“No. We refuse to allow the autopsy.”

“That’s right — we refuse.”

Hu Zaiquan, who moments ago had stepped outside to discuss the matter with his family, now announced their decision by shouting it from the courtyard.

Hu Zaiquan’s family was in an uproar. Bamboo Pole was trying to talk them down, but he was outnumbered, and his voice was quickly swallowed by the noise.

“What’s happening?” Shi Ting set his equipment case to one side.

Bai Jin said: “Hu Zaiquan turned on us fast. One moment he was asking us to deliver justice for his son, and the next he’s refusing the autopsy.”

“I think the problem is his wife,” Yan Qing said, looking at the rough-clothed woman standing behind Hu Zaiquan.

Shi Ting took Bamboo Pole’s megaphone. “Enough. Everyone stop.”

There was a natural authority in his voice. At his shout, the courtyard fell quiet.

“Hu Zaiquan. Why are you refusing the autopsy?”

Hu Zaiquan first glanced at his wife, then opened his mouth. “Autopsy means cutting open the body and splitting the skull. Afterward, I’ve heard, they piece you back together into fragments and put you in a bag. Country people like us believe in dying whole. If you carve my son apart like that, how is he supposed to rest in peace?”

Yan Qing listened, then wheeled her chair to Shi Ting’s side.

“Fellow villager,” she said, her voice calm and gentle, “I am the forensic examiner responsible for the autopsy. I can tell you honestly — while an autopsy does disturb the body, careful suturing is always performed afterward. I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to restore the body as close to its original state as possible.” Her tone was soft and measured, making it impossible to respond with anger.

“That’s still cutting him open,” said Hu Zaiquan’s wife. “It’s disrespectful to the dead.”

Yan Qing looked at her for a moment, then turned and lifted the sheet covering Hu Sizhu. His abdomen was a mass of blood. A length of intestine, stained dark with blood and matted with dead grass and leaves, lay exposed outside his body.

“Hu Sizhu sustained only this one wound,” Yan Qing said, her gaze precise and unflinching. “Because the blade did not strike a vital organ, it would not have killed him instantly.” She paused. “Your son died of blood loss after enduring tremendous pain. That process may have taken ten minutes. It may have taken thirty. I believe that throughout those minutes, he wanted to live. The only thing he has left to tell us is this body. It is the one truth he can still offer us.”

Hu Zaiquan stared at his son’s ravaged body. Tears began to fall.

Yan Qing covered the body again. “You speak of resting in peace — but you don’t even know how he died, or who killed him. How can he rest in peace if his death goes unanswered? He cannot.”

Nearby, someone spoke up: “That’s right, Second Aunt. If a person dies wrongfully, their spirit can’t be reborn.”

Hu Zaiquan and his wife exchanged a look. Their two remaining sons added: “Father, Mother — stop being stubborn. What matters now is finding whoever killed Sizhu. He wouldn’t want to die without justice.”

While Hu Zaiquan was still wavering, Shi Ting said in a cold, even tone: “Under the laws of Shun Cheng, we are authorized to conduct an autopsy on any body with an unclear cause of death, even without the family’s consent. In other words, whether or not you sign, Hu Sizhu will be autopsied. If you continue to obstruct a Military Police investigation, you may be detained for interfering with official duties.”

At the word “detained,” both Hu Zaiquan and his wife went pale.

Yan Qing and Shi Ting had played their roles well — one gentle, one firm — and Hu Zaiquan relented. “Fine, I’ll sign. Are you happy now?”

He signed the autopsy authorization form. Bai Jin cleared the onlookers out of the courtyard.

“Sit down.” Shi Ting indicated a wooden chair in the courtyard. Hu Zaiquan sat, visibly shaken.

“Why didn’t Hu Sizhu come home last night?”

Hu Zaiquan said: “My mother was buried yesterday. The house was in chaos — I had enough on my hands. He stays out all the time, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What time was the burial?”

“Noon. Twelve o’clock.”

“Was Hu Sizhu present?”

“He was.”

“Did Hu Sizhu have any enemies?”

Hu Zaiquan looked uncomfortable. He opened his mouth and then seemed unsure how to begin.

Shi Ting’s gaze was steady. “At a time like this, if you hold anything back, whoever killed your son will walk free.”

“All right, all right.” Hu Zaiquan licked his dry, cracked lips. His head dropped with what seemed like shame. “Sizhu, that child… I think his grandmother spoiled him rotten from when he was small. Twenty-two years old and not a stable job to his name — every day running around with loafers, drinking, gambling, and worse.”

“Has he been in trouble with the law before?”

“He has. Settled out of court with money.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Hu Zaiquan’s face reddened. “That… a violation. Against a woman.”

Shi Ting frowned.

“Who was the victim?”

“The widow Liu in the village.”

“Anyone else?”

