(Note: The gong is a traditional Chinese percussion instrument, similar to a large metal disc that produces a resonant sound when struck.)
Da Qing River was more than twenty minutes on foot from my grandfather's house. County Magistrate Gan insisted that Sun Fatty and I take a ride in his car. But my grandfather and Third Uncle all walked on foot, so how could I dare to take a car? After politely refusing a few times, Sun Fatty and I still strolled leisurely toward the riverbank. County Magistrate Gan felt embarrassed to ride alone and followed us from a distance on foot.
When we arrived at the riverbank, everything was already set up. Both banks of Da Qing River were densely packed with people. Several vendors selling drinks, sunflower seeds, and peanuts weaved through the crowd.
In the middle of the river was a large boat docked—it would be more accurate to call it a large stage rather than just a boat. The center of the boat was a large platform, with curtains on each side. Beneath the curtains were the actors' dressing rooms. Because the stage space on the boat was limited, the gongs and drums had to be placed on stone platforms on both riverbanks.
The main stage on the shore was already built. County Magistrate Gan invited Sun Fatty and me onto the stage, and I pulled Grandpa up as well. The old longevity master was already seated in the center of the stage. He was 110 years old—slightly hard of hearing and visually impaired, but his mind was perfectly clear. When he saw me, he immediately recognized me as the "Little Lazi" from back then, grabbing my hand and chattering nonstop.
This was the second time I sat on a main stage; the first time was when I was in the special forces. When Falcon Squad was awarded a collective Second-Class Superintendent Commendation, I sat on the stage for a while. The small sign in front of me had two characters written in brush calligraphy—"Leader." The ink was still wet, clearly just written. Sun Fatty, being mischievous, played with the sign for a while and ended up with ink all over his hands.
Including the master of ceremonies, only six people sat on the stage. By then, dusk had fallen. After consulting County Magistrate Gan, the MC announced the opening of the third day of the centennial opera (Sun Fatty and I had arrived two days late; the official date was two days earlier).
Suddenly, the noisy chatter along the riverbank stopped abruptly, and lights on the opera boat were turned on. County Magistrate Gan gave a brief introduction. Following the tradition of the original hundred-day opera, this centennial performance was also Peking opera. The troupe was carefully assembled by the county cultural bureau, which had put a lot of effort into inviting famous actors from the Peking Opera Theatres of Shenyang and Dalian.
As Gan spoke, the rhythm of drums sounded from the riverbank. An laosheng (old male lead) walked to the center of the stage and began singing in a clear, high-pitched voice. The first act was "The Fourth Son Visits His Mother". After a short while, County Magistrate Gan took his leave—he was only there to show face, after all, and as a county leader, he couldn't stay until midnight.
After watching a bit more, the longevity master was helped off the stage and escorted home. It was no joke letting a centenarian stay up late. Only Grandpa, Sun Fatty, and I remained on the stage. Watching the laosheng sing with a lilting voice on the opera boat, I couldn't summon much interest. Sun Fatty, on the other hand, nodded his head and beat the rhythm with his hands. Who would've thought this chubby guy actually liked this kind of thing?
As I was nodding off, a bald man wearing a traditional Daoist robe came onto the stage. His style was unusual and immediately caught my attention. I recognized him—he was the Daoist master who, when my Heavenly Eye first began to manifest as a child, had suggested washing my head with black dog's blood. Back then, his hair was already thinning; now he was completely bald. Though an old Daoist, he looked more like a Buddhist monk now.
"Old Xiao, the show's already started, why are you only coming now?" Grandpa greeted him warmly, as they were friends.
The Daoist chuckled, "Don't mention it. The township tax office came to audit the temple's accounts. Damn, no law at all—they even audited my Lingyun Temple."
Grandpa saw him laughing happily and said, "You brought this on yourself, Old Xiao. What kind of moneymaking business haven't you tried these years? A perfectly good Lingyun Temple, and you registered a company? Company's one thing, but the main business is film and entertainment? You're a Daoist—what kind of entertainment is that?"
This guy, Old Daoist Xiao, didn't retort but just pouted angrily without making a sound. Grandpa didn't provoke him anymore and called me over. Facing him, he said, "My grandson, do you still remember? Shen Lazi, when he was little, you even helped cover his Heavenly Eye. Now he's quite something—he's a big official in the Ministry of Public Security in the capital. Come on, Lazi, say hello to your Grandpa Xiao."
I had just exchanged a few polite words when someone came running from far off toward the stage. From a distance, he looked familiar, and only when he got closer did I realize it was my own father.
I was already smiling at him, but unexpectedly, he didn't even acknowledge me. He ran straight to Grandpa and said, "Dad, another one died just now."
Grandpa's face immediately changed. He stared at my father and asked, "Who was it this time? How did he die?" My father frowned and said, "It was Shen Kangmei's eldest son from the county. He got drunk during dinner at dusk. He was watching the play halfway through, and when he went to the outhouse, he fell into the cesspit and drowned. Damn it, finally, someone from our old Shen family has run into trouble."
Grandpa sighed and said, "It's all fate, eldest son. Did you report it to the police?" My father said, "Who dares not report? Old Ma and Fat Bear will be here soon. Hmm, isn't that a police officer?" Grandpa gave my father a light kick and said, "Look carefully, who is that?"
"Dad, that's your son—me." I was speechless. He walked right past me without even noticing. Although these past few years I hardly called you 'Dad' and mostly called you 'big uncle,' no matter what, I'm still your biological son. Sun Fatty also sensed the awkward atmosphere, stood up, and walked over saying, "Director Shen, what's wrong with the old man? He looks terrible."
