"What's going on here?"
Meng Chao took the fried dough stick handed to him by Tong Hao, staring blankly at the dense crowd before him.
On the first day of the new year, all the idlers from Anhe Lane Old Street had turned out, completely surrounding the old building where Wu Ximei lived.
They were wrapped in pajamas, hands tucked in their sleeves, whispering and gossiping with shifting expressions. Occasionally someone would stand on tiptoe, craning their neck curiously to look at the ambulance parked in the middle of the courtyard.
"Someone died."
Tong Hao tilted his chin up as the paramedics loaded an old woman clutching her chest onto the ambulance stretcher.
"That old lady saw it this morning and had a heart attack on the spot, collapsed right next to the body. Then—"
He jerked his head toward the center of the crowd where a man in his seventies was gesturing animatedly to those around him.
"This uncle came out for his morning exercise, saw two people lying on the ground, and immediately called 120. But the man was already gone."
"Of course he was gone—by the time the ambulance came, he was already stiff," an auntie in front of them suddenly turned around. "They say he froze to death—got drunk last night, passed out on the roadside, and never woke up."
"I heard it was a medical episode," an old woman carrying groceries nudged her with an elbow. "Something wrong with his heart or brain."
"I heard it was revenge," a man in a dark blue puffer jacket shook his head. "Made enemies, got bashed with a brick."
Meng Chao chewed on his fried dough stick, listening to the speculations without saying a word.
As the ambulance wailed into the distance, the unsatisfied crowd gradually dispersed. Meng Chao strode over to where Li Qingfu had fallen, crouching to examine the icy pavement, pacing in circles around the dried bloodstains.
"Something's off," he muttered to Tong Hao, keeping his voice low to avoid curious onlookers. "A normal fall wouldn't cause this much bleeding, and the position doesn't make sense either."
"I feel like something's weird too, but I can't put my finger on it," Tong Hao scratched his head. "Should we look into this?"
"Hmm, let's wait for the autopsy report first. And—"
Meng Chao glanced up absentmindedly and caught sight of a head poking out from a sixth-floor window, peering down.
The person clearly saw him too—the moment their eyes met, they quickly withdrew, pulling the curtains tightly shut the next second.
The entire motion was so swift he almost doubted whether he'd imagined it.
"Boss?" Tong Hao poked him with a notebook. "And what?"
After a moment's thought, Meng Chao crumpled his empty soy milk bag and stuffed it into Tong Hao's pocket.
"Let's go upstairs first."
"Did you hear about what happened downstairs?"
Meng Chao took the water cup from Wu Ximei, glancing casually at Cao Tianbao peeking around the living room doorway.
"Yeah, with all the commotion this morning, it was hard to miss."
"This area's been restless lately—one incident after another."
"Restless indeed." Wu Ximei replied distractedly, shooing Cao Tianbao back to the bedroom. Mother and son began speaking rapidly in hushed dialect tones in the other room, their tone suggesting an argument.
"Boss, what are they saying? I can't understand a word.""The son wanted to ask about his father’s whereabouts, but his mother wouldn’t let him, telling him to sit inside and focus on his homework. They were speaking in the Nanyang dialect—" Meng Chao shook his head, signaling Tong Hao to stay quiet. "I studied there, but I could only make out the gist of it."
As they spoke, Wu Ximei had already closed the bedroom door and returned to sit across from them.
She lowered her head, scrubbing at a stain on the glass coffee table with a rag, silent for a long while. Tong Hao hesitated, unsure whether to speak, and could only awkwardly glance at Meng Chao.
"A bath scrubber would work better."
Wu Ximei’s lips parted slightly as she stared at Meng Chao in surprise. Her dark eyes were slightly swollen underneath, a sign she hadn’t slept well these past few days.
"This kind of grease stain won’t come off with dry scrubbing. Listen to me—try a bath scrubber, the rough side. It’ll wipe right off." Meng Chao naturally took the rag from her hand and set it aside. "A new bath scrubber can also be used to wash fruits. Works great, especially on apples—the wax comes right off."
"Didn’t expect a big man like you to know about these things."
"Personal interest. I like researching these lazy shortcuts in my free time," Meng Chao chuckled. "Once this case is solved and we’re all in better spirits, we can exchange tips."
Wu Ximei forced a smile in response. Without the task in her hands, she seemed to lose vitality, slumping in her seat like an old piece of furniture.
After Cao Xiaojun’s incident, her already thin frame had visibly withered further, her cheeks hollowing out, making the fear in her eyes even more pronounced.
"Did you know the man who died downstairs?"
"Not really. He lived on the second floor. We’d see each other sometimes, but just in passing."
"Was he close with Cao Xiaojun?"
"They might’ve run into each other when buying liquor. Xiaojun liked a drink or two. Maybe they met at the beer house. He mentioned the guy a few times, said he couldn’t hold his liquor well."
"Was he close with Ni Xiangdong?"
Wu Ximei’s gaze flickered away for a moment before steadying back on Meng Chao.
"I don’t know if Ni Xiangdong was close with him."
"Ni Xiangdong comes here often too, doesn’t he? Could they have met?"
"I don’t know."
"Can Ni Xiangdong hold his liquor?"
"No—" She stumbled. "I don’t know."
"Do you know where Ni Xiangdong is now?"
"I don’t know."
"Do you know how the man downstairs died?"
Wu Ximei looked puzzled. "What exactly are you here to ask today?"
