Chapter 13: Crimson Pursuit of the Killer (Part One)

The road ahead was pitch black, the faint glow of a phone screen barely illuminating the way. Zhang Shutong hadn’t turned on a flashlight; instead, he gripped his phone in one hand, resting it on the bicycle’s handlebars. Before setting off, he’d forgotten to wear gloves, and the icy night wind bit painfully at his bare hands, but there was no time to stop and put them on properly.

The nighttime path was treacherous—he had to watch out for pits in the earth and especially for icy patches. Even he wasn’t sure exactly where he had ridden to; by time reckoning, it was only seven or eight minutes. But reality proved he had miscalculated—patrol officers weren’t so easy to catch up with. He’d assumed they hadn’t gone far, thinking he could outpace them on his bike.

Yet, the recent revving of a motorcycle engine made Zhang realize that patrolling the island required vehicles; they couldn’t just rely on walking. Likely, the officer rode to a location, then dismounted to search the area before moving on.

A pressing dilemma formed in his mind: to chase or not to chase?

If he pursued, it was like the tortoise trying desperately to catch the hare—no matter how hard he tried, the hare would always stay ahead. But the officer would have to get off his vehicle eventually, and perhaps that small window would appear soon.

But how soon? Zhang had no idea. He could only cling to hope.

If he didn’t pursue, he would need to change tactics. Zhang remembered that after school that afternoon, when he passed a certain spot returning from the restricted zone, his phone received a sudden flood of messages. His job now was to find a place with signal and call the police.

But that was easier said than done. After eight years away, he barely remembered the island, only rough directions—where his home was, where the school stood. Finding a spot with signal was like hunting for a needle in a haystack, especially at night.

Even if he managed it, how long would it take for the police to respond? Time ticked by relentlessly; the longer he delayed, the slimmer the chance of uncovering clues to the culprit. He sped up, making a decision—

Footsteps grew nearer.

His mind blanked momentarily; the group instinctively slipped into the reeds. Feng Ruoping was the last to enter, lowering her breath, eyes wide, heart pounding. Who was it? Why no flashlight?

Police?

No, it must be the man Du Kang had seen.

What now? Should they remain hidden?

The silence around was terrifying, panic briefly setting in before they realized any action now would be too late.

No one knew what to do.

Suddenly, a phone rang, piercing the stillness of the open field.

The call connected quickly, muffled words drifting through the night wind. Feng Ruoping recognized the hoarse male voice—not a police officer.

“West side… yes, the cops…”

“They've left already, I’m on the road…”

“Student…”

The man’s voice faltered.

Feng Ruoping froze, her hands and feet chilling.

“…Not seen, it’s fine.”

“Be careful… hm.”

The voice spoke again. She realized the “student” wasn’t referring to them.

But no time to relax; more questions flooded her mind—

Who was that “student”?

Zhang Shutong?

Had he been spotted?

But that couldn’t be. Zhang was heading west, the footsteps came from the east—no way they crossed paths. So who else fit?

Du Kang?

It had to be him.

If the man above was the same the duo had encountered, perhaps he circled back, now heading west—the direction Zhang had gone.

Fury and anxiety surged within Ruoping.

Zhang Shutong, you foolishly went looking for someone! Little did you know they circled right behind you! You’ll never find them!

No one knew the man’s intent, but given the earlier hints, it was surely ill-intentioned.

She resolved that once the man left, she’d call Zhang immediately, warning him not to double back—what if they crossed paths?

Her fingers gripped the phone, but then the noises above startled her again.

No, not noise—silence.

The man’s sounds vanished.

The stillness was filled only with the howling wind.

This silence raised the hairs on her arms—no sound meant something terrible: the man was standing right above them.

She dared not look up or move, her palms slick with sweat.

Then footsteps resumed, but shifted direction—no longer overhead but coming from the side, descending.

Crunching through grass and dirt, she glimpsed a dark figure emerge from the embankment.

Why come down?

Had they been discovered?

Should they call out to Qingyi and Du Kang and rush out?

Run now?

Thoughts swirled as the clouds above drifted slowly, moonlight spilling down, revealing the man’s figure clearly.

He was short and stout, carrying a large woven sack on his back and holding something long in his other hand.

The object, wrapped in cloth, stretched from his feet to his shoulder, ending abruptly in a wide, flat shape.

She glanced back at Qingyi, who subtly shook his head.

His meaning was clear: “Wait.”

His gaze dropped to his feet. Though their legs were hidden in the reeds, Feng Ruoping instinctively understood—he was referring to her shoes.

That day, she wore loafers with heels—no laces—and would likely lose them if she hurried up the embankment.

Could she outrun a grown man? Probably not. Maybe he wouldn’t chase, but who could be sure?

Better to make no unnecessary risks. Zhang’s first choice to hide and wait made sense. She bit her lip, frustrated at being a liability.

So, they waited.

Holding their breath, they watched the man’s every move, their minds racing—what was he doing? What did “not seen” mean? Why hide from the police?

Before answers came, the man reached the shore, crouched, and set down the woven bag.

He unwrapped the cloth from the long object—it was a shovel.

With both hands, he began digging, loosening the soil.

Under the moonlight, the man bizarrely dug a hole.

A hole? What was he planning?

Speculation ran wild, but they needn’t ponder long.

The mound of dirt grew.

Next, the man unzipped the woven bag—metal clinked softly—and a sharp stench of blood and rot assaulted their noses.

