Chapter 98: A Good Place to Kill

Wulong Mountain.

The mountain is tall, vast, and covers a huge area.

From the expressway leaving Liyuan City, if you don’t enter the urban area but detour dozens of kilometers around the city, you can see the massive Wulong Mountain sprawled across the horizon, stretching endlessly.

In fact, it truly is invisible at the edges. The broad expanse of Wulong Mountain spans multiple cities, prefectures, and even provincial borders; its central region is composed of primeval forest, designated as a large nature reserve.

In fact, the main peak of Wulong Mountain is a 5A-level scenic spot in Liyuan City, with a temple built on its summit and a resort villa at its base, while the surrounding suburban areas offer farm stays.

And most human activity ends right there.

Liu Jinghui drove his battered Great Wall Cannon straight to a village at the mountain’s foot and parked the car inside the courtyard of a farm stay.

Jiang Yuan, dizzy from the long ride, grew increasingly skeptical of Liu Jinghui’s reliability.

But it was already evening, and there was no way to leave now.

The farm stay Liu Jinghui chose was tucked into a remote corner of the village; once night fell, the sky became a chessboard, the moon a hook, stars overhead as a pillow for dreams, frogs croaking from all sides, and as far as the eye could see, red bricks and green tiles looked fresh and pleasant—but beyond that, darkness swallowed everything, and not even a corpse could be seen on the walls.

There were no other guests at the farm stay; the owner and his wife each assigned one room to the two men, then went back to rest.

“Just sleep for now. We’ll talk about anything tomorrow,” Liu Jinghui said, his eyes too tired to stay open after driving for a full year.

Jiang Yuan barely had time to whisper: “Do you have a gun?”

“No. Even if I did, it wouldn’t help.” Liu Jinghui reached behind his back, pulled out something, and handed it to Jiang Yuan. “Take this for self-defense.”

Baimeng Book

“This… a spray gun? Why didn’t you give me a pepper spray?” Jiang Yuan took the object, glanced at it, and nearly laughed. A small black canister, clearly labeled “Tear Gas Sprayer”—it was a police-issue spray device.

“Pepper spray you have to buy yourself. This one’s powerful enough.” Liu Jinghui pulled out his own spray and showed it to Jiang Yuan. “Once we enter the mountains, our police-issue sidearms won’t do much. Batons and extendable clubs won’t be practical either. This is the best tool. If you run into a bear, spray it in the face—it might even work.”

“If a bear’s already right in front of my face and I pull out a can of chili water, I’m really…” Jiang Yuan sighed, waved his hand wearily, and went back to his room to sleep.

At this point, arguing over weapons was pointless.

The next day.

At first light, the crowing of a rooster woke Jiang Yuan.

Jiang Yuan dressed fully and stepped outside to see a large rooster with a crimson comb and colorful feathers perched atop the coop’s red brick roof, proudly crowing into the sky: “Dog brother, dog brother…”

The farm stay owner had also risen and stood in the courtyard, practicing tai chi toward the rising sun.

Jiang Yuan looked at the owner, then at the rooster, and asked: “Can you eat roosters?”

The owner slowly finished his form, hesitated a few seconds, then said: “We raise them to eat, but this one’s over two years old—too big for the two of you to finish…”

“That one then. We’ll eat it together.” Jiang Yuan didn’t even ask the price, gestured, and said: “Kill it now. We won’t have time later.”

“Alright, I’ll call my wife to light the stove and boil water.” The owner walked off, deliberately taking a detour to the coop, deliberately avoiding looking at the rooster, then swiftly grabbed its wings as it flapped frantically into the air.

The rooster kicked wildly; the owner clasped it tightly in both hands, muttering: “Little rooster, don’t blame me—you’re just a meal for the farmer…”

By the time Liu Jinghui woke up, the chicken was already stewed.

“Oh my, breakfast is chicken? A bit tough.” Liu Jinghui, now awake, smelled the stewed chicken and was in good spirits.

Jiang Yuan sat cross-legged before the small table, staring at the pot of stew as if he hadn’t heard Liu Jinghui.

The owner glanced nervously at Jiang Yuan, sensing an aura of killing intent radiating from him, then whispered to Liu Jinghui: “This rooster was the one that crowed this morning. Your friend saw it and told me to kill it and cook it.”

Liu Jinghui paused, suddenly understanding the owner’s unease.

…

After breakfast, the two men tidied up, waited for the two guides to arrive, then began entering the mountains.

Seeing locals leading the way and helping carry luggage, Jiang Yuan relaxed slightly, walking and saying: “I thought the provincial bureau would at least bring local county police or even a police station. Is this really a solo investigation?”

