Chapter Twelve: Investigation

The taxi pulled off the ring road and came to a stop on the shoulder, refusing to drive even a little way down the narrow path leading to Longevity Garden.

Shengyao didn’t argue with the driver. As agreed, he paid double the fare, stepped out, and watched as the car headed off toward the suburbs, soon vanishing from sight.

He didn’t go to the north gate of Longevity Garden. Instead, he followed the road to the wasteland before the west gate.

The beam from his phone’s flashlight barely pierced the darkness, illuminating only the tall, wind-tossed wild grass before him. The grass rose higher than a man’s head, stretching on endlessly. In daylight, the horizon and the little houses upon it were visible, but now, only dense, shifting thickets flickered in and out of his narrow circle of light.

Shengyao felt a flicker of unease but forced himself to stand tall and stepped out onto the wasteland.

He oriented himself by the direction of the little houses he’d seen yesterday at dusk and began to grope his way through the grass.

The sharp blades scraped against his body, stinging any exposed skin. Nearby, a bird cried out—not the melodious song of a nightingale, but a strange, piercing shriek.

His heart skipped a beat. The wind rustled the grass in waves, louder and louder, slapping against him and blocking his view.

When the gust stilled, the bird’s cry had vanished, replaced by the eerie, insistent chirring of some insect—nothing so familiar as a cricket or katydid, but something just as unsettling as the earlier birdcall. With it came furtive rustlings, as though some enormous bug were crawling among the leaves.

Shengyao’s heart leapt, but he forced it down.

He quickened his pace. Yet, once lost amidst the wild grass, his sense of direction faltered. He was no longer sure he was walking in a straight line. Looking around, he saw nothing but green, endless grass.

It was as if he were trapped, with no way out.

Steeling himself, he pressed on.

He glanced at his phone. Only ten minutes had passed—it was still early.

He walked for another twenty minutes before he felt the ground beneath his feet begin to slope upward—a small rise.

He raised his phone higher, leaping in place until he could see above the grass.

There it was—the little house, not far off.

As soon as he landed, the grass swallowed his view again.

But this time, he remained calm.

Breaking into a run, he crossed the gentle slope, climbed a small mound, and found himself beside two small houses.

One was larger than the other, but even the bigger was scarcely over twenty square meters. The roof was tiled, the walls built of stone and brick, the gray plaster peeling away to reveal broken bricks beneath. No rubble lay at the base of the walls, but here and there were shattered tiles. The windows were open but devoid of glass, only a warped wooden frame remaining. The door was just as battered, hanging crookedly against the wall, unable to serve its purpose.

Looking beyond these two derelict houses, he could see neat rows of greenhouses.

The houses and the dirt road they sat on marked a clear boundary, dividing the wilds from the farmland.

Shengyao’s heart sank.

These were not the dwellings of ordinary people.

He twisted his wrist, the beam of his flashlight sweeping forward to the greenhouses.

Beyond a dozen rows of them ran a dirt road lined with streetlights. In the darkness, the lamps looked like clustered flames—too sparse and irregular to offer any sense of safety, their dim glow more reminiscent of ghostly will-o’-the-wisps, eerie and unsettling.

He stared for a long time, vaguely making out lights from houses farther off, though perhaps it was only the ring road’s lamps in the direction of the city’s edge.

Slowly, he turned to look back at the wilderness.

Beyond the wilds lay the pitch-black Longevity Garden. In the moonlight, the cemetery’s contours blurred; no gravestones were visible, only the shadows of trees and, farther away, dormitories and office buildings. The dormitory windows were lit. Compared to the distant streetlights, the glow seemed close enough to touch.

White Xiao’s face appeared in his mind, followed by the gravestone and the black-and-white photograph upon it—then, the hand she’d lost in the cemetery…

His gaze drifted to the two little houses. Not willing to give up, he walked up to the first and pushed open the wooden door leaning against the wall.

Riddled with wormholes, the door collapsed at his touch, the rotten wood falling apart with a cloud of dust.

Inside was a table and chair, both thick with dust and missing legs, as rickety as the door, liable to topple at any touch.

There was no sign anyone had been here. Only Shengyao’s own footprints marred the floor.

He tried the other house. Inside was nothing but a broken water jar. Beneath the eaves, an empty bird’s nest.

So much for claiming to live nearby—it was a lie. The skin allergy, too, must have been a lie.

Sweat beaded on his brow, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips.

He couldn’t tell whether the thought of White Xiao living alone in such a ruin should comfort him, or if this truth offered more peace.

He exhaled, the smile fading.

That left only one possibility: White Xiao was still somewhere in the cemetery.

He looked out across Longevity Garden, lips pressed tight.

His hand, gripping the phone, trembled slightly, the image of rotting flesh in the peach tree replaying in his mind.

