Yan Qing finished removing the fabric fragments with reddened eyes, while Shi Ting’s forehead and face were already drenched in sweat.

She first disinfected his wound, then applied the fog-root paste that E’Yuan had ground, spreading it evenly with as light a touch as she could manage. She thought to herself that she had never been so gentle in her entire life.

Once the medicine was applied, Yan Qing wrapped the wound with gauze and gave Shi Ting two tablets to swallow. E’Yuan handed over a handkerchief, and she gently dabbed the sweat from Shi Ting’s face.

Fog-root had excellent pain-relieving properties, offering burn patients the greatest possible relief from suffering.

To prevent the wound from worsening or becoming infected, Yan Qing stayed by Shi Ting’s side. Zheng Yun checked the perimeter of the house once more and then went off with the others to rest.

The night deepened.

Murong sat in a chair, slumped over the table, and fell asleep.

“Go and sleep,” Shi Ting said to Yan Qing. “I am fine.”

Yan Qing shook her head with quiet firmness. “Burns are very susceptible to infection. Get through tonight and it will be all right.”

He lay face down, his chin resting on the pillow. He turned his face to look at her.

She really was beautiful—skin luminous as fine jade, eyes clear and bright, her face so small it could fit within one of his palms.

“Does it hurt?” Yan Qing asked.

“A little,” Shi Ting said. “It seems you know how to do everything.”

Her movements treating the wound had been so practiced that even seasoned hospital nurses would have fallen short of her skill.

He knew she had a secret—one buried very deep, rarely disclosed to outsiders. He very much wanted to know it, yet he did not want to press her.

“Close your eyes,” Yan Qing said. “You need to rest now.”

He obediently shut his eyelids, but murmured softly, “How is Big Tiger doing?”

Yan Qing smiled. “Very well. It eats an enormous amount, never stops talking with that mouth of its, and loves to say foolish things.”

“You can tie its mouth shut.”

“That seems rather cruel.”

“It needs to be taught a lesson from time to time, or it will not know its place.” Shi Ting offered this advice in earnest.

Yan Qing said, “It is fortunate you gave Big Tiger to me. Imagine how it would have suffered in your hands.”

“Do you like Big Tiger?”

“I do. It is so clever.”

“If someone is clever, does that mean you like them too?”

“Who doesn’t like a clever person?”

The corner of his mouth seemed to lift ever so slightly. “Yan Qing, am I running a slight fever?”

She quickly reached out and placed her hand on his forehead. Her hand was small and cool, and pressed against his skin, it felt extraordinarily soothing.

He noticed that she had only lightly touched him and yet his entire body had tensed. He knew perfectly well that he had no fever—he simply wanted, in a private way, to have her concern.

“Your temperature is normal. It may be that you sweated so much just now.” Yan Qing turned her wheelchair and brought over a bowl. “Drink some water first and replenish your fluids.”

Seeing him brace himself to sit up, Yan Qing quickly said, “Do not get up.”

She took a spoon, scooped a little water from the bowl, and brought it to his lips. “Open.”

Shi Ting paused for a moment, but then obediently drank.

She fed him spoonful after spoonful, and still he showed no sign of wanting to stop, until the entire bowl was empty—only then did he say he had had enough.

Yan Qing thought to herself: you really can drink a great deal.

The medicine Shi Ting had taken contained a sleep-inducing component, and combined with the fog-root’s pain relief, even though he wished to stay awake a little longer and keep her company, his eyes had already grown too heavy to hold open.

Once Shi Ting had fallen into a deep sleep, Yan Qing examined the wound on his back once more. Seeing that no blood had seeped through, she drew a cotton quilt over him with careful, gentle movements.

Sleeping face down must have been very uncomfortable. He seemed not to be resting soundly—beads of perspiration would break out across his forehead from time to time—and she kept wiping them away patiently, over and over, until he finally slept deeply again.

A cock crowed in the distance. The fog took on a layer of gentle radiance, and the mountain village’s morning was like a child just waking—hazy and uncomprehending.

Yan Qing did not know when she had fallen asleep herself.

Once she had confirmed that he would not develop a fever and that the wound would not become infected, drowsiness gradually gained the upper hand, and she drifted off slumped over the edge of the sleeping platform.

When Shi Ting woke, the first thing he saw was her sleeping face.

Her fair, delicate face lay cradled in her folded arms. The fringe at her forehead had slipped playfully to one side, and her long lashes fluttered softly, like butterflies among flowers.

She liked to press her lips lightly together, as innocent-looking as a small child.

He looked at her. He could not help raising one hand—his slender fingers hovering over her high, fine nose. He very much wanted to brush against it ever so gently, but was afraid of startling her from her sleep.

It was only when a hushed voice came from outside the door—”Seventh Brother”—that he drew his hand back.

Shi Ting immediately withdrew his hand and made a silencing gesture to Bai Jin, who stood there.

He got up and went over to her, carefully lifting Yan Qing from her position and placing her on the spot where he had been lying. He tucked the quilt around her with gentle care.

Murong was still sleeping soundly. Neither of them was disturbed.

Shi Ting returned to his own room and found a fresh set of clothes to change into.

“Seventh Brother, is your injury all right?”

“It is fine now.” Shi Ting fastened the last button of his uniform. “Let us go.”

Qiao Zhong remained hidden in the shadows. The only way to flush him out was to find his accomplice among the villagers.

