Chapter 132: Dumplings

2022-05-20

Right then, Li Danan called out from outside, saying the Village Chief was gathering up the villagers.

“Let’s go,” I said to everyone.

Guan Zengbin shook his head and said, “Look at me, how could I show up like this? I need to wash up and fix my hair. You all go ahead, the village isn’t big—I’ll find my way.”

I shrugged and said, “Then how come you’re fine showing up all disheveled in front of us?”

Guan Zengbin shot me a glare but didn’t reply. He headed inside.

Watching him disappear through the doorway, Gu Chen chuckled. “Doesn’t that just mean he thinks of you as one of us? You’re sharp as a tack when solving cases but when it comes to this kind of stuff, you turn into a block of wood. Come on, blockhead, let’s go meet up with the Village Chief.”

I shook my head, pushed open the big gate and stepped outside. Li Danan was about to repeat himself but cut off as soon as he saw me. After a moment he said, “The Village Chief sent me to get you. The villagers are already gathering at the committee office—he wants you there now.”

We lined up in single file and headed towards the Village Committee. Down the middle of the village lanes, there was a narrow path, just wide enough for a foot, worn smooth by countless steps. It reminded me of that old saying—where enough people walk, a road is made.

After a while, we saw villagers trickling toward the big courtyard out front.

“Most of them are here already,” Li Danan said.

Stepping into the Village Committee courtyard we saw the Village Chief had pulled everyone together. People stood shoulder to shoulder in the open space. As we walked by, it was striking—most were disabled. The few who seemed healthy still had someone with a disability at their side.

Even among those who looked fine, it was impossible to tell if they were deaf or mute, if they couldn’t see or hear.

A makeshift platform had been set up at some point, and the old Village Chief stood atop it.

Spotting us, the Village Chief called, “Oh, you made it—come on up, most of the villagers are here now.”

We headed up the ramp next to the stage and stopped at the top. From here, we could see the sea of villagers below—so many faces, most of them tired, as if they’d all been dragged out of bed. Some had started muttering, asking what this was about.

At some point, the Village Chief pulled out a megaphone. He tested the volume, then nodded in satisfaction. “People of Tougouzi Village, look around—see if anyone’s missing. Quiet down for a moment—let’s check if we’re all here.”

The villagers looked about, heads turning.

Pretty soon, someone shouted, “Old Xia isn’t here!”

“Is everyone else here?” the Village Chief called. “Aside from Old Xia, is everyone accounted for?”

“We’re all here, all here,” several people called back.

The Village Chief lowered his megaphone, then turned to us. “I sent Old Xia to guard the west end of the village, and Erxiao is at the supermarket on the east side. For the rest, let me count—yeah, that should be everyone. Not a big crowd to keep track of. All right, I’ll just say a few words.”

I nodded and began scanning through the three hundred villagers, searching for anyone matching my criminal profile. But after a quick sweep, none of the faces fit the image in my head. Maybe I’d gotten the psychology all wrong.

Profiling usually works for crimes committed out of pleasure, but if that’s not the killer’s motive, then my mental image would end up completely off. But if the murders weren’t for inner satisfaction, that left just the usual motives.

When you break it down, there are only a handful of basic motives rooted in human nature. Unless there’s some deep, complicated drive, most killings boil down to a few simple reasons.

So what kind of mindset is driving the killer to murder?

Just then, the Village Chief’s ‘few words’ hit the serious part. Holding his megaphone in one hand and dramatically waving the other, he said, “Think about it—think carefully. The demon might still be hiding among us. I know our villagers would never do such a thing, but better safe than sorry.”

“You’ve all seen it,” the Chief continued. “Whoever did this, committed such crimes in broad daylight. It’s a provocation! If the killer is among you, I urge you—turn yourself in now. Whatever your goal, whatever you’re planning, just stop.”

At this point, the Village Chief spoke with a mix of caution and pleading. “No matter your reasons, no matter how justified you think it is, let it go!”

