Chapter 55: The Case of the Hammer Demon (Part 24)

In the evidence room, Li Rui rubbed a piece of tung wood between his fingertips, recovered from the crime scene at Baina Manor. The kitchen's tung wood cabinet had been smashed apart during the attack, scattering wood fragments all over the floor.

Having spent years exposed to kitchen smoke and grease, the edges of these wood pieces still retained dark brown stains.

Outside the window, the old locust tree rustled in the autumn wind, and he suddenly thought of the blood-stained poplar stick from Zhaogang Village—the five bloody handprints transforming into a young girl's face in the moonlight under the night sky.

"The suspect's profile matches," Wen Rou said, pushing the door open, her hair damp from the autumn drizzle. "He's the one behind all these recent cases."

Lei Chen slammed the case file shut with a sharp slap. "Why are we always running a step behind him? Where on earth are we going wrong..."

"Let's move!" Li Rui abruptly stood up.

"Where to?" Wen Rou asked, puzzled.

"Gulou Town."

"What are we going there for?"

"I refuse to believe he sleeps out in the wilderness every single night. He has to rest somewhere. Let's go find him!" Li Rui said hurriedly. "Call Lei Chen, let's head to Gulou Town first. We're bound to find a lead."

Wen Rou had no idea why Li Rui possessed such a strong intuition, but she chose to believe him unconditionally.

Half an hour later, Lei Chen was driving toward Gulou Town. Following Li Rui's instructions, he deployed three teams specifically to investigate unlicenced, poorly regulated small motels and inns.

A light drizzle began to fall. The twilight-shrouded town was enveloped in curling wisps of cooking smoke, and the kerosene lamps of roadside stalls flickered in the dusk, stretching the shadows of the four figures long across the ground.

Li Rui sat on a plastic stool, a steaming bowl of mutton braised noodles before him, with emerald-green cilantro floating atop the rich broth.

"Try this," Lei Chen said, handing over a skewer of sizzling, roasted mutton. "Old Ma's place, a twenty-year-old local institution."

Li Rui took a bite, the aroma of cumin blooming on his tongue. Suddenly, he was reminded of the tung wood block from the cabinet, which had also carried the scent of cumin. The hand holding the skewer trembled slightly, and a drop of broth splashed onto his white shirt.

"Stop overthinking it," Wen Rou said, handing him a napkin. "We need to solve the case, but we still have to eat." Her rice noodles were only half-eaten, her chopsticks stirring the bottom of the bowl absentmindedly.

Qi Wei held a bowl of sweet bean curd, sipping it in tiny, delicate sips. She rarely had the opportunity to accompany the team to crime scenes, and she was still unaccustomed to this life where bloodshed and the mundane warmth of human existence intertwined.

"Forensic Doctor Li," she asked timidly, "do you think that little girl... did she like eating these things too?"

Li Rui's hand froze. In the gathering dusk, he vividly imagined the little girl running and skipping toward him, clutching a few coins to buy her favorite cumin mutton skewers. But the mental image was instantly stained red with blood, leaving behind only the icy coldness of the autopsy table.

"Eat," Lei Chen urged, handing over another skewer. "You need to fill your stomach if you want to have the strength to catch him."

In the distance, the whistle of a train pierced the air, startling a flock of sparrows hiding beneath the eaves. The four of them ate in silence, no one speaking another word.

The kerosene lamps by the roadside cast their shadows onto the ground, gradually merging with the slogan painted on the wall: "Eliminate evils for the people." In this ordinary little town, they were both diners and guardians.

Jingle-ling, Lei Chen's phone rang. "Team Leader Lei, we have a lead."

"Where?" Lei Chen immediately stood up.

"Xinshu Road, Ma Family Apartments!"

"Let's move!" Before he could finish, Li Rui had already grabbed his coat and charged out into the driving rain.

A fine drizzle swept diagonally across the old street of Gulou Town. A few clumps of wild chrysanthemums sprouted from the crevices of the bluestone slabs, shivering in the wind like startled fledglings. In front of a small courtyard, the morning glories on the mud wall had long since withered, their dead vines gleaming with a rust-like hue in the rain.

With a creak, the turning of the wooden door hinges startled the sparrows under the eave.

Li Rui squatted down in front of a woven-palm bed, his nose nearly touching a crack in the board—a strange, lingering scent of cheap soap mixed with the odor of dried blood still hung in the air.

