Chapter 011: More Spirit Money

I crouched down, examining the tangled weeds with care. Chen Fan grew anxious and asked me what I had found. “Be quiet!” I barked, and he immediately fell silent. My brow furrowed as I straightened up; compared to the house, this patch of ground seemed more like the primary crime scene. The dense blades of grass bore misty traces of blood. It was winter, and many of the weeds were already yellowing, their leaves dry, so the blood had set in almost as soon as it touched them.

I told Chen Fan that this was likely the original crime scene, because of the pattern of fine, misty blood on the grass. He looked left and right, scrutinizing everything for a long time, but insisted he couldn’t really see the mist-like dispersal of the blood. I smirked coldly; this was precisely why the killer hadn’t bothered to cut away these bloodstained grasses.

Wrapping my sleeve around my hand, I gathered some of the weeds together and asked Chen Fan again if he could see it now. He nodded immediately. The blood was sparse and faint, but if you looked closely, it was still visible. The grass was thick here, but not enough to form a complete mat. Glancing up, I saw the sky was overcast.

I told Chen Fan that the time of death was probably after eleven o’clock last night. He knew I could generally estimate the time from the lividity of a corpse, but this time, I hadn’t even seen the body. When he asked how I’d figured it out, I just smiled and said it was by chance.

After eleven last night, the wind had been especially strong. The villa’s courtyard was fairly well sheltered, so if there hadn’t been such a strong wind, the grass wouldn’t have been disturbed so much. The blood’s sparse, irregular pattern meant it had been spattered while the grass was swaying.

Moreover, before killing Feiji, the murderer must have laid something waterproof but absorbent—thin absorbent paper, for instance—over the grass. After Feiji died, his body was wrapped up and carried inside, preventing the blood from soaking further into the ground.

The presence of blood in the grass was an accident. The absence of misty blood patterns in the room showed the killer was careful to conceal his tracks, yet not expert enough in forensics. In throat-slashing crimes, blood can spray as far as two meters. The murderer clearly hadn’t anticipated this, hence the small traces left in the weeds.

He wasn’t stupid, just unlucky. Given the gales last night, the harbor district was probably expecting rain, so the killer didn’t bother removing the stained grass, assuming the downpour would wash everything away. In fact, if the police noticed slashed grasses, they might have investigated more thoroughly.

If the blood was washed away, the police would see nothing and let it be. The area where the grass was flattened was where I guessed Feiji had fallen. Had I not looked with a purpose, I might have missed it entirely; grass recovers quickly, and soon, the pressed blades would stand upright again.

The killer had staged a crime scene indoors to mislead the police. Ideally, by the time the authorities noticed, the grass would be upright, and the blood long gone. Unfortunately for the killer, the rain never came, and the blood remained.

Listening to my analysis, Chen Fan raised another question: the murder was done, so why bother creating a second crime scene at all?

I thought for a moment, then replied, “To create an air of mystery. There are probably even stranger things you’ve yet to discover.”

No sooner had I spoken than a scream echoed from inside the house. Frowning, I told Chen Fan to check it out and report back immediately. He hurried off, while I continued to examine the area. The grass revealed no other suspicious traces.

When Chen Fan returned, he was flustered. The forensic pathologist had arrived and conducted a preliminary examination, discovering several sheets of funeral paper stuffed inside Feiji’s mouth. I was momentarily stunned—once again, this murder was entangled with the “Ghost Banquet” case.

Chen Fan explained that the papers were wedged into both of Feiji’s cheeks. He’d been clever this time, noting the papers were dry, likely inserted after death, since saliva production ceases soon after death. But he was even more puzzled: if the murderer wanted to create a sinister atmosphere, killing the victim and stuffing funeral paper in his mouth without leaving evidence should have sufficed. Why bother moving the body and the scene?

“There are usually only two reasons for moving a crime scene in homicide cases,” I said.

The first is to destroy evidence and conceal the crime, but clearly, the killer hadn’t attempted this. The second is to cover up traces accidentally left at the original scene. I surmised that the killer’s motive was the latter.

No one can guarantee they haven’t left behind some clue at the real scene. Creating a secondary scene misleads the police, drawing their attention away from the truth. I looked around again; there had to be some clue I’d overlooked.

But no matter how hard I searched, I found nothing.

The biggest mystery was how Feiji had died. As a police officer, even if he’d been frightened the day before, he would have remained vigilant. Killing him in a single stroke, without a struggle—especially with a throat-slashing method—was nearly impossible.

If there had been a struggle, the grass would have been trampled, but there was no evidence of that.

More and more people were entering the villa. What couldn’t be seen with the naked eye would require technical analysis. I told Chen Fan to share everything I’d deduced with the on-site officers and bring them to the true crime scene for a thorough search.

After that, I climbed over the wall and left.

An hour later, Luo Feng arrived. We smoked outside as he told me his men at the docks had made progress. They had shown photos of Lao Jiu and his companions to every crew member and dockworker; eventually, someone recognized the four. Apparently, when they disembarked, they were in a hurry and bumped into someone, which led to a heated exchange. It nearly came to blows, but one of the four stopped the others, and after a brief discussion, they moved on.

They must have been wary of making a scene in the harbor district, fearing it would jeopardize their mission. Otherwise, given their temperaments, they wouldn’t have let it go. I asked Luo Feng if he could track which ship Luo Feng had boarded, but he said the investigation was ongoing. As for where Lao Jiu’s group went afterward, no one knew.

Luo Feng asked how Feiji died. In truth, when Chen Fan told me about the funeral paper found in Feiji’s cheeks, I immediately connected it to the mysterious spirit money Feiji had received the previous day. I told Luo Feng that, once the tests were back, the police would definitely find Yunqing’s fingerprints on the papers.

I was growing more convinced that Yunqing was not directly involved in the Ghost Banquet murders. Rather, the real killer had used Yunqing’s occult activities as a means to frame him. When Yunqing was brought to the station, he’d kept up his mystical act, even predicting Feiji’s demise—something everyone had heard with their own ears.

Feiji received spirit money and then died under bizarre circumstances, with more spirit money in his mouth—a move that served several purposes for the murderer. It made the case seem supernatural, confused the police, and acted as a warning: the head of the task force was dead, as if the killer was using superstitious fear to discourage further investigation. At the same time, if Yunqing’s fingerprints were found on the spirit money, suspicion would fall on him, diverting attention from the real culprit.

The killer was clever—I’d never thought him foolish. To orchestrate something as strange as the Ghost Banquet, he could not be ordinary.

As I discussed this with Luo Feng, Chen Fan and the other officers emerged. Feiji’s subordinates were devastated, but I noticed they now regarded Chen Fan with newfound respect, their attitude toward him much improved. Chen Fan, proud of himself, came over to see me.

“Brother Han, you’re amazing—they all believed me!” He had even changed how he addressed me.

Chen Fan explained that after hearing his analysis, the police had gone straight to the grassy courtyard. Forensic teams and officers were now diligently collecting evidence. The pathologist had already estimated the time of death, which matched my own deduction; for an exact time, they would need to complete the autopsy.

Still, this was enough to shock the harbor district police. Many remarked that police from the mainland were indeed different.

I sneered and told Chen Fan to return to the station with them and keep in contact with me at all times. For a junior officer, it was a rare chance to prove himself, and he agreed happily. Luo Feng and I returned to the hotel, and in the afternoon, Chen Fan finally brought news.

The results were in: the funeral paper bore Yunqing’s fingerprints, exactly as I had predicted.

Yunqing was now the prime suspect. An arrest warrant was issued, and the police began searching for him, but as the entire afternoon slipped by, Yunqing was nowhere to be found.