At Liu Peng’s gate, Xia Hang knocked on the open wooden door panel. “Hello?”
Liu Peng was cooking in the yard. The smoke they’d seen earlier was rising from a portable iron stove. Several pieces of firewood were stuffed into the stove’s belly, with a lidded iron pot set on top. From the smell, it was probably chicken stewing inside.
Next to the stove, a makeshift shed of corrugated metal held firewood. Against the courtyard wall stood a stack of logs nearly as tall as a person. The pieces were thick, and Liu Peng was busy splitting them.
Most people used an axe for chopping wood. Liu Peng, however, was using a chai dao, a traditional, heavy chopping knife. It didn’t bite as cleanly as an axe. The blade was stuck halfway into the log, and Liu Peng was straining to pull it free. Hearing footsteps, he turned his head.
“Who are you?”
Xia Hang lifted his work ID. “We’re from the county Agricultural Bureau, here with our director for a village survey. We noticed everyone along the way planted fruit trees in front of their homes, except you’ve got sugarcane. Haven’t had sugarcane in years. Got a craving. Would you sell us a stalk?”
Liu Peng had probably already heard about the officials coming that evening, so he didn’t question Xia Hang’s explanation. Lowering his head, he continued working on the wood.
“If you want some, just pull one out,” he mumbled. “No need to pay.”
Liu Peng was thirty this year, but he looked closer to forty. There was none of the vitality you’d expect from a man his age, and he seemed perpetually drained. His hair looked unwashed for days, greasy and dirty. He wore a sleeveless undershirt that was clearly years old, the fabric thinned translucent from repeated washing. Below was a pair of dingy gray shorts, and on his feet, blue plastic slippers crusted with old grime, clearly never scrubbed.
Xia Hang took out his phone. “That wouldn’t be appropriate. We’d get in trouble for that. But I don’t have cash, can I scan your payment code and transfer it?”
Liu Peng frowned slightly at how serious he sounded. Reluctantly, he fished a phone out of his pocket.
A flicker of surprise crossed Han Huaixiao’s eyes.
It was a recently released domestic model, retailing for over seven thousand yuan. Liu Peng, of all people, had bought something that expensive.
Xia Hang, having spent years abroad, wasn’t familiar with the latest electronics. After transferring twenty yuan, he asked casually, “Mind if I borrow your knife to peel the sugarcane?”
Liu Peng gave the handle a hard yank, this time managing to pull the blade free, and handed the knife over.
Holding it, Xia Hang asked as if in passing, “Why use a chopping knife for firewood? Wouldn’t an axe work better?”
Liu Peng glanced up at him.
Xia Hang met his gaze, eyes clear and gentle, as though it were nothing more than idle curiosity.
“No axe at home,” Liu Peng said.
While Xia Hang talked and drew Liu Peng’s attention, Han Huaixiao quietly observed both the man and the house.
Clack.
A burning log, half-consumed, lost its balance and slid out of the stove opening. Liu Peng crouched down, pushed it back in, and added another piece of firewood. The heat was intense. He lifted his undershirt and wiped the sweat from his face.
He lowered it again quickly, but not before Han Huaixiao saw it: two red marks, each around ten centimeters long, ran across Liu Peng’s back. Beside them were several fainter ones.
Xia Hang saw them too. When he stepped away to cut the sugarcane, he asked in a low voice, “Those marks on his back… branches scraping him?”
Han Huaixiao was mildly surprised. “You don’t recognize what that is?”
Xia Hang thought for a moment, then shook his head.
Han Huaixiao studied him for a beat before replying, “They look like fingernail scratches.”
Scratches. On that part of the body.
Liu Peng couldn’t have done that to himself.
Xia Hang’s mind turned. “But he’s unmarried, isn’t he?”
“There’s no sign of a woman living here,” Han Huaixiao said. “Doesn’t look like he has a partner either.”
“Then how did he get them?”
“I don’t know.”
Han Huaixiao picked a sugarcane stalk, snapped it free, chopped it in half, and peeled one section in a few swift motions before handing it over.
Xia Hang watched, stunned, as a stalk as thick as a baby’s wrist was diminished to little more than a thumb.
That peeling technique was… something else.
