Yan Qing continued suturing without pausing. “The fatal wound is at the lower margin of the right costal arch. The wound penetrates deep into the abdominal cavity. Rupture of the pancreas, the abdominal aorta, and the vena cava led to hemorrhagic shock and death.”

Shi Ting frowned. “A single fatal strike.”

“The wound is rhombus-shaped, with one sharp edge and one blunt. The wound margins are clean, the wound channel smooth — consistent with a bladed weapon such as a dagger.”

Yan Qing set down the suturing needle and lifted the victim’s wrist. “After cleaning with alcohol, distinct banded subcutaneous hemorrhaging and superficial epidermal abrasion become visible.”

“Restraint marks?”

Yan Qing nodded. “The victim was bound at the wrists before death.”

“These, perhaps.” Shi Ting held up an evidence bag containing several strips of red cloth. If the victim had been tied with cloth strips before he died, that would explain the absence of any signs of struggle or resistance.

“I’ve already examined that strip you gave me,” Yan Qing said. “There is indeed blood on it, though I cannot yet confirm it belongs to the victim. The width of the strip is consistent with the width of the subcutaneous hemorrhaging on the victim’s wrists — it was most likely the binding instrument.”

Shi Ting considered this. “These strips only went on sale within the past few days. Every year around the fifteenth of the tenth month, nearly every household buys red cloth strips for the ancestral offerings. If these strips belong to the killer, he had already purchased them before going up the mountain — specifically to use as restraints.”

“The killer came prepared with a blade and cloth strips. This was premeditated — the target was Hu Sizhu.”

“There’s one thing I can’t work out.” Shi Ting’s brow creased slightly. “If the killer intended to murder the victim, why not drive the blade into his heart? Stabbing the abdomen is slow to take effect. For a premeditated killer, that doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s the part I find strange as well. Anyone with basic knowledge knows that a single killing blow should strike the heart. But the killer only stabbed the abdomen. Is it possible the killer didn’t intend to kill — only to hurt him as a lesson?”

Shi Ting shook his head. “If the killer only wanted to teach the victim a lesson, they wouldn’t have stayed and waited for him to die before attempting to bury the body. They would have stabbed him and fled immediately. Besides, if the goal was punishment, the legs or arms would serve that purpose — stabbing the abdomen, while not immediately fatal, will still kill without medical attention.”

“Here, look at this.” Yan Qing picked up an evidence bag from beside the removed clothing. “What do you make of this?”

Shi Ting saw two grains of rice in the bag — red in color. “Is that rice? Is the color from blood?”

“No, it isn’t blood, which is exactly why I found it strange,” Yan Qing said. “I found them in the victim’s pocket. Rice is white — these two grains have clearly been dyed. Why were they on the victim?”

“Red rice… perhaps they carry some significance.”

Shi Ting set down the evidence bag and pushed Yan Qing’s wheelchair over so she could wash her hands. He glanced at the darkening sky outside: “Looks like we won’t make it back tonight.”

The distance from Shun Cheng to Xiqian Village, there and back, was a journey of several hours. Summoning witnesses and suspects from this distance at a moment’s notice was impossible. To solve the case, they would need to camp here for the night.

Yan Qing smiled. “Does this count as overtime? Is there an allowance?”

“An allowance?” Shi Ting leaned over the armrests of her wheelchair, his handsome face coming very close to her nose. “What kind of allowance would Miss Yan like?”

“Whatever you think is fitting.”

He lowered his thin eyelids slightly. “Would offering myself be acceptable?”

“Whether Director Shi is willing to offer is one thing — I’d have to be willing to buy.”

“And are you?”

Yan Qing smiled and shook her head. “I’m not buying.”

“And if I insisted on making the sale?” He pressed his nose gently to hers, his warm breath sending color flooding into her cheeks.

“The Shun Cheng Municipal Code prohibits forced transactions,” Yan Qing said without the slightest retreat. “Would Director Shi knowingly break the law?”

Shi Ting smiled. The pad of his thumb, faintly roughened, pressed lightly against her soft lips. “Should I find some way to keep this eloquent little mouth of yours quiet?”

His knuckle traced slowly from her lips to her pointed chin, tilting it gently upward — drawing her slightly parted lips toward his own.

“Brother Seven.” Bai Jin came bounding in with impeccable timing. “Oh, my lord — I’m completely done in.”

Shi Ting had not yet released her, but Yan Qing had already slid her wheelchair back, putting distance between them.

“Brother Seven, look at my poor hands.” Bai Jin, entirely oblivious to the charged atmosphere, held up both hands pitifully to Shi Ting’s face. “Getting information out of that woman cost me blood, sweat, and charm.”

“Charm?” Yan Qing looked over with curiosity.

“Sister-in-law, you have no idea — that Widow Liu puts on a perfectly proper act while Brother Seven’s around. The second he left, her eyes started wandering all over me. If I hadn’t been on strict guard the whole time, my virtue would have been in serious jeopardy.”

Yan Qing couldn’t help but laugh. “That must have been very trying for you.”

“What did you find out?” Shi Ting asked, his tone dry — clearly still not entirely over the interruption.

“Plenty.” Bai Jin looked rather pleased with himself. “But this Hu Sizhu was truly despicable. According to Widow Liu, counting only the girls she could name, he assaulted more than twenty. The youngest was eight years old.”

“So many girls harassed, and not one family reported it?” Yan Qing found it hard to believe.

“That’s the village for you. Most families have three or four children, and there’s a deep-seated preference for boys. Girls are considered lesser from birth — even if they’re wronged, nobody does anything about it. And the families who did confront Hu Zaiquan weren’t really trying to get justice for their daughters. They were looking to squeeze money out of him.”