Based on Yan Qing’s analysis of the body, the female deceased was approximately 150 centimeters tall, approximately fifteen years of age, and suffered from severe rheumatoid arthritis. With these conditions known, identifying who the deceased actually was would not be a difficult matter.

The three split up to conduct a new round of questioning throughout the village.

At the home of a villager named Cui Xiaowu, Shi Ting finally found a lead concerning this girl.

Cui Xiaowu’s mother said that people in their village would often disappear without reason, and most of those who disappeared had gone to the city.

“If you are speaking of a girl around fifteen years of age, I do recall someone. She disappeared at exactly fifteen, and her height sounds about right too.”

Cui Xiaowu’s neighbor had a daughter called Xiao Cui. Xiao Cui’s parents had gone to work in the city, and after three years away they had never come back. Xiao Cui and her elder brother, Ah Niu, had been raised by their grandparents.

But some years ago, the grandparents had both died of illness in succession, leaving just the two siblings on their own.

Ah Niu was a very responsible boy. Even as a young teenager, he had taken on odd jobs here and there, earning a meager income to support himself and his sister.

Xiao Cui suffered from severe joint inflammation, which became unbearably painful on rainy or overcast days. The money Ah Niu earned had to cover both their food and daily expenses, as well as the medicated plasters for Xiao Cui.

Cui Xiaowu’s mother remembered that one winter, she had seen Ah Niu running home with something large and lumpy tucked against his chest. She had asked curiously what it was. He told her a friend had given it to him—a knee brace, for his sister’s use.

“Xiao Cui was fortunate in one respect—she met Mr. Qiao. Mr. Qiao not only purchased fog-root from us, he also provided free acupuncture treatments for the villagers. Xiao Cui was one of them.”

Shi Ting asked, “Was her brother Ah Niu close with Qiao Sheng’s younger brother, Qiao Zhong?”

“Those two children did get along well. Qiao Zhong would often come and stay the night at Ah Niu’s home.”

“When did Xiao Cui go missing?”

“It was around this same time, three years ago.” Cui Xiaowu’s mother thought carefully back. “One day, Ah Niu came down from the mountain crying and saying his sister had vanished. The village chief rallied the whole village to search for her, but nobody found Xiao Cui. Some suspected she had been carried off by wolves or bears. Others said she must have slipped away to the city to find work. Poor child, what a wretched fate she had.”

“What kind of work did Ah Niu do ordinarily?”

“He’d go up the mountain to dig for fog-root, and sometimes took on other odd jobs. That boy was hardworking, well-liked, and the villagers all had a soft spot for him.”

Shi Ting turned to Cui Xiaowu beside him. “On the day you all went to the foot of Kui Mountain to stop us from digging at the temple—was it Ah Niu who alerted you?”

“Yes.” Cui Xiaowu blinked his dark eyes. “Ah Niu told me you were going to dig up the temple. He said if the temple was dug up, disaster would befall Foggy Hidden Village.”

“Is Ah Niu home?”

“He is not. I saw him go out early this morning. I do not know where he went—probably up the mountain.”

Shi Ting left Cui Xiaowu’s home and went next door. This simple mud-brick house was where Ah Niu and Xiao Cui had lived.

The courtyard gate was unlocked, merely pushed to. In this kind of village, there was almost no awareness of theft prevention, and leaving doors unlocked at night was the norm.

Shi Ting pushed the gate open and stepped inside. He immediately noticed the charcoal brazier in the courtyard—a daily household essential found everywhere in Foggy Hidden Village, and precisely because he understood its use, it had become a murder weapon.

Entering Ah Niu’s room, he was met by a cooking stove. Warm water still remained in the pot; the fire beneath had just been extinguished.

Beside the stove sat a washbasin with some clothing piled in it. Shi Ting picked up one piece and examined it, confirming it was not Ah Niu’s. The garment was made of expensive fabric—something Ah Niu could not have afforded to wear.

He deduced this was Qiao Zhong’s clothing. Living up in the mountains, Qiao Zhong had no way to wash clothes or cook for himself, so these tasks had fallen to Ah Niu.

Entering Ah Niu’s bedroom, he found only a sleeping platform, a low cabinet, and atop the cabinet, a picture frame. There was no photograph inside—instead, a hand-drawn portrait. The girl in the drawing had well-defined features, short hair, and a sweet smile.

Below the drawing was a line of text: *Given to Xiao Cui by Qiao Zhong!*

A carefree, smiling girl in the bloom of youth—yet she had perished in the fire because of someone else’s sudden greed. One could not help feeling a deep sorrow.

Shi Ting turned the frame over and found writing on the back as well.

*The fifteenth day of the fourth lunar month. Today I finished the first one. Watching him go mad, I was somewhat afraid—but thinking about what he had done, I believe he deserved to die.*

*The fifteenth day of the fourth lunar month. Today was the second one. He deserved to die as well. I am no longer afraid, because they all deserve to die.*

*The fifteenth day of the fourth lunar month. Today was the third one. After waiting a full year, it was finally accomplished without a hitch.*

When Shi Ting reached the final line, his brow furrowed involuntarily, and a sense of foreboding rose within him.

He set down the picture frame and strode quickly out of Ah Niu’s home.

The last line read: *There is a troublesome pest. I must move my plan forward. This is the last one—my ultimate target. May heaven bless me, may the Mountain Spirit bless me. Xiao Cui—your brother has done it.*

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