In the onslaught of Jiang Yan’s questions, Yu Renwan understood the ins and outs of the whole matter.
Meng Henshui had once done a favor for the white-haired weasel spirit, and the weasel spirit was willing to repay her, so the two developed a relationship of “I offer you incense and tributes, and you help me fulfill reasonable requests.”
This relationship went on for years. Every time Meng Henshui came to the factory to make offerings and express her wishes, the energy in the factory would become abnormal, but it would quickly stabilize. So each time the people from the Supernatural Administration Bureau came to investigate, they returned without results.
Half a month ago, Meng Henshui came to make offerings again. Her wish was to kill the three elderly people in the factory.
Shang Demin, Li Ronghai, Meng Xiangjiang.
Perhaps it was the first time Meng Henshui made a wish that involved taking lives, or maybe not; in any case, the weasel spirit did not want to carry the karmic burden, so it refused Meng Henshui’s request.
Unable to get what she wanted, Meng Henshui came up with a way for the weasel spirit to dodge karmic debt—she would bear it herself.
She then hired people to collect snakes near the factory for a high price, giving Shang Demin and the others the psychological suggestion that killing snakes could earn money, so whenever they saw a snake, their first impulse would be to kill it instead of letting it go.
After giving enough psychological suggestions, Meng Henshui hired people to sell mattresses at the mouth of the alley. Shang Demin and others were lured in one after another. They brought home mattresses filled with snakes, and after the snakes emerged, they killed them and made some money.
As for the snakes placed in the mattresses—they had already been offered in advance to the Yellow Immortal as sacrifices by Meng Henshui.
Thus, the three elders actually killed offerings meant for the Yellow Immortal, which was the gravest disrespect. Therefore, the Yellow Immortal killing them was entirely justified, and he didn’t need to bear additional karmic debt.
From the moment Jiang Yan said, “The snakes are offerings,” the white-haired weasel spirit stared unblinkingly at Jiang Yan.
This unsettling feeling passed through the screen, making Yu Renwan deeply uncomfortable—she couldn’t help but take half a step back, but Jiang Yan was completely unaffected.
She asked with a half-smile, “Are you really exempt from karmic retribution?”
“You know exactly what Meng Henshui intended, don’t you?”
Upon hearing this, the white-haired weasel spirit looked away and stared at the burning incense before it.
After a moment, it grinned, revealing rows of densely packed teeth.
“Don’t think, don’t listen.”
The next second, the livestream chat was flooded with exclamation marks.
[??? Human speech, holy crap, is this human speech?!]
[Oh my God, I need my mom, mom mom mom mom—]
The piercing voice, like a newborn baby pinching its throat to speak, bizarrely mixed innocence and age into one, making people’s skin crawl.
After speaking, the weasel spirit closed its eyes.
Jiang Yan had no interest in forcing an admission.
This self-deceiving method could indeed temporarily sidestep karma, but who knew what would happen later? Jiang Yan did not comment; she only wanted to satisfy her curiosity.
“Your attitude was strange last night.”
Jiang Yan asked her final question.
“After your two followers possessed the snakes, they had no intention to kill us. Even when frightening us, they kept the horror under control. For example, the yellow-gray one obviously scared Shen Xiaoxiao into fainting, but then withdrew its shield and let Shen Huanhuan hear the noise in the living room, prompting her to check on Shen Xiaoxiao’s condition.”
“It was quite interesting,” Jiang Yan mused, “last night you created a situation where…”
“It seemed like the snakes had some power, but weren’t too impressive. They didn’t dare show up to both people at the same time, nor did they really threaten anyone’s life, so it was perfectly reasonable for us to keep investigating… that’s the impression you gave.”
Jiang Yan presented her deduction: “I thought about it, and you seemed to want to achieve two goals at once.”
“The first was to repay Meng Henshui—use the snake to scare those investigating as she wished, making us think the snake was seeking revenge. That way, if she ever blamed you later, you could say you did help her; it’s just that we refused to leave. The second was that you wanted us to stay and uncover the truth and catch Meng Henshui.”
Jiang Yan asked it, “Your opportunity for cultivation came because of her, but you no longer want to help her, do you?”
As soon as she finished, the white-haired weasel shook its head.
Its eyes remained closed, voice still piercing and unpleasant: “I owe her too much. I am still helping her.”
“If she wants to live, it’s time to stop.”
As it finished speaking, the white fur of the weasel spirit suddenly appeared much dimmer.
It said nothing more.
*
Jiang Yan stood up.
