SES Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Wan Fenghuo cleared his throat twice. “So, then what happened?”

Li Tan quickly followed up, “The case at Luoma Lake — was that all he said right before he died? Did he only mention that one thing?”

Cen Chunjiao glanced at Li Tan and replied, “Not just that one thing. But each piece has its price, you know what I mean.”

Li Tan’s face darkened, but Mudai felt like smiling—Cen Chunjiao knew how to split things up and sell them piece by piece.

Cen Chunjiao continued.

“At the time, I was pretty stunned and didn’t believe what he was saying. Who in their right mind would confess to a stranger like that, especially if they’re a criminal?”

After a moment’s pause, I decided I still needed to get the old gatekeeper to come help me muster some courage. Just as I took the first step, the man let out a long exhale and stopped moving.

I looked back. His eyes were wide open, his mouth half-agape, but there was no more movement. I didn’t dare go near him. I was afraid that if I did, like in the movies, he might suddenly jump up or bite me, and I’d be scared to death.

I ran to find the gatekeeper, shouting as I went. Before I got to the end of the hallway, the gatekeeper appeared on his own. Someone in another room yelled at me to keep it down in the middle of the night.

At this point, Cen Chunjiao let out a long sigh and glanced around at everyone present.

“You all know those old-style motels,” she said, gesturing so everyone could picture it. “Rooms line both sides of the hallway. One end is sealed off, the other leads to the front desk. When I say I didn’t get to the end of the hallway, I mean I stayed within the hall, and no other guests came out during that time.”

“After the gatekeeper showed up, I dragged him to that room—and what we saw was…” She paused. “I know you probably won’t believe me, but it’s the truth.”

She was serious about it, which meant something strange had happened in that room. Ma Tuwen listened closely, his mind racing to its fullest: “The body was gone? Or did he come back to life?”

“No,” Cen Chunjiao said. “The body was still there. He was dead. But his left foot was missing.”

For a couple of seconds, no one spoke.

“His left foot was missing?”

Mudai, who had forgotten all about grabbing food, instinctively asked, “How was it missing?”

“It was cut off. But the wound wasn’t clean—it was jagged and torn. Of course, that’s not my assessment; I later had a friend quietly find out from a forensic expert.”

Mudai finally understood why Cen Chunjiao had been so detailed about describing the motel hallway. The hall wasn’t long, and she hadn’t left that area for long. So within a very short window, someone had broken into the dead man’s room, hacked off his left foot, then slipped away without a sound. It all sounded like some kind of unbelievable ghost story.

Ma Tuwen was the first to lose his patience: “Come on, you’re making this up, right?”

Li Tan snorted twice and spat two words, “Fake news.”

Cen Chunjiao seemed to have expected this reaction. She replied evenly, “After the police were called, every guest in the motel was questioned separately. The motel was closed for two weeks. This wasn’t a secret locally. Mr. Wan’s colleagues are capable people—you can ask around all you want. I also gave a statement. But that part of the story was so strange I was half scared and half afraid of causing trouble, so I never told anyone else.”

Ma Tuwen fell silent. That made sense — the dead man’s body was there, and anyone could ask around about whether his left foot was missing. Making up stories was pointless.

Li Tan’s face still held a sneering expression. “I’m not saying the whole thing is fake. Maybe someone did die in that motel. Maybe their left foot was cut off for some weird reason. But that whole story, and the dead man himself, have nothing to do with the Luoma Lake case.”

He looked arrogantly at Wan Fenghuo. “Mr. Wan, I’m paying for the Luoma Lake case. I have no interest in any other case, no matter how strange.”

Cen Chunjiao started to lose her patience. “What do you mean by that?”

Li Tan seemed uninterested in continuing the argument and turned his attention to Mudai and Ma Tuwen. “We’re all buyers here. I’m not paying for fake news. What do you two think?”

What a twist. Mudai had thought she was just here to listen to a story, but hadn’t expected this sudden development. She looked at Wan Fenghuo. “How about we take a break? Give us some time to think?”

During the intermission, Mudai slipped out the back door of the hot pot restaurant and called Huo Zihong to update her on what was happening. After listening quietly, Huo Zihong let out a single “Mm.” Then, after a pause, she said, “It’s fake.”

Mudai didn’t respond. She figured if she were Wan Fenghuo, she’d probably be livid dealing with people like Auntie Hong and Li Tan—acting like they needed inside information but actually…

As if sensing her thoughts, Huo Zihong added, “That couple who died back then, both professors, both surnamed Li—the husband, Mr. Li, actually taught me. I kept a close eye on that case for a long time, didn’t rely solely on Wan Fenghuo for information… What did that Cen Chunjiao woman say? Just way too fake.”

