Back at the hotel, Mu Dai’s words made it difficult for Luo Ren to sleep.
He checked the time—it was truly inappropriate to call someone at this hour, but he dialed anyway.
Uncle Zheng took a long time to answer, furious: “Luo Xiaodao, are you asking to be scolded? Do you know what time it is?”
Luo Ren said, “Yes, I’m calling for a scolding. It’s been too long since you’ve reprimanded me. I’ve been missing it.”
With that, Uncle Zheng’s anger subsided. The elderly are often most susceptible to the coaxing of the young.
He grumbled at length about Luo Ren—how he’d opened a shop and then disappeared, leaving everything unattended; how he’d left Pin Ting there to recuperate, and it was time to give her further stimulating drug therapy.
Luo Ren listened quietly. In the dead of night, suddenly hearing all these trivial domestic matters brought a strange sense of tranquility and warmth.
Wrapped in his blanket, he never contradicted Uncle Zheng once. When he occasionally spoke, it was either “Mmm” or “Yes.”
When Uncle Zheng had finally vented all his grievances, he gave Luo Ren a chance to speak: “Why are you calling in the middle of the night? What’s the matter?”
Luo Ren asked about the room at the end of the second floor and the things inside it.
Uncle Zheng said, “Didn’t you lock that room? You took the key with you. It’s exactly as you left it. I’m so busy I barely touch the ground—who has time to deal with your things?”
After hanging up, Luo Ren sighed softly with relief.
Good. At least for now, the place storing the Murder Slips was still safe.
Still, his sleep was restless, plagued by dreams born from his daytime thoughts. The most eerie one was when he dreamed that the blood-red Phoenix Locks encircling the Murder Slips suddenly collapsed and scattered, and the three slips, like writhing worms, climbed up the glass walls of the fish tank segment by segment.
He awoke with a start. It was just past six in the morning.
Since he couldn’t sleep anyway, he decided to go to the hospital to relieve Yan Hongsha, who had been on watch for nearly the whole night.
The city was just awakening. Walking on the streets, there was a strange feeling of sharing the same schedule as the entire Nantian County.
Outside the intensive care unit, he saw Yan Hongsha sitting in the waiting chair. He was about to greet her when, upon approaching, he realized she was asleep.
Her body was slowly tilting to one side, yet she possessed more balance than most people, not suddenly jolting awake from a steep lean. She was like the Tower of Pisa, enduring with remarkable stamina.
Luo Ren smiled and sat beside her. A nurse entered the ICU to check the situation, then came out and closed the door a moment later.
Everything was normal.
After waiting a bit longer, Yan Hongsha finally tilted onto his shoulder. At the moment of contact, she awoke thoroughly, jerking her head up with her entire body tense.
Luo Ren greeted her: “Good morning.”
Yan Hongsha’s face flushed bright red as she hurriedly explained: “I didn’t sleep all night. It’s just that this morning, when I saw it was getting light, I closed my eyes for just a moment…”
Luo Ren realized his oversight: Hongsha was a girl, and even for shift work, she should have been assigned to daytime duty.
He interrupted her: “Nothing unusual happened, right?”
Yan Hongsha was momentarily confused by his question, reflexively shaking her head before suddenly remembering something: “Ma Chao woke up once last night, around midnight.”
For someone in a coma after a car accident, spontaneously waking up was a good sign. Luo Ren’s interest was piqued: “Did he say anything?”
This was something Yan Hongsha truly couldn’t answer. She had been guarding outside the door and had no reason to enter the ICU. She only knew that Ma Chao had briefly regained consciousness, and the on-duty nurse had even excitedly called over the attending physician.
Luo Ren pondered for a moment, then asked Yan Hongsha to help by going to the hospital store to buy paper and a pen.
Luo Ren wrote an anonymous letter and instructed Yan Hongsha not to mail it through the post box. It would be better if, mysteriously, it appeared on the desk of the investigating officers.
Yan Hongsha could roughly guess the content. Holding the letter, she asked him: “In the letter, are you telling the police that the truth of the matter still depends on Ma Chao?”
Luo Ren nodded. It would be difficult to expect the police to suddenly suspect Ma Chao again. Subtly guiding and hinting would be too troublesome, so it was better to be direct—spell it out in black and white.
He signed it: “An informed source who wishes to remain anonymous.”
After Yan Hongsha left, the day passed swiftly. Luo Ren had hoped Ma Chao would wake again during daylight, but he didn’t. Recovery was an unpredictable process that could only be waited for.
To pass the time, he watched the surveillance video Yi Wansan had sent earlier, over and over again. Out of boredom, he even counted the number of passersby captured in the footage.
Seventy-eight.