Looking at the Village Chief, I could almost sense he was hinting at something more.

He sighed and turned to me.

I leaned close and whispered to him, “My earlier guess was off, but I’m sure the killer is a villager. We can’t spook them now, but there might even be two murderers. The snow has cut off the village—if they lash out, with most folks here being disabled, we won’t have much help.”

The Village Chief stared at me for a moment, then swept his eyes around the yard, searching the faces, as if hoping to pick out the murderers hiding among these three hundred villagers. But everyone wore the same innocent look—nothing in their faces gave away a thing.

There’s nothing harder to read than the human heart. They say the face reflects the mind, but I’ve never believed it. Sometimes, the people who look the most harmless are the ones capable of things you’d never imagine.

The Village Chief said, “I’ve already said all I need to say. Some things—you’d best think carefully about. Justice always catches up with you; it’s not just an empty threat. That killer from BY City hid for over twenty years, but he got caught in the end, didn’t he?”

The Village Chief said softly, “But can you escape your own conscience?”

“That’s it—everyone can go,” he called, waving his hand.

The villagers filed out. The Village Chief turned to us. “So it’s certain—the killer is one (or more) of these three hundred people. How about we search their houses one by one? We only found an arm and a leg so far, so where’s the rest of the body? It has to still be somewhere in the village.”

I shook my head. “No, that won’t work. The killer might not have hidden the body parts in their own yard. Searching everyone tells the murderer we’ve got nothing, and if that happens, they might relax their guard.”

“And,” I continued, “if our actions scare the killer into hiding and they stop dumping remains, it’ll be even harder to catch them. Like you said, most of the body is still missing—if we hold off, maybe they’ll try to dispose of it and that’s when we get our chance.”

Gu Chen cursed. “Wasn’t the killer planning to give us a ‘surprise’ or something?”

When Guan Zengbin rejoined us, the villagers had already dispersed.

By eleven in the morning, the guy collecting evidence finally showed up.

He looked completely worn out—no rest at all.

“All the roads are snowed in. I could only drive to the main road. It took me at least four hours to get here,” he said, wiping his face. “I left at seven, and just arrived. I’ll need to leave early—this place gets way too creepy at night. So, you got the evidence for me?”

The Village Chief smiled. “Really appreciate the effort. Here’s what—come to my place and rest a bit. Eat lunch before you leave, that way Captain Zhou can also get the stuff to you.”

We followed him back to his home. Guan Zengbin handed over each piece of evidence one by one and gave instructions on how to check them. The evidence guy took careful notes in his notebook.

By the time we finished, it was already noon. Just in time for lunch. The Village Chief’s wife brought out a big steaming bowl of dumplings, along with several stir-fried dishes. The smells made my stomach rumble.

The Village Chief grinned. “My wife might not be good at much else, but she’s a genius in the kitchen. You’ve got to try her cooking.”

The evidence guy looked starving. He grabbed a dumpling, dipped it in vinegar and bit in. “Delicious. What’s in these? Never had this filling before—it’s amazing.”

The Chief’s wife beamed. “You like it? Good! I made the stir-fry, but actually, I didn’t make the dumplings. When I got up this morning, there was a whole tray of ready-made dumplings left on our windowsill. Probably a neighbor being kind. As long as you enjoy it, that’s all that matters.”

Neighbors in Tougouzi Village always got along well. Maybe someone heard we’d be eating lunch here and sent over some dumplings.

While chatting, we all reached for a dumpling and tried it. The taste really was fresh and savory. Still, none of us could tell what kind of meat was inside—it was nothing we’d ever tasted before.

The evidence guy grinned and reached for a second, but after a couple of bites, he frowned, then quickly spat it out.

“What is it?” the Chief’s wife asked, looking anxious. “Doesn’t taste good?”

He shook his head and, picking the dumpling apart with his chopsticks, said, “It’s not that it’s bad—I just bit into something weird.”

As he spoke, he pulled the dumpling apart.

When we all leaned closer to look, everyone froze—no one could speak a word.