Perhaps this endless repetition was its own kind of therapy: after reliving it enough, he might be able to face it calmly.

His hand stilled.

He left the little slope and returned to the sea of wild grass.

He drew closer to Longevity Garden, the images in his mind shifting from White Xiao to the surveillance room within the cemetery.

He’d taken a glance at the monitors earlier today while Xiao Jin was reviewing the footage. He’d also noted the positions of the cameras on previous visits; combining these, he could roughly gauge the monitored areas within the cemetery.

Emerging from the wilds onto the asphalt, Shengyao shone his phone’s light on the iron-wire fence before him.

Longevity Garden was poorly guarded. After all, it was a public cemetery, not a bank vault. The wire mesh was dense and intact, but little sturdier than a sports field fence—no razor wire, no steel spikes.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, leapt up, grabbed the mesh, and with another boost, swung himself to the top. With a twist, he vaulted over.

He landed on a pine tree near the fence and climbed a little way up, gazing down into the Longevity Cemetery.

Within, all was silent under the moonlight. Occasionally, a red light marked a surveillance camera. The stone path flickered in and out of shadow, empty of people. The mounds of graves, like ink spots on a scroll, lacked the neatness of the greenhouses outside, but had a beauty of their own.

The God of Longevity holding a peach, white cranes with outspread wings, mighty lions, ancient tortoises, human figures…

But Shengyao saw, with disappointment, that there were only stone effigies—no living souls.

The atmosphere of the cemetery at night was tranquil yet oppressive, likely to rouse a primal fear—the fear of death.

But Shengyao felt none of this.

He retraced his steps, exited Longevity Garden, but did not leave. Instead, he followed the wire fence toward the traditional burial area.

This time, he dared not walk openly along the cemetery’s main path—those cameras covered every inch. If he wanted to reach the traditional section, he’d be better off climbing the fence directly at his destination, keeping out of sight.

He considered this coolly, recalling the security guards’ behavior the past few days. There had to be a camera aimed at the corridor of the thirteenth row—the place White Xiao was most likely to appear.

But if she really did show up there, the guards would have found her first, wouldn’t they?

Were their eyes all on him, missing something obvious? Or…

Shengyao paused.

Wu’s face flashed in his mind.

That security guard had seemed odd…

With this thought, images of White Xiao’s severed hand and the strange gray marks on her skin surfaced again.

He clenched his jaw, his expression growing grave, but soon forced these thoughts aside.

He glanced at the fence, peered through its gaps toward the thirteenth-row corridor where he’d always met White Xiao.

There!

He’d found his spot for climbing over, but before he could act, a commotion sounded not far off. He looked toward the noise, but the iron mesh and shrubs blocked his view.

...

The staff dormitories at Longevity Garden were single rooms—quite decent accommodations.

Chen Jin had lived there for years and was thoroughly used to the place. But tonight, he couldn’t sleep, turning over and over in bed before finally sitting up in frustration, switching on the light, and taking out a cigarette. He drew open the curtain, opened the window, and exhaled smoke into the night.

There was no other way—smoking inside set off the alarm, and the duty security had to come shut it off.

Tonight’s guard was Xiao Wu, who was probably dozing in the surveillance room. Chen Jin didn’t want to trouble him.

He inhaled and looked out at the cemetery.

The security department’s dorms faced north, toward the traditional burial area, but Longevity Cemetery was also visible. Was this arrangement because their department was overlooked, or was it some subtle expectation set by the director?

He blew a smoke ring and suddenly caught a glimpse of light outside the Longevity Cemetery—a brief flash swallowed instantly by the tall grasses.

Thinking he’d imagined it, he stared hard at the spot, the cigarette forgotten in his hand.

A chill gripped him as he thought of the girl he, Xiao Jin, and Xiao Wu had spent a whole day searching for in vain.

He soon saw the light again, a quick flare near the western gate, past the wilderness. From a distance, all he could see was a sudden bright dot swallowed by the night.

He quickly stubbed out his cigarette on the sill and ran outside.

He banged on Old Xu’s door, then roused the others one by one.

Xiao Jin, half-asleep, mumbled, “What’s up, Chen? What’s going on?”

“That girl’s still outside!” Chen Jin said urgently.

Xiao Jin sprang up at once.

Old Xu, unable or unwilling to believe it, pressed, “Really? How do you know?”

“I saw someone with a flashlight outside the west gate,” Chen Jin replied, already heading downstairs.

“Put on your clothes and grab a flashlight!” Old Xu called after him, adding, “It might be someone else—be careful.”

Chen Jin twisted around and dashed back to his room for his gear.

The truly young Xiao Jin had already bolted, heedless of Old Xu’s shouts.