“The Wulong Wild Man case has been activated three times,” Liu Jinghui said as they walked. “Last time, I initiated it—over twenty people entered the mountains. Efficiency was terrible, and we irreversibly damaged the scene. Also, outside the mountains, it’s the police station; inside, it’s forest police—complicated.”

Jiang Yuan said nothing. He had just visited the provincial bureau and knew that solo deployments were rare. Usually, when the provincial bureau wanted to show attention, they’d send two officers to the local area—like when Liu Jinghui’s team handled the Tan Yong case—and if necessary, take over the local criminal investigation unit.

This time, Liu Jinghui had brought Jiang Yuan, calling it a two-person team—but from the provincial bureau’s perspective, it was effectively him operating alone.

Liu Jinghui, sharp as ever, instantly grasped Jiang Yuan’s thoughts and said: “This case is famous because both the victim and the discoverer had significant social influence. The victim was a columnist, pen name Li Sanqiu, who specialized in writing about life in deep mountains, exploration, and hermitage.”

Seeing Jiang Yuan didn’t know, Liu Jinghui continued: “The hiker who found his body is from Changyang City—a camping intermediary, or maybe an outdoor gear shop owner. He frequently organized outdoor activities, ran many groups, and after accidentally discovering the body, he posted numerous articles and photos under the name ‘Wulong Wild Man,’ drawing nationwide attention.”

“So now, bored people will come just to see it,” Jiang Yuan immediately thought—the scene was probably ruined.

“Exactly,” Liu Jinghui sighed. “In the wild, preserving a body and the scene is already terrible. After crowds come to gawk, the second and third scene investigations become even worse. And the first scene was handled by the local police station—extremely sloppy.”

Jiang Yuan’s lips twitched involuntarily. “I thought you didn’t care about evidence.”

“Even deduction needs a foundation,” Liu Jinghui said, guessing Jiang Yuan’s opinion of him and unconcerned. “Anyway, after the case went viral, the provincial bureau took notice, then dispatched a lean team that finally confirmed the victim’s identity as Li Sanqiu—nothing to do with a wild man. But by then, the hikers and wild man enthusiasts no longer believed official announcements. Instead, Li Sanqiu’s readers and cultural media took interest.”

Jiang Yuan struggled along the narrow path, panting: “So what exactly do you expect me to find?”

“Fingerprints would be best,” Liu Jinghui smiled. “I know you’re excellent at crime scene investigation—you once cracked a murder case through re-examination. If you can find any clues through re-examining the scene, that’d be great. Otherwise, look for any trace evidence.”

“Hmm… I’ll try when we get there,” Jiang Yuan agreed. The things Liu Jinghui mentioned were all skills he excelled at; honestly, using them to solve cases didn’t bother him.

Liu Jinghui nodded, fell silent, and conserved his energy.

Two hundred meters above the village, they entered true, untouched deep forest. Here, trees towered and tangled, vines twisted and entwined, thick grass and unknown plants filled every remaining space; the few existing paths were half-buried, forcing the guides to swing machetes to clear the way.

Mosquitoes, snakes, and other unpleasant creatures were everywhere—soon, people became immune.

Even with such difficult terrain, the path they walked wasn’t truly primeval forest—it was secondary growth, regrown after logging decades ago, evident from the dominant tree species around them.

Jiang Yuan observed silently, thinking.

Investigating a crime scene in the wild was utterly different from one in the city. In the city, even ten years later, blood traces could still be detected. But in the wild, within ten days or weeks, blood vanished completely.

Earthworms, ants, microbes—familiar or alien creatures—would emerge, say “Boss, generous,” and walk away.

Similarly, DNA technology had little use here. A drop of semen on the ground wouldn’t last longer than its expiration date. Only old-fashioned items like cigarette butts or syringes—tools of clumsy criminals—held any value.

And corpses, which were hard to handle in the city, couldn’t survive long in the wild either. Wild boars, bears, and microbes would quickly devour them. Burial, in fact, helped preserve bodies in the wild.

In short, if someone disappeared here, whether they’d be found depended entirely on luck.

Even whether the corpse was discovered at all depended on luck. Like this Wulong Wild Man case—if no hiker had happened to climb the mountain, happen to reach Li Sanqiu’s hermitage, and happen to rest there for two days, the body might never have been found.

Jiang Yuan thought of this and glanced at Liu Jinghui ahead. This guy probably had similar suspicions—perhaps even hoped to find more bodies.

Just as a tiger that easily eats a human adds humans to its menu and tries to eat more; just as a shark that once eats a human adds humans to its menu and tries to eat more; just as a person who kills easily and faces no punishment adds humans to their list and loses all restraint.

Wulong Mountain is truly a good place to kill.