She had gathered enough information and preferred to investigate the rest herself.
She enjoyed the process of unravelling clues and the thrill of approaching the truth.
Jiang Yan retrieved her phone and flashlight from the hole, then stuffed the red brick back inside.
“Let’s go back.”
Yu Renwan was still in shock from hearing the weasel spirit talk like a human. Suddenly hearing Jiang Yan’s voice, she jolted, her phone slipping from her palm to hit Xiao Wa on the forehead.
Bad luck descended; Xiao Wa collapsed onto the ground like a dead crow.
Yu Renwan hurriedly crouched down: “Two pearls.”
Xiao Wa squeaked weakly.
Yu Renwan: “The weasel’s don’t count, find another one…”
Xiao Wa whimpered, turning its rear toward Yu Renwan. Jiang Yan saw its furry backside, raised her eyebrow, and kicked it. Xiao Wa immediately landed face-first.
“Good feel,” Jiang Yan said blandly.
Xiao Wa shrieked and flew back into its birdcage.
Yu Renwan held the birdcage and followed Jiang Yan upstairs, quietly marvelling, “Xiao Wa is so well-behaved today.”
Jiang Yan: “It can behave better.”
Xiao Wa: “…”
Back in the room, Xiao Wa didn’t want to see Jiang Yan for a single second. It covered its rear with its wings and burrowed under the sofa.
Yu Renwan went to boil water for instant noodles, while Jiang Yan returned to the bedroom.
She took out her newly purchased laptop from her suitcase and opened a search page.
After a brief pause, Jiang Yan typed into the search box:
“Fu Ru Donghai Brand Mattress.”
The page loaded, and on top was an unrelated mattress brand.
# Premium Mattress Five-Piece Set, the elderly’s thoughtful choice, wishing all seniors fortune as vast as the East Sea and life as steady as the Southern Mountains #
Jiang Yan patiently clicked through the results—mattresses from every brand, but all associating “Fu Ru Donghai” with auspicious phrases.
There was simply no such mattress brand.
No pictures, no shopping links, no user reviews—nothing at all.
Jiang Yan closed the page, recalling what Meng Xiangjiang had said.
She first met Meng Xiangjiang in front of the mattress vendor’s stall; he had been pushing a tricycle, saying he searched for that stall all over the market.
He said, “This is the famous Fu Ru Donghai magnetic therapy mattress, right?”
The next time she met Meng Xiangjiang was this afternoon.
That afternoon, Meng Xiangjiang seemed in good spirits and credited it partly to the mattress, saying it truly deserved its reputation from the big city.
If Fu Ru Donghai mattresses were a well-known brand, there would be no problem with Meng Xiangjiang’s words.
Unfortunately, they weren’t.
It was a “three-no” brand: no manufacturer, no trademark, no quality certificate—something Meng Henshui concocted for her scheme. Where could its fame come from? How could it be “famous even in the big city”?
Jiang Yan had originally guessed the popularity was a carefully crafted illusion by Meng Henshui, perhaps by hiring people to chat with longtime tenants in the factory compound about how great the mattresses were. The more people talked, the easier it’d be for others to believe, and as belief spread, she’d sell the snake-filled mattresses to Shang Demin and the rest.
Now thinking more carefully, the situation seemed even more complicated.
Jiang Yan’s fingers tapped lightly on the laptop’s edge as she stared at the screen.
If Shang Demin and Li Ronghai bought this “three-no” mattress, they must have heard lots of recommendations, possibly glossy mass marketing, which drew them to the alleyway stall to buy the mattress.
Meng Xiangjiang died two weeks after Shang Demin and Li Ronghai, meaning he bought the mattress at least two weeks later.
What was he doing in those two weeks?
Deliberating whether to buy the mattress?
Jiang Yan didn’t think so.
From their conversation that afternoon, it was clear this old man was chatty and informal, so he wouldn’t lack opportunities to hear about the mattress. People spoke of it daily—if he intended to buy one, he would have done so by now or at least asked about the stall’s location and the price.
But he hadn’t.
He only knew the brand name when he went looking for the mattress stall.
It was reasonable to suspect he only decided to buy the mattress abruptly yesterday afternoon, not even bothering to ask about the stall—he just went straight for it.
That made something he said this afternoon all the more interesting.
—“My son said this mattress is famous in the big city and insisted I try it; it’s really good.”
How could a “three-no” mattress be famous in the big city?
Why would Meng Xiangjiang’s son “insist” that he try it, specifically mentioning “Fu Ru Donghai” brand?
