Chapter 024 Bewildered? Departure from the Harbor

After exiting through the back door of that entertainment establishment, we found ourselves in a narrow alleyway. One end of the alley was blocked off, so if Lao Jiu and his three companions had been taken out from here, there was only one direction they could have gone. The alley was so narrow that only people could pass through, which ruled out the possibility of them being transported away by car from this spot.

Once we left the alley, there were a scattering of shops nearby. We began to make inquiries, visiting each shop in turn. As expected, after several attempts, we finally uncovered a few clues. Someone recalled that on the day Lao Jiu and the others entered the establishment, a woman was seen helping several intoxicated men out, assisting each of them to a car waiting at a distance.

We pressed for more details, and the witness thought carefully before saying that the woman helped a total of four men out, each about ten minutes apart. The men, appearing extremely drunk, staggered as they walked, making it quite strenuous for the woman to support them. Normally, no one used that alley, so the incident stood out in the witness's memory.

However, at the time, the witness hadn’t given it much thought. People in the area were vaguely aware of what sort of place lay beyond the alley. This account immediately caught my attention—it confirmed my suspicion that Lao Jiu and his companions had their freedom restricted as soon as they entered that entertainment venue.

The woman who escorted them was clever. She exploited their lecherous tendencies to lure them inside, then likely drugged them, and afterwards pretended they were simply drunk as she helped them out. Ordinary folks wouldn’t know that the back door of such establishments was rarely used, so no one would suspect a thing.

I instructed Luo Feng to have his men investigate the nearly twenty women who had temporarily left the establishment—the suspect had to be among them. Luo Feng promptly handed the list of their names and contact details to his subordinates. As we drove back to the hotel, Luo Feng noticed my furrowed brow and asked what was on my mind.

After a moment’s hesitation, I confided my doubts to Luo Feng: I suspected there was something off about Lao Jiu.

Lao Jiu and his companions had only just arrived in the port district when they were lured into the entertainment venue, and in broad daylight, no less. Later, they were drugged and taken away. But this contradicted the account of the landlord at the crime scene—the landlord claimed Lao Jiu personally came to collect the key that same evening, after they had arrived in the port district.

By rights, Lao Jiu should already have been drugged by then. The landlord hadn’t noticed anything odd about his demeanor, which suggested Lao Jiu wasn’t under control at the time. Luo Feng wondered if perhaps only the other three had been incapacitated, and the killer had coerced Lao Jiu into fetching the key.

I immediately shook my head. I told Luo Feng that the four men under my command weren’t the kind to risk their lives for one another like the brothers in Luo Feng’s syndicate—if any of them had a chance to escape, they would seize it without hesitation. I also recalled Lao Jiu’s message to me after the forensic report determined the time of death.

“Could there really be someone who looks exactly the same?” Luo Feng suddenly blurted out.

Unable to let the matter rest, I asked Luo Feng to investigate thoroughly whether Lao Jiu had any siblings. I had previously looked into this quite comprehensively, but to be certain, Luo Feng decided to dig even deeper. When we returned to the hotel, Chen Fan was pacing anxiously outside my room.

As soon as he saw me, Chen Fan hurriedly informed me that Xuan Yi had already left the port district. I was taken aback and asked when this had happened.

Chen Fan told me that as soon as I gave the order, he had the police look into Xuan Yi’s whereabouts. Eventually, they found a record of Xuan Yi’s departure from the port, just last night. Chen Fan shared the precise time, and I realized Xuan Yi had left not long after calling me.

I reflexively reached for the old bracelet in my pocket, every word Xuan Yi had spoken on the phone echoing in my mind. Xuan Yi, like the old Taoist, was shrouded in mystery. I had already managed to have the bracelet examined at an identification center; not a single set of fingerprints was found on it.

Chen Fan explained that Xuan Yi had gone to the mainland, but since the police lacked evidence, they couldn’t detain him. Luo Feng, irritated, grumbled about the police being bogged down in procedure and asked if I wanted him to have someone apprehend Xuan Yi. I shook my head and told him to just keep tabs on the man.

Xuan Yi’s identity had also been uncovered. Unlike the enigmatic old Taoist, there was information to be found—though once Chen Fan learned who Xuan Yi was, he drew a sharp breath. Just as the burly man at Sansong Temple had once said, several years ago, Sansong Temple was still a modest little Taoist shrine in the southernmost part of the port district, not yet renowned.

Back then, there was no old Taoist at the temple—everything was managed by Xuan Yi.

