Chongqing has two nicknames: Fog City and Mountain City—both straightforwardly honest, without any exaggeration.

Mu Dai rarely saw fog, and seeing it so suddenly, she thought her vision had become near-sighted from the flight.

After disembarking, Huo Zihong called Mu Dai, seemingly in a gentle reconciliation. Only then did Mu Dai ask: “Why is this address for Old Nine Hotpot Restaurant? Are you treating me to hotpot?”

Huo Zihong replied gently: “Just arrive on time, hand over the note at the door, and someone will attend to you. Chongqing has many local delicacies—you can come back when you’re tired of them.”

From the sound of it, it seemed like she was specifically sending Mu Dai for fun, with the Old Nine Hotpot matter just being incidental.

Mu Dai felt relieved. She found a budget hotel near the Liberation Monument to stay in. The next day, seeing it was still early, she went out to ride the Yangtze River Cableway.

This cableway had some history, built in the 1980s and never renovated since. The cables creaked unsettlingly. When the cable car arrived, Mu Dai wanted to back out, but she was standing too far forward and was pushed in by the people behind her.

Since she was already there, she might as well accept it.

The cable car swayed as it descended, soon reaching the middle of the river. There wasn’t much scenery above the Yangtze River—just a bridge, a few boats, and thin mist over the river.

The cable car was full of tourists who were muttering: “Locals definitely don’t ride this—there’s nothing to see.”

As they spoke, a cable car from the opposite direction approached. At their closest point, they could see the clothing and faces of people inside. Tourists are the easiest to excite, immediately waving and shouting “Hi” and “Hello” to those opposite.

The people in the opposite car erupted with similar enthusiasm, but one man wearing a black jacket by the window didn’t move. Similarly, Mu Dai on this side remained still, and naturally, the two made eye contact.

Then, that man stretched out his hand and pointed in this direction.

The cable cars crossed and quickly passed each other. It was hard to tell who he was pointing at, but strangely, Mu Dai instinctively felt he was warning her. Without thinking, she reached behind her at an angle.

Accompanied by an “ouch,” her hand touched a plump arm.

Turning around, she saw a man in his thirties, with a fat face and large ears, his fleshy cheeks squeezing his eyes into two lines. He wasn’t tall, even shorter than Mu Dai.

Mu Dai, smiling, pulled his arm forward: “Brother, stand a bit more to the front.”

The people nearby, though annoyed at being pushed, still made room when they saw the two were together.

The man’s small eyes darted around, his expression changing rapidly. Mu Dai extended her other hand, palm up, in front of him. After a moment’s hesitation, the man took Mu Dai’s phone from his trouser pocket.

Mu Dai said nothing, taking the phone and lowering her head as if browsing the web. The man discreetly pushed his way outward. This incident closed with an unspoken understanding.

After arriving at the station, Mu Dai returned the same way, thinking she might see the man in the black jacket again to thank him in person. But looking at the crowded street, she suddenly realized that everything had been so blurry at the time, she might not even recognize him.

On her way to Old Nine Hotpot, Mu Dai called Huo Zihong and told her about the thief incident. Huo Zihong asked: “Did you yell for help? You should have gotten everyone to catch him so he couldn’t scam others in the future.”

Mu Dai patiently explained: “Aunt Hong, even a strong dragon can’t suppress a local snake. Besides, even if I had yelled, people might not have helped me. What if he had become enraged and started fighting with me in the cable car? It’s so dangerous to be swaying above the river. Anyway, I gave him enough face by not making a scene, and he was sensible enough to return my phone after thinking about it.”

Huo Zihong sighed: “I still think that when facing such situations, you shouldn’t be afraid. You should stand up and do what’s right and brave.”

Doing what’s right and brave was certainly correct, but…

Mu Dai felt it was pointless trying to explain to Aunt Hong, so she didn’t bother. Wasn’t Yi Wansan’s case the best example?

A waitress was sitting at the entrance of the hotpot restaurant. Remembering Huo Zihong’s instruction to “hand over the note,” Mu Dai first gave the note to the waitress. Indeed, the waitress pointed inside: “To the end, turn right, private room.”

Mu Dai followed the directions. Hesitating slightly at the door, she was reassured when the man dressed as if in a Qing Dynasty drama enthusiastically stood up: “Miss Huo Zihong?”

Since the others hadn’t arrived yet, Wan Fenghuo, having nothing else to do, told Mu Dai about the Luoma Lake case while also introducing his profession.

He took out a hairpin for comparison. It was made of old silver, with the pin head crafted in cloisonné showing a flying phoenix. The phoenix’s eyes were set with rubies, and in its mouth, it held a string of white jade beads.

“For example,” Wan Fenghuo first covered the hairpin with his hand, “three people approached me. One person is looking for an old silver hairpin with a phoenix, another wants a phoenix with ruby eyes, and yet another wants a phoenix holding white jade in its mouth. These are three requests, but at that time I had nothing in hand, so I archived these three requests and kept an eye out.”

“Then one day,” he pulled his hand back, revealing the hairpin, “someone comes to sell a hairpin, and with buyers and a seller, we have a match.”