Tong Hao cleared his throat and laid out several photos horizontally on the coffee table.
"Is this the missing box from your home?"
She glanced quickly at the photos and nodded.
"Sharp eyes. These were cropped from surveillance footage. Didn’t think you’d recognize it at a glance."
"This box was part of my dowry, so it left a deep impression. Why?"
"Nothing much. But why haven’t you asked us about Cao Xiaojun’s whereabouts?"
Meng Chao fixed his gaze on Wu Ximei’s eyes.
"We all thought Cao Xiaojun was stuffed into that box and taken away. Now that the box’s been found, why haven’t you asked about him?"
Wu Ximei’s face still wore that pitiful expression, but Meng Chao caught a flicker of cunning in her eyes.
"I’m afraid to ask. Scared something bad happened. Good news would be best, but if not, I’ve accepted it. At this point, we don’t dare hope for much. As long as we don’t see his body, my child and I can pretend he’s still around—keep scraping by.""You seem convinced he's dead."
Wu Ximei suddenly stopped crying and looked at Meng Chao in surprise.
"He's not dead?"
Meng Chao didn't answer, merely offering a faint smile.
Under Wu Ximei's intense gaze, he leaned forward, picked up the teacup from the coffee table, took a leisurely sip, and slowly exhaled. "Winter calls for hot water."
Tong Hao, sitting beside him, shifted uncomfortably, unsure what trick his captain had up his sleeve.
"Speak clearly—is Xiaojun alive? Do you have leads on him?"
"First, tell me why you're so certain he's dead?" Meng Chao took another sip of water, wiped his mouth, and then met her eyes again. "Wu Ximei, think carefully. Did you forget to tell us something?"
He watched the slight rise and fall of her chest, knowing her psychological defenses were crumbling.
Just one more push.
"As far as I know—"
A loud clatter came from the bedroom—a stool toppling over.
Wu Ximei reflexively sprang up and hurried over, closing the door behind her.
Meng Chao sighed, realizing the opportunity was lost.
After a brief pause, Wu Ximei's voice, thin and rapid, came from the bedroom, sounding like she was scolding her son. Soon, the muffled argument between mother and child ensued. Tong Hao raised an eyebrow in question, but this time, Meng Chao could only shake his head.
Every village in Nanyang Province had its own dialect. His half-baked understanding only allowed him to grasp slow, steady standard Nanyang speech. A heated exchange like this was beyond him.
Sure enough, when Wu Ximei returned, her face had regained its indifferent calm. Refilling their cups with water, she answered coldly, "I've told you everything I know."
"How's your son doing?"
Meng Chao saw the tension in her gradually ease, the wariness and hostility in her eyes softening. Piece by piece, her armor fell away, revealing the vulnerable, helpless mother beneath.
"No miracle cure. Just barely managing."
"Must cost a lot, huh?"
"Yes," she wiped her eyes, "and of all times, Xiaojun isn't here."
"If you cooperate with our investigation, we might find him soon. Tianbao misses his father, doesn't he?"
"See through the muscles with three coins for a chick," Wu Ximei exhaled bitterly. "Just ask what you want to know."
"During your first statement, you said that on October 2nd last year, Cao Xiaojun got into a drunken altercation and threatened to kill someone." Tong Hao flipped through his notebook. "You claimed the other person was a foreman at the construction site."
"Yes, so what?"
"But our investigation shows the man drinking at your house that night wasn't a foreman—it was Ni Xiangdong." Tong Hao cut off Wu Ximei's protest. "We have multiple witnesses and reliable testimonies. Lying about this point won't help you."
Wu Ximei suddenly remembered—she had run into Old Mrs. Li from next door that day.
That's right. It was her grandson's birthday, and the boy had clamored for sweet and sour pork. In the evening, Old Mrs. Li had come over to borrow some vinegar. As she left with the bottle, she had seen Ni Xiangdong walk in, grinning.
Her heart sank, but her expression remained unchanged. "Maybe I misremembered. His coworkers often drink together—today at one house, tomorrow at another. It's easy to mix them up.""Cao Xiaojun never brings people home to drink. People at the construction site say he doesn’t have any close friends either. In reality, only Ni Xiangdong frequently comes and goes from your house."
Wu Ximei’s face turned ashen, and she fell silent.
"The two of them met at the construction site. Later, they even partnered to start a moving company together. But in October, their relationship suddenly soured. Do you know why?"
"I don’t know. I don’t get involved much in men’s affairs." Wu Ximei tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides, I’m not close with Ni Xiangdong."
"Yet, witnesses saw Ni Xiangdong driving you to and from work in his van, especially after October when he had that falling-out with Cao Xiaojun." Meng Chao leaned forward, pressing harder. "After his rift with your husband, his interactions with you actually increased. How do you explain that? I’d like to hear your side."
When Wu Ximei remained silent, Meng Chao settled back into the sofa.
"I heard the three of you are from the same hometown?"
"Yes."
"What a coincidence—all from Nan Yang Province, and you just happened to meet in Qingdao."
"It is quite a coincidence."
"Was it really a coincidence, or did he follow you here?"
Wu Ximei’s fingers, gripping the teacup, tapped restlessly against its side.
"You knew Ni Xiangdong before you met Cao Xiaojun, didn’t you?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Meng Chao noticed her hand trembling slightly.
"Did Cao Xiaojun know?"
He glanced at the slightly ajar bedroom door and lowered his voice.
"Did he know you and Ni Xiangdong used to be a couple?"
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