They returned with the sugarcane and the knife, and Xia Hang handed the blade back, saying, “Your knife’s pretty sharp. Easy to peel with.”
“Mm,” Liu Peng replied.
“Do you have a plastic bag?” Xia Hang asked. “I don’t eat much sugarcane. I want to cut the rest into pieces and take it back.”
“Yes.” Liu Peng set the knife down and headed into the main room.
Xia Hang noticed Han Huaixiao holding his phone, eyes fixed on the screen. He knew Captain Han wasn’t actually looking at anything, but the camera was recording.
He stepped closer, leaning in beside him, both of them appearing to watch something together. To anyone else, it would look completely ordinary.
A moment later, Liu Peng came back out holding a red plastic bag, stepping into the frame.
“This person actually makes a lot of sense,” Xia Hang commented casually, as Liu Peng approached. Then he stepped forward, took the bag, and smiled. “Thanks.”
Liu Peng seemed awkward in the face of his politeness. “…Mm.”
Xia Hang glanced at Han Huaixiao.
“Thanks,” Han Huaixiao added evenly.
They left Liu Peng’s house.
Xia Hang didn’t eat the sugarcane. It had been peeled with Liu Peng’s knife, and that knife had been used for chopping wood, and who knew what else.
That thought alone bothered him.
Han Huaixiao sent the walking footage he’d just recorded to Technical Investigation, instructing them to compare it with the surveillance clip from the crime scene, the man who resembled Liu Peng, to determine whether they had a similar gait.
………………..
Back at the village head’s house, Fang Dewei asked with a leader’s practiced concern, “How was the walk?”
“Pretty good,” Han Huaixiao said.
Xia Hang raised his hand slightly. “The villagers are very simple and honest. The scenery’s beautiful, just a lot of mosquitoes.”
“Hahaha,” Liu Zhibin laughed. “Clear mountains and clean water always mean big mosquitoes. I should’ve reminded you to use repellent. I’ll have my wife bring out some cooling balm.” With that, he turned and called toward the kitchen. “Ah Mei, bring the cooling balm!”
Ye Mei emerged, sweating from her work, set the balm down by Liu Zhibin’s hand, and returned to the kitchen.
Xia Hang applied some, and the itching finally eased. He headed toward the kitchen and stopped at the doorway, noticing Han Huaixiao inside as well, apparently offering to help. Ye Mei waved them off.
“Just wait outside. Only one stir-fried vegetable left.”
Xia Hang glanced at the counter. The spread was generous: braised rice-field fish, fish and tofu soup, free-range chicken stewed with dried wild mushrooms, garlic shoots with cured pork, braised eggplant, minced pork with pickled long beans, and cold cucumber salad.
It looked like she’d cooked everything the household had.
Suddenly, the sound of a motorcycle roared up from behind the house, and a bike drove in through the back gate.
“Mom, is dinner ready?” a young man called as he parked. “What’s the occasion, chicken stew? I can smell it.”
Both Xia Hang and Han Huaixiao recognized the voice immediately.
It was the same one they’d heard earlier behind the tall trees.
Xia Hang looked out through the kitchen window and saw a young man strolling toward the kitchen, careless and unrestrained, clearly unaware there were guests in the house.
Xia Hang glanced at Han Huaixiao. Han Huaixiao subtly motioned for him to look at Ye Mei.
Her son had come home; by all logic, a mother should have been happy. Yet Ye Mei seemed not to hear her son’s question at all. Instead, she grabbed the washed vegetables from the basket and dumped them into the hot oil. The motion was a little too forceful. She tossed the basket aside, and it slipped off the prep table and fell to the floor.
Only after entering the kitchen did Liu Guangjie notice there were two unfamiliar men in the house. He looked curiously at Xia Hang and Han Huaixiao.
“Mom, who are they?”
Ye Mei didn’t look at him, nor did she answer. She shouted instead, “Carry the dishes!”
Liu Guangjie picked up a plate and went out. Xia Hang and Han Huaixiao each took a dish as well and followed. When dinner was served, everyone gathered around the table, but Ye Mei, who had been busy all afternoon, did not sit down with them.
Xia Hang stood. “Auntie Ye isn’t done yet? I’ll go call her.”
