Chapter Thirty: The Fat Man’s Speculation

“It couldn’t have been Third Uncle,” Chen Qingshan spoke up at this moment.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Third Uncle was guarding that place last night. I was worried about his safety, so I had Er Yazi and Chen Hu keep watch with him. When I heard about the situation from your side, I asked them just now. The three of them didn’t sleep a wink all night. Third Uncle spent the whole night telling them stories about the old days in the Hollow,” Chen Qingshan said, a bit puzzled.

His confusion was clear to both me and Fatty. Chen Qingshan wouldn’t lie, but if what he said was true—if all three of them stayed up all night—then who could have dug up that child and placed it at my doorstep under their noses?

Fatty and I exchanged a glance, reading each other’s thoughts. Fatty had said that the poverty in Chen Shitou’s family boiled down to two possibilities: either the child wasn’t Chen Shitou’s biological offspring, or the child wasn’t buried in the feng shui spot. We’d already discussed the likelihood of the first scenario, but now it seemed to be the second. Yet another question surfaced—if the child buried in the feng shui spot wasn’t the dead child, then what was the fool doing there last night, searching for Han Xue?

“Your village is quite peculiar,” Fatty said, looking at me, his gaze full of meaning.

I felt that these matters were impossible to untangle; everything seemed tangled and chaotic. So I turned to Fatty and said, “Fatty, let’s not worry about how this dead child came to be or who placed it at my door. The important thing is that we’ve found the child. You’re the expert here—what should we do next?”

“I don’t know,” Fatty replied.

“How can you not know?” I pressed, thinking he was intentionally being evasive because he sensed I’d hidden things from him.

“I used to think the child in the feng shui spot was the dead one, and the crazy woman returned to retrieve her child. That would be easy—dig up the child and hand it over. But now it’s clear the dead child wasn’t buried in the feng shui spot, meaning it’s not what the crazy woman wants. It’s a mismatch—a donkey’s head for a horse’s mouth. So this dead child is useless. If we want the crazy woman to stop causing trouble, we still need to dig up whatever lies beneath the feng shui spot. It’s like treating an illness—you must prescribe the right medicine,” Fatty explained.

His words made sense, but it meant the situation was once again at an impasse.

“So I’ll keep this little drought demon with me for now—better to avoid stirring up trouble. You two go settle things with that old man. Once he’s sorted, everything else will fall into place,” Fatty said.

Just when I thought the appearance of the dead child might bring a turning point, Fatty’s words plunged us back into a deadlock. We couldn’t come up with a solution, so we went our separate ways. I had just reached home when Fatty followed behind. He looked at me, his eyes still filled with that deep meaning. I asked, “Fatty, what’s the matter?”

“Come on, walk with me,” Fatty said.

I already knew what was about to happen. Fatty had surely caught the scent of something in the village. With his skills, it wasn’t difficult to deduce the complexity of the situation here. If it were me, I’d have guessed as much—a tiny Hollow with a strange stone coffin hidden in the river, and a formidable figure masked behind a visage. Nothing about any of it was normal.

Fatty and I walked outside the village, following the riverbank. Fatty gazed at the waters of the Luoshui River and said, “I just tried something at home. If I’m not mistaken, that drought demon is the thing buried in the feng shui spot. So either your village chief, Chen Qingshan, lied, or that old man is suspicious. King of Thieves, I’ve seen a lot in your eyes—tell me, what are you and your brother Sun Zhongmou really up to?”

“You’re quite the joker, Fatty,” I said with a smile.

“Do I look like I’m joking with you? All this nonsense in the village—a drowned ghost girl? With Sun Zhongmou’s abilities, he could sort that out with a flick of his finger, especially since the ghost haunts his soon-to-be sister-in-law. It shouldn’t even involve me. At first, I thought your brother was scheming behind the scenes, but after a few days, I realized you’re just as suspicious,” Fatty laid his cards on the table.

“I really don’t understand what you’re saying,” I replied.

“Don’t play games with me. Let me tell you: I’ve climbed more mountains than you’ve walked roads. The moment you saw me, you were guarded—why? Tang Renjie? And I’m not afraid to tell you the truth, I saw everything in the woods last night,” Fatty sneered.

“You followed me?!” I glared at him.

“Would I stoop to following you? I was protecting you! If Sun Zhongmou hadn’t showed up at the critical moment, I would have knocked that man’s knife away myself. So there’s a lot I already know, whether you admit it or not. If you’re honest, I’ll consider you a friend,” Fatty said.

I looked at him and laughed coldly, “Trying to trick me with this—do you take me for a child? What do you know? Go ahead, tell me. Honestly, you’re half right. My brother does have a plan, but he’d never tell me. I’d like to hear your brilliant ideas, Fatty.”

“This is related to your father’s death. Am I wrong?” Fatty looked at me.

I was stunned, but then realized my father’s death had made the news—it wasn’t a secret. It wouldn’t be hard for Fatty to know. I nodded, indicating he should continue.

“You and your brother both suspect your father’s death is tied to someone in the village. Your father was skinned alive. I don’t know what that means, but I’m certain it’s some kind of dark ritual. I’ve heard from my master that in the western regions and Tibetan esoteric sects, there are sacrificial rites involving skinning. So you and your brother suspect the killer is an occultist. Sun Zhongmou was adopted out when he was young and only recently returned. His whereabouts and experiences over the past twenty years are a mystery, but there’s no denying he’s now extremely capable, especially since he can enter and leave the Twelve Ghost Caverns. If I’m not mistaken, the occultist who killed and skinned your father must have some mysterious connection with the Twelve Ghost Caverns. So when your brother returned and showed his skills, that person panicked,” Fatty said.

I found myself completely absorbed by Fatty’s words. Recent events had left my mind in turmoil, and my limited knowledge of occultists made it hard for me to analyze the situation systematically.

Fatty’s reasoning was convincing, especially his point about the killer’s connection to the Twelve Ghost Caverns. It was something I’d never considered, yet it struck right at the heart of the matter.

I knew I had to appear confident. If Fatty sensed I was clueless, he’d stop talking. So I smiled and said, “Well said. Go on.”

At this moment, the Fatty before me was worlds apart from the glutton I first met. When he was serious, he resembled a detective.

“So everything that’s happened since is likely, or very likely, the work of the killer. Let me analyze it for you. When the killer feels threatened, he’ll either stay hidden and avoid making any mistakes—that’s safest—or he’ll try to kill your brother and you. Dead men pose no threat; ghosts aren’t scary. If I were the killer and realized I couldn’t murder your brother, I’d definitely choose the first option: shut myself away, do nothing, and ensure my own safety,” Fatty analyzed rationally and meticulously.

“Too bad you’re not the killer,” I said, smiling at him.

“At first, I was puzzled, but soon I noticed something and found the reason for the killer’s actions,” Fatty said.

But then he suddenly stopped talking. I looked at him, his face blank, and quickly feigned indifference, “Ran out of story?”

“Drop the act. I know you don’t know a damn thing. If you want me to keep talking, trade what you know for my secrets,” Fatty said.