It had once been a brand-new backpack, but having been buried beneath layers of soil, the fabric was saturated with mud and sand, making it look thoroughly worn.

Shi Ting had seen this type of backpack before. They appeared in only a handful of outdoor equipment stores.

Many wealthy people enjoyed mountain climbing and adventure, enjoyed traveling the world, and for such people, a large-capacity, durable backpack was an absolute necessity.

Shi Ting turned the backpack over and carefully felt every section of fabric. On the inner lining there was an interior pocket—quite large and empty—but running his fingers along this inner pocket, Shi Ting found a hidden compartment.

The killer had been in a hurry to take the contents of the bag and had not discovered this hidden compartment, leaving everything inside perfectly preserved.

There were two identity cards.

Shun Cheng’s household registration law had not been enacted very long ago, and identity cards had not yet become fully widespread, but people of standing in the city districts all carried them.

Unlike modern identity cards, these were table-format documents the size of half an A4 sheet of paper. The front bore the year of the Xin Guo calendar, and in the lower right corner was a large red seal engraved with the words “Shun Cheng Household Registration Bureau.”

Wealthy people’s identity cards included photographs. For ordinary people who could not afford photography, the photo field would instead contain a written description of distinguishing features—left-handedness, a pockmarked face, and the like.

Below the photograph was another field containing a red fingerprint, with a notation beside it indicating the loop and whorl patterns of both hands. This was likely among the earliest materials for fingerprint recording.

Additionally, the identity cards listed height, age, level of education, and more than twenty other items of information.

Both identity cards contained photographs. One belonged to Qiao Sheng, and one to Qiao Zhong. Both men were from Shun Cheng, residing on Binjiang Road in the Zhongshan District—consistent with the manner in which Qiao Sheng had been dressed.

Qiao Sheng had loved wandering through mountains and waters, and through this passion had discovered the village of Foggy Hidden Village, deep in the mountains. Meanwhile, owing to the village’s fog-root herb, Qiao Sheng’s medicinal herb business had flourished. This had been a situation of mutual benefit for both parties. But because of certain people’s selfishness, the Qiao brothers had died violent deaths, and Foggy Hidden Village’s economy had once again fallen into decline.

Shi Ting placed the identity cards into an evidence bag and began examining the leather trunk. The trunk was completely empty and contained no hidden compartments. It appeared the killer had not only taken the money, but had also taken all of the deceased’s clothing.

At this point, Yan Qing had already separated the cervical region of the deceased, Qiao Sheng. After peeling away the charred outer shell, she had separated the muscle layers one by one, and finally cut through the trachea and esophagus.

“Based on the deceased’s skull, long bones of the limbs, teeth, and pubic symphysis, the deceased was approximately 175 centimeters tall and around twenty-seven years of age,” Yan Qing said. “For bodies that have been lightly burned, height can be determined through measurement. Severely incinerated bodies undergo shrinkage, making external measurement generally unreliable.”

Shi Ting cross-referenced this with Qiao Sheng’s identity card. “This identification was issued five years ago. The age calculation puts him at exactly twenty-seven, and his height is listed as 176 centimeters.”

E’Yuan could not help but look at Yan Qing with admiration. Though he too could estimate a body’s height and age, he could not do so with such precision.

Without the ability to perform DNA testing at this time, they could only rely on such methods to confirm the deceased’s identity—yet Yan Qing had complete confidence in her own assessment.

This taller body was indeed Qiao Sheng.

“There is a significant deposit of black soot and charcoal particles within the trachea,” Yan Qing said. “The epiglottis and laryngeal mucosa show congestion and edema. The mucous membranes of the pharynx, trachea, and bronchi show congestion, edema, hemorrhage, and necrosis, with extensive blister formation.”

Shi Ting walked over. “The deceased was burned alive?”

Yan Qing nodded. “The viscera, muscles, and blood of the deceased are all a bright red color. Pulmonary edema is quite pronounced, and there are petechial hemorrhages on the outer membranes of the heart, lungs, and gastrointestinal tract. These are classic symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning. During the fire, combustion generated large quantities of carbon monoxide. After the deceased inhaled concentrated smoke, acute poisoning occurred, and he was incinerated by the fire after losing consciousness.”

E’Yuan said, “It seems Qiao Sheng’s body has yielded no particularly valuable leads. Let us now examine Qiao Zhong’s.”

After Qiao Sheng’s body was sutured and removed from the long table, E’Yuan and Shi Ting worked together to lift the other stiffened body onto it.

Upon seeing this body, Yan Qing felt a strange sensation rise within her.

“Have you found something?” Shi Ting noticed the change in Yan Qing’s expression.

“I cannot put it into words. It simply feels very wrong,” Yan Qing said. “The identity card shows Qiao Zhong’s height as 165 centimeters. Even allowing for the shrinkage that fire causes to a body, it would not shrink this severely—severely enough that even the skeleton would begin to contract.”

“You mean the actual height of this body is shorter than Qiao Zhong’s.”

“I have a bold conjecture.” Yan Qing lightly furrowed her brow, picking up the scalpel in her hand. “Whether this conjecture is accurate—let the body tell us.”

One side of Qiao Zhong’s body had been pressed tightly against the ground, leaving a few remaining traces of fabric residue from burning—though very little remained even of those.

