Foggy Hollow Village fell under the jurisdiction of Wenshan County, nestled deep in a mountain basin at the southernmost reaches of the region.

The village earned its name for good reason: surrounded on all sides by mountains, it sat like water settled at the bottom of a cup. Dense jungle crowded in from every direction, the climate perpetually damp, and out of every three hundred and sixty-five days, more than two hundred were blanketed in thick fog.

When the fog was at its heaviest, two people standing face to face could barely make out each other’s features.

The village seemed to hide within the mist, appearing and vanishing like a ghost — and so Foggy Hollow Village had come to be called just that.

Yan Qing had once visited a famous city of fog — modern-day London — but the mist there was child’s play compared to what Foggy Hollow produced.

By the time their group arrived, it was already four in the afternoon, and the village’s characteristic fog had begun to rise. At first the mist was thin and pale, but within half an hour it had thickened into a dense wall. The vehicles crawled along the pitted road, visibility dropping to less than a meter ahead.

Driving in such conditions was undeniably dangerous. If a pedestrian stepped into the road, a driver would have no time to react.

In the interest of safety, Shi Ting decided to leave both vehicles parked on a patch of open ground at the roadside, and the group continued on foot.

After half an hour of feeling their way through the fog, the ever-energetic Jianguo suddenly let out a volley of barks. From somewhere deep in the heavy mist came answering barks — it seemed that after all this distance, there were finally homes ahead.

Jianguo wagged his tail and circled Yan Qing’s wheelchair several times, as though showing off his achievement.

Bai Jin shot him a sideways look. “You’re the very definition of a bootlicker, you little mutt.”

Jianguo bared his teeth at Bai Jin, though the effect was entirely lacking in menace.

Yan Qing laughed and reached out to gently pat his head.

Foggy Hollow Village was not large. According to the household register provided by the Wenshan County magistrate, the village contained forty-six households and a population of one hundred and two. After accounting for those who had gone to work in the county seat or larger cities, perhaps sixty or seventy people remained.

Finding a hunter among sixty or seventy people should not have been a difficult task.

But what surprised the group was the silence that greeted them as they entered the village — an eerie, unsettling silence.

The houses lining both sides of the street varied in height and age, some new, some old, but all shared one feature: every gate was shut tight, every courtyard wall standing high.

Earlier there had been a few barks from dogs. Now even those had gone quiet.

Although it was not yet dark, the dense fog had swallowed the entire village whole, and beneath that fog lay an atmosphere of deathly stillness. It felt less like entering a village and more like stepping into a ruin, a ghost town, a place touched by something wrong.

Bai Jin looked around warily, a chill creeping up his spine. “Why is there absolutely no movement here? It’s terrifying — you don’t think this is a dead village, do you?”

“There were dog barks just now,” Zheng Yun said. “There must be people inside.”

Bai Jin ducked behind Zheng Yun. “Brother Shi Zhi, do you think a horde of zombies might suddenly appear and surround us, until we end up becoming zombies ourselves?”

Zheng Yun gave him a look of pure disdain. “You’ve been listening to too many folk tales. Where would zombies come from? This is a living village.”

It was simply that for some reason, the village had fallen into this dead quiet, every door closed and bolted — as though the inhabitants were hiding from something.

From the moment they entered, Shi Ting had positioned himself at Yan Qing’s side, barely moving a step away. The fog was too thick; half a meter of distance could mean losing someone entirely.

“Is everyone here?” Shi Ting asked, his voice low and steady.

He waited for the group to answer before continuing. “Find a household and knock. Ask about the situation — and find out when this fog usually lifts.”

Zheng Yun nodded and turned his gaze to the left, where a red door missing most of its paint stood in the mist.

He strode over and knocked.

A few barks came from inside, but no one responded.

Zheng Yun glanced at Shi Ting. Shi Ting gestured for him to keep knocking.

This time, Zheng Yun knocked while calling out: “Neighbor, please open up. We’ve come from Shun Cheng on an investigation — we got turned around in the fog. Could we trouble you for a drink of water?”

After a long pause, the sound of quiet footsteps came from within, followed by the scrape of a bolt being drawn. A pair of watchful eyes peered through the narrow gap.

Zheng Yun quickly said, “Good day, neighbor. We’re with the military police — we mean no harm.”

He held up his identification. “We’re all officers.”

The person studied his credentials, then looked the group up and down. Seeing that Zheng Yun had a decent face and spoke politely, she finally removed the second bolt and said in a low voice, “Come in.”

It was an ordinary small courtyard. The woman who had opened the door was middle-aged, dressed in plain blue cotton clothes with a blue-checked cloth wrapped around her head.

A dog was tied near its kennel in the yard, and when it spotted Jianguo, it began to bark enthusiastically. Jianguo bounded over, and the two launched into a lively duet of barking.

The woman led everyone into the house, then carefully shut the door behind them.

“Sister, why is there no one around in this village?” Bai Jin looked around the modest room. “Are you here alone?”

“My husband works in Shun Cheng. He comes back once a year. My child is young — sleeping in the back room.” The farmwoman said, “Today is the fifteenth of the fourth month. Everyone stays indoors with their doors shut on this day.”

“The fifteenth of the fourth month — what’s special about that?”

