Night had fallen completely.
The front reading light was on inside the car, casting a dim, cold glow with a faint bluish tinge. Even on the elevated road, passing vehicles were rare. The tall, slender stalks of wild hemp surrounded the car in dense clusters, creating a profound sense of isolation from the world.
Yan Tuo held the manual injection syringe, turning it over repeatedly as he had been for some time. That village called Banya puzzled him—was it truly just his misfortune to stumble into a village of thieves? But if they were specifically targeting him…
It was absurd. He’d never been to that village before, and this was his first time visiting this city.
Nie Jiuluo sat silently beside him, occasionally reaching to fidget with the threaded bracelet on her left wrist, producing tiny metallic sounds as the rings scraped against each other.
The sound drew Yan Tuo’s attention. He glanced at her. “What do you do for a living?”
***
Yan Tuo had been somewhat lucky—though the old man had managed to insert the needle into his neck, he hadn’t had time to inject much of the solution, allowing Yan Tuo to maintain consciousness briefly. The most crucial thing had been to properly conceal himself and the vehicle; being caught by the villagers while unconscious on the road or being discovered by police would have been disastrous.
So after getting on the road, he had chosen remote paths without surveillance cameras, eventually selecting this wild hemp field—hemp being a tall crop capable of concealing the vehicle completely. After entering the field, he had deliberately made several turns before stopping in the deepest part.
Most drivers would be in a hurry, passing by quickly, and eighty percent wouldn’t notice there had been an “accident” here. Even if they did notice, few would be inclined to investigate. Those who did come to look would either be genuinely helpful or harbor ill intentions.
Initially, he’d thought he’d encountered a Good Samaritan. He’d kept Nie Jiuluo because she’d seen what she shouldn’t have, but thinking further, this passerby had appeared too many times.
Especially after he’d been attacked—she was the first to find him, and her behavior in the crisis was unexpected. While she had certainly gotten rid of Old Qian with an excuse, if she hadn’t acted so naturally, Old Qian wouldn’t have left so readily.
You can never truly know someone’s heart by their face—who knew if she wasn’t a dog sent by Banya Village to hunt him down?
Nie Jiuluo said, “I have Weibo on my phone, verified account, and WeChat too. They’re both there.”
She felt this Yan Tuo wasn’t truly vicious: a truly brutal person would have already disposed of them both with gunshots in the hemp field. Letting Old Qian go had been a relatively gentle signal.
Yan Tuo took out the phone, unlocked it with her face, and checked Weibo first.
Surprisingly, she was a sculptor with some renown, having several hundred thousand followers. Her Weibo was work-related, showcasing her pieces. Even as a layman, Yan Tuo could see her work had a distinct personal style—delicate yet bewitching, seemingly warm but with an underlying coolness, perfectly walking the line between conventional and avant-garde.
He clicked through the images one by one, occasionally zooming in. “You sculpted all these?”
Nie Jiuluo made an affirmative sound.
Yan Tuo pondered for a moment, then suddenly reached for Nie Jiuluo’s hand.
Nie Jiuluo started, instinctively pulling back, but was too slow. Yan Tuo’s fingertips traced from her palm across her fingertips, his touch extremely light, barely there, yet enough to make her forearm tingle slightly.
“Your hands aren’t rough. Sculpting is handwork—usually makes hands coarse.”
Nie Jiuluo slightly curled her hand, covering her palm. “With proper care and willing to spend money, hands don’t get too rough.”
That made sense—hands were a woman’s second face, and young women these days, if they could afford it, wouldn’t skimp on care.
Yan Tuo continued browsing Weibo. Sculpture was time-consuming work; she didn’t have many pieces. After just over ten pages, he’d reached posts from two years ago.
With verification and actual work, it would be hard to fake.
He commented, “Your sculptures are quite beautiful.”
He exited Weibo and opened WeChat. Nie Jiuluo’s brow twitched slightly, feeling her privacy invaded, but then thought there wasn’t much privacy to protect anyway.
Nie Jiuluo had many WeChat contacts, mostly work-related, along with housekeeping, delivery services, and beauty care providers. Yan Tuo’s quick scan revealed quite a bit: she had a live-in housekeeper called Sister Lu, whose last message from the previous week asked whether to boil or stir-fry the white shrimp; she had many flowers and trees in her yard, with a gardener visiting every two weeks to handle pest and leaf problems beyond normal people’s capability; and she had a piece that remained unfinished after three years, with Old Cai complaining, “Three years, aren’t you embarrassed to delay further? Childbirth is faster—could’ve had three or four kids by now.”
