Some things are harder to do than to say.

This is especially true for investigations. As Wan Fenghuo had said, gathering information sometimes requires a specific opportunity—without it, waiting three to five years is common.

The first opportunity was Li Tan. Following his trail led to the murder case at Luoma Lake from years ago.

The second opportunity was Cen Chunjiao. Through her, they learned about what happened in the small inn in Jinan, as well as the murder case in Erlianhot, Inner Mongolia.

The third opportunity was Mu Dai. Ma Tuwen told him that after talking with that girl whose “mental age was only eighteen,” he realized she didn’t understand much. She had come at her aunt’s request—a woman named Huo Zihong.

Huo Zihong? Luoma Lake?

When Luo Ren investigated further with this lead, something intriguing emerged: Huo Zihong was born in the countryside to a poor family. Her parents were vegetable farmers. She dropped out of school early to help with work and run stalls. When she was twenty, several events occurred in succession.

First, her parents were returning from selling vegetables when they encountered a car accident. Despite emergency treatment, both died.

Second, shortly after her parents’ death, Huo Zihong sold off their belongings from their hometown and moved to Luoma Lake, renting a place at 12 Chen Qian Alley.

Third, soon after Huo Zihong moved to Luoma Lake, the murder occurred. One week later, Huo Zihong terminated her lease and left Luoma Lake, never to return.

After that, Huo Zihong’s whereabouts became difficult to trace. Her movements seemed rather uncertain, as if there was a deliberately erased blank period. Her last stable residence began eight years ago when she settled in Lijiang, opened a bar, and has remained there until now.

Luo Ren had once suspected Huo Zihong of being the killer, until he discovered that the most suspicious people were already dead, all in strikingly similar ways. Like Liu Shuhai and his uncle Luo Wenrao, they had their left foot chopped off and a piece of skin carved from their back.

Huo Zihong must know something, and this information was the key to all the cases.

Unfortunately, the visit to Huo Zihong didn’t go smoothly. When he asked, “You’re Li Yaqing, aren’t you?” he was only 80% certain. After all, people change—isn’t there a saying about looking at someone with fresh eyes after three days apart? The world is full of miracles; someone with only an elementary education from a farming background could, after so many years, become accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

Huo Zihong’s overly intense reaction only confirmed his speculation.

If this had been two years ago, when his uncle and Pin Ting had just met their tragic fate, he would have certainly been hot-blooded and reckless, using extreme methods if necessary to force some clues out of her. But after two years, after enduring over seven hundred days and nights of torment, he could remain much more patient. With Huo Zihong, he preferred to hold back for now and turn his attention to someone else.

Mu Dai.

Someone who had spent time with Huo Zihong might provide some seemingly insignificant detail that could help him open a door.

But Mu Dai was a clever girl. To gain her trust and cooperation, he needed to pave the way with sufficient honesty.

From a certain perspective, he had taken the right step. He had been carefully observing Mu Dai’s expressions, watching her transform from initially distracted to gradually engrossed, then empathetic. By the end, emotionally, she was already inclined to support him.

She stared at the locket he had put back on, suddenly asking: “You liked Pin Ting, didn’t you? But wasn’t she your sister? Or was she…?”

Luo Ren’s gaze flickered, and he didn’t immediately answer. He was considering how to respond. In this tragedy that had already occurred, would adding desperate and guilty love make her more sympathetic?

But Mu Dai quickly waved her hand: “Never mind, forget I asked.”

Luo Ren had just told her about a family tragedy, yet here she was, curiously asking about irrelevant matters. How inappropriate.

Mu Dai felt somewhat embarrassed: “But how can I help you?”

Luo Ren looked at her for a moment, then took a pen and sticky notes from his pocket. Mu Dai somewhat guessed his intention and helpfully moved the chili and vinegar bottles to the side of the table.

He first wrote three notes and arranged them in a row on the table: 1. Luoma Lake, 2. Erlianhot Grassland, 3. Small Merchant River.

After placing these, he started a new row, wrote “Crime Scene” on one note, and positioned it slightly offset from the previous three, as if creating a table. Then he filled in three more notes in sequence, all with the same text: “Line, Puppet.”

He explained to Mu Dai: “The crime scenes were almost identical. In each case, lines were used to position people in a specific scene. I think the type of line was determined by what was locally available. Luoma Lake and Small Merchant River are both near water, so fishing line was common. My uncle had visited Luoma Lake before, and he might have deliberately imitated it. But in the Erlianhot Grassland case, they used unraveled rope.”

Mu Dai nodded: “But I’ve never heard anything about the Erlianhot case.”

“Of the three cases, only the Luoma Lake case alerted the police and was properly investigated. The Small Merchant River case involved a large fire, making it seem like just an ordinary murder with arson. As for the Erlianhot Grassland, I shouldn’t make hasty conclusions, but I have a theory.”

A theory? Could it be reliable?

Luo Ren seemed to know what she was thinking: “I have no choice, since no one has visited the scene. The Erlianhot Grassland is remote, with frequent wolf sightings. According to Cen Chunjiao, Liu Shuhai committed his crime near winter, and that year, the Inner Mongolian grasslands experienced a widespread snowstorm disaster.”

