Yan Qing studied the triangular wound in the deceased’s chest and said, “An ordinary single-edged stabbing implement—such as a fruit knife or a standard dagger—would produce a wound shape that is dull on one side and sharp on the other. A double-edged blade, such as a double-edged dagger, produces a wound that is sharp on both sides. A wound shaped like this triangle can only be produced by one type of implement.”

Yan Qing and Shi Ting looked at each other, and both said it almost simultaneously: “A three-sided military bayonet.”

“Look here.” Yan Qing moved the magnifying glass over the upper edge of the wound. “There’s a ring of pattern marks on the skin around the wound.”

Shi Ting looked carefully for a few moments, and his mind—like a computer—immediately began to process. “This was left by the bayonet’s handle. The outer ring is a pattern of curved petals, and the center has a wave-stripe design. This is the military bayonet issued for the M782 rifle—produced in the 187th year of Xin Guo, manufactured at the Baili Arsenal in Jizhou City, and subsequently distributed throughout the country. When assembled on the rifle, this bayonet serves as a fixed blade; disassembled, it becomes a standalone implement—compact and easy to carry.”

“We previously theorized that the perpetrator likely had a military background. It seems this wound lends support to that inference.”

Shi Ting nodded. “The M782 rifle was used during the warlord conflicts, but due to deficiencies in the rail mechanism and erratic ejection, it was quickly withdrawn from the battlefield. Baili Arsenal only produced four batches before halting manufacture. The ones still in circulation today are mostly remnants from the warlord era. The perpetrator very likely took part in those conflicts.”

But to track down a killer based on a single bayonet—that was easier said than done.

Yan Qing said, “A three-sided bayonet is well-suited for killing but not for flaying. I can now tell you with certainty the answer to your earlier question: the perpetrator brought two weapons into the scene—a military bayonet and a specialized flaying knife. In other words, before he killed the Xu family, he had already planned to take skin. Perhaps that piece of flayed skin was his primary objective all along.”

As for why the perpetrator took skin—why he killed all ten members of the Xu family—and what secret that flayed patch of skin concealed—everything remained shrouded in a thick, directionless fog, without light, without a path forward.

The bodies E’Yuan and Dr. Liu autopsied showed no anomalies whatsoever. Apart from the fatal wounds at the victims’ necks, there were no other injuries.

By the time they returned to the Military Police Division’s temporary lodgings, it was already one in the morning.

It was a modest compound that normally served as the Wenshan County branch’s office. To accommodate the Military Police Division’s stay, all branch personnel had vacated.

The compound consisted of two rows of side rooms, front and back. Yan Qing and Murong were assigned to the right room of the second row. This room had a rear window that, when opened, looked directly out over a vast strawberry field—an endless expanse of vivid green, and even the air carried a faint sweetness.

Yan Qing washed her face and fell asleep almost immediately. Exhaustion carried her through until morning—she didn’t even hear Murong boiling water.

Murong had lit a small stove outside, with a copper kettle heating briskly over the flame.

Shi Ting came in carrying a waxed-paper bag, his dog Jianguo trotting along behind him.

Murong saw him and stood up quickly, giving her hands a light wipe on her trousers. “Director Shi.”

“Yan Qing not up yet?” Shi Ting glanced toward the window.

“Miss is exhausted—she hasn’t stirred yet.”

“Then don’t disturb her.” He handed the waxed-paper bag to Murong. “Here’s breakfast for both of you. If I haven’t returned by midday, go to the neighbor’s house and ask for something to eat—I’ll settle the payment with them separately.”

The area was mostly strawberry farmers and small shopkeepers, and there wasn’t a single restaurant to be found in all of Wenshan County.

By the time Shi Ting had gone, it was midday when Yan Qing finally woke. Having slept her fill and breathing in the sweet country air, the exhaustion had been fully shed, and her energy was restored.

She pushed open the window beside her and looked out at the broad strawberry field—small pale white blossoms dotting the plants, their faint fragrance drifting on the breeze.

She could already imagine what it would look like when the strawberries ripened—a sea of bright red fruit stretching to the horizon, and the figures of people moving busily among the rows.

Life ought to be this ordinary and peaceful. But the thought of the ten members of the Xu family, dead so violently, pressed against her chest like cotton, heavy and suffocating.

What kind of brutality must the killer possess—to spare not even a paralyzed invalid confined to bed, not even an infant in a cradle, not even the children with all their innocence and wonder?

Was it a compulsion to kill, or deep and abiding hatred?

“Miss.” Murong brought in a bowl of hot porridge. “I asked for it from the neighbor’s—freshly made pumpkin porridge.”

It was the lean season between harvests, and the farmers’ stores held little more than some pumpkins and potatoes.

The crops here grew according to strict seasonal rhythms. In Shun Cheng, plants flowered in spring and ripened in summer or autumn. In winter, when the cold froze the ground solid, the farmers rested at home or went out to find day labor.

Here, there were no out-of-season foods, no growth accelerants, no ripening agents, no feed additives.

Wenshan County’s farmers sold their strawberries in summer; the money from those strawberries was their sole support for the entire year.

Yan Qing and Murong ate their simple meal. By evening, Shi Ting and his team had still not returned.