The woman hesitated, then turned to retrieve some cups and poured water for everyone.

“Are you — are you really officers?”

Bai Jin tapped the badge on his cap. “Genuine article.”

The farmwoman let out a long sigh. “Every year on the fifteenth of the fourth month, something strange and terrible happens in this village. It’s been two years running now.”

“Strange and terrible?” The group exchanged glances.

“Our Foggy Hollow Village backs up against Huai Mountain,” the woman said. “Three years ago, a Huai Mountain shrine appeared on that mountain out of nowhere. Ever since that shrine was built, something terrible has happened in this village on every fifteenth of the fourth month. Last year, on the fifteenth of the fourth month, the village chief’s eldest son suddenly went mad — first he swung a cleaver and slashed his own family members, then he hacked through his own neck. The sight of it was horrifying. The year before, on the same date, Old Li from the east end of the village also suddenly went mad and mutilated himself. When he was found, only a thin layer of skin held his neck together. The villagers all say it’s the mountain spirit from that shrine stirring up trouble, so offerings have been constant these past few years. Now the fifteenth has come around again, and no one knows what horror might visit us this time — so every family has locked themselves inside and won’t go out.”

The group listened in stunned silence. None of them had expected this fog-shrouded village to have seen such horrors.

Shi Ting asked, “Was this Huai Mountain shrine built by the villagers?”

The farmwoman shook her head. “After someone discovered the shrine, the villagers asked around everywhere. There aren’t many people here to begin with, and after making the rounds, it became clear that none of the villagers had built it. Someone suggested tearing it down — others were against the idea — and then on the fifteenth of the fourth month that year, something happened at the village chief’s home. His eldest son hacked himself to death.”

“Were you present when it happened?”

The memory still shook her. “I had just come back from the mountain when I heard someone had died, so I ran over to look. There were villagers crowded outside the chief’s house, and from inside came sounds of wailing. Someone said the chief’s eldest son, Da Zhu, had suddenly gone mad, grabbed a kitchen cleaver, and wounded his mother with it — then he cut through his own neck. When I looked, Da Zhu’s neck was almost completely severed. Only a bit of skin was still holding it together. The courtyard was drenched in blood — it had sprayed everywhere.”

The farmwoman did not appear to be lying. Even recounting the story now, her expression was full of lingering horror and dread.

Yan Qing asked, “Did Da Zhu have any mental illness?”

“I never heard of him having any mental illness. His temper was something else, though — he’d fly into a rage over the smallest thing. The villagers all kept their distance. When he lost his temper, his eyes would go wide as bells, and the punches he threw were like iron.”

Yan Qing had encountered several cases of self-inflicted cleaver attacks. In one, an ordinary housewife had sent her child off to school in the morning and gone to the market afterward, prepared the ingredients for that evening’s meal at home — a neighbor had even seen her hanging bedsheets on the balcony to dry. When her husband came home that evening, he found her lying beside the bed, her neck nearly severed, a kitchen cleaver still in her hand. After he called the police, investigators determined that no outsiders had entered the home, and no second person had been present when it happened. Based on the autopsy and scene analysis, the victim had swung the cleaver herself — and she had been diagnosed with intermittent explosive disorder.

Self-inflicted cleaver attacks were an extreme and bloody method of suicide. Those who chose such a means typically had severe underlying psychiatric conditions.

Whether Da Zhu had any mental illness could not be determined simply by taking the farmwoman at her word.

“You also mentioned an Old Li just now. Was his situation the same as Da Zhu’s?”

“Old Li was the village barber,” the farmwoman said. “Lazy by nature, and not particularly skilled. On the day it happened — also a fifteenth of the fourth month evening — a neighbor heard strange noises coming from his house and climbed up to peer over the wall. What he saw was Old Li standing in the middle of his courtyard, hacking away at himself like a madman. It only took a few swings before he cut his own head off. That bloody head dropped from his neck and rolled all the way to the front gate.”

“You saw this yourself?”

“The neighbor saw it with his own eyes. He’s the one who told me.” The farmwoman added, “I went over to have a look afterward and saw Old Li’s severed head myself.”

The farmwoman did not seem to be fabricating any of it, but the fact that someone self-mutilated with a cleaver every year on the fifteenth of the fourth month was deeply unsettling.

“There must be something stirring in that mountain shrine,” the farmwoman sighed. “I fear this village is done for.”

“If you all believe it’s the mountain shrine causing trouble, why not simply tear it down?” Bai Jin suggested.

“That can’t be done — we can’t!” the farmwoman said, waving her hands quickly. “Some people in the village did suggest it. Someone even tried to go up the mountain to demolish it, but they fell suddenly ill halfway up the trail and tumbled into a ravine — nearly died. The ones who proposed the idea all came down with serious illnesses too, and it took months of recovery before they got better. After that, no one has dared breathe a word about tearing the shrine down.”

Bai Jin hurriedly clapped a hand over his own mouth.

Zheng Yun gave a quiet snort. “You’re not from this village. What are you worried about?”

“Sister.” Shi Ting glanced at his watch. “You said the incidents always happen in the evening on the fifteenth of the fourth month. Looking at the hour now, the village seems perfectly quiet. Perhaps the last two times were simply a coincidence.”

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