Chapter Twenty-Five: The Courtyard Dwelling

Chen Changming was burning with anxiety; after all, such a major incident at the factory left him with no way to shirk responsibility.

“Captain Zhao, these are Zhang Hu, the head of the Security Section, and young Cui. They were both on night duty last night. If you need any assistance, you can speak to them,” Chen Changming said, pointing to the two men behind him as he addressed Zhao Weiping.

“Oh? Is that so? Perfect, I need to confirm a few things with them,” Zhao Weiping replied, casting a quick glance at the pair. Zhang Hu was burly and imposing, with an expression of solemn dignity. Cui Yue, on the other hand, looked frail, timid, and fearful. Years of experience as a detective had honed Zhao's ability to read people at a glance; he already had a fair sense of their characters.

“You two were on night duty yesterday, correct?” Zhao asked.

They both nodded, almost involuntarily.

“Did anything unusual happen last night? Did you see anyone suspicious or hear any strange noises?”

Zhang Hu thought for a moment before replying with certainty, “Last night was just like any other. Xiao Cui and I made two rounds of the factory as per regulations and found nothing out of the ordinary. The scrap materials workshop wasn’t operating last night, so its lights were off.”

Cui Yue, somewhat nervous, stammered as he recounted their patrol from the previous night, his account largely matching Zhang Hu’s.

Zhao Weiping listened carefully, jotting down notes whenever he heard anything important.

After a moment’s thought, Zhao asked, “Did either of you see Huang Juan enter the factory last night?”

Zhang Hu and Cui Yue both shook their heads after a moment’s recollection.

“I remember it very clearly,” Zhang Hu said. “There weren’t many people on the night shift yesterday, and I was with Xiao Cui at the gate. I didn’t see Huang Juan go in. If she had, I would have noticed for sure. But if she never left after her shift, that’s something we wouldn’t know.”

Zhang Hu then added his own thoughts. After all, with a background in reconnaissance, his sharpness exceeded most, and his assessment of the situation was spot-on, giving Zhao Weiping new inspiration for the case analysis.

“Thank you both very much. There are still a lot of clues and evidence we need to sort through, but most importantly, we’ll have to wait for the final forensic report before making any definitive conclusions. In the coming days, we may need your cooperation for further investigation. If you discover anything or remember any detail, please inform us immediately. This is very important,” Zhao Weiping instructed them.

“No problem at all. On behalf of the factory, I thank the Public Security Bureau. Please, solve this case as soon as possible and give us the truth. Otherwise, people are unsettled, and it’s difficult for us to maintain morale,” Factory Director Chen said, shaking Zhao Weiping’s hand.

“We certainly will. Please have faith in us.” By this point, the forensic team had finished processing the scene and were preparing to transport the body back to the Public Security Bureau’s forensic lab for further autopsy. Two officers carefully lifted the body onto a stretcher, the limbs and torso already stiff with rigor mortis, requiring considerable effort. The corpse was shrouded in a white sheet, long hair trailing down, a sight of stark desolation.

A swath of white cloth was gently draped over the body. This life had reached its end, leaving nothing behind; the living may remember, but the dead forget.

As the two officers carried the stretcher out of the workshop, passing by Cui Yue, a sudden chill swept in from the window, lifting a corner of the white cloth and exposing the entire head—facing Cui Yue directly, without the slightest deviation.

The pallid face was drained of color; the nose was a mangled, bloody cavity, and the eyes were rolled outward, staring fixedly at Cui Yue, filled with a deep, venomous resentment. The expression was exactly as he had seen it the previous night.

“It’s her, no doubt, it’s her. She’s come to claim a life...” That look would haunt Cui Yue for the rest of his days.

Chen Changping was startled as well and stammered, “How—how could she end up like this?”

“She fell in such a way that her nose was caught in the scrap gear and shredded,” an officer said flatly.

Everyone shuddered at the explanation.

It was as if Cui Yue had suffered a great shock; his already unsteady body could no longer bear the strain. The world spun, darkness closed in, and with a scream, he collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.

The others were all taken aback; no one expected the young man to be so frightened that he’d pass out. They rushed to his aid—pinching his philtrum, pressing his chest—but nothing revived him.

“Hurry, get him to the infirmary!” someone called out, and Zhang Hu immediately hoisted Cui Yue over his shoulder and dashed off at top speed.

Zhao Weiping hadn’t anticipated such an extreme reaction from Cui Yue and was somewhat perplexed.

Director Chen explained, “Captain Zhao, Xiao Cui is very young—he just graduated from high school, and yesterday was his first day on the job. He’s never seen anything like this. He’s probably just scared out of his wits. Give him time to recover and he’ll be fine.”

Zhao Weiping patted his own head and suddenly understood. No wonder the boy looked so innocent and inexperienced. With a sigh, he gently covered the corpse’s face with the white cloth again and shook his head, murmuring to himself, “Let the dead rest in peace; obsession serves no one.”

Sunset tinged the horizon; clouds drifted, the river stretched endlessly, wild grasses flourished, and flowers bloomed in their midst.

Beijing. Dasi Hutong. A traditional courtyard house.

The alley was tranquil, lined with roses. At its end stood a red lacquered gate, flanked by two drum-shaped stone pedestals.

Suddenly, two figures appeared before the gate. The first, an elderly man in black, reached out and tapped the knocker—three long, two short—a secret signal.

After a moment, the door creaked open a crack. The two glanced around, found no one watching, slipped inside, and vanished into the courtyard.

Inside, the scene was entirely different. The sky was framed by the four eaves; from the mouth of an ancient well, cold mist rose in coils. Rare and precious plants filled the garden in harmonious disorder. Two gilded copper basins held red and white lotuses, blooming with the sun and closing at dusk. A few fish darted to the surface before flicking their tails and vanishing below, the picture of contentment.

Doors, windows, and beams were all made of golden-thread nanmu, of immense value. The plaque above the door bore the inscription “Elegant Tea Residence,” penned by a famous hand. Though the courtyard was small, its design was ingenious, and every object within hinted at an illustrious provenance.

These two were none other than Han Shizhong—Tiger Beyond the Pass—and Scarface. But today, neither had the heart to appreciate the beautiful setting. They clasped their fists in greeting and recited:

“Black cloud beyond the pass, no end in sight;
Sun and moon, four mouths and a dog facing the sky.”

In the world of the Jianghu, there are rules of conduct. Once you’ve entered this circle, you must make your way—however you can. These opening lines made it clear: insiders would understand, and business could proceed. Outsiders could never grasp the hidden codes of this world.

The meaning was simple: the first line signaled that they were from outside the Pass, coming alone. The second line—sun, moon, four mouths, and a dog—spelled out the characters for “mingqi tian,” meaning “funerary objects added.” Together, the message was clear: outsiders, alone, bringing funerary goods.