Chapter 6

The bald man was destined to die here—he stumbled into the pit in panic, rolled several times, and his head slammed directly into the engine of the overturned scooter; the force of the fall was immense, jolting his skull so hard that his mind went numb.

At that moment, the man leapt into the pit, wrench raised high! The momentum of his leap, combined with his bulky weight, brought the wrench crashing down onto the bald man’s skull.

Instantly, the bald man felt a deafening roar inside his head; before he could recover, another blow struck—then a third, a fourth, a fifth… soon he felt nothing at all, as if his soul had left his body, drifting helplessly upward, and before his eyes loomed a towering figure relentlessly swinging a gleaming silver wrench, smashing it again and again into his skull…

The man didn’t know how many times he’d struck; the bald man’s head was now a bloody, mangled mess, white and red smeared together, the stench of blood flooding his nostrils and crawling into his stomach—he nearly vomited, but forced it back down! This wasn’t the place to vomit! He warned himself inwardly.

He looked around—the sand yard was utterly deserted, no other life except the occasional bird flying overhead.

The man sat heavily on the sandy ground to catch his breath, pulled a bottle of water and a towel from the bag he’d dropped, twisted open the cap, soaked the towel, wiped the red-white splatter from his face, then cleaned the blood from his hands and clothes. After tidying up, he packed the wrench, towel, and empty bottle into the bag, picked up the stack of cash he’d thrown at the bald man, used the key he’d wiped on the scooter to unlock the trunk, pulled out a cloth bundle inside, opened it—and five stacks of hundred-yuan bills lay before him. He stuffed the money into the bag, slung it over his shoulder, then twisted open the scooter’s fuel cap, squinted at the tank, turned back, and dragged the bald man’s corpse onto the motorcycle, laying him face-down.

Having finished, he climbed out of the pit, returned to his car, fetched a metal can, and carried it back to the bald man—then came the sound of rushing liquid, and a strong stench of gasoline filled the air.

Next, he pulled out a disposable lighter and a cigarette; carefully, it was “Lao Baitiao.” One hand held the cigarette, the other lit the lighter; after a long moment, the cigarette finally caught fire. He stared at the glowing tip, flicked it with two fingers—and the cigarette arced gracefully through the air, landing on the bald man’s body.

————

In the autopsy room, Old Zheng and his assistant Xiao Lin were fully suited up, tightly wrapped; Gu Changzheng and Luo Fei also donned white coats, masks, hairnets, shoe covers, and gloves, approaching the autopsy table.

A cold, lifeless corpse lay atop an equally cold stainless-steel table; its hair had been shaved clean, and from behind both ears down to the lower abdomen ran a Y-shaped suture line, like a giant zipper sewn into the body.

Gu Changzheng, accustomed to such scenes, remained expressionless as he inquired of Old Zheng. Luo Fei, however, felt a pang of sorrow—he had seen this once-vibrant dancer on television, and now she lay before him in this state; truly, life was unpredictable.

At that moment, Old Zheng spoke: “Autopsy reveals the deceased’s stomach contents had moved into the duodenum, indicating death occurred two to three hours after lunch—likely between 3:30 and 5:00 PM on the 21st. Her stomach contained large quantities of alcohol, consistent with prior heavy drinking. Both respiratory and digestive tracts showed signs of drowning fluid, which contained trace amounts of niacinamide; the same compound was found in a brand of shower gel discovered at the scene. These findings suggest the possibility of accidental drowning in her bathtub after drinking. However, I found traces of foreign material under the fingernails of her right index and middle fingers. Do you know what it is?”

Gu Changzheng, who had been listening intently, suddenly froze—he hadn’t expected this usually stern old man to play coy. But he knew this was Old Zheng’s way of reveling in quiet pride.

He deliberately grunted: “Fine, don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”