“Does a woman named Hua Jinlan live here?”

“Yes,” Ali nodded, reaching out a hand, demanding candy from me.

I pulled a piece of candy from my bag and handed it to her, then asked, “Who was the person hanged this morning related to Hua Jinlan?”

“Her man,” the small hand reached out again.

I took out another piece of candy, placed it in my palm, and continued questioning, “Why isn't Hua Jinlan home today?”

“She hasn’t been home for many days; she went into the mountains to raise Gu,” the third piece landed in her grasp.

“How can we find her?”

“The village chief has already sent people to look. Since her man had an accident, she will definitely come back.”

Those words acted like a calming pill, making me let out a long sigh of relief. I placed the fourth piece of candy in her hand and asked again, “When will the Public Security Bureau officers arrive?”

Ali paused, not answering immediately. It seemed this question was slightly above the pay grade for a seven or eight-year-old child.

Hmm, I changed my approach: “When there were deaths in the village before, did you ever ask the Public Security Bureau to come?”

Ali looked up at the ceiling, thought for a long time, and then said, “Last week, Aunt Wu’s son was bitten to death by a cat. He lay in the courtyard for three days, and a policeman came, took a look, said nothing, and left.”

Three days! Only one policeman showing up three days after an unexpected death—it seemed this village was exceptionally isolated! If there were no developments from Scarface’s side within three days, and if Li Xiaohao couldn’t find me to get the album, meaning we couldn't lift the Gu, then things would certainly be hopeless for big sister. Though I hadn't formally seen him commit murder, the terrifying scene at the villa convinced me completely that he wasn't any benevolent angel.

“Ali…” a woman’s voice drifted in from the courtyard.

“Mom,” Ali trotted over at the sound, and the question-and-answer game concluded.

Sitting back in my original spot, I looked at Wang Jue. His teeth were clenched tight, and his forehead was already covered in beads of sweat the size of soybeans. Damn it, was he falling ill?

I cautiously touched his forehead; it was hot enough to fry an egg. I quickly grabbed the earthenware teapot and forced a few mouthfuls of water between his lips. Seeing him like this threw my heart into utter disarray. Wang Jue had stepped up to help me; I certainly didn't want anything to happen to him.

I began pounding on the door frantically, shouting as I hit it, “Help! Someone, get a doctor!”

But even after shouting until my voice was ragged, no one appeared. The room grew even quieter; I couldn't even hear the chirping of birds or the buzzing of insects—only the flickering candles in the memorial hall moved, the only things showing any sign of life.

I kept up this pattern of shouting then resting until dusk, and still, no one came. The courtyard, which had been bustling that morning, seemed to have been completely forgotten within a few hours, with not even a wake-keeper in sight.

Wang Jue’s fever hadn't broken. I kept hoping Ali would reappear, perhaps bringing more water or food. Every so often, I glanced toward the door.

It was pitch dark now, and a chilly breeze snaked through the main hall, blowing in through the cracks in the door.

Suddenly, a black cat darted past the front of the door, immediately followed by a sharp meow, then the clatter of candlesticks tipping over and dishes shattering. An apple rolled across the floor and bumped right up against the doorframe.

I stretched my arm out, trying to snatch the apple to give Wang Jue something to sustain him. Before I could grab it, there was a loud thud, as if a wooden board had dropped onto the floor. Peering through the gap in the door in the direction of the sound, I sucked in a sharp breath!

Scarface stood there, holding a sickle, just ten centimeters from the door.