Mu Dai was quick-witted and immediately understood: “So this hairpin is like the information you broker. The people coming later, including me, are all people who have previously inquired about the Luoma Lake case?”

She felt it seemed excessive: “How much money can you make from this? And couldn’t you just notify everyone with a phone call? Why bother having people come in person?”

Wan Fenghuo glanced at her: “Those who think it’s important will come.”

This simple statement carried deeper meaning upon reflection. Mu Dai’s heart skipped a beat: Aunt Hong thinks this is important? Could she know someone involved in the case?

However, Mu Dai’s curiosity wasn’t that strong. After all, she was just a messenger here to receive information.

Shortly after, three more people arrived. One was a frail woman nearing forty with eyebrows so faint they seemed forgotten, named Cen Chunjiao. She sat next to Wan Fenghuo.

The other two were men. One called Ma Tuwen, about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, reeking of alcohol with sleepy eyes, bare-chested under a vest, sporting large tattoos on his arms. The other was Li Tan, around fifty, tall and thin with a hunched back, deep wrinkles, and a face that spoke of hard times.

Wan Fenghuo closed the private room door and turned on the hotpot’s ignition switch: “Let’s eat while we talk. You’ve all paid, and the money is with us. After hearing what Cen Chunjiao has to say, you can decide whether to complete the transaction, though, to be fair, payment is expected unless… It’s false information.”

Mu Dai was somewhat surprised to learn that Aunt Hong and the others had already deposited money with Wan Fenghuo. This hotpot gathering was for hearing information, dining, and settling accounts. She found it quite novel.

If it were set up like a casino, with each person having tokens representing money in front of them, pushing a couple forward after listening for a while, that would be even more interesting.

The hotpot soup began to simmer, its fragrance seeping out with the bubbles. Mu Dai’s appetite was aroused. She prepared her dipping sauce and reached with her chopsticks to add ingredients. As she extended her chopsticks, she suddenly realized she was the only one at the table moving. She hesitated briefly but continued.

Beside her, Ma Tuwen gave her a strange look, not because her actions were abrupt: this young girl, dressed in a carefree and lively manner, seemed completely out of place with everyone in the room.

Cen Chunjiao’s gaze swept over each person one by one before she spoke her first sentence.

“The killer is already dead. Died five years ago.”

Mu Dai thought this was normal. After more than twenty years, the murderer could have died naturally or accidentally. She observed the reactions of the other two men: Ma Tuwen showed nothing beyond his drowsiness, but Li Tan suddenly looked up, a barely perceptible flash of anger crossing his face.

“Five years ago, I was working as a maid at a small hotel near the West Suburban Bus Station in Jinan. It was a low-end place where the bedding was rarely washed. Though the guests were from all walks of life, most were poor or migrant workers.

That night I was on the night shift, dozing at the front desk, when suddenly the phone rang. Room 103—the guest inside was requesting hot water.

I’d seen that guest before. He had been staying at the hotel for about ten days. After our first encounter when he checked in, I barely saw him come out. Even when he checked in, he was already very ill. At that time, we maids joked privately that we couldn’t let him stay too long—it would be unlucky if he died there.

When I received the call, I felt a bit creepy. The man’s voice was broken and weak, making me feel he was about to die.

I went over with the kettle, taking the key with me. When I knocked, no one answered. I used the key to open the door. As soon as I entered, I knew something was wrong. The man’s face was blackish, his eyelids showing the whites, lying on the bed with eyes wide open, gasping for breath, seeming on the verge of death.

I was very frightened and immediately called the manager. The manager didn’t live at the hotel. Probably because it was so late, he was angry at being woken up. As soon as he answered, he yelled at me, then hung up. When I called again, his phone was already turned off.

I was desperate and decided to go downstairs to find the old doorkeeper. Just as I reached the door, the man lying on the bed suddenly spoke.”

Mu Dai was picking up food with her chopsticks when she heard this, and felt the fine hairs on her arms stand up.

It wasn’t fear, just an eerie feeling.

Li Tan’s voice was raspy, uncomfortable to hear: “What did he say?”

A fleeting confusion and dread passed over Cen Chunjiao’s face, as if she was still frightened even now: “To be precise, he wasn’t really speaking.”

“His eyes were wide open, staring fixedly at the ceiling. He spoke very rapidly, like a typewriter going ‘click-click-click.’ His voice had no inflection, without a single stutter, very much like reciting from memory.”

Wan Fenghuo pressed: “So… what was he reciting?”

“First came dates: year, month, day. Then addresses: which county, which street, which road. How many people were killed, then their genders, names, what tools were used to kill them, how they were killed, how the killer escaped afterward—all in a report-like tone, eyes continuously fixed on the ceiling.”

Mu Dai’s scalp tingled. She instinctively looked up at the ceiling. Cen Chunjiao had emphasized “staring at the ceiling” twice, making her inexplicably feel there was something on the ceiling.

The room was very quiet. Even the normally jumpy canary was standing still with drooping wings. Looking closely, one or two of its feathers seemed to be standing on end.