Chapter 6: Did Something Go Wrong with the Ritual?

After parting ways with Su Xiaoyan in town, Su Chen took another hour-long bus ride to the city.

Just upon arriving at the West Street entrance, faint sounds of gongs, drums, and cymbals could be heard.

Su Chen glanced around. It was only seven o’clock, and there weren’t many pedestrians, but everyone appeared calm and unbothered.

That made sense—Cuicheng was always meticulous about funeral rites. Even though the morning was disturbed by the loud clamor of percussion, which likely interrupted many people’s sleep, no one seemed to complain.

Walking further down the street, the bustling market from the previous day was now reduced to just a few breakfast carts.

Steamed buns, mantou, rice noodles, and guobian—

Su Chen’s stomach growled; he sat down and ordered a bowl of guobian for fifty cents and a fried dough stick for thirty cents.

Just as he was happily nibbling away, someone sat down opposite him.

“Old Zhang, a bowl of guobian with extra cilantro, please.”

The vendor exclaimed softly, then turned to ladle the broth before asking, “Officer A Mao, did you really find Mrs. Niu’s daughter? Was she beaten to death by her husband and hidden inside the stove?”

The man across from Su Chen nodded. “We did find her, but the exact cause of death hasn’t been determined yet. Old Zhang, we need to be careful about what we say.”

“I know, I know. You have to be cautious with your work. Poor Mrs. Niu—losing a child so young. I saw her last night; her eyes were swollen like walnuts.”

Old Zhang’s remark prompted several nearby customers to chime in.

“True, she’s only about fifty, but if you don’t look closely, you’d think she’s seventy or eighty.”

“The worst was a few years ago. She held onto hope stubbornly, searching for her daughter and staying strong. Now that her daughter’s been found, that hope has faded, and she’s completely broken.”

“Bah, broken? Who hired that priest then?”

“Who else but the Lin family? A Yu and Yingying grew up together. They put in money and effort yesterday.”

“If only Yingying had married A Yu back then, she might still be alive...”

“Nonsense! A Yu already had a wife and kids. But I gotta say, that young man yesterday was a real genius. Yingying’s been missing for four or five years, right? Mrs. Niu didn’t just search herself—she even reported it, but no luck. He just used her birthdate and a finger snap, and bam, he found her buried in the stove. Incredible.”

“What young man? That’s a master.”

“Right, right, a master. I shouldn’t have said ‘young man’.”

...

Su Chen listened as the conversation shifted to him, accompanied by a chorus of praise that made his ears warm.

But A Mao in front of him kept shaking his head.

These neighbors were so superstitious.

“Master? If you ask me, it’s just coincidence. Probably a lucky guess.”

Though he hadn’t been on-site yesterday, he did interrogate A Bao. If he had to say, that fortune-teller was likely an eyewitness to Yingying’s murder, unsettled all these years, trying to send a message to Grandma Niu.

Recalling A Bao, bruised and battered after a memory recovery session, admitting to the murder, A Mao couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.

Yingying died unjustly!

Given her circumstances back then, she could have married better, but she chose A Bao from Jiangwei, whose family was poor. Yingying endured hardship there, even losing two children, and helped A Bao build their home.

Yet, while she was working in the city, A Bao took up with a widow.

One scorching summer day, Yingying suddenly vomited at work; a hospital checkup revealed she was pregnant. Excited, she took leave to go home, only to open the door and see two pale figures. Yingying wanted a divorce, but A Bao refused. During the argument, he pushed her forcefully, and she hit her head on a rake propped against the wall. Blood poured out as she lost consciousness. Panicked, A Bao was convinced by the widow to hide the body.

At first, Yingying’s corpse was concealed at the widow’s house. Who would have suspected a widow could harm Yingying? No one had searched her home thoroughly.

Once things calmed down, A Bao bought two piglets, claiming to cook pig feed. One dark and windy night, he built the stove and entombed Yingying’s body inside it.

Last year, the widow slipped and drowned washing clothes by the river. If A Bao had kept quiet, no one would have known. But unexpectedly, someone exposed the truth.

A Mao pondered the sequence and guessed that the fortune-teller must have seen A Bao building the stove that night.

Catching Su Chen’s gaze, A Mao instinctively greeted him, “Hey man, working here? Why so early?”

Su Chen shook his head. “I’m setting up a stall.”

“A stall? Selling what?” A Bao asked casually.

“Fortune-telling.”

A Mao’s expression shifted slightly as he squinted at Su Chen.

Around thirty, short hair, not styled in the trendy slicked-back fashion. His face was a bit gaunt, skin very pale. In this cold weather, he wore only a sweater and thin pants...

Poor, but—

Those eyes were very clear.

After over ten years at the police station, A Mao had seen all kinds of people—good and bad—but clear eyes like that? Like those of a newborn baby? This was a first.

He felt an instinctive warmth toward him, but his rational side warned him that nowadays, fortune-tellers running stalls were almost always frauds.

Could a fraud have such pure eyes?

Definitely not.

A Bao probed, “What’s your name? Where are you from?”

Having heard Old Zhang call him Officer A Mao, Su Chen knew his identity and felt no annoyance. He smiled and replied, “Su Chen, from Niuwai Village, Liangshan.”

“Liangshan? That’s a bit far from the city.” A Mao frowned. “Why come to the city to set up a fortune-telling stall? Just so you know, the police station I work at is right nearby. No cheating allowed.”

Su Chen nodded. “Don’t worry, officer. I won’t.”

So he still planned to tell fortunes?

The desire to earn money by deceit hadn’t died!

A Mao looked at Su Chen again. Though he’d only done it once yesterday, correctly locating Yingying’s remains, he couldn’t have exploited that. But if Su Chen was really setting up a stall today, A Mao would watch closely and catch him in the act.

This was his home turf—he wouldn’t let a con man run wild here.

The guobian arrived, steam rising from the bowl.

A Mao smiled at Old Zhang and slurped the soup.

“Mmm, Old Zhang, your seafood guobian is the best, just like always. Not like Old Ye’s place—I almost choked on the salty noodles yesterday.”

Old Zhang chuckled. “Old Ye’s tongue lost its taste buds recently from illness. It’s nothing serious; he’ll recover after some rest.”

“Even if he recovers, I won’t eat there for a while. Mmm, delicious!”

Su Chen dipped the fried dough stick into the guobian, stirred it around, and took another happy bite. Suddenly, he furrowed his brow and turned toward Grandma Niu’s house.

Why had the sound of gongs and cymbals suddenly grown louder and more intense?

Had something gone wrong at the ritual?

It shouldn’t be.

Though Yingying died with a child in her womb, full of resentment, now that A Bao had been caught, that anger should have dissipated.

With that thought, Su Chen quickly finished the rest of his guobian, paid, and took the remaining half of the fried dough stick as he headed toward Grandma Niu’s home.