Chen Fan hesitated, looking uneasy as he continued. Xuan Yi had originally been an ordinary resident of a small town in the south of the port district. After his wife’s sudden death, he retreated to the mountains and became a Taoist priest. That in itself was not unusual, but the timeline Chen Fan uncovered was troubling—all of this had happened fifty or sixty years ago.

Chen Fan, voice trembling, told me, “By calculation, Xuan Yi should be in his seventies or eighties by now.”

Both Luo Feng and I were astonished. Chen Fan went on: the reason Sansong Temple became known was precisely because of the rumors about Xuan Yi’s unaging appearance. At the time, Xuan Yi accepted no disciples, and the temple itself was tiny; all chores, from sweeping to greeting worshipers, fell to him alone.

Many local residents wanted his guidance or sought him to interpret fortunes, but Xuan Yi always refused. Gradually, some began to call him a fraud, but Xuan Yi never retorted. He simply spent his days chanting scriptures and sweeping the grounds, leaving the temple doors open for anyone wishing to burn incense or pray.

Decades slipped by in this manner. Only when people realized that Xuan Yi truly did not age did any doubts finally subside. As more and more visitors came, the small temple could no longer accommodate them. Then, one day a little over a decade ago, locals discovered Xuan Yi had vanished from Sansong Temple.

His disappearance lasted years. Later, a much larger Sansong Temple was built in the port district, and suddenly Xuan Yi reappeared—this time, as the senior brother to the now-notorious old Taoist. Yet Xuan Yi himself remained unchanged, as youthful as ever.

“Damn, that’s mysterious,” Luo Feng swore. “I need to keep a close eye on this priest.”

We were still standing in the hotel corridor. I counted the days—it had been some time since I arrived in the port district. An uneasy feeling gnawed at me, and I told Chen Fan and Luo Feng that we had to solve the case quickly and leave. Luo Feng waved off my concerns, saying this was his turf and we could stay as long as we liked without worry.

I didn’t answer Luo Feng, but went back to my room.

At dawn the next day, we each set out to pursue our respective leads. I noticed that Yun Gao’s tactics were working: the media had begun to shift their narrative, claiming the so-called ghost-hunting master Yun Qing was nothing but a charlatan who had used tricks to fake the “wailing meal” incident and extort money.

As I predicted, the police shifted their focus to interrogating Yun Qing. Chen Fan told me that since confessing, Yun Qing had not uttered another word, much to the police’s frustration. Facing mounting public pressure, the authorities were desperate to close the case quickly.

But Yun Qing’s refusal to explain her methods meant the case could not be fully wrapped up.

I sneered to myself—Yun Qing was not refusing to confess; she likely had no idea how the “wailing meal” incident had actually occurred, because she was not the culprit. That evening, Luo Feng reported back, saying he had sent people to track down the twenty or so women who had temporarily left the establishment.

With the business shuttered, some of the women had moved elsewhere to solicit clients, while others had found work in bars and similar places.

Every one of them insisted they had never seen Lao Jiu or his companions.

Luo Feng’s efficiency was impressive. He assured me he had investigated thoroughly—Lao Jiu definitely had no siblings.

As for Xuan Yi, who had left the port, Luo Feng had yet to locate him.

Both Chen Fan and Luo Feng asked what my next move would be. I thought for a moment and decided we had to find a way to get Yun Qing to retract her confession. I worried that the police, running out of patience, might rush to close the case. If Yun Qing recanted, we would have more time to find the real culprit. This case was exceptionally complex—not only was the crime itself bizarre, but unexpected events kept cropping up, disrupting every plan I made.

I told Chen Fan and Luo Feng to continue with their tasks, while I shifted my focus back to Yun Gao and Yun Qing. Though I believed Yun Gao was likely not the killer, I remained convinced that Yun Qing’s sudden confession was connected to Sansong Temple and her brother.

While it was still light, I paid a visit to the school Yun Qing had once attended. With a letter of introduction Chen Fan had procured for me, I entered the school easily. It was an institution that combined elementary and middle grades; as soon as I entered, I saw students of all ages bustling about.

I recalled how Yun Qing had nearly set fire to the school years ago—something about the incident felt off to me, as if there was a hidden story.

With Chen Fan’s letter, I was quickly ushered in to meet the principal, and in the office were several of Yun Qing’s former teachers.

They assumed I was a police officer and treated me with great courtesy, answering my questions without hesitation.

All of them, principal and teachers alike, described Yun Qing as a troublemaker—poor grades, bad temper. Yet I soon noticed a female teacher who kept her head bowed, saying nothing. From her expression, it was clear she did not agree with the others’ assessment of Yun Qing.