Which one of them carried the Murder Slip?
At eight in the evening, he had expected Cao Yanhua to take over, but to his surprise, he saw Yan Hongsha again.
Luo Ren’s brows furrowed into a knot. Yan Hongsha spread her hands, muttering, “What could I do? Why don’t you go discipline Fat Cao? His curiosity is too much.”
According to her, Cao Yanhua had pestered her all day, begging to switch shifts, even just for half the night.
The reason? He wanted to visit the Tengma Sculpture Platform to experience Nantian County’s most terrifying location up close.
Initially, Yan Hongsha had refused, saying, “Can’t you go during the day? You’d see more clearly.”
Cao Yanhua had his justifications: “Everyone online says the atmosphere is better at night! Don’t forget, my Junior Master also went at night. And that wind, that gust of wind!”
Indeed, the Tengma Sculpture Platform was a place they had long wanted to visit, but too many foot-binding incidents had repeatedly delayed the trip.
The final agreement: half a night’s shift.
Luo Ren didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Cao Yanhua wasn’t particularly brave and would surely drag someone along: “Is Yi Wansan going with him?”
Yan Hongsha flopped lazily onto a waiting chair: “Go back and see for yourself. When I left, he was sweet-talking Mu Dai, calling her ‘Junior Master’ this and that.”
No need to go back and check. At the hospital entrance, Luo Ren called Cao Yanhua directly, asking if he was planning to go.
On the other end, Cao Yanhua hemmed and hawed, then seemed to duck behind someone: “Hold on, I’ll let Junior Sister Master talk to you.”
Mu Dai took the phone, saying: “We haven’t made any progress all day. I also think the Tengma Sculpture Platform might provide some clues. Plus, at night I don’t need to wear a hat and mask—it’s easier to breathe.”
“Is Yi Wansan going with you?”
“He’s on the fence. If there are many people, he’ll go; if few, he won’t.”
Luo Ren laughed. Yi Wansan was truly a man of principles.
He said, “Have Fat Cao drive and swing by the hospital to pick me up.”
In the darkness, a Hummer drove crookedly to a stop at the edge of the rice field. Looking to the right, in the distant night sky, there was a deeper silhouette—a horse with its front hooves raised as if about to leap, strangely missing half its head.
Yi Wansan angrily berated Cao Yanhua: “If you can’t drive, don’t! You’re making me dizzy!”
Cao Yanhua defended himself vigorously: “This car is heavy! And the road is bad!”
Mu Dai and Luo Ren got out of the car amid this exchange of criticisms.
To reach the platform, they had to descend to the field ridge and cross the dense rice paddy.
Luo Ren turned back to call to Yi Wansan and the others: “Four people together, two in front, two behind. Stay alert, don’t be careless.”
With these words, Yi Wansan and Cao Yanhua became somewhat uneasy. Mu Dai automatically positioned herself separate from Luo Ren, one leading the front, one securing the rear.
Cao Yanhua clutched his flashlight, walking on the soft field ground. Occasionally, there was a crack underfoot, seemingly from dry, hard stalks, or a clunk when kicking empty cans and water bottles left behind by previous thrill-seekers.
His palms were sweating with tension.
Beside him, Mu Dai glanced at him sideways: “You were the one clamoring to come, yet now you’re this frightened.”
Cao Yanhua retorted: “Junior Master, aren’t you afraid?”
Mu Dai said, “Coming and going as I have, not much scares me anymore.”
Hearing her say this, Luo Ren, walking ahead, suddenly smiled.
Roughly counting, Mu Dai had indeed experienced quite a lot: she’d been made to cry with a knife held to her throat—his handiwork; she’d fallen into water; she’d struggled to rescue Yan Hongsha from between the shells of an old clam; she’d tussled with a wild man; she’d narrowly escaped being hit by a car; she’d “been given” a terminal illness; she’d “been made” a murderer…
The ancestors said, “Once encountered, twice familiar.” After experiencing something once, looking back, it seems unremarkable.
Mu Dai was right—not much scared her anymore, unless a ghost in red high heels darted across the Tengma Sculpture Platform.
Just as he was pondering this, Cao Yanhua, behind them, let out a desperate scream that chilled everyone to the bone.
Luo Ren turned around quickly. Cao Yanhua was pointing to the left, stuttering: “Head! Head!”
Luo Ren brightened his flashlight. The bright beam moved between the dense rice plants and the night sky. A gust of wind came, causing the rice plants to bow in waves.
He asked Cao Yanhua: “What head?”
Cao Yanhua was drenched in cold sweat.
At that moment, he had been following Mu Dai step by step, his vision gradually adapting to the darkness, slowly distinguishing distances and shapes.
