Chapter 7

That night was the last time I got drunk in my life.

The next morning, I called home again to report my safety, and then, accompanied by Ma Haibo, I visited my uncle who was still being treated in the hospital. At noon, we set off for Qingshanjie in that dilapidated police car.

In the car, Ma Haibo thanked me profusely. He said the case had a very negative social impact, and the higher-ups were pushing hard for a quick resolution. His team, the small fry, were running around like mad but had no leads. Fortunately, I, this strange and extraordinary person, was helping. I felt that after I had used and then removed the curse the previous day, his attitude towards me had become very fawning. I didn't say anything, just nodded to show I understood, and didn't deny it, closing my eyes to think.

There were two dismemberment cases, both occurring at night. The first victim was a single, idle man from Sega Village, 32 years old, who usually worked odd jobs at construction sites but was too lazy to make much of himself. He liked to join in the fun and could be called to fight for a few dozen yuan and a good meal. The second victim was a young man who had returned from working away, with no enemies, just a fondness for drinking. One lived on the east side of the village, the other in the fifth group on the west side, with no apparent connection.

The only thing in common was that both were cut into over a dozen pieces and dumped in the wilderness.

After passing Qingmeng Township, the road conditions worsened, with many loose rocks on the road, making the ride to Sega Village quite bumpy and giving me a headache. However, by this time, my body had recovered, and I was silently reciting the Nine-Word Heart Sutra, so I didn't feel too tired. When we arrived at Sega Village, the atmosphere was still tense, with people on edge. The special task force from the Public Security Bureau stationed in Sega Village had not withdrawn and was still conducting investigations. A police officer in his forties briefly asked Ma Haibo a few questions and then let it go.

It was clear that Ma Haibo had a high standing in his team.

Ma Haibo was called to a meeting, while I wandered around the village. It was a poor little mountain village, with about 80% of the houses being old wooden and tiled structures, scattered haphazardly. Here and there, a few children in open-crotch pants were playing in the mud, with no one to watch over them. An old blind man was sunbathing in his yard, puffing on his pipe.

A disheveled man came from the village, saw the children playing in the mud, and ran over, laughing, "Come, look, I found a lump of gold, ha, I found a lump of gold..." The children scattered, shouting, "The madman is coming, the madman is coming..." The man, bare-chested and with a crooked face, ran past me, saying, "I'm not lying, this isn't cow dung." A teenager of about 14 or 15 ran over to support him, "Uncle, Uncle, why did you come out again?"

The teenager helped the man walk to the back of the village, where he kept muttering, "This isn't cow dung, it's a lump of gold!"

I felt something was off and went to ask the old blind man, "Grandpa, is that man a madman?"

The old blind man put down his pipe, his white eyes rolling, and felt for a stool to offer me, "You're from the government, right? Come, sit, sit." I sat down, and he said, "Yes, Wang Baosong is now a madman." I asked if he wasn't always like that.

"No, he used to be a filial son in the village, almost 40 years old, still living with his old mother and tending the fields. Unfortunately, he found a large lump of gold on the mountain a couple of years ago. He thought he had struck it rich and tried to sell it, but was accused of fraud and spent over a year in jail. When he was released, he was like this. He has no money for treatment, and no one cares for him. His mother is already in her twilight years and can't manage him..."

I remembered the story my uncle had told me, and it turned out to be about this madman.

"How is his mother now?" I asked. The old blind man sighed, "What can be done? Fortunately, Qingya takes care of her, or she would have died years ago." Qingya? I was puzzled. The old blind man explained that Qingya was the teenager, who had a distant relative relationship with the Wang family, so he often helped them. In the past two years, Qingya and his family had been taking care of the two of them, keeping them alive.

What a good person! I thought.

Many people say that the countryside is simple and pure, the last piece of paradise on earth. Those who say this probably haven't spent much time in the countryside. In reality, it's the same everywhere. I don't know about other places, but in the rural areas I've been to and interacted with, I've often encountered brothers fighting over property, widows being bullied, and petty theft. Even in the face of long-term illness, filial piety is rare, let alone for distant relatives. It's a good deed for someone to step up and take care of them.

Poverty can make people do anything. When you're poor and scared, what won't you do?

At this moment, Ma Haibo came to find me, saying he wanted to take me to the first crime scene. I asked if there were any clues there. He said there were, but they had been sent to the bureau for analysis. I asked why I should go if I wasn't a god. He laughed and said, "Not quite, but close enough." I told him about what I had just heard, and Ma Haibo said he knew, even though he hadn't handled the case, he had seen the file. It was a solid case, no room for doubt.

I laughed and said, "The villagers say Huang Laoya bullied people with his power, is there any foul play?"

Ma Haibo laughed loudly, "No way."

Seeing I didn't believe him, he said he would show me the file when we got back. The evidence was solid, airtight. He then remembered something and said the file I had seen yesterday was about the seven-year-old girl's mysterious death. Her father was Huang Laoya, who was also very unlucky. Not only did his daughter die tragically, but he himself had suddenly fallen ill and was likely to die soon. He also told me, "Remember the pretty girl Huang Fei from yesterday? Her uncle is Huang Laoya."