Moonlight revealed the youths’ faces, instantly drained of color.

A chilling realization pressed upon them.

Feng Ruoping looked at Qingyi; his expression was unreadable but his eyes held hesitation.

Their situation was desperate—they couldn’t call the police, couldn’t communicate openly.

When the officer had been on the dirt path, they could use their phones; now the man was right opposite, and even the slightest movement was forbidden—they had only silent signals.

Her only thought: she had to tell Zhang Shutong, the only one free to act.

But so much time had passed, and their only contact was one unanswered call.

She knew Zhang was the type to focus deeply on a task, likely still caught up in his risky adventure.

Even if he noticed their predicament, it’d be only when he got home.

He’d ride his bike fast, but damn him—he was still out there searching!

You won’t find anyone tonight!

She bit her lip, slowly pulling out her phone.

Fortunately, the rustling reeds masked her movements.

Mimicking Zhang, she pressed the screen tightly against her clothes, dimmed the brightness, opened messaging, and began typing with one hand.

But her small fingers struggled; the phone’s size was designed for men’s hands, and she couldn’t reach the screen’s edges easily.

Finally, after much effort, she typed the message and tried to hit send.

Her thumb twitched in panic, causing her to lose grip—the phone slipped from her hand into the grass.

In the silence, the phone’s fall sounded like a stone thrown into water.

Feng Ruoping’s face went pale.

The man halted abruptly, spun around, and a beam of flashlight cut through the reeds toward them!

He bent forward, hand searching his waist, stepping cautiously closer.

The man was closing in!

Her heart seemed to stop.

What to do? What to do?!

She was about to close her eyes and bolt when—

“Croak!”

A black shadow suddenly leapt from the reeds.

It was a frog.

The man’s gaze fixed on the frog, muttering a curse, then turned back to the pit.

Her heart settled.

Du Kang grinned at her, raising an eyebrow.

Normally, she would glare back defiantly; now, she only felt a stinging sadness.

What to do now?

Her phone was lost; no way to retrieve it.

Who knew how long the man would keep digging?

Even if Zhang got home and saw a missed call, what message could that send?

All she could do was listen to her pounding heart, silently praying:

Zhang Shutong! You have to find out quickly! Hurry!

—

Qingyi smelled the blood growing more pungent, his expression grave.

The man had been digging nearly ten minutes.

Clearly a professional.

Under moonlight, he emptied chunks of corpse from the bag, layered them with soil, repeated again and again.

His heart sank further.

What kind of body could fill an entire woven sack?

Perhaps no need to ponder.

Zhang’s cautious approach was correct—sometimes less is more.

He had seen Ruoping pull out her phone and disapproved.

Better to wait for the man to finish and leave than risk stirring trouble.

So Qingyi held his breath, counting silently, watching every move, hoping not to catch the killer but to find clues.

One thing troubled him—

What exactly was the man carrying behind his back?

Not the sack or shovel, but another object slung across his shoulder.

—

Moonlight revealed only its vague outline.

It was another stick-like item, resembling a fire poker, but suddenly widened at one end.

If he could, Qingyi wouldn’t even guess.

But that shape filled him with dread.

It was probably—

A hunting rifle.

No matter what, it was beyond their control.

Qingyi dropped his gaze, steadying his breath.

All they could do was wait for the man to leave.

Just then, he caught Du Kang’s gaze.

Du Kang was winking, nodding toward the man.

Qingyi knew Du Kang was the strongest among them, likely thinking not of hiding but of kicking the man now.

But the fool hadn’t noticed the gun.

Qingyi gave him a stern look to stop him and felt a headache coming on.

Ruoping’s shoulder twitched; she looked ahead—

The man moved.

Under the night sky, he drew a dagger from his waist and strode toward the reeds.

What was happening?

Qingyi was stunned.

What did he want?

Had they been discovered?

Impossible!

No matter how he tried to calm himself, his youthful heart faltered.

Ruoping was even worse, trembling at the front line.

Their hearts pounding, they held their breath as the man stopped before the reeds.

He slashed a small clump of reed grass.

Suddenly, Qingyi understood.

The woven bag was nearly empty, but the stench of blood and decay lingered despite the deep pit and layers of soil.

He was trying to cover the smell with reeds!

The man returned to the pit, stuffed in the reeds, pressed them down with his foot, then layered more soil.

But deeper worries rose—

If this was the case—

Could they truly hide it till the end?

—

As the man’s digging noises echoed, the group shifted back quietly for the second time.

Qingyi frowned.

Their once obscured view was now clearer.

A small patch of reeds had been cut down, their escape route shrinking.

Behind them, their bicycles blocked the path; their space compressed to a minimum.

The man stuffed the last reeds into the hole, clearly unsatisfied, glancing at the reed thicket as if calculating.

The boy’s heart began to waver, anxious.

If only Zhang were here.

Not to have him nearby, but for his timely return.

Even if he couldn’t do much, the sound of his bike might distract the man and create an opening.

Instead of being trapped and helpless, unable to prepare.

Or if someone above could cooperate, they might break the stalemate.

But that was impossible.

Ruoping held her hands to her chest, staring forward, as if praying, blocking out all outside noise.

Qingyi took a deep breath, made his decision.

They couldn’t wait any longer—

Just as the thought formed—

As if the heavens answered their prayers—

Something slowly descended from the sky.

Landing atop the boy’s head.