Following the direction of Bamboo Pole’s finger, on the gentler slope of the hillside, there was indeed a small cemetery. Scattered across the grave mounds were paper offerings and fruit and food left for the dead.

Bamboo Pole said: “Old Hu from the village came up the mountain today to hunt. When he passed by here, something caught his eye. He went over to look — and nearly dropped dead from fright.”

Old Hu’s luck had been poor to begin with. After the busy harvest season, he had come up the mountain to hunt wild pheasants. Three days running, not so much as a shadow of a bird.

Early that morning, before dawn, he decided to go check on the nets he had laid the day before — a large mesh made specifically for catching birds, designed so that any bird or pheasant flying into it would not escape.

As Old Hu passed the graveyard on the hillside, he instinctively glanced in its direction. In the dim, murky light, there seemed to be a figure crouching among the graves.

It was still dark out, the surroundings utterly still. Stumbling across a figure like that gave even a man of Old Hu’s nerve a jolt of fright.

He steeled himself and called out. The figure didn’t move. He was inclined to leave it alone, but curiosity pushed him forward a few steps.

By the time he drew near, the sky had begun to lighten slightly. In that faint glow, he could make out the shape crouching amid the graves.

The figure’s lower half was buried in the earth. His upper body was slumped across a headstone, blood at the corners of his mouth, eyes staring wide open. He was dead.

Bamboo Pole had posted reliable guards to protect the scene. They had cordoned it off with rope and branches, creating a clear perimeter. Combined with Bai Jin’s instruction to keep the matter quiet, only a handful of onlookers had gathered, allowing the scene to be well preserved.

Bai Jin entered first to collect any useful traces. He had expected the scene to be largely intact and hoped for good findings — only to discover a chaotic mess of footprints, large and small, overlapping in every direction.

Bamboo Pole scratched his head. “Yesterday, Old Hu Zaiquan’s mother passed away. A lot of people came to help with the burial.”

Most of the villagers in Xiqian Village shared the surname Hu. Given how the family lines overlapped, nearly everyone could claim some degree of kinship.

Bai Jin deflated visibly. He waved a hand. “Brother Seven, come in. The scene’s a write-off — not much to work with.”

The best-laid plans come to nothing. All that effort to protect the scene had been for nothing.

Shi Ting and Yan Qing stepped into the cemetery. The body propped against the headstone was visible at once.

The victim’s lower half was buried in a dug-out pit, his upper body slumped forward over a grave marker. From a distance, he looked exactly like a corpse clawing its way up from the earth.

“Do you recognize the deceased?” Shi Ting crouched down and turned the victim’s head to face them.

Bamboo Pole didn’t dare get too close. He stretched his neck from a distance, and when he caught a clear look at the victim’s face, he let out a sudden cry: “Isn’t that Hu Sizhu?”

“You know him well?”

“Hu Sizhu is Hu Zaiquan’s youngest son — in his early twenties. His grandmother was just buried yesterday, and now he’s dead too.”

At the edge of the pit, Shi Ting noticed a series of narrow, diamond-shaped marks. He picked up a magnifying glass and examined them carefully. “This pit was dug with a dagger or similar bladed implement.”

“A dagger?” Bai Jin had never heard of anyone digging a burial pit with a dagger before. It would take half a day to dig a hole large enough for a grown person.

“Look here — the walls of the pit are freshly cut. The killer must have intended to bury the body, but lacking proper tools, abandoned the effort halfway through. That’s why Hu Sizhu is only half in the ground.” Shi Ting dusted off his gloves. “Go check the perimeter — Yan Qing and I will examine the body.”

Shi Ting and Bai Jin brought over an iron shovel. Working together, they dug Hu Sizhu out of the ground.

Yan Qing leaned forward, lifted the victim’s eyelids, then pried open his mouth.

“There’s a fresh wound here.” Shi Ting pointed to Hu Sizhu’s abdomen.

“Open the clothing and take a look.”

Hu Sizhu was wearing a grey-black, front-opening thin padded jacket over an earth-yellow coarse wool sweater, with a white undershirt beneath. His lower half was dressed in black trousers and a pair of thick-soled cloth shoes. He wore no socks — his feet were bare.

Shi Ting removed all of the victim’s clothing. The blood-soaked undershirt and sweater were set aside in a pile.

On the victim’s abdomen there was one unmistakable wound. A bloodied length of intestine protruded from just below the rib cage, the exposed section coated in dirt and dead leaves.

“It appears the victim sustained only this one open wound on his body,” Yan Qing said. “This is most likely the cause of death, though a definitive conclusion will have to wait until after the autopsy.”

“Time of death?”

Yan Qing glanced at her watch, then gestured for Shi Ting to hand her the rectal thermometer. “The victim’s corneal opacity is advanced. Lividity has reached the infiltration stage. Combined with the victim’s rectal temperature, the estimated time of death is approximately nine o’clock last evening.”

“What?” Bamboo Pole called out from outside the perimeter. “He didn’t die today?”

“Brother Seven, over here.” Bai Jin was standing beneath a tree not far away, beckoning.

When Shi Ting and Yan Qing approached, Bai Jin pointed at the tree trunk: “Look at this. There’s blood here. I believe this is where the victim was killed.”