I suddenly felt uneasy and told him I wanted to visit the madman's house. Ma Haibo looked at me and asked if I felt sorry for him. I smiled and said I didn't know, just suddenly wanted to see it. Ma Haibo agreed and called a village official to take us to Wang Baosong's house. I felt a bit nervous, my mind a jumble.

As we passed a livestock shed, I couldn't help but stare at the old water buffalo inside.

The old buffalo was eating grass, struggling due to its age. When it saw me, it lifted its head and looked at me. We stared at each other for a while, and I was entranced, not even hearing Ma Haibo calling me. The buffalo looked at me, and suddenly, large, bright tears rolled down its eyes. I reached through the fence to touch its face, and it didn't move, allowing me to catch a handful of its tears.

We continued walking, and Ma Haibo asked what I was doing. I rubbed the buffalo's tears on my eyelids and said, "Nothing."

Ma Haibo grabbed my hand and asked, "Did you see something?" I stopped and asked, "What do you mean?" Ma Haibo's face turned pale, and he told me the second victim was the son of the family we had just passed. At that moment, I realized that what I had done was unconscious.

Could it be that the Jin Chan Gu inside me was influencing my thoughts?

A part of my heart was singing joyfully, like a tender green sprout emerging from fertile soil, delicate and fragile, cautiously connecting with me, like a pet or a child abandoned by its parents, yearning for family care. Damn, why did I have this feeling? Could it be that I had tamed this life-bound Gu? How could that be? Books say it takes at least half a year, sometimes over a decade, of daily prayers and nightly chants to gradually transform and possess it.

I knew that although I could command it to curse Yang Yu yesterday, it was more of a forced command.

But deep down, a voice was telling me: Go there, go there...

***

We soon arrived at Wang Baosong's house.

It was an old wooden house with two rooms and a kitchen at the back, half of which had collapsed. Wang Baosong sat in his messy yard, staring blankly at the mountains and terraced fields in front of him, with a clear, silver stream winding into the distance. When he saw the uniformed Ma Haibo, he immediately jumped up, knelt in the mud, and shouted, "Report to the government, I'm not lying, it's really gold, it's really..."

He kept bowing as he spoke.

Ma Haibo's face was grim. At that moment, there was a thumping sound from inside the house, and the teenager Qingya ran out. He looked at us three, wary, "Who are you? What do you want?" He wore a blue school uniform, washed yellow, with the emblem of Qingmeng Primary School on the left chest. He was energetic, but his ears were large and protruding.

Ma Haibo said, "Little friend, we're here to check on Wang Baosong and his mother."

His tone was gentle and friendly, but Qingya still eyed us warily for a while before calling into the house, "Grandma, someone is here to see you." He then led us inside. I looked around the desolate, weed-free yard, said nothing, and followed Ma Haibo.

The house smelled musty, a mix of old cotton and rotten wood. The air was stagnant, and the dark room had a bed. I saw a withered old woman lying on it, side-lying, wearing a brown-red wool cap, with a mosquito net that had turned gray-black. "Qingya, turn on the light," the old woman's voice was weak. The light clicked on, a 30-watt incandescent bulb, dim and yellow. Qingya brought over a few stools, and Ma Haibo sat at the head of the bed, saying a few polite words.

I looked around the room, which was truly destitute, with only some old furniture.

But what I was focused on was more extraordinary: the room was filled with a dark, faintly sour smell, especially under the bed, where there was a heavy, corpse-like odor. The old woman looked more dead than alive, and Qingya, who was serving tea, had a fierce aura on his forehead.

Where did these auras come from? How could I see them?

Because I had rubbed the buffalo's tears on my eyes. Cattle rarely cry, and when they do, it's usually when they are about to be slaughtered. They are kind and hardworking, often considered animals that can communicate with the spirit world. In ancient times, in Miao and Dong villages, ox heads were used for sacrifices, both raw and cooked. In some places, oxen are worshipped as gods, such as in Hinduism and among the Buyi and Gelao ethnic groups in southwestern China, who have festivals like the "Ox God Festival" and the "Worship of the Ox King Festival." In short, rubbing buffalo tears allows you to see different things (if you don't believe it, try it at a funeral).

The water Qingya brought was in a bowl black with grease. I held it but didn't drink, while Ma Haibo and the village official, not wanting to appear pretentious, took a few sips. Wang Baosong's mother kept coughing and asked me, "Young man, you look familiar, where are you from?" I said I was from Dazunzi Town. She said, "Oh," and looked at me weakly. I stared at her under the mosquito net and said, "My grandmother is called Long Laolan."

She didn't say anything more, and the atmosphere became awkward. Ma Haibo suggested we leave, and I took out a thousand yuan and placed it on the pillow.

As we came out, I saw Wang Baosong huddled in the corner of the hall, his messy hair full of a bloody smell.

I walked a long way, still feeling a pair of eyes staring at me from the dilapidated house, bright like a flashlight in the dark, cold and eerie, making me shiver.