The other two looked at each other, then hurried after, pulling on clothes as they ran.

The security staff formed a straggling line, rushing toward the west gate.

...

Shengyao switched off his phone and crouched by the fence, listening intently.

He felt a twinge of anxiety, worried that the staff had found White Xiao. But all he could make out was muddled shouting, then the sound of running steps.

One... two... three...

All of them were running toward the Longevity Cemetery. But he’d just come from there and found nothing.

Had the cameras picked up something he’d missed?

He considered, then dismissed it. White Xiao could only be in the thirteenth-row corridor, by the grave.

He recalled his own climb over the fence just now; there was no camera there, so it couldn’t have caught him.

Was there someone else?

It seemed… unlikely.

...

Shengyao was baffled.

He couldn’t have guessed that, by sheer coincidence, Chen Jin had been smoking by the window and spotted his phone’s glow.

He waited for the cemetery to quiet down. Once the staff had all gone to the Longevity section, he seized his chance.

Nimbly scaling the fence, he vaulted over the shrubs and landed on the cemetery path.

The thirteenth row was close at hand.

The corridor was empty, not a soul in sight.

He was beginning to feel disappointed when he noticed fresh offerings and flowers in front of some graves. At his grandparents’ tomb was the bouquet he’d left that morning, but at the neighboring grave…

His heart beat faster. Forgetting the risk of being caught on camera, he hurried into the passageway.

He stood before White Xiao’s gravestone.

The bouquet he and White Xiao had placed there that morning was gone.

If the cemetery staff had cleared it, they wouldn’t have taken just that one.

Shengyao knelt, his fingers lightly tracing the young woman’s face in the photograph.

“Did you… take my flowers? No, you… you took…”

Suddenly, a bright light shone in his eyes.

“You again!”

He’d missed the belated footsteps, but not the exasperated voice.

He turned toward the light, squinting. “Chen.”

“Don’t call me that—who’s your brother?” Chen Jin sighed.

Old Xu, slow of foot, stood beside him. Both wore their uniforms and carried cemetery-issued flashlights. Not like the three young men ahead—Xiao Jin had rushed out in his pajamas, without even grabbing a light.

Old Xu sighed with Chen Jin. “You’re a stubborn one. Come, help us look for her.”

Shengyao froze.

“We haven’t found anyone. I just saw someone using a flashlight outside the west gate. That girl might still be out there,” Old Xu said worriedly.

Enlightenment dawned on Shengyao.

He stood up, took out his phone, and switched on the flashlight.

Chen Jin and Old Xu stared.

“So it was you!” Chen Jin exclaimed, his tone complicated.

Shengyao turned off the light, his face pale in the beam. “She should still be in the cemetery.”

The two men were stunned.

“She’s still here,” Shengyao said earnestly. “She must be.”

Old Xu glanced at Chen Jin and nudged him.

Chen Jin’s face stiffened. He remembered a classmate’s dark joke about a sister killing her sibling. This time, he still couldn’t laugh.

“Come with us,” Chen Jin said, sweeping his flashlight from Shengyao to the path ahead.

“I’ll tell the others to stop searching,” Old Xu said.

“Alright,” Chen Jin nodded.

Old Xu left.

After a silence, Shengyao left the corridor of the thirteenth row and followed Chen Jin toward the familiar security office.

“This is the last time,” Chen Jin said. “I’ll show you the surveillance footage. That girl left long ago. Do you have family we can call?”

“My parents are out of town.”

Chen Jin wasn’t sure if this was true but said, “After you’ve seen the footage, you’ll stay here tonight. I can make up a bed in my room. Tomorrow morning, I’ll take you back to the city. If you do this again, we really will call the police.”

But calling the police would mean burning all bridges. Any further attempts at persuasion would become impossible.

Chen Jin worried at the thought—more so if the police came and discovered Shengyao had a confirmed mental illness. There would be no solution then.

He almost wished Shengyao were just a small-time extortionist; at least that would make sense, could be dealt with logically, even with money. But a mentally ill person’s logic couldn’t be guessed at.

The cold joke came to mind again, sending a chill down his spine.

They soon arrived at the surveillance room.

“Xiao Wu!” Chen Jin turned on the light, calling to the young man slumped in the chair.

Xiao Wu was fast asleep; only Chen Jin’s shove roused him. No wonder the chaos outside hadn’t woken him.

Wiping his mouth, Xiao Wu said, “Chen, what—” He broke off at the sight of Shengyao behind him, his eyes going wide.

Their gazes met. Something unspoken passed instantly between them.

Chen Jin noticed nothing. “Pull up today’s footage—by the west gate.”

“No, let’s check the corridor by the thirteenth row,” Shengyao said. “Show me the footage from the night before last.”