“She’s not used to eating with us men,” Liu Zhibin said. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll eat in the kitchen. Come, come, Director Fang, Little Han, Little Xia, eat.”
Xia Hang was certain all the dishes had already been brought out, and there was nothing left in the back. He was about to say something when Han Huaixiao, seated beside him, lightly tapped his thigh, signaling him to sit.
Ye Mei’s attitude toward both her husband and son was distant, even cold. There was clearly a conflict there, so forcing her to come out would only make things worse.
As for Fang Dewei and Village Head Liu, they were drinking, and the table atmosphere was pleasant. Fang Dewei, adopting the tone of an elder, asked, “Little Liu, what kind of work do you do at home?”
Knowing Fang Dewei was a Bureau Director, Liu Guangjie grew nervous, so Liu Zhibin answered for him. “He’s got high ambitions but low patience. He used to work outside, then quit and came back. Now he helps me manage the fruit trees on the mountain.”
Fang Dewei nodded. “There’s value in going out to make your way, and value in putting down roots at home. As long as you’re willing to work, life won’t treat you too poorly.”
“Director Fang is right…” Liu Zhibin echoed.
Xia Hang ate distractedly, barely tasting the food as he listened. After a while, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a message from Han Huaixiao:
[Call me in five minutes.]
Xia Hang didn’t know what Han Huaixiao was planning. Five minutes later, he pretended to drop his chopsticks and lowered his head, dialing Han Huaixiao’s number.
“Little Xia, don’t bother picking those up; there are clean ones here.”
“Hello, Xiaoya.”
Liu Zhibin’s voice and Han Huaixiao’s voice sounded at the same time.
Han Huaixiao’s tone was gentle, the name soft. Fang Dewei immediately looked enlightened and laughed.
“Little Han, your girlfriend? Sounds like you two are close.”
Han Huaixiao wore an expression that mixed embarrassment with happiness as he answered, “Director Fang, Village Head Liu, I’ll step outside to take this call.”
“Go on, go on,” Fang Dewei waved him off.
Holding the phone to his ear, Han Huaixiao talked as he walked out into the back courtyard. After standing for a bit, he leaned against the parked motorcycle, as if tired. If Liu Guangjie had come out, he would have seen it immediately: Han Huaixiao was inspecting his bike.
With one hand holding the phone, Han Huaixiao reached into his pocket with the other and took out a small tracking device. Under the cover of night, he discreetly attached it beneath the motorcycle’s rear seat.
After installing it, he continued “chatting” for a while longer before hanging up and heading back. Passing by the kitchen, he saw Ye Mei wiping down the stove.
She looked up at him.
That glance carried something heavy, complex, and difficult to read.
Han Huaixiao changed direction and stepped into the kitchen, asking, “Aunt Mei, why aren’t you eating with us?”
Ye Mei glanced toward the doorway. “Are you really government people?”
“Yes,” Han Huaixiao replied evenly. “County Agricultural Bureau. Why?”
She stared out the window toward the distant mountains. “Nothing. Just asking.”
Han Huaixiao followed her gaze. On the mountainside in the distance, faint lights glimmered, right where he and Xia Hang had spotted the prefabricated structures earlier.
“What’s that place on the mountainside with the lights?” he asked. He’d wanted to ask Liu Zhibin earlier, but worried it might raise suspicion.
Ye Mei seemed surprised he’d noticed. She turned to look at him, lips moving slightly. After a moment, she said, “A pig farm.”
“A pig farm up in the mountains?” Han Huaixiao asked. “Transport must be inconvenient.”
“Pig farms smell,” Ye Mei said flatly. “Up there, no one lives nearby. It doesn’t bother anyone.”
“I see.”
However, Han Huaixiao sensed hesitation, like she wanted to say more. He was about to continue, to build trust, when Liu Zhibin’s voice suddenly rang out from the dining room.
“Ah Mei! Bring another bottle of liquor!”
Han Huaixiao looked at Ye Mei as she opened a drawer and took out a bottle. Whatever she might have wanted to say, she wasn’t going to say it now. In the end, he walked out with her, but still waited a moment before entering the dining room himself.
As expected, the moment he sat down, Fang Dewei teased him, “Little Han… girlfriend all settled?”
Han Huaixiao smiled.
“Settled.”
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