Chapter 46: The Hammer Fiend Case (Part 15)

In the meeting room, amid swirling cigarette smoke, the projector beam cast mottled light and shadow onto the white board.

Li Rui stood before the clue map, his fingertips gliding over several red-marked crime scenes, his voice low and resolute:

"Analyzing from a criminal psychology perspective, while we have intensified our screening efforts, the killer is bound to be walking on thin ice. The reason he continues to offend is not out of arrogance, but because he has figured out our investigation patterns."

Han Junshan furrowed his brows, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the tabletop: "You mean..."

"He is like a cunning fox. After each crime, he lies low for a period, but he never truly strays far from the crime scenes." Li Rui's finger traced an irregular circle on the map. "He has simply been circling among the surrounding cities and prefectures, playing a game of cat-and-mouse with us."

"Therefore, we have reason to suspect that this fellow carries a map with him," Li Rui turned to face the crowd, "committing crimes wherever he goes. He takes advantage of his familiarity with rural life and local environments, exploiting the loopholes of our police departments operating in silos. He clearly knows that as long as he leaves the jurisdiction before the local police intervene, he is out of danger."

Lei Chen also chimed in: "Once the killer feels the police have not discovered his whereabouts, his boldness will swell, and like a desperate gambler, he will throw caution to the wind and strike again."

Li Rui's gaze shifted toward the window, where the twilight, like a spilled bottle of ink, slowly seeped along the folds of the wheat fields.

He fancied he could see patches of wheat ears turning eastward in unison, rolling into dark red waves in the evening breeze—blood that had soaked into the soil, sucked up by the wheat roots, only to bear ochre-colored ears in midsummer.

On the paths between the fields, a few fresh footprints were eerily self-replicating, their extending trajectory perfectly coinciding with the red circles on the map in the police conference room.

An old night-watchman claimed he had seen wheat stalks under the moonlight automatically weave into a leather-like texture, unfolding into a breathing human-skin map, the villages marked upon it all shrouded in pale purple mist.

Meanwhile, a limping man was wandering through the territory of Fu County in Zhou City.

He was like a starving hyena; the streets were merely a blurry background in his eyes, and his cunning gaze constantly searched for two things: the shadow of pursuers and the neon lights of massage parlors.

The wind was cold, but he was growing exceptionally irritable. Tugging at his collar, sweat soaked through his cheap T-shirt. He strolled aimlessly to the bus station, suddenly feeling that the county town was far too noisy, and that the countryside suited him better—there, with its deep green shade, there were no cages of reinforced concrete, let alone figures in police uniforms.

Jumping onto a bus about to depart, he purposely chose a middle seat by the window. This was a lesson learned from his years on the run: the front and back were never safe, and only the middle offered true stability.

Just as the engine roared to life, an old woman hurried onto the bus and plopped down directly in the seat ahead of him.

The short man's pupils suddenly contracted, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. Staring fixedly at the old woman's graying head from behind, a wave of nausea washed over him.

"Truly my bad luck, running into such an eyesore of an old hag the moment I get on the bus," he gnashed his teeth inwardly. "If it were a young girl sitting in front, at least it would be pleasing to the eyes. But it has to be some withered old hag, just looking at her makes me sick."

"You old biddy with a face like withered tree bark," he fumed with rage, yet dared not make a scene in front of everyone. "What right do you have to sit in front of me and pollute my field of vision?"

This ruthless demon who could kill without blinking was adept at masking himself. In public places, he never courted trouble nor wasted words, reserving all the deep-seated malice and brutality in his heart to be unleashed in the dead of night.

"To run into such a gut-wrenching nuisance for no reason is too aggravating. No, I need to find a way to vent this pent-up anger."

As the bus pulled out of the station, the short man abruptly stood up and hurried off at the very next stop.

He needed an outlet; he needed to make these "eyesores" pay the price. Originally hesitant about whether to continue his spree, he had now found the perfect excuse.

