Chapter Forty: Exposed Corpse in the Wilderness

Kuang Suo waited all night near the mute man's residence and the places he frequented, yet he failed to catch any trace of his whereabouts. The anxiety gnawed at him—could it be that after attacking Wan Yongkun, the mute man had fled in panic? That wasn’t impossible. If he had indeed run away, matters would become exceedingly troublesome; even if he was hiding somewhere, Kuang Suo, now intimately familiar with Luoshui Village, would be powerless if the mute man refused to venture outside. He even checked the highway, but found no clear tire tracks. With the recent frequent storms, it would be nearly impossible to conceal such marks; thus, it seemed unlikely that the mute man had gone into town.

By this reasoning, the most probable scenario was that he’d retreated into the mountains. After searching Yuan Village in vain, Kuang Suo decided not to waste time combing other villages, but to head straight for the places the mute man was known to frequent. He proceeded with utmost caution, wary of being tracked himself, which slowed his progress.

He also called Li Yiting to report his findings; Li replied he would enter the mountains later. Kuang Suo felt reassured, and quickened his pace toward the site where Wan Yongkun had been assaulted. Apart from faint traces of blood, the scene was empty, but unexpectedly, he discovered several scattered female figurines in the grass, instantly arousing his suspicion.

Wan Yongkun had said the mute man was infatuated with carving women; why would he abandon his sculptures so carelessly?

Something was amiss, Kuang Suo thought. He calmly pondered for a moment, then decided to broaden his search. Sure enough, in a hidden patch of grass, he found a pool of unusual blood. Beside it, a string of blood droplets formed a line—these red spots surely belonged to Wan Yongkun, but the pool itself?

Kuang Suo, meticulous in thought, estimated the distance between the blood pool and the site of the struggle. His initial judgment was that it couldn’t be Wan Yongkun’s blood; if so much had been lost at such proximity, escape would have been impossible. It must therefore belong to the mute man—was he injured as well? That seemed likely; after all, Wan Yongkun was no ordinary opponent, and the two were evenly matched. To wound one’s enemy, one must expect injury oneself.

With this clue, Kuang Suo surmised the mute man was probably nearby, recuperating. This place must still be one of his hideouts.

Moving forward a few steps, Kuang Suo suddenly found himself at the edge of a steep slope. He leaned out for a better look, drawing a sharp breath—this incline must be sixty or seventy degrees. His keen eyes quickly noted the grass was flattened, as if someone had lain there, but now had departed.

He had intended to follow Wan Yongkun’s blood trail, but a sudden intuition made him peer again down the slope. With a closer inspection, he spotted a long, curved track of flattened weeds—clearly formed by something rolling down.

Could it be the mute man had tumbled down the mountain here? The possibility startled him.

Could someone so badly injured survive such a fall? For the mute man, grievously wounded, this route seemed impossible—why would he choose such a path for escape?

Uncertain, Kuang Suo descended the steep slope, determined to investigate. Fortunately, though precipitous, the hillside was scattered with bamboo, allowing him to zigzag downward and gradually approach the valley floor.

What he found below sent chills down his spine.

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Kuang Suo first discovered a large patch of blood and then spotted a machete, stained and filthy, thrust into the earth as if thrown aside.

Next, he came upon a collapsed corpse. Turning it over, he was confronted with the mute man's chubby face; a long gash marked his neck, right by the artery.

The wound was perilously close to the main artery.

The mute man had been killed! What transpired after he and Wan Yongkun had left?

Kuang Suo stood stunned, unsure what to do, when a booming voice echoed from the top of the slope, startling him. But soon he recognized Li Yiting, and joyfully called back. Li bounded down the slope, surveyed the grisly scene with a frown, and was silent for a long moment.

“Damn it, this guy actually committed suicide,” Li Yiting said, visibly frustrated.

“How do you know it was suicide?” Kuang Suo asked, puzzled.

Li Yiting didn’t answer immediately. He went over, pried open the mute man's left hand, and found it still clutching a figurine. He glanced at the machete’s position.

“Right hand extended with the blade, wound on the left artery, body collapsed, machete less than two meters away—all typical signs of suicide,” Li Yiting explained simply.

Kuang Suo asked, “What if someone hacked at his neck with the blade?” The thought of such a scene sent a shudder through him.

“That’s possible, but unlikely. If the machete had been thrown down the slope, the angle would be wrong and the distance harder to control. Unless the killer was a master at staging crime scenes, calculating every detail meticulously. But in my experience, there are no signs of a third person’s presence here.”

Kuang Suo nodded. “So the mute man really killed himself—why? He had us on the run just moments ago.”

Li Yiting’s expression grew grave, his mind awash with guesses.

“I can’t figure it out either,” Li Yiting muttered, crouching again to examine the body, turning out every pocket—each was empty. He looked at the figurine; it bore not a speck of blood.

With a sidelong glance at the mute man’s face, he thought he glimpsed a strange, eerie smile.

A sudden shock struck him, and a bold hypothesis formed: “Judging by his expression, it almost looks like he died for love…” Li Yiting couldn’t say where this notion came from.

“For love?” Kuang Suo exclaimed. “For the figurine?”

“For the woman it represents, of course,” Li Yiting replied with a bitter smile.

Kuang Suo grumbled, “Why not before, why not after, but now, at this crucial moment? Did he somehow foresee we were coming for him?”

“It’s not that simple,” Li Yiting shook his head.

“Strange—who could this woman be?” he wondered aloud.

Kuang Suo quickly reported, “Wan Yongkun said it might be Li Fuqi’s deceased mother.”

“Really?” Li Yiting hadn’t seen Li Fuqi’s mother much, but he examined the figurine again. “There is a resemblance in the features,” he said, relying on his vague memory from over twenty years ago, yet unable to confirm.

“We’d best not disturb the scene—let’s return and decide what to do,” he said, considering that the body couldn’t be properly handled yet, and from a professional standpoint, this was the best course.

Kuang Suo hesitated. “Leaving him here… won’t wild dogs drag him away?”

Li Yiting nodded. “Let’s cover him with some branches for protection; it should suffice. Once the roads are open, the case must be handed over to the criminal police. He lived alone, so likely no one will claim his body.”

They took a few simple measures to safeguard the site before leaving the bamboo grove and returning to the school.