As Shi Ting stepped out the door, he ran directly into Zheng Yun and Bai Jin.

“Go to old Zhang’s place. The killer may be moving against old Zhang.”

The killer struck with a very regular pattern, choosing the fifteenth day of the fourth lunar month each year. But because of the Military Police Division’s involvement, the killer feared being caught—and so could no longer wait for the next year’s appointed date. He had to move his plan forward.

The three hurried toward old Zhang’s general store. Before they even reached it, they heard a scream from inside.

“This is bad,” Bai Jin said urgently. “We are a step too late.”

In old Zhang’s courtyard, someone was wielding a fire poker and repeatedly bringing it down upon their own head. The person with the face smeared in blood was none other than old Zhang.

Bai Jin lunged forward in a single bound and wrenched the fire poker from old Zhang’s grip, but old Zhang continued to behave as though he had gone mad—his eyes bloodshot red, he began attacking Bai Jin.

Zheng Yun and Shi Ting closed in from both sides and pinned old Zhang forcibly to the ground.

Old Zhang thrashed like a frenzied wild animal. Though his freedom was constrained, he kept emitting furious, hoarse howls. His withered hands clawed desperately at the ground, all ten fingers bleeding. His throat produced a deep, raspy, suffocating growl—utterly terrifying.

Shi Ting raised his palm and struck a sharp blow to the back of old Zhang’s neck. Old Zhang’s eyes rolled back and he went limp.

The frenzied old Zhang had possessed a terrifying strength. All three of them had been worked into a sweat.

Bai Jin produced handcuffs and secured old Zhang’s wrists together. Shi Ting stood and said, “We need to leave this place quickly.”

What had driven old Zhang into a frenzy was the stupefying smoke. Anyone who breathed it in could suffer a brief period of uncontrollable emotional disturbance.

Bai Jin had already experienced this firsthand and immediately stepped briskly out of the courtyard.

There was no charcoal brazier in old Zhang’s courtyard—Shi Ting had noticed this on his previous visit. He had asked a knowledgeable villager about it afterward and learned that old Zhang was allergic to the smoke produced by charcoal. Since braziers required burning charcoal, old Zhang had simply done without them.

Though there was no brazier in the courtyard, there was a burning pile of paper. It was still smoldering now.

Shi Ting covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and walked to the pile of paper, stamping it out with his shoe.

Only once the smoke had dissipated did the three of them return to the courtyard.

What had burned to ash was spirit money for the dead. A few pieces that had not yet fully burned were still mixed in among the black embers.

Shi Ting stepped forward, pinched one up, and examined it. “This spirit money is not old Zhang’s. The pattern is different.”

When they had last come to question old Zhang, the rattled old man had taken out spirit money and burned it in the courtyard. Shi Ting remembered that the pieces had all been stamped with repeated ingot shapes using a mold—but this spirit money was simple plain burning paper, with no ingot pattern.

“The killer sent this.” Shi Ting said. “When Da Zhu and old Li died, someone had delivered game meat to them. They assumed it was Zhu San who sent it. In fact it was the killer. The killer knew they liked to roast game over a fire, so he waited for an opportunity and acted. But old Zhang was not roasting game—so was the killer using this spirit money instead?”

“I suspect old Zhang has a habit. After killing Qiao Sheng, he has never been able to eat or sleep in peace. In his superstitious way, he burns spirit money for the dead at regular intervals, praying they will not come to trouble him. The killer seized on this—quietly placing a bundle of spirit money in the courtyard. Old Zhang, already seeing ghosts around every corner, would naturally burn it upon finding it. And the ether compound was spread across these sheets of spirit money.” Shi Ting had taken a risk in stamping out the fire earlier precisely to preserve the evidence on the spirit money.

“How are old Zhang’s injuries? Is he all right?”

Bai Jin said, “Fortunately, what he used to attack himself was not a kitchen knife but a fire poker. His head is split open, but he should not die from it.”

The three previous victims had all used whatever was at hand when they appeared to take their own lives—they had used kitchen knives intended for preparing game meat. Old Zhang had no kitchen knife, only the fire poker used to tend the burning spirit money. And so he had used the fire poker to beat himself, though its killing power was less than a kitchen knife, it was still iron, and repeated forceful blows to the head would have been fatal.

Yan Qing came and administered simple first aid to old Zhang. E’Yuan gave him an injection of sedative. Even unconscious, old Zhang was restless—flailing and thrashing sporadically—but at least he had managed to keep his life.

“Seventh Brother, what do we do? This person has given us the slip again.” Bai Jin was furious.

The killer, familiar with the terrain of Foggy Hidden Village and aided by the fog, could come and go without a trace right under everyone’s noses.

Shi Ting thought for a moment. “Notify everyone. Bring along several willing villagers and search the mountain. Qiao Zhong himself may be small, but the car is conspicuous. Find the car and we will find Qiao Zhong.”

“But what about old Zhang here?”

“Leave Murong behind. Everyone else comes to Kui Mountain.”

Bai Jin could not help casting a glance at old Zhang. Was it really all right to leave him here with only Murong?

But Shi Ting had already given the order, and their primary duty was to follow it.

“Search the mountain! Search the mountain!” Bai Jin called out. “E’Yuan, you come too.”

E’Yuan gave an affirmative response. “And Miss Yan?”

“Let Miss Yan rest first. One person is enough to stay here with old Zhang.”