"Just because of this old biddy," he thought viciously, "I'm going to stir up some trouble right here."

By nightfall, he had already scouted the conditions of several nearby villages.

Under the moonlight, his shadow was drawn out long, like an unsheathed blade.

He knew that another family was about to be shattered in the darkness, while he would continue to roam this familiar land like an unceasing ghost.

On the early morning of November 2nd, the sunlight, like a sharp sickle, cut open the thin mist enveloping Zhaogang Village.

Luo Jianghong stepped through the dew to borrow a hoe from her neighbor, Chen Gengshen, and from afar spotted that solitary east room—serving as both kitchen and bedroom, huddled like a tired old dog beside the foundations of an unfinished new house.

"Brother Shen?" she called out twice, but only the rustle of the morning breeze stirring the door curtain answered her.

Seeing no response from Chen Gengshen, Luo Jianghong walked over and lifted his quilt. The instant she pulled it back, a thick, pungent wave of the smell of blood rushed at her. A bloody hole gaped squarely in Chen Gengshen's forehead, dark red stains blooming on the pillow like a withered poppy.

Luo Jianghong's scream startled the sparrows resting in the tree. She hurried to find Chen Gengshen's younger brother, Chen Gengting, telling him, "You'd better go take a look. Your older brother must have gotten into a fight with someone; there's a bloody hole in his head."

When Chen Gengting rushed over, he found his brother's corpse already stiff, like a piece of decaying wood forgotten on a ridge. Pushing open the door to the east room, the scene before him made his legs go weak: his niece's lower legs dangled over the edge of the bed, his sister-in-law lay face down across the bedding, and his nephew was curled up outside the mosquito net. The bloodstains on all three corpses emitted an eerie purple sheen in the morning light.

By the time the police arrived, the sun had already climbed high into the sky.

During the investigation, a blood-soaked poplar stick caught their attention. The stick was roughly the thickness of a teacup, over a meter long, with fresh chop marks at both ends and the bark still retaining a greenish luster. Five bloody handprints were clearly pressed onto the shaft like five crimson butterflies, though fingerprints could not be extracted due to the thick clotting of the blood.

"Judging from the bark on the poplar stick and the fresh cuts at both ends, this branch was hacked from the tree less than half a day ago," veteran criminal detective Captain Wang narrowed his eyes, his fingers gently brushing against the bark. "Immediately launch an investigation centered around this poplar stick."

"Understood!" the other police officers chored in unison.

"Also, notify the municipal bureau and the special investigation team immediately—the killer has struck again!" Old Wang said with a grave expression.

The wail of police sirens tore through the tranquility of the mountain village, and the red-and-blue flashing lights flickered in the thin mist like the eyes of trapped beasts.

Li Rui sat in the passenger seat as the scenery outside the window raced backward, the dried bloodstains on the autopsy tables flashing through his mind.

"We were still too late," Li Rui blamed himself.

Wen Rou gripped the steering wheel tightly, comforting him, "This is not your fault."

In the rearview mirror, Lei Chen's police car followed closely behind, the light bar on its roof staining the roadside plane trees an eerie shade of purple.

As they rounded a sharp bend, a wave of nausea churned in Li Rui's stomach, reminding him of his very first crime scene back in college—another such morning, another such wail of sirens.

"Ten minutes left," Wen Rou's voice pulled him back to reality.

Her profile flickered in the alternating glow of the police lights, her eyelashes casting delicate, dappled shadows beneath her eyes.

Li Rui suddenly noticed that the stray hairs behind her ear were dampened with sweat, clinging to her fair skin—a detail that inexplicably brought him a sense of calm.

The police cruiser sped past a graveyard, the tombstones looming indistinctly in the morning fog. Li Rui's temples throbbed suddenly, as if he could hear the wails of the victims. He rolled down the window, and the cold wind mixed with the earthy stench rushed at his face.

In the distance, the outline of Zhaogang Village grew clearer, resembling a dormant behemoth waiting to devour yet another innocent family.