Jiang Yan rested her chin in her palm, deep in thought.
The Meng family’s relationships seemed rather unusual.
Jiang Yan typed somewhat awkwardly.
If Meng Xiangjiang had only one son, it would be the Deputy Director of Changxia City’s Public Security Bureau.
That’s a public figure, so Jiang Yan had no trouble searching for him.
“Meng Zhaolin, male, graduate of Changxia Public Security College. Current Changxia City Public Security Bureau Party Committee Member and Deputy Director.”
There was a detailed online introduction, including a photo—a middle-aged man in a navy blue suit, over fifty, thin, with neatly combed hair, sharp eyes, and seemingly downturned lips, his expression stern before the camera.
He looked highly capable.
Jiang Yan read through all his information.
As her visual judgment suggested, Meng Zhaolin’s official record was impressive. Although not from an elite academy, his professional prowess was formidable—he’d cracked several high-profile cases and, more than a decade ago, had single-handedly uncovered an entire trafficking ring and earned first-class individual merit.
Changxia City was backward in many aspects, with many unresolved cases. Over ten years ago, Meng Zhaolin’s first-class merit was the highest honor ever awarded there. Afterward, he rose rapidly, from detective to vice-captain to captain, then from deputy chief to chief. Such a meteoric rise took him just over ten years.
Three years ago, he became Deputy Director of the City Public Security Bureau.
Online biographies used hundreds of words to describe the infamous “4.17 Major Child Trafficking Case” and dubbed him the “Light of Changxia.”
4.17 Major Child Trafficking Case.
Jiang Yan copied the phrase and searched again.
Many results appeared. Jiang Yan poured herself a glass of water and calmly read through them one by one.
Within five minutes, she knew what had happened in the trafficking case.
Thirteen years ago, in early March, Changxia City’s Public Security Bureau received seven consecutive reports of missing children aged 8 to 13. After investigating, the Criminal Division determined it was a gang trafficking case and launched a major investigation.
But at the time, surveillance cameras were scarce, and the police capacity was lacking, so there was no progress throughout March. Citizens lost trust in the police and stopped sending their kids to school.
In early April, with new missing children, the public could no longer suppress their anger and attacked the police in every way imaginable.
Just as the police utterly lost credibility, Meng Zhaolin—then an ordinary detective—found a critical clue on his way home from work.
He spotted suspicious individuals and, disregarding his own safety, gave chase by car. He later found several trapped children in the basement of an abandoned factory.
What exactly happened during that time was unknown, but the news article ended with this line:
“Not everyone has the courage to fight armed criminals. He lay in a pool of blood, but what stood tall was the spirit of the police. He is the people’s hero.”
A true hero.
Jiang Yan took a sip of water and scrolled down to the comments.
“Salute to the hero!”
“Changxia City needs police like this!”
“I’m a die-hard fan of Officer Meng now—it’s people like him who deserve promotion and who can truly represent the voices of Changxia’s people.”
“I hear Officer Meng is about to be discharged from the hospital; when he is, I’ll present him with a silk banner—my niece was one of the missing children, my sister nearly went blind from crying; our whole family is grateful, we’ll repay you in the next life!”
“Officer Meng is like a parent reborn for these children. As a mother, I can barely read this kind of news. I am truly happy for those parents.”
“It’s just a pity that one child is still missing. My friend in the Public Security Bureau said that the child was very smart and escaped from the trafficker’s car, but hasn’t returned home. Hope that child is safe and comes home soon.”
“My God, that’s worse than not escaping. The above comment was three days ago—any news of the child now?”
“Still no news. That’s the child who disappeared in early April. It’s heartbreaking—my wife asks me about the case every day, she can’t bear this kind of news story.”
“Do you know the child’s appearance or name? Let’s all look for her; how come I haven’t seen any missing person flyers?”
“She’s a girl. I think her name is Chunhong? My friend just mentioned it—I didn’t hear clearly. Should be posted on the missing kids site; sigh, the police are looking, let’s not worry for nothing.”
Chunhong.
Thirteen years ago, the last victim of the 4.17 major trafficking case.
Jiang Yan stared at the name for a few seconds, suddenly dumbstruck.
The next second, she quickly left the comment section and searched for the “February Bridge Corpse Case” from five years ago.
Earlier, Cheng Yue had said Meng Henshui was the last victim in that case.
She needed to confirm once more.
A few minutes later, seeing the search results, Jiang Yan clicked her tongue.
So that’s how it was.