Yan Tuo thought Old Cai was quite precise in his statement, accounting for the possibility of twins in three years.
He was about to speak when the phone vibrated slightly with a new message.
It wasn’t a text or WeChat message. Returning to the main screen, he noticed she had a “burn after reading” app. Opening it, he saw a sender called “That Side,” with the message folded like an envelope, contents hidden.
Nie Jiuluo saw it too but remained silent.
Yan Tuo opened the message.
—Day Eight, paid respects to the third small golden idol, all is well.
After ten seconds, the message self-destructed, flames rising across the screen so realistically one could almost smell the smoke.
“Who’s this?”
Nie Jiuluo said, “A friend.”
“What kind of friend needs this burn-after-reading method instead of normal contact?”
Nie Jiuluo was irritated but held back, turning to Yan Tuo with a bright smile: “My boyfriend, who’s married, so we’re both careful about communication, trying not to leave records. He’s in the mountains these days paying respects to deities, guided by a master to worship golden idols for wealth. The mountains can be dangerous, so I have him report his safety daily—Mr. Yan, you wanted to chat, let’s focus on what’s important. Couldn’t we respect some personal privacy?”
Yan Tuo replied coolly, “You could’ve just said you’re the other woman, no need for such detail.”
Damn, wasn’t he the one who asked for an explanation? Nie Jiuluo asked directly, “You wanted to chat, we’ve chatted about everything. Are you satisfied? Can I go now?”
Yan Tuo remained impassive: “Miss Nie, we have no grudge between us, and I don’t want to harm you. But you’ve seen what you shouldn’t have, and I can’t feel safe letting you go.”
Nie Jiuluo answered quickly: “I’m just an ordinary person, I don’t want trouble. I haven’t seen anything, and I won’t talk about it.”
“How can you guarantee that?”
“I can write a statement.”
Yan Tuo said, “A written statement? If you break it, could I take you to court?”
Seeing that a written statement wouldn’t work, and swearing oaths would probably be useless too, Nie Jiuluo threw the ball back to him: “Then what do you want?”
Yan Tuo answered indirectly: “Miss Nie, sculpting takes quite a bit of time and effort, doesn’t it?”
Nie Jiuluo couldn’t guess his intention but made a noncommittal sound of agreement.
“Takes about half a year for one piece?”
“Depends on the situation, could be longer or shorter.”
“Makes good money?”
What, was he considering entering the field?
“Miss Nie, I haven’t decided what to do with you yet. How about this—stay at my place for a while, it won’t affect your work. After all, sculpting is sculpting, doesn’t matter where you do it, right?”
It took Nie Jiuluo a while to respond: “House arrest?”
“Don’t put it so harshly. After you finish sculpting, I’ll buy the piece—you’ve taken a commission, and earned money. I provide food, lodging, and pay you—I’m your benefactor, how could that be house arrest?”
Nie Jiuluo said sarcastically: “No contact with the outside world?”
“You artists often need seclusion for work focus, don’t you? No need for contact prevents distraction.”
Nie Jiuluo almost laughed in anger—this Yan was quite the smooth talker, spouting flowery words to make kidnapping and house arrest sound so refined and artistic.
“Mr. Yan, I’m the type that’s easy to invite but hard to send away.”
“No problem, I’m good at sending people away. If you’d like, I can send you west.”
With the threat of “sending west” now spoken, further argument would show poor judgment. Besides, this wasn’t a negotiation between equals. Nie Jiuluo leaned back against the seat, looking forward with indifference: “You have the gun, it’s your call.”
Yan Tuo glanced at her. She had turned her face away, even her profile radiating indifference. Her long eyelashes caught the faint overhead light, their tips gleaming.
Taking her along would be a burden.
But with her behavior, he couldn’t risk letting her go.
***
After leaving the hemp field, Yan Tuo drove around nearby and selected a family-run guesthouse.
He chose this place for its remote location and lack of business—calling it “lack of business” was generous; it had no guests at all. When they drove in, only the dog chained at the gate barked a few times.
The guesthouse itself was basic—a large courtyard with an iron gate in front and single-story buildings on the other three sides, forming an enclosure with parking in the middle.