Beneath the tree lay several drops of blood, fallen onto dry leaves.

“These are drip stains,” Yan Qing said. “The victim’s trousers and the tops of his shoes have similar marks.”

Bai Jin asked: “Does this establish it as the primary scene?”

Yan Qing nodded. “Drip stains require a certain height to form. Based on the size of the drops and the victim’s height, he was standing here when he was stabbed. Blood welled from the wound and dripped onto his clothing and the ground below. Additionally, the victim shows no defensive wounds — he offered no resistance when he was attacked.”

“He looks like a strong, able-bodied young man. Even if the attacker struck without warning, you’d expect some kind of struggle. Was he just… willing to be killed?”

Shi Ting had been searching through the surrounding brush. He drew out several short strips of red cloth. “Look at these — the torn ends are fresh. They were cut by a blade.”

He turned the strips over. On the reverse side were several dark smears.

“That looks like blood,” Yan Qing said.

“These red cloth strips are everywhere,” Bai Jin noted, gesturing at the surrounding grave mounds. “Look — nearly every grave has some.”

Bamboo Pole had sharp ears. From his distance, he waved over and called out: “Those are ritual cloth strips. People tie them to branches and stick them into the grave mounds as offerings.”

“Bag them up,” Shi Ting said, collecting the strips and placing them in an evidence bag.

After finishing at the scene, Bamboo Pole called over several villagers. Together they carried Hu Sizhu’s body down the slope.

Xiqian Village was a considerable distance from the Military Police headquarters — the round trip alone would take half a day. Calling witnesses and suspects in at will was not practical, so the group agreed to set up a temporary working base here. The autopsy would be conducted in the abandoned mill at the back of the village committee compound.

“Bring Hu Zaiquan in. Have him come identify the body.” Bai Jin clapped Bamboo Pole on the shoulder. “Give him a little warning first so the shock isn’t too much.”

“Understood.” Bamboo Pole nodded, then let out a sigh. “Poor Hu Zaiquan — his mother just passed, and now his son too.”

Before long, Hu Zaiquan arrived with a woman and two young men. The woman was the deceased’s mother; the two young men were his older brothers.

Hu Sizhu had always been idle and often stayed out through the night, so when he hadn’t come home last evening, no one had thought much of it.

At midday, Hu Zaiquan had muttered in irritation: That little wretch — still not back at this hour. I don’t know where he’s gotten himself killed.

Little did Hu Zaiquan know that his words would prove prophetic. Hu Sizhu had indeed gotten himself killed.

From inside came the sound of wailing. Yan Qing understood — the family had arrived. She exchanged a glance with Shi Ting, who said: “Let’s go see.”

Hu Sizhu’s body lay on a table, covered with a worn bedsheet.

Hu Zaiquan and his wife lifted the sheet. A cry of anguish broke from them both.

“Sizhu — my Sizhu — what a terrible way to die!”

“Sizhu — how can your mother go on without you?”

Hu Zaiquan’s relatives and neighbors crowded around to offer comfort. Cries and shouts overlapped in the small courtyard, filling it with chaos.

In the end it was Bamboo Pole who stepped forward, raising a megaphone: “Everyone, please calm down. Please calm down.”

The noise gradually subsided.

Bamboo Pole said: “Director Shi of the Military Police has come personally to investigate this case. I believe Sizhu will not have died in vain. The one who killed him will be brought to justice soon.”

Hu Zaiquan dropped to his knees in front of Shi Ting. “Officer — my Sizhu died so horribly. Please, I beg you — catch whoever did this.”

Shi Ting took him by the arm and helped him to his feet. “This is the duty of the Military Police. There’s no need for that.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” Hu Zaiquan wiped at his eyes.

Shi Ting said: “In order to determine the exact cause of Hu Sizhu’s death, we must conduct an autopsy. If you consent, please sign the autopsy authorization form.”

“Autopsy?” Hu Zaiquan looked bewildered.

“Yes. An autopsy — examining the body to determine the cause of death.”

At that, Hu Zaiquan’s wife asked anxiously: “Will an autopsy tell us who killed our son?”

“An autopsy establishes the cause of death. Only when the cause of death is clear can we determine the direction of the investigation.”

Hu Zaiquan said: “Officer, may I discuss this with my family first?”

“Of course.” Shi Ting glanced at his watch. “You have ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” Hu Zaiquan took his wife and sons and stepped out of the courtyard.

Once Hu Zaiquan had gone, Shi Ting turned to Bai Jin: “I’ll go to the car and fetch Yan Qing’s equipment case. You go around the village and find out what you can about Hu Sizhu.”

“Yes, sir.” Bai Jin nodded.

Shi Ting walked out through the main gate to find a considerable crowd had already gathered outside. In a small village like this, even the slightest commotion drew out the entire community — to say nothing of a death.

“That Hu Sizhu — he had it coming,” someone muttered.

“Exactly. Too much evil catches up with you. Whoever did it was doing heaven’s work.”

Shi Ting swept his gaze across the crowd and walked on toward the village entrance.

When he returned with the equipment case, he could already hear a commotion outside the mill, with Bai Jin’s voice among them: “Everyone, please calm down — calm down!”

Shi Ting’s expression sharpened. He quickened his pace.

—