Hu Zaiquan’s face grew redder still. “That boy, he had wandering hands with women — whenever he saw a pretty one, he liked to grab and grope. Sometimes if he spotted a girl out alone on the road, he’d drag her off into the cornfields… Though the only time it went all the way was with Widow Liu. The others were just petty harassment. When families came to us, we paid them off. When they didn’t come, it was left alone.”

“Do you recognize this cloth strip?” Shi Ting held up an evidence bag.

“That’s a ritual offering strip. Every small shop in the village sells them.”

“Did your family use strips like this during the funeral yesterday?”

Hu Zaiquan shook his head. “Those are for ancestor worship — you don’t use them at a funeral. And these strips look brand new. They were probably just bought.”

“What do you mean by ‘worship’?”

“The Ghost Festival. Twice a year — the fifteenth day of the seventh month and the fifteenth of the tenth month. The tenth month fifteenth hasn’t come yet, but the shops have already started putting the strips out for sale.”

After Hu Zaiquan left, Bai Jin said: “On the way here, I did notice quite a few shops selling these red strips. I also had a look at the ones on the grave mounds — they were all old and faded. So the fresh strips scattered near the body must have come from somewhere else.”

“Hu Zaiquan is right — the Ghost Festival isn’t for several more days. So why would the victim have bought new ritual strips? If they didn’t belong to the victim, they were brought to the scene by the killer.”

“Why would the killer bring ritual strips to a crime scene?”

“I have a theory, but I need Yan Qing’s autopsy report to confirm it.”

Shi Ting checked his watch. “The autopsy report is a while away. Let’s walk through the village in the meantime.”

“Are we going to see that Widow Liu?”

“Yes.”

Bai Jin had pictured Widow Liu as a young and attractive woman. He was not prepared for a middle-aged woman in her fifties — slight in build, with rough skin and dull, unfocused eyes.

Bai Jin: …

What was Hu Sizhu’s taste?

“Is this Liu Dajie?” Shi Ting asked.

Widow Liu was sitting in her courtyard shelling corn. She looked up at the two men for a moment, then lowered her head again. “That’s me. Something the matter?”

“Do you know Hu Sizhu?”

“I know him.” Widow Liu’s expression was flat and unreadable. Golden kernels fell one by one from her hands. “What’s he done now — gotten himself into trouble again?”

Bai Jin and Shi Ting exchanged a glance. This was not quite the reaction they had expected.

“Hu Sizhu is dead,” Bai Jin said.

“Oh. Dead, is he.” Widow Liu didn’t even pause in her shelling. “Good. Serves him right — all he ever did was prey on young girls. If no one did him in, heaven would’ve taken him sooner or later.”

“We understand there was a certain… matter… between you and him…”

“Phah.” Widow Liu hurled her corn cob with considerable force. Bai Jin jumped back just in time and barely dodged it.

“I’m sorry — I didn’t mean anything by it,” Bai Jin said hastily, backing away.

“I’m a widow,” Widow Liu said. “What’s wrong with finding someone to spend a night with? Is that against the law?”

Bai Jin: …

“It’s not against the law. Not at all,” Bai Jin said with a pained smile. “We were actually just wondering — did Hu Sizhu have any enemies?”

“Plenty of them. Over the years he dragged more than a few girls into those cornfields. Every one of their parents is an enemy of his.”

“Could you tell us who they are?”

“And why should I tell you anything? Are you going to shell my corn for me?”

Widow Liu gave a dismissive sniff and looked back down at her work.

Bai Jin crouched beside her. “Liu Dajie, what would it take for you to talk to us?”

Widow Liu’s eyes traveled over the mountain-sized pile of corn. “When I’ve finished shelling all of this, I’ll tell you.”

“That much? It’ll be nightfall before we’re done.”

“Then you’ll just have to wait.” Widow Liu said it with complete confidence. “Let me tell you — when it comes to the affairs of this village, nobody knows more than me. What I don’t know, you won’t get out of the whole village even if you ask every last person.”

Whether or not this was true, Shi Ting decided to take the gamble.

“You stay here and help Liu Dajie shell the corn.” Shi Ting looked at Bai Jin with an expression that said everything else without words.

Bai Jin’s face fell. He let out an inward howl of protest — Why me, why, why? — but however much he raged, the waiting pile of corn was unmoved, and so were Widow Liu’s eyes, roving over him with uncomfortable appreciation.

Shi Ting spent the next while interviewing several more households around the village. When he returned to the old mill, Yan Qing was still in the middle of suturing. The fading light of the setting sun came through the window and fell across her flawless, fair features.

“I’m back.” Shi Ting came up behind her wheelchair and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“Stop that.” Yan Qing quickly raised her suturing needle out of the way. “I’m closing a wound — don’t make me stab you.”

He pressed his face against her hair at the temple. “You keep suturing. Don’t mind me.”

“How am I supposed to work like this?” Yan Qing said, exasperated. “Even Director Shi doesn’t know where to draw the line between public duty and private life?”

Shi Ting reluctantly released her and came around to her side. “Anything to report?”

—