"I'm fine," Grandpa smiled at Sun Fatty and said, "It's just something that might trouble you, Leader." Sun Fatty waved his hand and said, "What leader? What's my relationship with Director Shen? His grandpa is just like my grandpa. Just call me Desheng; if you don't want to call me Sun Fatty, that's fine too. I'm not picky."
Grandpa chuckled a few times and said, "Desheng, you really know how to talk, better than little Lazi. Actually, it's nothing much. It's just that a few people died during the play."
"A few people died?" Sun Fatty's smile stiffened. If it were ghost stuff, he and I could still somewhat be involved. But now that people are dead, it's probably a criminal case. What can two fake cops (even if high-ranking) do?
Seeing Sun Fatty hesitate, I couldn't just sit there and said, "Grandpa, don't trouble Director Sun. He's not our provincial police chief. Investigating cases across provinces is a big taboo internally."
"Oh." Grandpa seemed to understand and said, "Little Sun, the chief isn't from our province. Little Lazi, I remember you're some kind of director in the Ministry of Public Security, so it should be reasonable for you to handle these homicide cases, right?"
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Luckily, Sun Fatty came to the rescue and said, "Old man, we have a recusal mechanism in investigations. The person died in Director Shen's hometown and within his jurisdiction, so by the rules, both Director Shen and I must voluntarily recuse ourselves."
What Sun Fatty said wasn't without reason. Grandpa frowned again. Unexpectedly, Old Daoist Xiao, who was sitting beside us on the stage sipping tea, suddenly said mysteriously, "They two can't handle it; the culprit isn't human."
Grandpa glared at him and said, "Old Daoist Xiao, what nonsense are you talking about? Don't drag everything into ghosts and spirits."
"If you don't believe it, fine," Old Daoist Xiao said slowly, "How many is this now? The third one, right? Don't worry, it's not over. One a day—watch, ten days of drama, seven more will die." As he spoke, Old Daoist Xiao glanced sideways at Grandpa's expression.
Grandpa fell silent. Later I found out that Old Daoist Xiao wasn't saying this for the first time. Every time someone died, he said the same thing. Now that he had been right, Grandpa started to half believe it.
"Ahem!" Sun Fatty coughed a few times. When I looked at him, we exchanged a glance.
I said to Grandpa, "Grandpa, please tell us the details again. Director Sun and I will review them and judge whether those three people died by accident or were deliberately murdered."
Seeing the police uniforms on Sun Fatty and me, Grandpa didn't hesitate and told us everything in detail.
Two days ago, on the day the big play officially started, it went on until after one in the morning. But those who stayed until the end were basically local men in their fifties or sixties.
After the play ended, Grandpa was inviting the troupe for a late-night meal when my father came running, out of breath, and said, "Dad, something big happened—Old Five, the boat watcher, drowned!"
Old Five was an old bachelor in the village, surname Zhang, known as Old Five for decades. Few people even knew his real name. When preparing the boat for the play, everyone in the village was given tasks. Since Old Five was a bachelor with no family burden, he was assigned to watch the play boat to prevent any mischievous kids from messing it up.
Normally, just watching the boat wouldn't cause trouble, but Old Five had bad luck because he liked to drink a little. During the evening of the play, Old Five drank quite a lot on the shore. After the play ended and the actors disembarked, Old Five staggered onto the boat, holding a bottle of liquor.
He sat on the stage, drinking steadily. After getting a bit drunk, Old Five imitated the main martial actor's acrobatics on stage. After doing two or three somersaults, Old Five fell right into the river. By the time he was found, he was already floating.
If Old Five's death was his own fault, then Wang Jun's death the next day was really an accident. Wang Jun wasn't from our village; he was sent by the county's Cultural Bureau to help with coordination and publicity.
Wang Jun died yesterday, shortly after the play started. He was watching the play from a perfect spot on the shore. Being from the county, the village chief (not the same one who fought years ago, since the position had changed) sent someone to bring grapes, pears, and apples to him. Wang Jun accepted the gifts and ate fruit while watching the play.
At that moment, the play was performing a scene from "Si Lang Visits His Mother." The actor playing Yang Silang was a famous performer invited from the provincial capital, who received a full house applause. Cheers came from both sides of the Qing River. Wang Jun was moved and, still with a piece of apple in his mouth, stood up, clapped, and shouted "Good!"
Halfway through saying "good," his voice broke. Then Wang Jun suddenly collapsed, clawing at his throat, unable to shout. Amidst the noisy crowd, no one noticed. When someone finally saw him collapse, Wang Jun was already dead. A piece of apple was stuck in his airway, suffocating the man alive.
Originally a joyous occasion, two people died in two days—Grandpa was extremely upset. The county public security bureau and local police station sent people to investigate and ruled out homicide, determining accidental death. Old Five's case was easier; he was alone, so it was just like the whole family died—just burn the body and bury him.
But Wang Jun had a family. His wife came crying early the next morning. Eventually, Director Xiong from the local police had to personally calm her down. Before leaving, Director Xiong told Grandpa, "Old Shen, you must keep a close eye tonight. No more deaths!"
Grandpa originally wanted to stop the play, but County Head Gan refused. The county had spent so much money on the play and even invited a travel company from the provincial capital to inspect Qing River's tourism resources. How could they just stop? Accidents happen. Who would have thought a person could choke on an apple and die? So, the play had to go on.
But what they feared came true—the third death just happened, and the cause was similar to Old Five's: drunkenly falling into a cesspit and drowning.