“There must have been some who weren’t in it for the money. Not every parent can be that cold-blooded toward their own daughter.”

Bai Jin produced a sheet of paper. “I’ve compiled all of this. Twenty-three girls in total.”

“That’s a manageable number to investigate,” Yan Qing said. “The concern is whether the families will cooperate.”

Shi Ting scanned the list from top to bottom. “Youngest, eight years old. Oldest, sixty-six. This Hu Sizhu truly had no standards whatsoever.”

“Brother Seven, do we head back to headquarters today?”

“Not today. Go tell the deputy village head — have him arrange somewhere for us to stay the night.”

“He’s right outside.” Bai Jin said. “Real helpful sort.”

When Bamboo Pole heard they intended to stay the night, he extended an enthusiastic invitation immediately. “There’s no inn in the village. If you don’t mind, you’re all welcome to stay at my place. I live alone.”

Bai Jin threw an arm around his shoulder. “Then we’ll be in your care.”

“No trouble at all. Our village committee doubles as the local public security post — it’s our duty to assist the Military Police.”

Bamboo Pole stood a little straighter as he said it.

Bamboo Pole was twenty-four years old. He’d had some schooling, and because his father was the village accountant, he had been brought into the village committee. Two years ago, the previous deputy village head had fallen into the reservoir while fishing and drowned, and Bamboo Pole had been put forward to replace him. He hadn’t even been in the post six months before a murder landed on his doorstep.

“Bamboo Pole, where’s your village head?” Bai Jin asked curiously. “All I’ve seen is you running back and forth managing everything.”

“The village head has fish ponds at home. He’s there working them every day — no time for village affairs.”

“A village head who doesn’t manage the village but tends his own fish ponds — what good is he?”

Bamboo Pole gave a good-natured smile. “Not much happens in a village this small. Whoever does it, it gets done.”

“Young men like you are a rare breed.”

As they talked, Bamboo Pole pointed ahead: “That’s my place there. My father had it built for me last year — my future wife’s house.”

“You’ve got the house, you’re the deputy village head — how come there’s no wife?”

Bamboo Pole smiled sheepishly. “There was one. Everything was arranged — she was about to move in. Then she ran off with some wealthy man from the city.”

Bai Jin was speechless.

“Come on in.” Bamboo Pole pushed open the courtyard gate.

It was a tidy little courtyard — open and uncluttered, with no chickens, ducks, pigs, or dogs. Just a handcart and a grain bin filled with corn.

Bamboo Pole hadn’t used a key. He simply pushed the door open. “Nobody really locks their doors around here. There are people all around, front and back. And there’s nothing worth stealing — only corn.”

“This is my room.” Bamboo Pole led the three of them into the south-facing room. Inside was a traditional brick bed, covered with thick bedding, and two folded blue-checkered cotton quilts stacked in the corner.

“This room isn’t usually occupied.” Through the central hall was a smaller room, which contained a brick bed, a wardrobe, and various odds and ends stacked on the floor.

Bai Jin shot a glance at his director and immediately slung an arm around Bamboo Pole’s shoulder: “Brother Bamboo Pole, what do you say — the two of us share a room tonight?”

Bamboo Pole made a startled sound and looked between Shi Ting and Yan Qing. “Well… I…”

“What are you worried about? Those two are practically married — they’ve had their horoscopes matched and the wedding date set. They’re already husband and wife in every sense that matters.”

“Is that so? Congratulations to Director Shi and Forensic Examiner Yan.”

Yan Qing smiled. “Thank you.”

Then she fixed Bai Jin with a sharp glare. Bai Jin stuck his tongue out cheekily and winked at his director.

Shi Ting found Bai Jin quite endearing at that moment, and the corner of his mouth curved upward despite himself.

“Oh, also — my uncle dropped off a carp earlier today. I’ll cook it for you tonight.” Bamboo Pole was brimming with hospitality. “I’ll go to my uncle’s and buy a chicken too.”

“No, no — we’ll make do with whatever is simple,” Bai Jin said quickly, waving him off.

“That won’t do at all. You’ve come a long way — I have to look after you properly.” Bamboo Pole said this while already rolling up his sleeves. “Rest a while, everyone. I’ll be right back.”

Shi Ting watched Bamboo Pole jog off, then turned to Bai Jin: “Give him money for food and lodging when we’re done. We’re not eating for free.”

“Understood, Brother Seven.”

Before long, Bamboo Pole returned carrying a rooster by the legs.

He retrieved a kitchen knife from the back, dispatched the bird with practiced efficiency, then set a pot of water to boil for plucking the feathers.

Yan Qing and the others didn’t stand idle — they all pitched in to help.

By dinnertime, a clay pot of braised carp and a dish of chicken stewed with mushrooms were set fresh on the table.

“It smells incredible.” Bai Jin inhaled deeply. “Bamboo Pole, I had no idea you could cook this well.”

Bamboo Pole looked mildly embarrassed. “Living alone, you either cook or go hungry. I was terrible at first, but after enough time you figure it out.”

He set out bowls and chopsticks for everyone, then poured white spirits for Bai Jin and Shi Ting. “You’re on a case, so no overindulging — just a small toast.”

“Deal.” Bai Jin raised his cup readily. “Whether or not this case gets solved, I’m counting you as a friend.”

The three men clinked cups. The sharp warmth of the spirits slid down their throats and the satisfaction of it was beyond words.

After a few rounds, Bai Jin clapped Bamboo Pole on the shoulder and handed him the sheet of paper from his pocket: “Brother, take a look at this list. Out of all these people, who would you say had the deepest grievance against Hu Sizhu?”

—