, the image of her kneeling in tears that night kept flashing before his eyes. When he thought of all the hardships and suffering she had endured in her short life, the hatred in his heart swelled and then faded. He hadn’t walked in her shoes—he had no right to preach kindness to her. If he had been in her position, just as desperate, he might have done worse.
"One phone call from Xu Qingli wiped out Cao Xiaojun’s entire family," Chu Xiao sighed. "Three lives, not a single one spared."
"Four," Tong Hao murmured. "Including Brother Meng."
For a moment, no one spoke. Only faint sighs mingled with the dust in the air, swirling before settling.
The Lunar New Year was just days away, but the festive cheer in the streets had nothing to do with the people in this room.
A haze of condensation fogged the windows, a blurry white expanse—much like their current predicament, trapped in the bitter cold of winter.
"Right now, the case is at a critical stage. We were counting on Wu Ximei as our breakthrough—" Lao Ma shook his head. "Now it’s tough. Without solid evidence, and with Xu Qingli refusing to talk, we’re stuck. That guy’s sharp. He knows desecrating a corpse would get him at most three years, but intentional murder would mean a bullet to the head."
"So it’s a dead end?" Xiao Zhang stiffened. "Are we just going to watch him exploit a legal loophole, serve a few years, and then live the rest of his life scot-free?"
"No. There has to be evidence. There must be. We’ll keep looking—there’s got to be something. If he did it, he would’ve left traces. It’s just—"Tong Hao's eyes were red as he frantically flipped through the materials on the desk. His movements were so abrupt that he accidentally knocked a stack of reports to the floor, scattering them everywhere.
"We just overlooked it temporarily. There's no such thing as a perfect crime in this world. There must be evidence, there has to be—"
He muttered to himself while clumsily picking up the papers. Chu Xiao, standing nearby, couldn't bear to watch and bent down to help.
"Tong, calm down. You're making a mess," she said, pulling out a few crime scene photos. "Look, these are Ni Xiangdong's. You've mixed Ni Xiangdong's materials with Liu Chengan's. Stop tidying up; let me handle it."
Tong Hao stood there dumbly, staring blankly as Chu Xiao reorganized the scattered papers, carefully separating Ni Xiangdong's and Liu Chengan's materials. In his hand, he still clutched a photo—the real Ni Xiangdong, separated by over a decade, coldly glaring down at him.
"Ni Xiangdong was a man who never forgot a grudge. He wouldn’t willingly be Xu Qingli’s scapegoat. He wouldn’t die in vain—he’d seek revenge when the time came." Tong Hao looked at the photo of Ni Xiangdong in his hand, then tilted his head to glance at Liu Chengan’s materials on the floor, his tone hesitant. "Wait... I think he’s already told us."
"What?"
"The rock. The rock that struck the head—that’s the evidence."
Chu Xiao eyed him skeptically.
"Get a grip. Ni Xiangdong’s case was over ten years ago, and it happened in Nanyang Province. That rock is long gone—"
"No, it’s in Qindao! That rock is on Floating Peak Mountain in Qindao!"
Tong Hao snatched up Liu Chengan’s autopsy report and skimmed through it quickly.
"Ni Xiangdong made the old case replay itself—only this time, the victim became Liu Chengan."
He stood up, his hands trembling uncontrollably, his words stumbling in excitement.
"We’ve been fooled again, led by the nose. Xu Qingli, you’ve got some nerve—using the same method twice!"
Lao Ma cut off his muttering. "Tong Hao, speak clearly. What are you thinking?"
"I have a theory. I think we’ve fallen into another preconception, just like how we initially misjudged Cao Xiaojun’s death based on the scalp. Now, we’ve also attributed other murders to Cao Xiaojun without questioning it."
"But Li Qingfu had a witness," Xiao Chen reminded. "Don’t forget, that kid named Shuo Shuo saw the whole thing, didn’t he?"
"Right, Li Qingfu had a witness, but Liu Chengan didn’t. Maybe Cao Xiaojun attacked him first, but could the one who finished him off have been Xu Qingli?"
Tong Hao placed Li Qingfu’s and Liu Chengan’s autopsy reports side by side, showing them to everyone.
"Human behavior has a certain pattern. If it were Cao Xiaojun, under time pressure, he’d most likely kill Liu Chengan the same way he killed Li Qingfu—by smashing the back of his head. But Liu Chengan’s fatal wound was on the front of his face—a blunt force trauma to the skull, resulting in a comminuted fracture. Just like—"
Xiao Chen rubbed the stubble on his chin. "This manner of death... it’s just like Ni Xiangdong’s."
"Exactly. Back then, Xu Qingli used a rock to smash his own left face to fake his identity. But before he hit himself, could he have used the same rock to kill Liu Chengan first?"
Lao Ma nodded, signaling for him to continue."Back then, Cao Xiaojun and Wu Ximei mistakenly thought they had killed Ni Xiangdong, never expecting Xu Qingli to be the oriole behind the mantis. Could the same scenario be playing out now? Xu Qingli was cornered by the police on the mountain, and to avoid exposing his identity, he killed Liu Chengan to silence him. Now that Cao Xiaojun is dead, he conveniently pins all the murders on others."
