It was just past four in the morning, when most people were in their deepest slumber.
However, in a room of the four-star hotel downtown, the lights were blazing bright, with steam billowing from the bathroom and the sound of running water.
After quite a while, the water finally stopped. Yan Tuo pulled open the shower curtain with a swoosh, stepped out of the bathtub barefoot, and walked to the wide mirror. He wiped clear a section at eye level, then tilted his chin up to examine himself.
The sight was unbearable. A large purple bruise marked his jawline, while a neat set of bloody teeth marks—complete with both upper and lower rows—decorated his right neck. Around his neck ran a ring of raw, bloody wounds. Compared to these, the few scrapes on his face and the metallic taste of blood from his bitten tongue seemed trivial.
He opened the medical kit beside him and methodically cleaned and dressed each wound, wincing throughout the process. Finally, he placed three bandages on different parts of his face before pulling on a bathrobe and walking out.
The room remained largely as pristine as when he had checked in. The laptop on the desk had gone dark. Yan Tuo sat down, first activating the screen to open a search page, then typed in a line:
“Do human bites require rabies shots?”
Over thirty million related results appeared.
What kind of world was this, were there so many biters? People who bite others should be criminally charged, have all their teeth knocked out, and be sentenced to a lifetime of drinking porridge.
Yan Tuo ground his teeth as he clicked through several results, feeling somewhat relieved: generally, shots weren’t necessary unless Nie Jiuluo herself carried the rabies virus.
She probably didn’t, though she certainly looked like someone who had been rabid for years.
He leaned back in his chair, rested his head for a few seconds, then sat up straight and typed in a second search:
“Nie Jiuluo”
Up to now, he’d had two confrontations with her. Conflicts weren’t necessarily bad—they could quickly build up an analytical sample of observations about a person.
She excelled at ambush attacks and swift strikes, aiming for quick victories. Even those stronger than her could easily fall prey to her tactics, given how sudden and unpredictable she was.
She was highly goal-oriented, and unconcerned with methods. Take biting, for instance—most people would consider it beneath them, but she didn’t care. In other words, in her eyes, any means of subduing an opponent was fair game, whether it involved trickery or cunning.
Her stamina was lacking, or rather, as a woman, she was inherently physically weaker than men. So once drawn into a contest of pure strength, she would find herself at an increasing disadvantage.
The bracelet on her wrist must be her trump card since she hadn’t used it even when he had “kidnapped” her. It seemed tonight she had shown eight or nine-tenths of her hand if not all of it.
He needed to learn more about her.
As Lin Ling had mentioned, there were many articles about her, mostly interviews in industry magazines, along with some in arts and fashion publications—likely because she was both talented and beautiful, making her more marketable than those with talent but no looks. Before tonight’s investigation, he had already read quite a few of these.
Yan Tuo opened a new article.
The first thing that appeared was a large half-body portrait of her, showing a light smile and animated features.
Yan Tuo felt irritated just looking at it.
Scrolling down, the title read “Time Flows Peacefully, Person as Gentle as Chrysanthemum.” Yan Tuo scoffed internally: whether she was as gentle as a chrysanthemum, he couldn’t say, not being familiar with her, but “teeth as fierce as a wolf” was certainly true.
With disgust, he read on.
[Entering the small courtyard brings a sense of otherworldliness as if stepping from the mortal realm into a paradise. Some say every artist has a lonely island in their heart, but Nie Jiuluo truly dwells on such an island.]
What nonsense—what kind of lonely island sits in the city center, ten minutes from the largest shopping mall in town?
[I asked her if such an unchanging life, accompanied by clay figures and carving tools, wasn’t boring. She smiled gently: “How could it be?” She added, “Don’t think of them as lifeless, unable to breathe. The moments spent with them are equally full of ups and downs, thrilling and touching.”]
Yan Tuo thought to himself that he must have done something wrong to deserve to read such elementary-school-level writing that made his skin crawl.
Of course, she wasn’t bored—kidnapping, imprisoning, biting people, wielding axes and knives—her life was plenty exciting.
…
Yan Tuo opened another article.
[The second time I met Nie Jiuluo, she had just returned from an island vacation. I asked if swimming freely and viewing the underwater world had inspired new creative ideas. She shook her head regretfully, telling me she couldn’t swim.]
Can’t swim—probably due to an underdeveloped cerebellum and poor physical balance… unlike him, who could swim by age two.
