The group of men who had just attacked the police had already been taken into custody. The man who led them claimed we'd killed his brother. I stepped forward and asked for his name. He refused to answer at first, just glaring at us with gritted teeth—clearly holding a deep grudge against these "experts from the city."
I said calmly, "We're not the same people from before. If you want to clear your brother's name, you'll need to cooperate with us."
He roared, "That old man Qin from last time said the same thing—and my brother ended up getting executed!"
Then he broke down in loud sobs, his emotions crumbling. When I gently repeated my question, he finally answered. It turned out he was Wu Laosan—Wu's elder brother.
He worked at a factory in the city and had seen the banners welcoming "city experts" to the precinct the day before. Enraged, he had smashed up our car near the hotel that night. Then, by coincidence, we drove into his village the next day, practically walking into the trap ourselves.
Assaulting police officers could be a minor or major offense. Technically speaking, what Wu Laosan did—armed assault—could land him five years in prison. But Huang Xiaotao showed leniency.
"Let the others go," she said. "Detain Wu Laosan for five days."
With Lunar New Year just six days away, she was clearly giving him a break so he could still be home with his family. It was a humane gesture. But Wu Laosan didn't appreciate it—instead, as he was being escorted to the car, he stiffened his neck and shouted, "If I don't make it back alive, you better avenge me!"
Huang Xiaotao snorted coldly. "Biting the hand that feeds you—what a waste of kindness."
Director Feng looked on nervously, his eyes practically begging for mercy. I didn't believe he was directly responsible for the past miscarriage of justice, but he had made a mistake by keeping information from us. I told him, "You can make it up to us. If we solve the case before New Year's, we won't hold this against you."
Feng nodded rapidly. "Absolutely! I'll follow your lead and offer my full support."
I asked, "Have you heard about the story of the 'Ghost in the Well'?"
"Yes," he replied. "The rumor started with the first murder."
"You think it was a ghost that did it?" I asked.
He shook his head firmly. "I'm a materialist. I don't believe in that nonsense—it was definitely a person."
Huang Xiaotao, curious, asked me about the ghost story. "I'll explain in the car," I said.
Once we got in, I repeated the folklore the villager had told me. Huang Xiaotao chuckled. "A ghost bride killing people? Now that's interesting."
I frowned. "Don't tell me you believe it?"
She smiled. "I believe you—ghosts don't kill people. People do."
It seemed no one in law enforcement took the ghost theory seriously. That raised the question: if the killer couldn't fool the police with such a façade, why make it look like a ghost murder? Maybe the killer genuinely believed it himself, or maybe the similarities were accidental and blown out of proportion by local superstition.
That afternoon, I wanted to do some field investigation. "Any updates on the dismemberment case?" I asked.
"Still waiting on lab results," said Huang. "They should be out by tonight."
"Then let's go out for a bit. Bring Bingxin with us," I said. To avoid seeming presumptuous, I added, "You don't mind, do you?"
Huang Xiaotao nodded. "I'd worry about leaving her alone—might as well bring her along."
Sun Bingxin was thrilled to hear we were going on a village walkabout. In the afternoon, we went downtown, asking street vendors about the ghost well. We discovered that only locals knew the legend; outsiders had never heard of it. A quick visit to a local bookstore confirmed it—it was documented in a regional folklore collection.
"Why are you asking about ghost stories, Brother Song?" Bingxin asked. "Ghosts can't kill people."
I smiled. "Take a guess."
She tilted her head, thinking. "You're trying to throw off the killer? Feed them false leads?"
Huang Xiaotao interjected, "You're overthinking it. He's checking how far the story has spread, which helps narrow down who the killer might be."
I nodded. "Exactly. The story isn't that well-known—it's mostly local. Which means our killer is, too."
Bingxin sighed. "One dismemberment, and now a string of facial mutilations—are we even going to make it home in time for New Year's?"
Huang Xiaotao grinned. "Eating instant noodles in a patrol car while fireworks explode across town—want to try that experience?"
"No thanks!" Bingxin said, sticking out her tongue.
We passed a tailor shop with a red dress hanging in the window. I froze.
"You want to take a look?" Huang asked.
I nodded.
We entered. A woman was working at a sewing machine. Without looking up, she asked what kind of clothing we wanted.
I signaled to Huang not to show her badge. "Do you make down jackets?" I asked.
"For yourself?" she asked.
"Yes."
She got up to grab a measuring tape. That's when I noticed something odd—half her face looked stiff, with a drooping eyelid. Realizing I was staring, she ducked her head shyly and came over to take my measurements.
"Did you have cosmetic surgery?" Huang asked casually.
The woman didn't respond.
"I did too," Huang said, baiting her. "It left me with all kinds of complications. Cost a fortune to fix—and I still have allergic reactions sometimes."
The woman's curiosity was piqued. "Where did you get it fixed?"
Huang named a random hospital. "You too? Got side effects from surgery?"
The woman sighed. "Yeah… picked a bad clinic. Suffered a lot. Couldn't go out for months. Took years to recover."
Just then, a man came out of the back room. "Qin, who are you talking to?"
"Customers," she replied.
He looked to be her husband—average looks, strong build. He eyed us carefully. "You don't sound like locals. What brings you here?"
"Visiting relatives," I said.
He nodded. "Things haven't been safe lately. Be careful."
"What's your name?" I asked.
He handed me a card. His name was Zhang Qiang, and his wife was Li Qin.
I pointed at the red dress. "Odd time of year for that kind of clothing. Who buys this?"
"Oh, that one's never sold. We just hang it up as a display."
Huang tugged on my arm. "Honey, I really like this dress. Can we buy it?"
I asked the price, paid for the dress, and we left.
"Xiaotao, did you really have plastic surgery?" Bingxin asked.
Huang shrugged. "Born beautiful, sweetheart. I lied to get her talking."
"So you suspect that tailor shop?" Bingxin asked.
"When you're a detective," Huang said, "you suspect everybody."
Back at the precinct, Zhou had completed the lab analysis. Huang and Bingxin went to assist. I asked Officer Chen to bring me all the case files.
There were four victims—all young and attractive women. All had their faces mutilated using cooking oil heated to several hundred degrees Celsius. All were found in red dresses with signs of having been tied up. None had been sexually assaulted, except the third.
In one case file, there was a photo of a victim's red dress.
It was identical to the one we had just bought from that tailor shop.