Zheng Yun said, “Based on the forensic assessment, Cheng Qingsong’s death does not appear to have been a suicide. That is why we have come to investigate further.”

“We will cooperate fully, of course,” the security director said, then added with some hesitation, “Cheng Qingsong’s wife is a formidable woman — every soul in the village gives her a wide berth. Captain Zheng, please go carefully with her and speak reasonably.”

“Hasn’t Cheng Qingsong divorced her?”

“Ah, that’s a long story.” The security director shook his head. “Hu Cuihua and Cheng Qingsong were introduced through a matchmaker. They had been married several years without having any children. When they eventually went to find out why, it turned out the problem lay with Cheng Qingsong — he was unable to father children. After that, Hu Cuihua and Cheng Qingsong quarreled constantly. It went on for several years, until Cheng Qingsong couldn’t stand it anymore and went to work in another village. He was away two or three years, and had only just come back — but the two of them started quarreling again almost immediately, and it came to blows. Cheng Qingsong flew into a rage and drank the pesticide.”

“Who was the first to discover Cheng Qingsong’s death?”

“That was Wang Laoliu. He wanted to find Cheng Qingsong to help with some pottery work, walked in, and found him lying in bed — an almost empty pesticide bottle at his head, and the man already cold. Wang Laoliu ran straight to the security office, and when the officers came and saw the state of him, they reported it to the military police bureau.”

“And Hu Cuihua?”

“Word is she went back to her mother’s family that same evening, and hasn’t returned since. Hu Cuihua refused to deal with Cheng Qingsong, but the body couldn’t just be left to rot, so the matter was brought to you.”

“Take me to the scene first.”

“Of course. Captain Zheng, this way.”

The security director led Zheng Yun’s group to Cheng Qingsong’s home.

The house was not small, but the inside could only be described as bare and empty. The courtyard was cluttered with all manner of old and unfinished ceramic pieces. A few scrawny hens huddled listlessly about.

Zheng Yun entered the house, and the security director pointed toward the wooden bed against the wall. “That’s where Wang Laoliu found him.”

“Can you have Wang Laoliu come here?”

“Certainly — I’ll send someone to call him.”

Wang Laoliu arrived shortly. Seeing two people in uniform, he swallowed reflexively and looked rather nervous. “Good day, officers.”

“You have nothing to fear — we only have a few questions.” Zheng Yun said reassuringly. “Please try to recall, in as much detail as you can, the circumstances in which you found the deceased Cheng Qingsong.”

Wang Laoliu nodded promptly. “The day before yesterday morning, I was having trouble with a piece of work and came to ask Qingsong for help — he was the most skilled craftsman in our village, though he had a habit of drinking and gambling, which was a terrible waste of his talent. When I arrived, I called out several times but got no answer, so I went straight in. I found Qingsong lying in bed. I thought he was sleeping in, so I went up to shake him — and that was when I smelled a powerful reek of pesticide. There was a bottle of the stuff at his head.”

Zheng Yun’s brow furrowed slightly.

Wang Laoliu continued, “I could see that bottle wasn’t even half full anymore, and I knew right away this man had drunk it. So I ran to the security office to report it, and when the officers came and had a look, the man was completely gone — so they reported it to the military police bureau.”

“Were you present when Cheng Qingsong and Hu Cuihua had their argument?”

“I heard it — they were shouting loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. The neighbors nearby must all have caught it.”

“What was Cheng Qingsong’s temperament generally like?”

“He was decent enough, but his mood turned ugly when he’d been drinking or when he’d lost at gambling. And when Hu Cuihua called him a sterile stone that couldn’t give her children, he’d get angry at that too. I’d guess that’s what she did the night before last, called him that again, and he drank the poison in a fit of rage. But really — couples fight all the time, that’s normal enough. Was it worth doing something like that over?” Wang Laoliu clicked his tongue repeatedly.

“When you discovered Cheng Qingsong, how was he lying?”

“Head toward the headboard, feet toward the foot of the bed.” Wang Laoliu stepped forward to demonstrate the position. “And the bottle was placed here.”

Zheng Yun stared thoughtfully at the old bed and its worn sheet.

“Officer, if Qingsong drank poison and died, what is there still to investigate?” Wang Laoliu asked, emboldened.

“Even in a case of death by poisoning, there is still a proper investigation to conduct.” Zheng Yun looked at him. “Standard procedure.”

Wang Laoliu gave a murmur of acknowledgment, but glanced at the security director with an air of doubt. In their village, people who drank pesticide and died were not uncommon — and not one of those cases had ever prompted the military police bureau to come and investigate in such force.

“Director, please locate this Hu Cuihua and inform her to return and cooperate with our inquiries.”

The security director winced inwardly at the name, but Zheng Yun was his superior, and his instructions had to be followed.

“Understood. I’ll send someone to find her shortly. Her family home is just in the neighboring village — it’s not far.”

“Director, if I’m no longer needed, I’ll be heading off,” Wang Laoliu said, looking between the two.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Zheng Yun gave him a brief nod.

After Wang Laoliu had gone, Zheng Yun quietly watched him for a moment. Ling Ai, standing nearby, noticed his gaze and looked over as well — just in time to see Wang Laoliu scratching his head as he walked away.