Inadvertently turning his head, everything seemed orchestrated to shock his pupils—a gust of wind blew, causing the slender yet heavy rice plants to bow simultaneously, revealing a figure standing rigidly among them, or more precisely, just a head showing.
Thinking about it later, it wasn’t that frightening—just a person hiding in the rice field. But given the environment, his mood, and the sudden surge of adrenaline at that instant…
Luo Ren walked in that direction, his flashlight beam searching up and down. It was very quiet around them, with the lower rice plants brushing against their calves, making rustling sounds.
Mu Dai was somewhat tense, gesturing for Cao Yanhua and Yi Wansan to stand in front of her.
In such an open space, trying to focus and listen for sounds or identify shapes was difficult. There were too many natural background noises, and the breath of someone deliberately trying to hide was too faint.
Mu Dai saw that after walking a short distance, Luo Ren suddenly crouched down, picked something up from the ground, and then turned back.
Cao Yanhua timidly directed his flashlight toward Luo Ren’s hand. The moment the light hit it, they almost gasped in shock—even Mu Dai felt startled.
It was a pair of shoes—high heels with half-worn soles, red leather surface worn in many places, with patches on the separated glue at the toe.
Cao Yanhua trembled slightly.
Wasn’t it said that if you put your ear to the Tengma Sculpture Platform and heard a heartbeat, a gust of wind would come from behind, and looking down, you’d find a pair of red high heels behind you? How did they suddenly appear now, and in the rice field?
His voice quavered: “A pair of shoes, just appearing like that?”
Luo Ren said, “It’s not that a pair of shoes suddenly appeared. It’s that someone wearing these shoes fled, leaving the shoes behind.”
“How do you know someone was wearing them before?”
Luo Ren looked expressionlessly at Cao Yanhua: “Fat Cao, are you asking for a beating?”
He held the shoes up in front of Cao Yanhua: “Want to smell them? Feel if there’s any warmth?”
Cao Yanhua hastily retreated. Mu Dai secretly found it amusing, thinking Luo Ren was quite vexed.
Luo Ren turned the shoes over: “These are high heels. Even though the soles are worn, they still have heels. This area is all dirt. Running in these shoes would leave marks.”
He put the shoes down.
At least they had a clue—the person was likely a woman.
Luo Ren suddenly thought of something: “Yi Wansan, pull up that surveillance video and take a look.”
Though puzzled, Yi Wansan took out his phone and started playing the video. In the dark rice field, the light from the video cast an eerie glow on everyone’s faces.
Luo Ren had watched this video countless times throughout the day.
He pointed to the woman walking alone, separated from the group: “Can you see what kind of shoes she’s wearing?”
Yi Wansan paused the video and switched to a photo, zooming in.
There was too much noise, the image was unclear, and the colors were distorted.
Yi Wansan hesitantly said: “It’s not very clear, but judging by the shape… they look quite similar.”
After speaking, he felt a chill run down his spine. Looking around uneasily, his voice much lower: “Is she still here?”
Luo Ren said: “Not necessarily, but if she is, she must be well-disguised.”
He thought of something and said quietly: “Wait for me a moment.”
He quickly walked toward the car parked at the field ridge. Cao Yanhua’s flashlight beam followed his figure, watching as he opened the car door, took something from under the back seat, and quickly returned.
Cao Yanhua wanted to ask what he had retrieved, but seeing Luo Ren’s lack of intention to disclose, he wisely refrained from asking. As they continued toward the Tengma Sculpture Platform, he suddenly remembered something and quickly picked up the shoes from the ground.
He thought bitterly: Why return them to this woman playing ghost? Let her go barefoot.
They approached the Tengma Sculpture Platform.
The rice field curved around the periphery, leaving a circular clearing.
The flashlight beam revealed a cement-cast galloping horse, missing only half its head. The circular base was densely covered with words written in correction fluid, as well as pasted papers that had been eroded by wind and rain.
Fully illuminated, it looked ordinary, not as frightening as when viewed in darkness.
With his companions around, Cao Yanhua was no longer as timid as before. He rushed over first, pressing his ear against the platform.
Cold, rough, heavy, solid—like all cement platforms.
Seizing the moment, Mu Dai quietly asked Luo Ren: “What did you just get from the car?”
“A thermal imaging device.”
As he spoke, he withdrew it from his coat—something like a monocular camera. He held it to his eye, selected a direction as a baseline, then moved to the right in a fan-shaped pattern, frame by frame, grid by grid, degree by degree.
When the imaging device was tilted to a particular angle, Mu Dai noticed Luo Ren’s breathing became noticeably heavier.
He lowered his hand, passed the device to Mu Dai, and whispered: “Look in that direction. Don’t be afraid.”