Chapter 2 The Other Shovel in the Forest (Or: How to Accidentally Share a Grave-Digging Hobby with a Serial Killer)
Gou Ming was a man who did what he believed was right.
Even if that meant punching his superior in the face.
With a temperament like his, he could never be a cop—so he settled for the title of "private detective."
He truly thought his life would get back on track, one step at a time.
Until he realized that real detectives spent their days finding lost cats and spying on cheating spouses for pocket change.
Making a living was hard.
But giving up wasn’t an option.
So he persisted. Monotonously. Relentlessly.
Injustice. Anger. Desotion. Numbness. Apathy.
Until suddenly—
A lifeline was thrown his way.
Gou Ming grabbed it without hesitation.
Whether it was rotten or would snap the next second didn’t matter.
---
Jiujiang West City, Jiangxi Province.
A sleepy, unindustrialized town. Its only attractions were a near-bankrupt amusement park, a few cybercafés, and some half-forgotten tourist spots.
Ji Xiahan had no reason to leave his apartment unless he was gathering material for his novel.
His st "adventure" had ended disastrously—three days wasted on a damn monkey. He’d lost weight, gained dark circles, and had to jump into a river to wash off the blood before slinking home like a wet rat.
"That bastard..."
His only concern was avoiding suspicion, though he'd prefer being accused of murder over receiving disdainful stares while wet and shivering."
"...Son of a b*tch."
The first thing he did upon returning was shower, devour a meal, then colpse into bed. When he woke, groggy, it was already afternoon the next day.
Ten hours of sleep.
He vaguely remembered dreaming of monkey skewers—steamed, fried, stewed. Laughing triumphantly as he shared scraps with stray dogs. A beautiful woman, moved to tears by his "altruism," rewarded him with a mansion, a sports car, and a seaside vil.
Ji Xiahan had reached the pinnacle of life—until his growling stomach rudely yanked him back to reality.
After eating, he sat at the expensive computer he could barely use (it couldn’t even run the simplest games). Not that he cared. It existed solely for typing and research.
Ji Xiahan wasn’t a famous writer, but his crime novels paid the bills. His readers either praised their "realism" or their "gritty prose"—he didn’t care which.
Now, he was drafting a new project. With a twist.
This time, he’d blend supernatural horror into the detective plot.
The protagonist would be a stern yet zy investigator, altruistic but no saint. His ability? Glimpsing fragments of past events (within 24 hours) at a crime scene. As he aided the police, he’d uncover darker forces—monsters wearing human skin.
Ji Xiahan’s camping trip had been research for this very premise.
Thanks to his "rival," inspiration now flowed. He’d experienced dismembering and hiding a corpse (monkey or not, it counted).
After outlining the first volume, he began typing.
As the keyboard ccked rhythmically, he impulsively decided to weave yesterday’s events into the story.
Of course, he’d omit his humiliation—but glorifying his revenge? That was fair game.
To avoid derailing the plot (since this stand-in character would only appear once), he needed to integrate it carefully.
An idea struck. Smirking, Ji Xiahan got back to work.
---
Meanwhile, Unbeknownst to Ji Xiahan...
In a secluded part of West Jiujiang’s forest—a spot he’d find strangely familiar—a mound of freshly turned earth y hidden under a thick yer of leaves. Chunks of meat were scattered nearby, and a cardboard sign stabbed into the ground bore words written in dried blood:
"DOG FOOD. DO NOT TOUCH."
(Someone had forgotten a pen.)
But there was one gring difference from how Ji Xiahan had left it:
Police cars surrounded the area.
Yellow tape cordoned off the scene as officers and forensics teams collected evidence.
This was a triple homicide.
Three unreted victims, simirly dismembered, buried in the same forest.
Two bodies had been here for days. The third? Killed within the st 15 hours.
While Ji Xiahan was busy retaliating against a monkey in the dead of night, a real murderer had been active nearby.
Perhaps they’d crossed paths.
After all, Ji Xiahan had visited three separate locations to bury his "altruistic donations" to stray dogs. The odds of encountering another person doing the exact same thing had tripled.
Ironically, his deranged logic had mirrored the killer’s methods—just with different targets.
"The body was found dismembered, its limbs buried in three separate locations within this forest. The victim was a medical student from the local university, st seen two days ago at the city's amusement park by his roommates."
"Though the three burial sites had been discovered, further investigation revealed even more bizarre locations. This insulting grave was one of them."
Slightly removed from the crowded scene, a tall policewoman reyed the information in a hushed tone, her eyes downcast. She was careful not to draw attention.
She had no intention of sharing more than she already had - divulging details to unreted parties clearly wasn't something she did often.
Even though the man before her was both a detective and a longtime acquaintance.
He sighed, crushing his cigarette underfoot.
"I see. That tells me enough."
Closing his eyes, his mind plunged into darkness—
—then shattered like gss.
Red seeped into his vision, spreading like ink until it consumed him.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t standing among officers.
He was digging a grave.
"So tired~"
Irritation. Mockery. Scorn.
But more than anything: Rage.
His body was exhausted, yet he kept moving mechanically, driven by an indescribable humiliation.
Whoever was in that bck trash bag had wronged him deeply.
This wasn’t a crime of pleasure.
It was vengeance - however twisted it might be.
This profile didn't match the intelligence reports on the two previous simir cases.
Gou Ming focused.
His eye level measured approximately 1.8 meters. His arms carried no excess strength—slender wrists, fingers elongated like surgical instruments, their geometry almost delicate. Blunt-cut nails. Skin pale enough to reveal the roadmap of veins beneath.
They were completely exposed—blood smeared across the knuckles and fingers, flecks of flesh lodged beneath the nails.
They weren’t worried about fingerprints.
No guilt. No anxiety. Just...
"I did my research."
Satisfaction. Pride.
They were certain they wouldn’t be caught.
Darkness descended abruptly, swallowing the scene whole.
The clouds strangled the moonlight.
"Why now?"
"...How inconvenient."
Gou Ming paused mid-motion as he dragged the trash bag toward the freshly dug grave.
He rummaged through the backpack in pitch darkness, fingers scrabbling until they closed around a cold, cylindrical object.
Probably a fshlight.
Clutching it tightly, he shouldered the pack again—still before switching the light on.
Gou Ming felt a flicker of disappointment at being unable to examine the backpack's appearance. But this was swiftly overtaken by bewildered awe as he witnessed what happened next.
A different breed of pride surged through him as he gripped the object in his right hand. Something akin to... a father’s pride in his daughter?
Before he could fully process the absurdity of that emotion, suspicion crept in—tinged with embarrassment. He was about to do something shameful.
His mouth opened against his will.
"Come on, you can do it. Just thirty more minutes, and I’ll clean you spotless. No stains, I promise."
After an encouraging pat, the fshlight flickered—communicating its reluctance—yet still ignited, releasing a bde of harsh light.
Gou Ming hadn't touched the power switch.
It had turned on by itself.
The killer showed no surprise. His lips stretched into what he imagined was a gentle smile.
"Good girl."
The ntern light flickered twice, seemingly pleased with the compliment.
It was eerily precise to be a coincidence.