Yan Qing used forceps to pick up a small fragment and handed it to Shi Ting. She had grown so practiced at this gesture that it seemed as though Shi Ting served as her analytical instrument.

“This is rough linen,” Shi Ting said, narrowing his eyes. “The lowest quality of fabric.”

“That is strange. Qiao Sheng was so wealthy—he himself dressed in the finest clothes. Why would he have dressed his younger brother in rough linen? According to what the villagers said, Qiao Sheng doted on this younger brother of his,” E’Yuan said, puzzled.

“What is this small piece?” Shi Ting noticed another fragment beneath the piece of linen. Its edges had taken on a charred black shape. “The outer layer is cotton, and the inner layer contains cotton batting. In Foggy Hidden Village during April and May, the weather cannot be called truly hot, and most villagers wear single-layer clothing. Who would still be wearing garments with cotton batting?”

He turned to Yan Qing. “Where was this piece of fabric found?”

“At the knee,” Yan Qing said. “One side of the deceased’s knee was pressed against the ground.”

Cotton batting at the knee?

Shi Ting stared at it, his mind working rapidly.

Just as a flash of insight came to Shi Ting, Yan Qing and E’Yuan simultaneously let out a cry of astonishment. “How can this be.”

Their outburst startled Shi Ting. “What have you found?”

E’Yuan’s face still bore an expression of amazement. He pointed at the body beneath his hands and blinked twice. “The deceased is a woman.”

“A woman?” This discovery also shocked Shi Ting. “Are you certain?”

Yan Qing nodded. “The deceased is female, approximately fifteen years of age, approximately 150 centimeters in height.”

The person who had died alongside Qiao Sheng was not, in fact, his younger brother Qiao Zhong—but a young girl.

“I know who the killer is.” Shi Ting set down the small piece of fabric in his hand. “If this deceased is female, then every puzzle piece falls into place.”

Shi Ting continued. “This piece of fabric should be a cotton knee brace—cotton on the outside, batting within—typically used to make winter padded clothing. The deceased’s time of death was in April, when temperatures were around twenty degrees. In such a season, the deceased could not possibly have been wearing padded trousers, so I believe this is a knee brace.”

“I agree with your assessment,” Yan Qing said, pointing to the deceased’s freshly exposed knee. “There are several mild subcutaneous hemorrhages below the knee, likely caused by long-term needle punctures. Combined with the condition of the deceased’s bones, she suffered from severe rheumatoid arthritis. Because of Foggy Hidden Village’s unusual climate, most villagers suffer from this type of ailment, and knee braces are something they commonly wear regardless of the season.”

Shi Ting said, “I recall a villager mentioning that Qiao Sheng had medical skills, and would regularly provide free acupuncture treatments to people in the village. This girl who was burned to death alongside him was very likely a local villager. Continue the autopsy—I am going into the village.”

“Be careful,” Yan Qing urged. “The killer is in the village, and may very well be hiding in the shadows at this very moment, watching our every move.”

“I know.” Shi Ting gave her a slight nod and turned away, disappearing swiftly into the heavy fog.

E’Yuan looked at Yan Qing and could not suppress a smile. “Master, you need not worry about Seventh Brother. His martial skills and marksmanship are unrivaled.”

“I am not worried about him,” Yan Qing said, her face flushing red. “We are in a critical situation. Every one of us should be careful.”

E’Yuan wore the expression of someone who understood everything but said nothing.

“Master, let us continue.”

The two had barely picked up their instruments when a commotion erupted outside.

After leaving, Shi Ting encountered Bai Jin. Bai Jin was dragging someone along by the arm—someone who was crying out as they walked. “Lighter, lighter, will you?”

This person was none other than old Zhang from the general store.

Bai Jin said, “I was passing the general store during my rounds and saw him sitting at the door drinking, laughing and chatting with someone. So I brought him over.”

Old Zhang raised his wrinkled face. “Officer, what are you arresting me for? I have done nothing wrong.”

“Whether you have done anything wrong, we will know shortly.” Shi Ting had Bai Jin bring old Zhang back into the courtyard.

The moment old Zhang stepped inside, he saw the bodies laid out in the yard—one of them split open and examined. He immediately recoiled in fright. “This, what is this?”

Bai Jin dragged him in front of the bodies. “Do you recognize these two people?”

Old Zhang shook his head vigorously. “They have all been burned to charcoal. Who could recognize them?”

Shi Ting let out a cold laugh, took Qiao Sheng and Qiao Zhong’s identity cards, and held them practically in front of old Zhang’s eyes. “You would recognize these two, surely.”

Upon seeing the photographs on the identity cards, old Zhang appeared to receive a tremendous shock. His eyes went wide.

“Do you recognize them?” Shi Ting’s voice carried a pressing weight.

“I—I recognize them.” Old Zhang stammered. “The Qiao brothers. Who in this village doesn’t know them.”

Shi Ting then pulled old Zhang to stand before the two bodies. “Now you know who they are, yes?”

Old Zhang stumbled, came face to face with the bodies’ ghastly, charred features, cried out in fright, and collapsed to his knees, his legs giving way beneath him.

“Zhu San, Da Zhu, and old Li are all dead. You may very well be next. If you continue to conceal what you know, you have seen what became of those three.”

Old Zhang lowered his head, no longer daring to look at the bodies. His thin frame trembled violently. After a long moment, a pained expression crossed his face. His withered fingers clawed at the ground. “I will talk. I will talk.”

—