With that, the group set off in a sweeping column and departed.

With the main party gone, old Zhang’s courtyard quickly fell quiet. Murong, with nothing to do, wandered around taking stock of the general store.

The store was not large, but it was reasonably well-stocked, with all manner of food and daily supplies.

Murong made a circuit and returned, looking at old Zhang on the sleeping platform and muttering to herself. “You really are lucky to be alive. But why should we have to save someone like you? The Qiao brothers never did anything to wrong you.”

Old Zhang lay there—whether or not he heard, no one could say—and emitted a low, groaning sound.

Murong found an old paperback story book in old Zhang’s home and began reading it idly.

After some time, a sudden clang came from outside. Murong’s guard shot up at once. She set down her book and went to the door to check.

Outside old Zhang’s courtyard wall was a haystack, ordinarily used to store firewood and straw. A thread of blue smoke suddenly rose from within the haystack. Then flames shot up, and the stack caught fire rapidly.

“Fire!” Murong cried out in alarm and grabbed a water bucket to start drawing water from the well.

The haystack was packed with combustibles, and the fire spread very quickly.

While Murong was scrambling to fight the fire, a dagger slipped in through the crack of the back window. With a light flick, the window latch was lifted.

Then someone climbed silently in from outside. His objective was clear: old Zhang on the sleeping platform.

He came to stand before old Zhang and snarled under his breath, “Die.”

“Do not move!” At the very moment the dagger was raised, a sharp shout came from outside the window.

The person startled—but had no intention of letting old Zhang go. After a brief pause, the dagger drove downward toward old Zhang again.

A bang.

The sound of a gunshot rang against the eardrums. A bullet grazed the person’s wrist, and the dagger clattered to the ground with a sharp crack.

Before he could retrieve the dagger, he made for the front door—only to find Murong standing there, watching him with cold, steady eyes.

He sized Murong up as a woman and did not take her seriously at all. Reality quickly taught him a lesson—that women were the equals of men.

The person was seized by the shoulder by Murong and pressed flat on the ground. He was still struggling.

Shi Ting holstered his gun and walked over with Bai Jin in measured strides.

“Didn’t you all go to search the mountain?” the person stared at them in shock, his face showing utter disbelief.

Bai Jin crouched down and gave him a light pat on the cheek. “If we had not lured the snake from its hole, how were we going to catch you off guard?”

At this moment, the village chief and Cui Xiaowu came rushing over together. When both of them saw the man pinned to the ground, they simultaneously cried out, “Ah Niu!”

This man was indeed Ah Niu—Xiao Cui’s elder brother—a young man who appeared to be around twenty years old.

Having suffered malnutrition for a long time, Ah Niu was very thin and slight, which made his eyes seem unusually large by comparison. Seeing the village chief, Ah Niu immediately dropped his gaze in guilt.

“Stay still.” Bai Jin secured his wrists in handcuffs and hauled him upright. “Where is Qiao Zhong?”

“What Qiao Zhong? I do not know anyone by that name.” Ah Niu turned his face stubbornly to one side, adopting an air that said he would say nothing no matter what.

“It does not matter if you say nothing.” Shi Ting said. “We have Qiao Zhong’s clothes from your room. We will find him very soon.”

The dog at Shi Ting’s side, Walnut, wagged its tail.

Bai Jin said, “Did you know it was this dog that originally found the Mountain Spirit temple? It can find corpses buried underground. Finding one living person is nothing to it.”

Walnut, receiving the praise, lolled its tongue happily.

At these words, Ah Niu’s expression immediately shifted to one of alarm. “Qiao Zhong has nothing to do with this. It was me—I did it all. Every one of them was killed by me.”

The village chief heard this and immediately grew agitated. “You really were the one who killed Da Zhu?”

“It was me.” Ah Niu was young and hot-blooded, with no fear of death. “So what if I did it? They deserved to die.”

The village chief moved to strike Ah Niu, but Bai Jin held him back. “Village chief, please calm yourself. Finding Qiao Zhong is what matters now.”

The village chief struggled to contain his rage and glared ferociously at Ah Niu. “I have not been unkind to you. When your parents abandoned you both, who was it that always helped your family? When your grandparents were gone, who sent you food and found you work? And you repay that with treachery—you are utterly without conscience.”

“Your son killed my sister.” Ah Niu shouted. “I was only avenging Xiao Cui.”

Cui Xiaowu quickly pulled the village chief away, urging, “Village chief, let the officers handle it first. Let us go and help look for Qiao Zhong.”

Qiao Zhong was still hidden somewhere in the mountains—a ticking bomb, liable to explode at any moment.

Once everyone had dispersed, only Shi Ting and Ah Niu, handcuffed in the chair, remained in the room.

Ah Niu was consumed with regret over having failed to kill old Zhang. His bloodshot eyes kept darting toward the room where old Zhang lay, as though he wanted to rush in and tear him apart.

“Your name is Ah Niu, is it?” Shi Ting’s deep, resonant voice sounded.

Ah Niu let out a grunt and turned his face away.

If the Military Police Division had not been here interfering, he would already have succeeded in killing old Zhang.

“I am deeply sorry for what happened to your sister.”

“Spare me the false sympathy.” Ah Niu spat. “You are on the same side as them.”

Shi Ting paid this no mind and looked steadily into his eyes. “How did you come to know that Qiao Sheng and Xiao Cui were killed by Zhu San and the others?”