…
He opened yet another article.
[With her mother long residing abroad and her father busy with business, the spatial separation hasn’t diminished their love for their daughter…]
Yan Tuo’s heart skipped a beat.
This completely contradicted what he had discovered: Nie Jiuluo’s mother had “died accidentally” during a trip, and her father had “committed suicide by jumping from a building”—what was all this about living abroad and doing business?
Yan Tuo crossed his arms, pondering for a while but unable to make sense of it. Then it occurred to him that magazines only show you what you want to see—it’s all persona.
His gaze fell to the bottom right corner of the laptop screen, where there was an icon indicating a new email. He wasn’t sure when it had arrived.
Yan Tuo clicked the icon, and an email titled “Status Update on No. 017” appeared on the screen, sent by Lin Ling four hours ago.
Opening the email, the first thing he saw was a photograph—an ordinary candid shot capturing natural expressions and poses: from the background, it appeared to be a construction site. The photo showed a man in his forties or fifties wearing a yellow safety helmet, with dark skin and a weathered face, holding a cigarette in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other, beaming at the camera.
Below the photo was Lin Ling’s message.
“No. 017 Zhu Changyi currently works as a construction worker at a building site in the High-tech Zone of Wuhu City, Anhui Province. He is developing a romantic relationship with Ma Mei (age 37, from Jiangxi), who works as the site’s cook. Ma Mei divorced her former husband Zhou Dachong seven years ago and has custody of their son Zhou Xiao (age 9).”
Yan Tuo read the text silently, then opened a deeply buried Excel file from his storage drive.
The spreadsheet contained about ten worksheets, all in the same format. Yan Tuo created a new one labeled “No. 017” and copied Zhu Changyi’s photo, location, occupation, and relationships.
After completing the copy, he stared at the dense number labels in the status bar at the bottom of the worksheet, randomly clicking one.
No. 006.
The page opened to show a young man with thick eyebrows and large eyes, a square face full of righteousness, and piercing eyes. His name was Wu Xingbang, living in Anyang, Henan, working as a taxi driver. He had a girlfriend named Xu Annie, formerly a hostess, who had reformed after their relationship began and now worked as a cashier at a restaurant.
He clicked another one, No. 014.
This time it was a woman, Shen Lizhu, in her fifties, living in Chongqing and working as a waitress at a hotpot restaurant. She had an adopted younger sister called Yu Caiyan, and they shared a small two-room apartment of less than sixty square meters. Shen Lizhu deeply loved Yu Caiyan’s six-year-old daughter Qianqian.
…
No point looking further—it would just be more of the same: men and women, young and old, from all directions and all walks of life, with no apparent connection between them.
He saved the file and sent a brief reply to Lin Ling.
“Received.”
Checking the time, it was nearly five—still time for a short nap.
Yan Tuo shut down the computer and had just stood up when his phone rang. Looking at it, he saw a video call request from Lin Ling.
She had received his email and knew he was still awake, so she called immediately.
Strange though—why was she still up at this hour?
Yan Tuo accepted the call.
The lighting was dim on her end. Lin Ling sat on her bed, pale-faced with disheveled hair, her voice trembling slightly: “Yan Tuo, I’m a bit scared right now. While I was sleeping, someone came in… What happened to you?”
She broke off mid-sentence, noticing something odd about Yan Tuo, and leaned closer to the screen: “Your face… what kind of necklace is that?”
Yan Tuo touched his neck. Right, necklace—a blood necklace with teeth marks pendant.
He said, “It’s nothing. Ran into a psycho, took a fall, scratched my neck too.”
The phone screen and lighting were too dim to see clearly, so Lin Ling accepted the explanation: “That medicinal herb poisoning case—is it resolved?”
Yan Tuo remained composed: “More or less. Wasn’t much to do with the herbs.”
His injuries had just healed, and there were no new developments in the Tooth Gang case. Lin Xirong had originally been worried about him going out alone, but Yan Tuo had built up many business partnerships over his years managing the company, and his partners were happy to help cover for him. So when he made the excuse about “herbs causing a death” and “needing to handle it personally,” Lin Xirong didn’t object further—it was a matter of life and death, after all—though she did warn him to be careful.
Hearing it wasn’t herb-related, Lin Ling felt somewhat relieved: “Still need to be careful though. Who knows if you might run into those Tooth Gang psychos again.”
