So all the places with camels were far from Xiaoshanghe. And Luo Ren’s tone—“you can ride a camel if you’re free”—like camels were part of his backyard menagerie.
Still, by the time she returned to the inn, Mu Dai’s frustration had melted away.
Luo Ren had someone deliver a humidifier to her room.
Brand new—just bought. Mu Dai followed the instructions, filled it with water, plugged it in, and soon enough, gentle steam filled the air.
She stared at the mist for a long time, a sense of duty swelling in her chest.
She had to do something to help Luo Ren.
The inn was close to Luo Ren’s house. With the curtains pulled aside, she could see the distinctive house standing out in Xiaoshanghe like a crane among chickens.
That night, Mu Dai peeked through the curtains no less than eight times.
She even thought, If only a burglar showed up at Luo Ren’s place, just to stir things up.
On the final peek, a car pulled up out front, and a woman in her forties stepped out.
She looked unfamiliar. Who was she?
Mu Dai’s heart skipped a beat—she remembered what Luo Ren had said: “Don’t put too much trust in people.” Did that include himself?
Logically, if you’re someone’s friend, you shouldn’t go snooping around behind their back. But then again…
She and Luo Ren weren’t exactly friends, were they?
Mu Dai paced around her room a few times. The house’s main doors were shut tight, and she didn’t have a good excuse to knock. Only one option left.
These houses were made of packed earth, easy to climb. Plus, the wind was strong that night, making enough noise to cover up any sounds.
She quickly scaled the wall.
She checked several windows and was disappointed to find they were all either bedrooms or bathrooms. The living room must’ve faced the courtyard instead. And since these windows were shut tight year-round to block the wind, they were soundproof. Even if she saw something, she wouldn’t hear anything.
Just as she was preparing to climb back down in frustration, someone opened a door and entered.
It was that woman and Ping Ting. Luo Ren was there too. The woman had changed into a white lab coat, a stethoscope around her neck, and after giving a few cheerful instructions, she and Luo Ren closed the door and left.
Mu Dai suddenly remembered—she must be the nurse Luo Ren had mentioned, the one who regularly checked on Ping Ting.
Previously, whenever Ping Ting took a shower, the nurse would stay with her the entire time. But ever since Ping Ting started showing abnormal behavior, Luo Ren had made sure no unrelated person was ever alone with her.
Now, in the bathroom, only Ping Ting remained. She still had that silent, vacant look on her face. She turned on the showerhead in the stall, then began undressing piece by piece.
This kind of felt… like she was invading someone’s privacy. Mu Dai quickly averted her eyes, her heart thudding in her chest.
Ping Ting really did have an amazing figure.
Still, she shouldn’t be watching. Mu Dai let out a breath and shifted her body to prepare for a safer way down from the wall. As she repositioned her hand, she glanced back through the window—just in time to see Ping Ting stepping out of the shower stall, as if she’d forgotten something.
Her body turned slightly, and the curve of her pale, flawless back was mesmerizing. Beads of water rolled slowly down her skin like tiny gems.
Mu Dai’s eyes narrowed sharply. On Ping Ting’s back—what was that?
——
Luo Ren listened silently as Mu Dai spoke.
She was a little breathless, dust and dirt still clinging to her clothes, but her voice was low, almost as if she was afraid someone might overhear: “It was just for a second or two. Really fast. But something suddenly bulged beneath the skin on her back. The shape of it…”
She hesitated, then pointed at the wall.
Luo Ren followed her finger. It was pointing at the chart she’d made—the one listing the victims’ conditions at death.
“That shape. It was exactly like that. And…”
In that brief second, the raised area on Ping Ting’s back wasn’t smooth. The blood vessels beneath the skin suddenly lit up in a vivid, almost glowing red, forming a fine, precise shape.
Mu Dai grabbed a piece of paper and sketched it out for Luo Ren. It was an elongated S-shape, with a small flick to the left side.
It looked like a character.
Luo Ren opened his laptop and searched for a moment. Then the screen froze on a page, and he called Mu Dai over. “Is it this one?”
Mu Dai nodded repeatedly.
The page was titled “The Evolution of the Character for Knife (刀).” It showed the transformation from oracle bone script, to bronze script, to seal script, to clerical, to standard script.
The symbol Mu Dai had drawn matched the first one exactly—the oracle bone version of the character for “knife.”
The Ballad of the Bow from ancient times, the oracle “knife” character…
Luo Ren suddenly asked her, “Do you remember? At every murder scene, the string-bound figures—one of them always held a knife.”
She remembered. The scene always showed one person covering their face like they were trying to hide, another holding a knife with a twisted grin, and a third with hands stretched out like they were trying to stop the fight.
The one holding the knife didn’t just have their hand posed—there was always a real knife, usually taken from the victim’s kitchen, placed in their hand and secured with string, layer upon layer.
But what exactly did the knife symbolize?
Luo Ren furrowed his brow, his index and middle fingers tapping softly against the armrest of the sofa.
“Luo Ren?”
“Mm.”
Mu Dai hesitated, then said, “Actually… after you told me that last time, I reached out to Wan Fenghuo. I asked him—Do ghosts exist?”
Luo Ren looked up at her.
Mu Dai was surprisingly serious. “I know you don’t believe in that stuff. But sometimes, things that are called ‘ghosts’ might just have scientific explanations. The person Wan Fenghuo connected me with… he seems legit. He writes books. He told me everything needs to be approached scientifically.”
“So?” Luo Ren asked.
Mu Dai thought this could be a promising lead. “That person’s been studying paranormal events for over twenty years. They say he’s been traveling nonstop, seen all kinds of strange things. I was thinking—if you’re okay with it—we could tell him everything, lay out the whole case. Maybe he’s seen something similar. Maybe he could give us some clues.”
Luo Ren thought of something Wan Fenghuo always used to say:
“Gathering intel is like that—you need a spark, a turning point. Without it, waiting three to five years is normal.”
Yeah. If there was no new turning point, were they supposed to just wait indefinitely?
If both Wan Fenghuo and Mu Dai trusted this guy… maybe he was the next turning point.
Let’s treat the dead horse like it’s still alive.
Luo Ren let out a long sigh. “What’s his name?”
He turned his laptop to the search engine, planning to look up the guy’s books and see what kind of work he’d done.
Mu Dai slowly answered with two syllables.
“Shen Gun.”
(Literally: “Magic Quack” / “Charlatan”)
Meow meow On TPH Chapter 26.1