“Normally, during a snowstorm, herders would quickly move their cattle and sheep. But if that family had already been killed, they and their herds would have remained in place, inevitably freezing to death. During snowstorms, grassland wolves become even more ferocious, searching for any food they can find.”

He paused briefly, tracing a small circle on the tabletop with his finger: “Just a hint of blood would turn it into a slaughterhouse.”

She understood now. By the following spring, only scattered bones would remain at the crime scene. Others would assume it was a natural disaster. Even with a detailed investigation, they would only find the perpetrator without understanding the original scene.

Like the Small Merchant River case, it had been destroyed and obscured by unpredictable external factors.

Mu Dai’s heart pounded. These were three known cases with identical criminal methods.

Luo Ren wrote another note: “Time of Crime.”

Mu Dai pointed to the space below the Luoma Lake column: “I know this one. It was twenty years ago.”

Luo Ren placed a note that read “>20 years ago,” then added one for Small Merchant River: “2 years ago.” Before writing the note for Erlianhot Grassland, he glanced at Mu Dai.

Feeling like a student being called on by a teacher, Mu Dai grew nervous: “Liu Shuhai died in 2010. If he committed the grassland crime, it must have been at least 5 years earlier…”

Recalling Liu Shuhai’s biography, she had read at Bashu Villa, she quickly added: “He left home in 2008 and died in 2010, so the crime likely occurred between those times. You should write ‘6 to 7 years ago.'”

With such a serious demeanor, she must have been a good student. Luo Ren wrote what she suggested and placed the note.

Now there were three rows of information on the table. Luo Ren asked her: “Do you notice anything?”

Mu Dai rested her chin on her hand as she looked: “There’s a big gap between the Luoma Lake case and the Erlianhot Grassland case.”

Indeed. Between Erlianhot and the Small Merchant River, the gap was at most 2-3 years. But between Luoma Lake and Erlianhot, nearly 15 years had passed.

During this time, there might have been cases they hadn’t yet heard about, or perhaps truly no murders occurred. But if none occurred, what was the reason?

Luo Ren placed a fourth row: “Criminal Suspects.”

Liu Shuhai, Luo Wenrao, and for the Luoma Lake case, he placed a large question mark.

The fifth row was “Location of Suspect’s Death,” listed in order as: question mark, Jinan, Small Merchant River.

The sixth row, “Condition of Suspect’s Death”: foot severed, skin carved out, rectangular missing skin section. For the Luoma Lake case, as usual, he placed a question mark.

The seventh row: “Other.”

Luo Ren only placed a note under Liu Shuhai’s column, writing “2007 Datong, Shanxi car accident.”

Mu Dai’s mind stirred. She remembered reading that Liu Shuhai was an honest and gentle person who had never quarreled with anyone in his life. The only major setback in his life was this car accident where he fell into water, remained in a coma for 48 hours, suddenly left home in 2008, and passed away in 2010.

Could that accident have changed something?

Luo Ren wrote another note, but this time, he just held it in his hand, hesitating to place it.

Mu Dai was extremely curious. If she had been more familiar with Luo Ren, she would have pried open his hand to see it.

With that eager yet pretending-to-be-indifferent expression, Luo Ren couldn’t bear to keep her in suspense any longer.

There were two characters written on that sticky note.

Jinan.

“That time when Pin Ting contacted me, I rushed to Small Merchant River. There was still no news of my uncle’s disappearance. I asked Pin Ting what she thought was wrong with my uncle, what exactly the situation was.”

Pin Ting couldn’t explain clearly. Sometimes, only the closest people can detect those subtle, unexpressed changes. She said it was as if he had become a different person—sometimes mumbling to himself, sometimes laughing strangely, and other times suddenly becoming furious in his study, tearing up many books in his rage.

Luo Wenrao was normally nothing like this. He had the image of an elegant, middle-aged intellectual, with graceful manners and deportment.

Luo Ren asked further: When did these changes begin?

Pin Ting thought for a long time, stammering, and finally said it seemed to be after he was invited by a professor in his field to give a lecture in Jinan about the historical confrontation between Western Xia and the Song Dynasty.

Something unusual happened on that trip. Since he was traveling from a nearby city, a bus was more convenient than a train or a plane. Arrangements had been made for someone to pick him up at the main bus station, but Luo Wenrao bought the wrong ticket. The bus also broke down once on the way, so it was nearly midnight when he finally arrived at the West Suburb Bus Station.

Midnight? West Suburb Bus Station? Wasn’t Cen Chunjiao working as an attendant at a small inn near the West Suburb Bus Station at that time? And didn’t Liu Shuhai die at midnight in a small inn?

Perhaps out of excessive shock, Mu Dai pointed at Liu Shuhai’s name, unable to speak for a long time.

Luo Ren used his pen to connect “Jinan” under Luo Wenrao with “Jinan” under “Location of Suspect’s Death,” then gave Mu Dai a definitive answer.

“It was the same day.”