Chapter 36: Transition

At 13:21, Ning Zhe finished his statement and walked out of the station.

Within a single day, Guzhen had seen three accidental deaths: Ye Miaozhu, Gu Yunqing, Xie Sining… Had Ning Zhe not hidden Zhang Yangxu’s corpse and assumed his identity, it would have been four murders in one day.

Moreover, all three victims displayed identical death signatures—no external injuries, no internal trauma, no signs of poisoning—and yet their death sites were nearly five kilometers apart.

This bizarre, inexplicable sudden death, devoid of any traceable clues, could never be reasonably classified as accidental—it would leave any forensic expert utterly overwhelmed.

“Unless something goes wrong, long before tomorrow’s news breaks, speculation and conspiracy theories about these strange deaths will flood Tieba, forums, and short-video platforms by tonight.”

Ning Zhe had always been confident in netizens’ ability to feast on and dissect gossip.

But then he reconsidered: “Yet if, by tomorrow, there’s still no online discussion about these three deaths, and even offline there’s no ripple at all… then it gets interesting.”

That would mean someone suppressed the news immediately.

With still time before 7 p.m., Ning Zhe used the interval to briefly investigate the specifics of Guzhen’s land development:

Guzhen was a small place, lacking any pillar industry to boost the local economy, and no leading enterprise to drive employment.

Heavy industries like coal and steel, or cutting-edge sectors like automobiles and digital tech, had no connection whatsoever to this remote, impoverished corner.

Qinzhou did have rich rare-earth mineral deposits, but these were strategic resources, banned from development for nearly half a century—anyone caught illegally mining faced a minimum sentence of fifteen years.

After all else failed, the town’s sole advantage lay in its untouched natural environment and breathtaking, almost supernatural landscapes—perfect for tourism development.

Local authorities hoped to center a sizable tourist zone around the “Xuanhu Waterfall” on Guzhen’s western edge, injecting capital into this stagnant economy; the large funding draw attracted bids from multiple giant real estate developers.

Among all bidders, Zhang Yangxu’s “New World” Group and Bai Fugui’s “New Home” Group—husband of Feng Yushu—had the strongest capital and were the most likely to win.

In scope and scale, New Home was actually larger than New World, and its proposal was even more enticing.

But Zhang Yangxu was a native of Qinzhou, while Bai Fugui came from Yongzhou; local officials favored entrusting the main contract to a Qinzhou-based enterprise to better stimulate local employment—and that’s precisely why Zhang Yangxu had any chance against Bai Fugui.

…That’s what they said publicly, but isn’t there a saying: When fellow townsfolk meet, tears well up?

Sentiment mattered, but business mattered more—if Zhang Yangxu didn’t offer some real concessions, his identity as a Qinzhou native alone wouldn’t be enough to make the decision-maker budge at tomorrow’s bidding meeting.

After all, Yongzhou companies could easily hire Qinzhou workers too.

The bidding meeting was scheduled for the afternoon of the next day; Zhang Yangxu’s main agenda today was to survey the terrain around Xuanhu Waterfall and communicate with the few people who could be spoken to.

“Zhang Yangxu’s an interesting guy—given his status, he still bothered to personally inspect the site,” Ning Zhe found this somewhat surprising.

But that suited him fine—he’d been worrying about what to do with Zhang Yangxu’s corpse.

Southern June was scorching; a body began to stink within hours, requiring copious air freshener just to mask the odor. By afternoon’s end, Ning Zhe, accompanied by the driver and several locals, had visited several landmark sites around Guzhen. Many New World employees had arrived even earlier—he simply reviewed their reports.

When all sites had been inspected, the time was 17:47.

Ning Zhe then dismissed the driver, telling him to head to the reserved hotel for lodging and meals, while he himself, claiming he wanted to explore the scenic area further, drove alone up the winding mountain road.

Of course, a high school senior had no time to get a driver’s license—but Zhang Yangxu did; the man had been driving for nearly twenty years.

Thanks to Zhang Yangxu’s seasoned driving skills, Ning Zhe arrived at the very heart of the future resort—Xuanhu Waterfall—smoothly as ever.

Xuanhu, strictly speaking, should be called Xuan Lake: a natural dammed lake perched over a cliff fifteen meters above ground in a mountain hollow west of Guzhen, where torrents poured through a gap and cascaded downward like someone tipping a teapot from heaven—distantly, it was spectacular.

Ning Zhe stopped the car ten meters from the shore, confirmed no one was around, opened the trunk, lifted Zhang Yangxu’s corpse onto his back, and took a narrow path into the mountains.

He’d grown up here; he knew the terrain around Xuan Lake better than his own palm. Soon, in the deepening dusk, he found his destination: a dark cave entrance sealed by barbed wire, overgrown with ferns, its interior echoing with trickling water, and a warning sign planted out front reading “DANGER!!!”

The mountains near Guzhen were mostly red soil and limestone, eroded over centuries into karst topography—deep underground rivers flowed through pitch-black caves, with fissures and dark sinkholes stretching over a thousand meters deep.

“Toss Zhang Yangxu’s corpse here, and no one will ever find it.” Ning Zhe climbed over the wire fence and, with practiced ease, hurled the body into the cave. Seven full seconds passed before a dull splash echoed from within.

With the corpse disposed of and no lingering concerns, Ning Zhe returned to the car and drove down the mountain.

With three murders in one day in Guzhen, throwing a lavish welcome banquet at the hotel would be inappropriate—even if held, the right people wouldn’t dare show up.

Ning Zhe gladly returned to his hotel, ate a simple dinner, retreated to his room, and waited patiently.

Guzhen was a small town; even its best hotel was hardly impressive—someone like Zhang Yangxu would never stay here unless on business.

It was 19:24; the sun had set, plunging the town into night.

A vibration buzzed from Ning Zhe’s pocket—a call came in. Notably, the vibrating device wasn’t Zhang Yangxu’s phone, but Ning Zhe’s own.

Ning Zhe glanced at the caller ID, sat on the hotel bed, and answered the call.

Before he could speak, an urgent voice blared from the speaker: “Ning Zhe, are you okay?”

“Thanks for asking, I’m fine,” Ning Zhe chuckled. “Congratulations, Auntie. Looks like you made it out alive.”

On the other end, Feng Yushu’s breathing grew rapid and strained: “Thank you, Ning Zhe. If not for you, I… I wouldn’t have survived. I’m truly grateful…”

“If you really want to thank me, give me something valuable—not just empty words,” Ning Zhe said casually. “Let’s meet. I need to know something about your daughter, Bai Zhi.”

For instance, why has this girl repeatedly dreamed of scenes from Hejiacun? (End of chapter)