Yan Tuo said, “If I run into them again, it must be fate.”
The addresses he listed on various public documents were indeed his addresses, but he had others—he had a room in a villa in the suburbs registered under Xiong Hei’s name, where Lin Xirong, Lin Ling, and Xiong Hei often stayed.
His phone had been destroyed at the pig farm; he was using a new one with a ghost number.
For this trip, he was driving a car belonging to one of Xiong Hei’s subordinates, using someone else’s driver’s license. The hotel was a partner hotel of a friend’s company, and he had checked in using an employee ID card—he didn’t even need to check in personally, just used the key card to open the door.
In other words, he was invisible to big data unless the Tooth Gang could access nationwide surveillance cameras—if they had that kind of power, he might as well give up.
He brought the conversation back: “What happened to you earlier? Who came in while you were sleeping?”
Lin Ling shuddered, looking around nervously before lowering her voice: “I don’t know, but the feeling was so clear, it wasn’t a dream. I felt someone touching my face, my neck, and…”
She trailed off, then continued after a pause: “I couldn’t wake up no matter what. When I finally did, I was drenched in cold sweat.”
Yan Tuo: “You suspect someone took advantage of you while you were asleep?”
Theoretically unlikely—everyone in the villa was “one of their own,” and besides, Lin Ling was practically Lin Xirong’s adopted daughter. Even if someone was overcome with lust, they’d think twice about it.
He thought Lin Ling might have had an erotic dream but didn’t want to say so: “That’s easy to handle. If you’re suspicious, buy a stuffed toy with a hidden camera and place it by your bed to see what it captures. If you’re too scared, have someone help you rent a place outside and move out for a few days to calm down.”
Lin Ling nodded vacantly, then after a while asked: “Yan Tuo, aren’t you afraid… living in this… villa?”
Yan Tuo was silent for a moment before reassuring her: “Don’t worry, you’ve been with Aunt Lin for over twenty years now. If something was going to happen… it would have happened long ago.”
Lin Ling forced a smile: “You know, if it weren’t for that time… when the iron door in the farm’s basement wasn’t locked and I went in out of curiosity, would I be living more freely now?”
***
Lin Ling was adopted by Lin Xirong when she was about two or three years old.
“Adopted” was more like “purchased”—in those days, adoption procedures in small towns were already inadequate, let alone since Lin Xirong hadn’t gone through any official channels. She had simply gone to the village, entered the house, thrown down a stack of money, and taken the child.
A child of two or three doesn’t have very clear memories, or rather, their memories lack logical structure, existing only as scattered points.
She remembered they had a big black pig that was very fierce, always snorting and charging around, even knocking her flat several times.
She remembered the courtyard walls were made of yellow mud mixed with rice straw, with a collapsed section in the middle where the big black pig often escaped through the gap.
She also remembered a framed black and white memorial photo in the house, its glass cracked with a long line, showing a somewhat childish-looking man with small eyes and a flat nose—not good-looking at all.
Just like her—not good-looking.
That was all she remembered.
Following Lin Xirong, she stepped straight from a poor village into a big city, and a family of three.
The man of the house was called Yan Huaishan, terminally ill, dragging his sick body around like an old man, his eyes vacant as if his soul had left him—always seeming soulless, sometimes giggling, sometimes muttering to himself. Lin Xirong despised him and warned Lin Ling to keep her distance.
The woman of the house was Lin Xirong, whom Lin Ling adored, thinking her more beautiful than any princess or fairy on television.
There was also a handsome young brother called Yan Tuo. Lin Ling liked him at first but later came to dislike him because he was fierce, often glaring at her. Behind Lin Xirong’s back, he would spit in her face, kick her legs and bottom (because kicks to fleshy areas didn’t leave visible marks), and several times pull her sparse yellow hair while calling her ugly.
He was just that kind of bad boy, but he was good-looking and knew how to pretend, so adults all liked him.
A few years later, Yan Huaishan died.
As time passed and they entered school, Yan Tuo stopped targeting her, perhaps because the school had taught him not to bully girls, but he still disliked her and barely spoke to her. Naturally, Lin Ling wouldn’t initiate a conversation with him either—she had entered puberty, gained weight, and became increasingly introverted and insecure, walking close to walls for fear of blocking anyone’s path.
The farm incident happened when she was in her second year of high school.