“So… are we paying or not?”

Huo Zihong’s answer surprised her: “Pay. I’ve been asking Wan to look into things. I don’t want him thinking I’m withholding information. Also, Mudai—keep an eye on that Li Tan for me.”

Mudai wanted to ask something, but in the end, she swallowed it. When she hung up, she felt a strange unease. She couldn’t say exactly what was off, but something was.

On the way back, she saw Ma Tuwen tucked in a corner on the phone too. As she passed by, she leaned in a little on purpose and caught a fragment: “So should I pay or not?”

That cracked her up. Suddenly, this whole situation felt weirdly entertaining.

When the break ended, Wan Fenghuo came out to steer things back on track and asked the buyers what they’d decided.

Li Tan stuck to his guns. Ma Tuwen coughed a couple of times, playing it up: “After careful consideration, I’ve concluded that Sister Cen’s—uh, Ms. Cen’s—information is still of value. I’m willing to pay.”

Careful consideration? You considered it? Mudai had to hold back a laugh. She just nodded at Wan Fenghuo. “I’m in.”

Cen Chunjiao’s face lit up, and Wan Fenghuo let out a subtle sigh of relief. He turned to Li Tan. “Two to one. Majority rules—you know how it goes.”

Li Tan’s face went from red to pale. Mudai thought he might blow up, but then—suddenly—he leaned back in his chair and laughed. “It’s just money. Fine, I’ll pay.”

And with that, the deal was sealed. Everyone seemed satisfied. Cen Chunjiao, clearly in a good mood, added, “Oh right, that guy who stayed at the motel—I saw his registration. His name was Liu Shuhai, from Jinan, born in ’72.”

Li Tan didn’t care what year the guy was born. He just looked at Mudai and Ma Tuwen with a smirk, like he was watching a pair of idiots.

As the group dispersed, Wan Fenghuo invited a few of them to stay at his affiliated hotel. He said that based on the information Cen Chunjiao had provided, his local contacts would follow up. New leads might turn up, and staying nearby would make coordination easier.

Free lodging—why not? Only Ma Tuwen declined, saying he already had a place in Chongqing and didn’t sleep well in hotels.

That reminded Mudai of when she first entered the private room and Wan Fenghuo had asked if she was “Miss Huo Zihong.” So… who was behind Ma Tuwen?

The answer surprised her. Wan Fenghuo said confidently, “It’s just Mr. Ma. It’s always been him.”

Wan Fenghuo’s hotel was just like the man himself—absurdly retro. White walls, gray roof tiles, a traditional carved entryway. Right inside the door, there was even a little shrine…

Wait, hold on—it wasn’t a shrine to the God of Wealth. Mudai stepped closer and saw it was a figure of a scholar, one hand behind his back, holding a scroll in the other.

Wan Fenghuo lit up and explained, “That’s our trade’s patron saint—Bai Xiaosheng.”

He was about to say more when a message popped up on his phone. With practiced ease, he started typing back. The big sleeve of his robe swayed dramatically next to the phone.

Mudai couldn’t help laughing. “You’re this deep into the retro vibe, and still using a phone?”

Wan Fenghuo shook his head. “Miss, not everything can go retro. Two things absolutely must keep up with the times.”

“Which two?”

He held up two fingers, then folded one down. “First, money. Honestly, I prefer real gold and silver. Bills are just printed paper—they never feel truly secure. And now, with digital currency, you don’t even get to touch the paper. But what can you do? The whole world’s like this now.”

“And the other?”

He didn’t use his fingers this time. He just waved his phone in front of her. “Information. Communication. Be honest—could you live without this?”

Mudai thought for a moment, then shook her head.

Wan Fenghuo beamed. “I knew it. You young folks treat your phones like your lifelines. I’ve got a friend—bit of an odd one upstairs…” He tapped his temple. “Loves researching all sorts of spooky stuff. Not superstition—real fieldwork. He goes to the creepiest, most remote places. Still takes notes by hand, won’t even use a USB drive. He’s filled up so many notebooks over twenty years, he keeps them in sacks. Didn’t use a phone either, said he didn’t need one. Used to be impossible to reach him. I yelled at him so many times. Still refused.”

“But he gave in eventually?” Mudai asked, curious.

“Well, not because of me,” Wan Fenghuo cleared his throat. “He was the best man at a friend’s wedding, and the groom gave him a phone. But that’s not the point. The point is—everyone needs to communicate. Gotta stay up to date.”