Just hearing Grandpa talk didn't reveal anything wrong, but at that moment the opera boat changed performers to an old dan role, singing in a high-pitched, wailing voice that made me restless. I glanced at Sun Fatty and said, "Director Sun, should we go check the scene? Maybe we can catch some clues." Sun Fatty smiled and replied, "Now it's Director Shen's turf. You call the shots."
The incident happened in a common rural Northeast Chinese outhouse — basically a big cesspit dug underground with a simple brick toilet built over it. The septic tank beside the outhouse had already been opened up; the drowned man had been pulled out and rinsed a few times with clean water, but the smell of ammonia was still strong.
Though the deceased's surname was also Shen, he lived in the county town. We had only met him a few times and only knew that his father and my Third Uncle had a good relationship. His father was now crying inconsolably, while Third Uncle was trying to comfort him nearby.
Sun Fatty held his nose and stood by the body, looking it over from all sides for quite a while before shaking his head at me. Still unconvinced, he examined it further before finally giving up and returning, whispering to me, "No signs of homicide that I can see. How about you? Can you tell anything?"
On the way here, we had divided our tasks: Sun Fatty would look for any signs of unnatural death, while I would use my Heavenly Eye to find the ghost of the deceased and ask about his cause of death. After all, a dead man's own words can't lie, right?
According to the files I'd read in the archives, a person's soul should linger nearby for seven days after death. But I scanned everywhere and still couldn't find the deceased's soul. Sun Fatty urged again, and I turned back to say, "Nothing at all. Strange, there's not even a trace."
Sun Fatty scratched his head too, when suddenly someone behind us shouted, "Where's Old Shen? I warned him a thousand times this morning. Now look — another one's dead! What, does he want the police station to be bored for days on end?"
Before the man even arrived, a strong smell of alcohol wafted from behind. Both Sun Fatty and I frowned and looked back. Four policemen had already arrived at the scene. Leading them was a man like a black iron tower — big and burly — with a flushed face from drinking, searching everywhere for my grandpa.
"Chief Xiong, watch your words. What do you mean by 'another one dead'?" Grandpa pushed through the crowd and hurried over to Chief Xiong.
Chief Xiong rolled his eyes and said, "Old Shen, huh…" I was about to step forward to help Grandpa out when Sun Fatty rushed up first and interrupted him: "Who are you calling 'Old Shen'? And what did you just call him? 'Old Shen-tou'? He's older than your own father. How dare you call him that!"
Chief Xiong's flushed face paled a bit after Sun Fatty's sharp words. Whether scared or angry, his speech began to stammer, "Y-you, who are you?…" But halfway through, he suddenly stopped, his eyes fixed on the police badge on Sun Fatty's shoulder.
After standing dumbfounded for quite a while, he finally flustered and hurriedly saluted, saying, "Leader, I—I don't know, I don't know what you…" Sun Fatty said with a blank expression, "Whether you know or not, that can wait. First, finish what you just started to say. What's wrong with me?"
By now, Director Xiong's face had turned pale as death; the wine he drank earlier had all turned into cold sweat. Hearing the leader speak, he stammered, "I—I didn't say it, that's, it wasn't me who said…"
The more he tried to explain, the angrier Sun Fatty got. I could understand why he was angry: not because of what was said… How dare you imitate our director? You think you're worthy?
Sun Fatty's face immediately hardened as he said, "State your name and position. Why were you drinking on duty during the call? Don't make me say this twice."
Director Xiong's phone had died earlier that afternoon, so he hadn't received the county police chief's call and didn't know about the backgrounds of Sun Fatty and me. But now that he saw our ranks, he started trembling internally. After all, he was the head of a police station. Composing himself, he said formally, "Xiong Ba, director of the Daqinghe Township Police Station."
Sun Fatty had indeed misunderstood Director Xiong—it wasn't his shift today. When the incident happened, he was attending a friend's daughter's wedding. Just as he was enjoying the drinks, Grandpa sent someone to find him. Upon hearing the reason, Xiong Ba got anxious. That morning, he had just persuaded the family of a deceased person to leave, and now there was another death. It seemed his tenure as station chief was coming to an end.