She did not notice anything particularly unusual, but Zheng Yun’s expression was difficult to read.

“Captain Zheng, is it really true that Cheng Qingsong didn’t drink the poison himself?” the security director asked, curious.

Zheng Yun walked to the side of the bed. His gloved hand lifted the pesticide bottle. “Let us reconstruct the scenario. If Cheng Qingsong had taken this pesticide himself to end his life, after drinking it down, he would have either dropped it on the ground or set it down somewhere within easy reach. But when the bottle was found, it was placed at his head — is that not unusual? People do not typically do things that way.”

“That does seem right.” The security director nodded in agreement.

“Why would this bottle appear at his head? One possibility is that he was strangled to death first and then had pesticide poured into him. The killer, after pouring in the pesticide, casually placed the bottle at his head. That position would be awkward and unnatural for Cheng Qingsong, but for the killer, it would have been the most convenient place within easy reach.”

The security director nodded repeatedly. “That makes sense.”

“There are two other suspicious points.” Zheng Yun walked to the foot of the bed. “Look at this bed sheet — it is heavily wrinkled, and this section is particularly dirty, as though someone’s feet repeatedly scraped and kicked against it.”

“I understand now.” Something clicked into place for Ling Ai. “When the killer was attacking the deceased, Cheng Qingsong was struggling — and his shoes kicked against the bed sheet.”

Zheng Yun looked at her with approval. “Correct.”

“There is another point that can confirm someone else was present at the time of Cheng Qingsong’s death.” He had Little Xu bring a magnifying glass, then examined the bed sheet closely. “There are some fresh blue pigment stains on the sheet — they appear to be handprints. I examined Cheng Qingsong’s hands during the external body inspection. His hands were clean, with no pigment of any kind on them.”

“That kind of pigment is fairly common in our village,” the security director recalled. “It’s used for painting ceramics.”

“Cheng Qingsong had been working in another village and had no pigment on his hands. The pigment on this bed sheet could only have been left by the killer.” Zheng Yun appeared to think of something, and murmured a few quiet words to Little Xu. Little Xu nodded, gave a brief farewell to Ling Ai, and strode off.

“Where has Little Xu gone?” Ling Ai asked, curious.

“Back to the military police bureau on an errand.”

Zheng Yun collected the bed sheet and the pesticide bottle, placed them in evidence bags, and sealed them.

“Captain Zheng, it’s coming up on lunchtime — please come and eat at my home. Simple fare, nothing special, but please don’t hold that against me.” The security director extended a warm invitation.

Zheng Yun himself could go without eating, but thinking of Ling Ai, he nodded. “Thank you for your hospitality, Director.”

The two of them followed the director to his home. The director’s wife was warmhearted, and upon seeing guests come from afar, she promptly brought out everything she had.

“Sit and have some tea — I’ll go make lunch.” The director’s wife brought out a plate of washed grapes and poured tea for them both, then smiled in greeting as she went off.

“Thank you.” Ling Ai immediately rose to her feet. “Auntie, let me help you.”

“No need, no need — the kitchen is dirty and cluttered, we can’t have you getting that pretty dress of yours dirty.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Ling Ai insisted on helping, until the director’s wife laughed and relented. “You’re not at all fussy for a city girl.”

Zheng Yun turned to look, just in time to see Ling Ai and the director’s wife head into the kitchen together, chattering and smiling.

The director’s wife was right — Ling Ai, for all that she was born into privilege, did not have a single spoiled or haughty bone in her body. He thought of the Marshal’s seventh son’s sister, the one called Shi Yutong — who, basking in the Marshal’s favor, treated everyone with contempt, carrying herself with an insufferable arrogance that put people’s teeth on edge.

Compared side by side with these two, the difference was like night and day.

Zheng Yun did not know why he had even thought to compare Ling Ai with anyone else. It had simply occurred to him, and so he had.

While Zheng Yun and the security director were discussing the case, a sudden sharp cry came from the kitchen. Zheng Yun was on his feet almost before he had consciously decided to move.

“What happened?” He was already at the kitchen doorway, moving like a gust of wind.

“Nothing, nothing.” Ling Ai turned to him shaking her head. “It was my fault — I was careless —”

“It’s entirely my fault, it is!” the director’s wife broke in. “That knife was freshly sharpened just a short while ago, it’s terribly sharp — Old Zheng, quick, go and get some gauze and a bit of medicine powder.”

“It doesn’t hurt, Auntie, truly.”

Zheng Yun strode in, took Ling Ai’s hand — the one she had been pressing — and saw a deep cut across the middle finger of her left hand, bleeding steadily.

His expression darkened. “Rinse it first, then bandage it.”

Ling Ai felt rather embarrassed. “I only came to help, and I’ve ended up causing more trouble, haven’t I?”

“It’s not your fault.” The director’s wife said quickly. “That knife has done this to me several times too — your skin is tender, so naturally it cuts just as easily.”

By this time, the director had already brought gauze and medicine. Zheng Yun took them from him. “Come — rinse it first.”

With that, he gripped her injured wrist gently and led her out into the courtyard.