Yan Tuo requested a room in the furthest corner.
Nie Jiuluo cooperated throughout—there was no possibility of calling for help here. The only person she’d glimpsed was the old man running the guesthouse, over sixty, hunched, and constantly coughing—he wouldn’t last one punch from Yan Tuo.
Yan Tuo first took Nie Jiuluo into the room, handcuffing her hands behind her back to an abandoned vertical water pipe in the bathroom corner, then climbed up to seal the high ventilation window before returning to the car for luggage.
The ordinary luggage went into the room, but two items were brought into the bathroom: the canvas bag containing Sun Zhou, and the suitcase that had been in the back seat all along.
The canvas bag made sense, given it contained a person, but why bring in the suitcase?
…
When Yan Tuo entered the bathroom again, he had changed clothes—sand-colored waterproof mid-top boots, black canvas tactical pants with full-finger protective gloves stuffed in the back pocket, and a black quick-dry round-neck mid-sleeve T-shirt. From Nie Jiuluo’s position on the floor, looking up made him appear even more intimidating.
This wasn’t the attire of someone preparing to “wash up and sleep.” Nie Jiuluo asked, “Going out?”
Yan Tuo made an affirmative sound, turned on the faucet, and splashed water on his face. The basin was shallow, water constantly splashing onto the floor. The ceramic tiles were already dirty, and the water made them look even more slovenly.
Nie Jiuluo’s mind raced.
His going out was good news—with the kidnapper away, the hostage’s chances of self-rescue would improve. The worry was that he might inject her with something to make her unconscious… Maybe when he tried to drug her, she could say she’d been allergic to medical anesthetics since childhood—it could be life-threatening.
He might not believe it, but could he risk not believing? After all, a human life was at stake.
The water stopped.
Yan Tuo grabbed a towel to dry his hands, walking to the suitcase while drying them. He tapped the side of the suitcase with his boot toe: “Awake?”
It was a hard-shell frame suitcase, not zippered but with aluminum frame clasps. His boot toe was stiff, making a loud bang against it.
Nie Jiuluo’s scalp tingled.
What did this mean? He was talking to the suitcase, asking if it was “awake”—was there a person in the suitcase?
This love-starved psychopath was something else, one person in the canvas bag, another in the suitcase.
After a moment of silence, there came a slight scratching sound from the suitcase—fingernails scraping against the interior.
Yan Tuo crouched down, turned the combination lock, and flung open the lid.
This time, Nie Jiuluo’s scalp didn’t just tingle—it spasmed.
A man was curled up in the suitcase. Though it was large, it was still cramped for a big adult male—Nie Jiuluo couldn’t even tell how he’d contorted himself to fit inside. His flesh pressed tightly against the suitcase walls, forcing a human form into a rectangular shape, like melted gelatin. His head wasn’t where a head should be, nor his feet where feet should be.
His head faced down with the back of his head up, and he made a muffled sound of acknowledgment.
Yan Tuo said, “I need to go out for a while. Watch Sun Zhou and this woman carefully. Don’t let anything go wrong.”
Nie Jiuluo felt a chill: she’d thought Yan Tuo was handling three hostages, with another victim in the suitcase, but it turned out this was his accomplice.
Quite the technique, stuffing an accomplice in a suitcase. She recalled the scene from the previous night when Yan Tuo had wheeled in his suitcase while she was sketching in the hotel lobby.
So that suitcase had contained a person—no wonder it was kept in the back seat, truly “precious cargo.”
The man-made another sound of acknowledgment but didn’t move.
Yan Tuo frowned and reached to shake his shoulder. “Are you planning to live in the suitcase now?”
The shake made things worse—the man’s body trembled, and he tried to burrow his head further into the suitcase corner.
Yan Tuo grew suspicious: “Dog Tooth, come out and talk.”
Dog Tooth mumbled, “Bumpy ride, then the crash… I feel sick, let me rest a while before getting up.”
Yan Tuo fell silent, staring at Dog Tooth’s back head. After a day of confinement, the suitcase had developed a rank, foul smell.
After a moment, he reached out and grabbed Dog Tooth by the back of the neck, forcefully lifting his head.
Nie Jiuluo’s mind buzzed, nearly crying out.
This Dog Tooth was the ugly man she’d seen in the rearview mirror, though he looked different now—his left eye socket had been gouged into a blackened, bloody hole.