As Tong Hao spoke, he felt his thoughts suddenly clear.
"In a way, today's Liu Chengan is Ni Xiangdong from over a decade ago. Since we can't find the murder weapon from Ni Xiangdong's case, let's look for Liu Chengan's. I vaguely remember Xu Qingli being helped down the mountain by He Yuan with both hands empty, carrying nothing. So, I suspect he didn't have time to dispose of the murder weapon—the rock. It might still be on the mountain. If we can find that rock now, we'll uncover the truth."
"Your analysis makes a lot of sense. Liu Chengan's case definitely warrants reinvestigation, but there's one problem—"
Lao Ma looked troubled.
"Do you know how big Floating Peak Mountain is?"
Tong Hao leaned against a crooked tree, panting heavily, one hand on his waist.
It was already the third day.
They had returned to the crime scene repeatedly but still hadn't found the rock—the rock that could seal the conviction.
The sky was overcast, the mountain wind biting, and the air carried the metallic scent of stone.
The weather forecast predicted a sudden downpour tonight, and he wanted to search one last time before the rain came.
Lao Ma's concern was justified—Floating Peak Mountain was vast, and searching for an inconspicuous rock among its endless ridges was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even with additional personnel assigned to the case, the daily grid searches were no small task. Worse, days had passed with no results. Any further delay would only lower morale and efficiency.
Tong Hao looked up at the darkening sky, his anxiety mounting.
He knew time was running out. Once the rain washed away the fingerprints and bloodstains on the rock, they would lose their only lead.
Bending over to push aside the wild grass, he silently prayed.
"Liu Chengan, Liu Chengan, I'm here to help you. If you don’t want to have died in vain, if your spirit truly lingers, give me a sign—just like that phone call that night—"
No sooner had he spoken than the bushes behind him rustled. Tong Hao turned in alarm.
"A sign would be enough—you don’t have to actually appear—"
A hunched, shadowy figure emerged.
"What are you doing here?"
It wasn’t Liu Chengan’s vengeful ghost but an elderly man bundled in a puffer jacket. A small fox terrier yapped incessantly at his right leg, hopping on all fours.
"Sneaking around—what are you up to?" The old man took a step closer. "Planning to set the mountain on fire?"
Tong Hao shook his head and wearily held up his badge.
"Police. Here on official business."
The old man perked up at the word "police" and sidled closer.
"Eh? Here about that case from before?" He nudged Tong Hao with his elbow. "What happened to that scar-faced guy? I always said he looked shady—turns out he really was a criminal—"
"Sir, I can't disclose too much about the case.""I understand, old man gets it. You folks have your confidentiality rules," the old man winked at him. "With you handling the case, us common folk can rest easy. Ain't no way the criminal's getting away, right? Otherwise, what good are you?"
The words struck a nerve with Tong Hao. He mumbled some vague responses and turned back to searching with his head down, while the old man followed behind him, chattering nonstop with his little dog in tow.
"Just a shame about that young security guard later on, tsk. So young and got killed like that. That Scarface is a real piece of work, if you ask me."
"Oh right, the security guard's mom came up the mountain to burn paper offerings a few days back. I stopped her. Dry as tinder around New Year's, who burns paper? One slip and she'd set the mountain ablaze—then she'd be spending New Year's in jail with Scarface."
"Say, has that Scarface been convicted yet? How'd you sentence him? Better not let him escape—I went through all that trouble catching him—"
"Old man, it's getting dark soon and it might rain. The path'll be slippery. You should take the dog and head back now."
"Alright, alright. That's why people say the police are so thoughtful—working hard while still caring about us common folk," the old man chuckled, taking a few steps back. "What's your name? I'll write you a commendation letter later—"
"No need for that, old man. Just head home."
Tong Hao brushed him off and quickly ushered the old man back onto the mountain path. But to his surprise, the old man turned around and came back after a short while.
"Wait, there's one more thing—I need your help seeking justice. Got scammed a few days ago by some so-called 'expert.' Just a con artist."
Tong Hao's expression turned cold as he resolved to ignore the old man, continuing to search through the grass. Meanwhile, the old man and his dog trailed behind him, each carrying on their own conversation.
"See, a while back, I found a piece of chicken-blood stone. The color in the cracks was so vivid—clearly a treasure. Had an expert appraise it, but the idiot didn’t know squat. Insisted I smeared blood on it myself. Swear on my life, why would I lie? I really found that stone up on the mountain—"
Tong Hao suddenly froze, straightening up to stare wide-eyed at the old man.
"Old man, what did you just say?"
"I said I found a chicken-blood stone, but that damn expert accused me of faking it. I’m nearly seventy—never lied in my life. That’s slander—"
"Where?"
"Found it in the grass up on the mountain."
"No," Tong Hao grabbed the old man’s sleeve. "I mean, where is the stone now?"
"At my place. Why?"
The old man blinked, then grinned.
"What, you wanna take a look too?"
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