He had a close relationship with Grandpa, or else he wouldn't have helped persuade Wang Jun's family that morning. Now truly anxious, and having had some drinks, he kept calling out, "Old Shen, Old Shen." Seeing Sun Fatty glare at him, Grandpa came over to smooth things out, saying, "Director Sun, don't take it personally with Director Xiong. He's just a bit hot-tempered, but he's a good man. Old Xiong, stop standing there. The person has already been pulled out of the cesspit—go take a look."
Given that opening, Xiong Ba nodded at Sun Fatty and me, pushed through the crowd, and approached the deceased. His explanation matched Sun Fatty's judgment: no obvious external injuries, so murder could preliminarily be ruled out—just another unlucky guy. But the final conclusion would depend on the forensic experts from the county police bureau.
Seeing more and more people gathering around, Sun Fatty said to me, "Lazi, there's no point staying here. Let's take a walk by the river." Most of the crowd were my relatives, and by now some were already asking about my position and workplace. I was chatting nonsense with them, so Sun Fatty's comment was a relief.
When we reached the riverside, the opera was still going on. The audience had thinned out a bit—some had gone home to sleep, others were watching the excitement near the outhouse. When I looked at the riverside seating, my eyes suddenly flickered. A thin layer of mist had risen over the river, and faint human figures swayed within the fog.
I pointed toward the thicker part of the mist and said to Sun Fatty, "Great Sage, look toward the opera boat."
"Hm? It's foggy," Sun Fatty said. His Heavenly Eye wasn't as strong as mine, so just spotting mist was pretty good.
"That's not fog. It's yin energy. The yin energy of about a hundred miles around is almost all concentrated here. The density is so high that those with skill see it as mist," someone suddenly said behind us.
Sun Fatty and I jumped simultaneously. When did this person get behind us, listening to our conversation? Neither of us had noticed. Turning around, it was none other than the expert who once washed my hair with black dog's blood—the Chairman of Lingyun Vision Entertainment Group, Old Daoist Xiao.
Old Daoist Xiao squinted at us and said, "Little Lazi, having a Heavenly Eye from birth and seeing such things is no surprise. But Director Sun, your eyesight is this good too? And knowing it's yin energy, you're still so calm—I'm impressed."
This man was Grandpa's sworn brother, theoretically my god-grandfather. It was best not to offend him if possible. I smiled and explained, "Old Xiao (I never call him god-grandfather—he says his luck is poor and can't handle it), Director Sun's sixth sense is far stronger than ordinary people's. Besides, what's a little yin energy? We who do this kind of work have seen worse."
Old Daoist Xiao shook his head with a smile, mumbling, "Heaven knows, earth knows, you know, and I know." Then he ignored us, lifted his Dao robe, took a good spot by the river, and called out to the newly appearing female lead with a greeting.
Sun Fatty frowned at Old Daoist Xiao's back and said, "What's this old stick doing? Playing tricks and pretending to be a mystic. If it weren't for your grandfather's friend, I would've dealt with him already. Don't think just because I'm over sixty or seventy, I'm afraid to fight."
Watching Sun Fatty's exaggerated manner, I chuckled and said, "I know, Director Sun—you fight like you're ninety-nine years old, but walk like you've just learned." Looking at the eerie mist thick around the opera boat, I paused, the smile gone, and said, "But now, it looks like this time there might really be trouble. Maybe Old Daoist Xiao was right—there are definitely things causing mischief here."
Sun Fatty laughed it off, "What's there to fear? We came fully armed. Even fifteen-story building hungry ghosts would run when they see us two. These are at most a few stray souls. What's there to fear?"
The mist over the river faded and thickened intermittently. Sun Fatty and I kept watch by the river. Though figures still flickered inside, nothing happened until the opera ended.
When the actors came out to take their bows, the mist quietly dispersed. Looking for Old Daoist Xiao, he had vanished without a trace. Sun Fatty and I walked around the shore but found nothing unusual. We wanted to look around some more when my father came running over from a distance, informing us that the troupe's late-night supper was about to start and that Sun Fatty and I were expected to come keep them company.
Since my own father personally invited us, of course we had to show face. Besides, we hadn't had a proper meal since we came back—just some peanuts and sunflower seeds while watching the show, which by now had mostly digested.