Suddenly, he discovered half a bloody fingernail at the foot of the bed, wedged tightly into the wood grain like a withered flower petal.

"Here!" Wen Rou handed over an evidence bag. "This was most likely left behind when the killer was tending to an injured foot."

"He was here!" Li Rui said with a resolute gaze. "But where did he go next?"

To evade capture, he avoided staying in inns whenever possible, spending his nights sleeping in the waiting rooms of train stations. After staying for a few days, fearing he might arouse suspicion, he boarded a bus and fled toward Pingshan City.

On November 25, he arrived at Ye County, walked into a hardware store, and purchased a new four-pound octagonal hammer. This had become his routine: acquiring a fresh set of tools before every crime.

By this time, the autumn crops in the fields were nearly harvested; some farmers were ploughing the land, while others were burning crop stalks. As he walked along, admiring the autumn scenery on both sides of the road, he arrived at Lianjiabao by evening.

The farm laborers had all finished work and returned home. Sounds of barking dogs, crowing roosters, and shouting voices drifted across the village. Because it was still early, he lay down in a graveyard to sleep.

He did not know how long he had slept before a wild fire used for clearing farm waste scorched him awake, the flames coming dangerously close to catching his hair.

He was instantly furious, but when he stood up and looked around, there was not a single soul in the desolate wilderness. Who could he vent his anger upon?

He had no choice but to swallow his bitter rage, thinking to himself in secret: "I will definitely settle this score! Since you tried to burn me, I am going to kill!"

As twilight deepened, the small-statured man, like a foraging wildcat, slipped silently into Zhangqiao Village. A household at the east end of the village that was currently tearing down old structures to build anew caught his attention—the four main rooms had been razed to the ground, leaving only the kitchen standing alone on the east side, next to which a crude thatched shed had been erected. A wooden plank bed stood by the entrance of the shed, looking particularly out of place in the gathering dusk.

He crouched beneath the locust tree at the village entrance, watching Lian Fusheng and Ma Lian bustle about, until they finally led a yellow dog into the shed. Moonlight filtered down through the clouds, illuminating the dog's wary gaze, but it merely let out a low whine and curled up beside its master's feet.

In the dead of night, the small man crept into the shed. His footsteps were as light as a falling leaf, failing to wake even the yellow dog. Moonlight leaked through the gaps in the roof, illuminating Lian Fusheng's sleeping face. The moment the small man raised his iron hammer, the scar on his wrist gleamed with a pale, bluish hue in the moonlight—a souvenir left behind at a stone quarry fifteen years ago.

"Thud!"

With the very first blow, Lian Fusheng did not even manage a groan. The yellow dog sprang up instantly, opening its mouth to bark furiously, only to lock eyes with the small man's bloodshot gaze. That look bore a striking resemblance to the wolves it had once encountered in the mountains; tucking its tail between its legs, the dog whimpered and fled out into the courtyard.

The small man rummaged through the drawers, unearthing over thirty thousand yuan in cash—money the Lians had saved to build their house. In Ma Lian's jacket pocket, he found another sixty-odd yuan in small change, still fragrant with the scent of her laundry soap. The guard dog cowered in the courtyard, too terrified to move an inch.

Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly recalled his encounter in the graveyard earlier that evening—how the wild fire had nearly scorched his eyebrows, and how the burning sensation of the flames licking his skin had filled him with trembling rage.

The desire for retaliation flared in his heart like a wildfire. He pulled out a lighter and ignited sheets of toilet paper and notebook pages. As the flames leapt up onto Lian Fusheng's bed, he saw Ma Lian's fingers twitch slightly, but they were quickly swallowed by the thick, choking smoke.

By the time the inferno blazed into the night sky, the small man was already four or five miles away. He buried the iron hammer in an old grave, stripped off his blood-soaked clothes and gloves, and put on a clean set of garments. In the moonlight, his shadow was stretched long and thin, resembling a winding trail of blood that vanished into the darkness of the southeast.

Cries for help to fight the fire echoed from afar, but the small man paid them no heed. In his pocket rested three thick stacks of cash, along with half a pack of Lian Fusheng's cigarettes.

He pulled one out and lit it, the pungent tobacco making him cough violently. But soon enough, he grew accustomed to the harshness, just as he had long since grown accustomed to bloodshed and sin.