Chapter Thirty-Four: Irrefutable Evidence

Rushing to Moutu Village to investigate the stone bridge, Li Yiting was tormented and conflicted within. The reason he did not bring any assistants was partly due to a lack of manpower, but more so because of his own myriad concerns. For so many years, it was the first time he felt uneasy during an investigation, sometimes even considering giving up.

This emotion had come upon him so suddenly that he felt bewildered and helpless. Clearly, it was a matter of life and death—why did he not wish to pursue it? Perhaps it was because he had grown up in this village, and what pained him most was that, even if he uncovered the truth, the murderer would likely be someone he had known since childhood, someone he had shared countless days with. What if that ruthless killer turned out to be his cousin Li Fuqi?

To be honest, he wasn’t sure if his heart was strong enough to accept such a result. Li Fuqi was not only his closest brother in arms, but also the pride of the Li clan, now sharing with him the responsibility of guarding the sacred artifact. If such a person were to become a murderer, it would require an intricate plan and a remarkable ability to bear humiliation.

Moreover, Li Fuqi’s motive was the greatest puzzle haunting Li Yiting. Motive, motive... Every effect must have a cause. Was it truly because of the death of their uncle and aunt? Li Yiting knew nothing about this matter; the elders all said they died of illness—could there be hidden secrets?

Children neither knew nor dared inquire about the grievances among the elders; it was an unspoken rule. If there were hidden truths, Li Fuqi’s resentment or desire for revenge might be understandable, but when their uncle and aunt passed, Fuqi was less than a year old—where could hatred stem from? Clearly, it was baseless.

Unless someone secretly told him, and who could that person be?

Li Yiting briefly ran through a few names in his mind: Li Qisi, Xun Yuanchun, or perhaps one of the Li brothers...

The more he thought, the more terrified he became; it was as if the entire Li village was suspect!

Yet, in his memory, Li village had always been a peaceful and harmonious place, the site of his midnight dreams—now it had become a land rife with blood and tragedy, chilling to contemplate.

The overwhelming psychological gap left him dizzy and confused. Unconsciously, he found himself beside the stone bridge at Moutu Village. Suddenly, his foot slipped, and he nearly fell into the river. Only then did he become completely alert.

Li Yiting carefully examined the ancient stone bridge. It was barely over ten meters long, less than three meters wide, a common arched bridge found in rural areas. There were eight pillars on each side, double the number of railings, and the roadbed was made by stacking stones, then tamping down clay. He paced back and forth across the bridge several times, but found nothing unusual, except for some collapsed earth and stones at both ends, and a few uneven patches on the surface, with several obvious depressions.

He tried pushing each pillar with force; none budged, as if rooted to the earth. Truly, the wisdom of the ancestors was extraordinary. A bridge built entirely of pure bluestone, lacking only in load-bearing (for back then, there were no trucks weighing dozens of tons), but with a superb structure. Li Yiting examined each pillar and railing carefully, discovering several obvious marks of friction, though shallow and blurred, easily overlooked.

After some thought, he gazed beyond the bridge. The stream below flowed gently, but the water didn't seem deep, and the riverbed was scattered with half-submerged stones. Without much hesitation, Li Yiting gripped a pillar, leapt lightly over the railing, and hung beside the bridge. The move was risky, as the outer side of the bridge was vertical, with no footholds—he was suspended, relying on his toes to find crevices for support.

Luckily, few people passed the bridge, or else someone would surely have thought him about to leap into the river in despair.

Alternating his grip on the railings, Li Yiting inched sideways, his feet brushing the vertical face of the bridge, moving like an acrobat, resembling a gecko clinging to a wall—dangerous to behold.

He glanced down, seized the moment, and suddenly let go; his body dropped rapidly. Was he going to try jumping into the river? Not everyone is so lucky—if his head struck a stone, even a master could perish. He was truly risking it all.

As his body fell several meters, he reached out lightning-fast, catching the stone wall, abruptly halting his fall. A surge of force rushed through his arms, making his wrists and muscles ache. Li Yiting was no immortal; he hadn’t wedged his hands into stone cracks, but had gripped the lower rim of the bridge arch.

Once the inertia faded, he pressed himself up gracefully, then rolled to the side, successfully entering the bridge’s archway. All bridges are designed with (elliptical) archways, but standing upright inside is nearly impossible—the arch’s diameter was little more than a meter, so he had to crawl.

Though the arch was dim, he immediately spotted some items scattered in the center: a dark green tool bag, a coil of rope, several cigarette butts.

Li Yiting’s feelings were mixed; his mood was complex, and he even stopped several times, hesitant to examine the evidence.

He was relieved his deduction was correct: the ring-shaped pale marks on the railings above were indeed caused by rope. And now, he had the most complete physical evidence since the incident. If the button found in the trap last time only provided clues and direction, this tool bag, rope, and cigarette butts might directly reveal the murderer’s true face.

He was certain that, unless someone had ulterior motives, no one would go through such trouble to hide tools inside the bridge arch—especially one that had just witnessed an accident. Once sent to the forensic center, the evidence would expose the culprit.

Now his only worry was the owner of these items: if they weren’t Fuqi’s, all would be well; otherwise, he would have to personally send his own brother to prison.

He knew exactly what he would do; bending the law for personal gain was not an option.

With this conflicting emotion, Li Yiting opened the tool bag and took out its contents one by one, gripping them with two fingers: a stone chisel, hammer, iron punch...

Suddenly his face turned ashen, cold sweat dripping from his brow—

A white cloth in the tool bag was turned over, and on it, glaringly conspicuous, was the character “Qi”!

Li Yiting froze, sitting in defeat for a long moment.

Then, trembling, he took out a cigarette and drew on it fiercely.

Not until the burning tip scorched his fingers did he angrily toss the butt to the ground, grinding it with his foot, before expressionlessly crawling out again. He glanced upward; climbing back up would be impossible.

A flash of insight struck him, and a clear thread emerged in his mind: the murderer must have loosened the stone pillar, hidden the tools near the bridge, and after Li Qihuai fell into the river, retrieved the rope, entered the arch, concealed the tools, then... leaped into the river to rescue Li Qihuai!

Truly premeditated, meticulously arranged.

Thinking further, the deaths of Li Qiwen and Li Qiumao were equally flawless, leaving no trace.

Therefore, the murderer was very likely the same person.