Thinking about how they had been running around all day without so much as a warm meal, Yan Qing asked Murong to borrow a large pot from the neighbor, and also to ask for some aged rice, potatoes, and pumpkin.

When Shi Ting returned, the smell of food reached him even before he opened the gate.

Bai Jin sniffed the air. “Strange—that smell seems to be coming from our courtyard.”

“You’re not mistaken—it is our courtyard.” Zheng Yun pushed the gate open.

“Our courtyard? Don’t tell me we have a fairy godmother hiding inside?”

Shi Cheng laughed heartily. “You’ve been reading too many folk tales. It’s not even dark yet—what kind of fairy godmother appears before nightfall? It’s just Miss Yan and Miss Murong inside.”

Zheng Yun came face to face with Murong, who smiled and said, “The food is ready. Everyone wash up and eat.”

The Military Police Division had split into three teams that day: Zheng Yun’s team conducted house-to-house canvassing; Bai Jin’s team conducted a survey of the scene and surrounding area; and Shi Ting had gone to look into Xu Yongfu’s personal connections, hoping to untangle the mystery of the missing patch of skin.

But a full day of hard work had yielded no leads of value—only exhaustion that had settled into every limb, and stomachs growling with hunger. In that moment, nothing could relieve fatigue better than a hot meal.

When Shi Ting came through the front courtyard, Yan Qing was sitting in her wheelchair with a thick book resting on her lap, the stove beside her sending up steam that carried the fragrance of the food.

He stopped where he stood, drawn by that simple scene, unable to look away. A phrase rose and repeated in his mind: the quiet beauty of time passing peacefully.

Yan Qing seemed to sense his gaze and looked up from the page.

A crowd of people swept in all at once, blocking Shi Ting from view.

By the time they scattered, Shi Ting had already moved to her side. He glanced first at the steaming stove. “You made this?”

“Murong and I made it together.” Yan Qing closed the book. “Whenever everyone is here, we can eat.”

Someone fetched stools, someone else brought out bowls and chopsticks, and soon everyone had gathered noisily around the pot—like a group of children clutching their bowls, waiting eagerly for the meal to be served.

Murong ladled rice for everyone first, then placed a portion of potato and pumpkin stew in each bowl.

Meat was out of the question at this point—there were no refrigerators yet in Wenshan County, and electricity had only recently arrived, and was not dependable; many households still used oil lamps.

“Delicious.” Bai Jin put a spoonful of rice in his mouth and couldn’t help giving a thumbs up. “Miss Yan’s cooking is exceptional.”

The others chimed in with genuine praise—no flattery, but real admiration that Yan Qing had coaxed such extraordinary flavor from such simple ingredients.

“Miss Yan, what’s your secret?” one young officer asked curiously. “I’ve never tasted potatoes this good at any restaurant.”

Yan Qing glanced at Shi Ting beside her—he was putting a piece of potato into his mouth, chewing with evident enjoyment.

She smiled softly and said, “No great secret. I just pan-fried the potatoes in lard before putting them in the pot.”

The young officer looked as though he had received a great gift. “I have to tell my wife this.”

Bai Jin ribbed him from the side. “First, you need to have a wife.”

The young officer, Xiao Wen, flushed red. “I will, sooner or later.”

“So tell us—what kind of wife are you looking for?” Bai Jin dangled his chopsticks in his mouth with a grin.

Xiao Wen stole a glance at Yan Qing, then dropped his head in embarrassment. “I hope she’s as beautiful, smart, and good at cooking as Miss Yan. But—I’m not talking about Miss Yan herself, please don’t misunderstand.”

“Whether we misunderstand or not is one thing—what matters is whether Seventh Brother misunderstands.” Bai Jin raised an eyebrow at Shi Ting.

Xiao Wen rushed to explain himself. “Director, I was only using a comparison—I wouldn’t presume to aim so high as Miss Yan.”

Shi Ting had been eating in silence. Upon hearing their exchange, he quietly set down his bowl. Bai Jin, seeing that his expression was calm yet carried the charged stillness before a storm, immediately shrank back.

Shi Ting looked at Bai Jin. “You two—go wash the dishes, clean up the yard, and report to the front courtyard for a meeting in ten minutes.”

The two officers rose immediately, acknowledged the order, and bustled off to wash the dishes.

Once everyone had dispersed, Shi Ting turned to Yan Qing and said, “They always like to banter and tease. Don’t take anything they said to heart.”

In truth, Yan Qing had felt a little awkward just now—but hearing Shi Ting’s words, she generously shook her head. “It’s fine. I know it was just a joke.”

After the meal, everyone gathered in the front courtyard for a briefing, each reporting the day’s findings.

Wenshan County was small and remote, and the villagers lived scattered across the area. Zheng Yun and his team had spent the entire day canvassing and had only managed to visit a few dozen households.

Zheng Yun opened a notebook and said, “The Xu family ran a pharmacy in the Wenshan County market district. Our investigation found it to be the largest pharmacy in the county, dealing in both Chinese and Western medicines—including several categories of prescription drugs that can only be obtained at hospitals.”

“A pharmacy in a small county town selling prescription drugs from major hospitals—what was this Xu family’s background?”

—