Chapter 57: The Hammer Fiend Case (Part 26)

At 8 p.m., the meeting room of the Shangcai Branch was filled with smoke. Director Wang Dehai sat at the end of the long table, his fingers tapping the surface absentmindedly. The ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. Deputy Director Li Ming and Captain Zhang Jianguo of the Criminal Investigation Team sat on either side, their faces grave.

“This case,” Wang Dehai inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, “cannot be reported.”

Li Ming furrowed his brow. “But Director, the provincial bureau has already taken over this serial murder case. If we don’t report it, then…”

“Then what?” Wang Dehai cut him off sharply. “Do you think reporting it will solve the case? There have been so many cases in Huixian, Xiping, Yexian and surrounding counties. Has the special task force cracked any of them? What was the result?”

Zhang Jianguo lowered his head and flipped through the case files. The crime scene photos showed the bodies of the Gao Mingyu family sprawled out, bloodstains gleaming with an eerie purple under the moonlight. He recalled the vacant gaze of the surviving girl at the scene, and a wave of nausea churned in his stomach.

“But Director,” Li Ming lowered his voice, “this time there is a witness, and hair evidence was collected at the scene…”

On the afternoon of the 29th, a neighbor discovered something was wrong with the Gao family. When the police arrived, they found Gao Mingyu’s second daughter still moving in the west room. After emergency treatment, she survived, the sole survivor among the five family members.

After the incident, the Shangcai Branch immediately launched an investigation, collecting five strands of hair from the bodies and the ground at the scene.

“Evidence?” Wang Dehai sneered coldly. “There was evidence in the previous cases too, wasn’t there? And what came of it? The special task force has been investigating for over a month and found nothing. Instead, they’ve been cursing us relentlessly.”

Silence fell over the meeting room, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner vent. Outside, the sycamore trees swayed in the wind, their shadows cast on the wall, resembling that bloodstained poplar stick found at the crime scene.

“Let it be,” Wang Dehai said, extinguishing his cigarette. “We’ll hold the case for now. Report it only when there’s a breakthrough.”

Li Ming wanted to say more, but seeing Wang Dehai’s ashen face, he swallowed his words. Zhang Jianguo closed the case file, fingertips still tingling from the bloodstains on the photos.

He understood what this decision meant—another innocent life would forever sink into the abyss of darkness.

Three days later, frost was weaving spiderweb patterns on the window glass of Xu Huaihong’s home in Weixian County. The old woman’s kerosene lamp cast her granddaughter’s shadow flickering on the wall like a shadow puppet. A small figure crouched behind a stack of wheat straw, watching the silhouette untie a braided plait, suddenly feeling the hammer in the cloth bag grow hot.

“Bang—”

The copper clasp of the old wooden box snapped, sending dust dancing in the moonlight. He searched mechanically, fingers brushing against a cold silver bracelet at the bottom of the box. The character “Xu” engraved inside was stained with blood.

A night owl’s cry came from outside the window. Startled, he shoved the bracelet into his pocket but forgot the scissors wedged in the cupboard’s slot.

At 7 a.m. the next morning, Ju Liusun was eating breakfast when his sister-in-law Guo Lin rushed over in a panic. “Brother, come quickly to the backyard! Mom’s door is locked, and the quilt is still in the room. I don’t know what’s going on!”

They ran to the backyard to find the door indeed locked. Ju Liusun kicked it open and saw his mother lying face down on the ground, while his niece lay on the bed, covered with a quilt, one leg exposed. A dreadful premonition gripped them.

“Quick, call the police!”

Amid the villagers’ chaos, the Weixian police car entered the village.

Detectives immediately examined the scene. Both grandmother and granddaughter had died violently. The forensic report confirmed that Xu Huaihong died from blunt force head trauma causing fatal brain injury, and her granddaughter died from head injuries leading to brain damage.

This was yet another blood debt owed by the small figure after the massacre in Gaojialou Village. By now, he had turned murder into his profession.

December 4th, the day after the Weixian incident.

The atmosphere in the provincial bureau’s special task force meeting room was so tense it seemed water could be wrung from it. Han Junshan sat at the end of the long table, fingers tapping the surface involuntarily, his gaze like a blade sweeping over everyone present. Before him lay the case report from the Shangcai Branch—just two thin pages, yet they felt like a thousand-pound burden crushing every heart.

“Shangcai Branch,” Han Junshan’s voice was icy, “is this how you handle cases?”

The room fell silent except for the hum of the air conditioner vent. Director Wang Dehai lowered his head, sweat beading on his forehead. His fingers nervously stroked his teacup, the tea inside long since cooled.

“Three homicide cases,” Han Junshan slammed the table, splashing water from his cup, “and this is all you give me? What about the scene investigation? Evidence analysis? Witness statements?”

Wang Dehai’s Adam’s apple moved; his voice was hoarse. “Director Han, we… we wanted to wait until there was a breakthrough before reporting…”

“Wait?” Han Junshan sneered, “Wait for what? For the killer to strike again? For the evidence to be washed away by rain? For the witnesses to forget what happened?”

Silence engulfed the room. Outside, the sycamore trees swayed in the wind, their shadows cast on the wall, eerily resembling the bloodstained poplar stick from the crime scene. Li Rui sat in the corner, eyes fixed on Wang Dehai’s trembling fingers. He recalled the vacant stare of the surviving girl at the scene, and a wave of nausea twisted his stomach.

“From now on,” Han Junshan stood, his voice commanding and indisputable, “this case will be handled directly by the special task force. All personnel involved from the Shangcai Branch are suspended pending investigation.”

Wang Dehai suddenly lifted his head, his face pale as death. “Director Han, this…”

“Dismissed.” Han Junshan interrupted, turning to the window. The sunset’s last rays filtered through the blinds, casting a lattice of light across his face. Li Rui noticed his fingers unconsciously rubbing the window frame, knuckles whitening with the pressure.

The attendees began to leave, footsteps echoing down the corridor. Wang Dehai was the last to rise; his shadow stretched long, gradually merging with the slogan on the wall: “Serve the People.”

Li Rui stood at the door, watching his figure disappear at the corridor’s end. Suddenly, he remembered the words spoken years ago by a surviving girl: “Officer, can you really catch the bad guys?”

At that moment, he hoped more than ever that the answer would be yes.

That night, he did not return home. Instead, he went alone to the small inn, lying on the bloodstained bed that the small figure might have used, quietly pondering.

Outside, the city’s neon lights filtered through thin curtains, casting mottled shadows on the wall. Li Rui stared at the ceiling, a faint metallic scent lingering in his nostrils, as if the demon’s presence still lingered in the room.

Gradually, his consciousness blurred. In a daze, he saw a hunched figure standing by the bed, back turned to him. The person’s fingers absentmindedly rubbed the seam of their trousers, a centipede-shaped scar winding around the wrist.