I kept observing the scene, then reviewed some investigation records and statements. All the evidence pointed to the fact that the general store owner, nicknamed Laughing Li—Richard Li—had committed suicide.
Looking at Richard Li’s corpse, his eyes closed, he seemed peaceful. I squatted in front of him, quietly watching. Yesterday, he poured out his troubles to me, but after sobering up, he was back to his usual laughing self, chatting away.
Now, Richard Li lay on the ground, a cold corpse. I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth, and felt deeply guilty. Once again, I was powerless to do anything.
A burst of crying and shouting came from outside, suddenly causing a commotion.
"My husband would never commit suicide, never! It was those debt collectors, it must have been those debt collectors who killed him."
A woman, with a girl of about ten, mother and daughter crying and shouting, while neighbors tried to comfort them.
"Ethan Zhang, why are you still standing there? Move aside, the people from Evergreen Funeral Home are here."
"Officer, officer, my dad wouldn’t commit suicide, never!" Richard Li’s daughter cried, and the mother and daughter rushed in, wailing beside Richard Li’s body.
The police went outside to disperse the crowd, and the Evergreen Funeral Home staff waited outside. Watching the mother and daughter, I felt heartbroken. I could only stand silently nearby, unable to say a word, not even to comfort them.
I walked over to the cash register and looked around. A family portrait sat on the counter, and beside it was a gift bag. On the calendar hanging behind, November 1st was circled in red.
I looked around in confusion. The place was spotless, and I couldn’t understand why someone planning to kill himself would tidy up the shop so thoroughly, or why he’d set the family portrait on the counter.
"Officer." Richard Li’s daughter walked up to me.
I stared at her blankly. She was a well-behaved little girl, her eyes red from crying.
"Daddy, daddy wouldn’t kill himself."
I squatted down in front of her and asked.
"Did your father ever mention anything about a Taoist priest?"
The little girl shook her head.
"Why do you think your father wouldn’t commit suicide?" As soon as I asked, Richard Li’s daughter started crying again. She reached out, her hand trembling as she pointed at the calendar behind me. I turned to look. Aside from the red circle around November 1st, there was nothing unusual.
"Birthday. That day is my birthday."
As soon as Richard Li’s daughter finished speaking, I stared blankly at the wrapped gift on the table, then at the little girl in front of me. The only thought in my mind was: Richard Li would never kill himself.
At that moment, I noticed something different—a strange smell. I’d sensed it when I first entered, feeling it was oddly familiar, but couldn’t recall where I’d smelled it before.
It was a stench, with a faint salty tang to it.
After a while, Richard Li’s wife and daughter finally calmed down. The staff from Evergreen Funeral Home came in and carried the body away. Just then, I suddenly noticed a lot of black soil beneath Richard Li’s body. Looking around, it seemed no one else could see it.
I reached out, took a small amount, and sniffed it. The smell was sour, foul, and just a bit salty. I was sure I’d smelled it somewhere before.
Then I grabbed a small plastic bag and scooped up some of the black soil from the floor.
"What are you doing, Ethan Zhang?" The young police officer came over, looking at me in surprise.
"Just collecting something." As soon as I said it, the officer looked puzzled, shook his head, and walked away.
Richard Li’s daughter was still staring at the gift on the counter, unwilling to leave. I asked her about the black soil, but as expected, she couldn’t see it.
I picked up the gift and placed it in Richard Li’s daughter’s hand.
"I don’t want it. I want my dad."
"Take it," I said, pressing the gift into her hand. Leaning down, I whispered softly in her ear.
"Your father didn’t kill himself. Accept it—he prepared this gift for you long ago."
Richard Li’s daughter stared blankly, tears constantly welling in her eyes.
"Officer, then..."
I smiled.
"Whether it’s a person or something else, I’ll find out who did it."
With that, I stood up and ran outside.
"Officer, you promised—the one who killed my dad..."
I turned and smiled.
"Yes, I promised."
I rushed out of the crowd, phone in hand. In that instant, I remembered—Blind Granny and the Old Man had once given me this stuff before, the kind of black mud used to summon spirits from the underworld.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the Old Man’s number. As soon as he picked up, I asked.
"Huh? Kid, you don’t even know what that is? Sigh, after all this time with me, you still haven’t learned."
"Cut the nonsense."
"About the info fee..."
"I’ll pay you when I get back." I said, and the Old Man laughed heartily on the other end.
"It’s ghost mud. In the world of ghosts, it’s common stuff. Usually, if you want to summon a ghost, you need this. Got it, kid?"
I hung up before the Old Man could say more. It was made by ghosts. At that moment, I thought of someone—Rosasha, who was from the underworld and lived nearby. Maybe she’d come last night to collect Richard Li’s soul.
I hurriedly called Rachel Lan. After asking her, she told me about another Richard Li and said she’d find someone to get Rosasha’s contact information.
The other Richard Li was a civil servant, around forty, whose life had seen dramatic ups and downs. In his twenties, he joined the government office; by his thirties, he was already a county secretary, climbing the ranks. But then his luck turned, and now he had nothing. This was similar to the Richard Li who owned the general store.
This chapter isn’t finished yet~.~ Please click next page to continue reading!
Recently, that civil servant Richard Li has been repeatedly summoned by the disciplinary committee, and he’s on the verge of collapse. Howard Lee found this out.
I found a milk tea shop and sat down, ordered a cup of milk tea, and waited for Rachel Lan to call me back.
Suddenly, it seemed everything was connected: Richard Li, the 61-year-old shoe factory owner; Richard Li, the general store owner in his forties; and Richard Li, the civil servant around forty. All three had early success and meteoric rises, but later, all suffered a streak of bad luck.
There was also the 21-year-old college student Richard Li, who was already off to a promising start.
"None of this is a coincidence."
Rachel Lan soon found Rosasha’s address—it was in the nearby Jinli Garden, just a few hundred meters from this rundown street. I got up and rushed over.
Just past the corner, I saw a boulevard lined with ginkgo trees, their golden leaves falling to the ground, and ahead, rows of blue apartment buildings.
Once inside the complex, I wandered for a bit, asked some locals, and went straight to Building 8.
I took the elevator to the eleventh floor, 81107, and rang the doorbell. But after a long time, no one answered. Apparently, Rosasha didn’t even have a phone. The only way to contact her was to go to her home, and she never went anywhere else.
I anxiously pressed the doorbell several times, but still no one answered.
"Maybe she’s out," I muttered. Just as I finished speaking, there was a click—the door opened. A hand reached out from below, grabbing my pant leg. I yelped in surprise.
Looking closely, it was Rosasha, looking miserable, lying on the floor and reaching out.
"What’s wrong?" I squatted down. Rosasha struggled to say three words.
"Starving to death."
I was speechless. I ran downstairs, then across two streets, bought a bunch of food for Rosasha, and returned to her place. The scene inside stunned me—just two words: filthy and chaotic.
In one corner of the living room, trash was piled up. The room was cluttered with garbage everywhere, and a blackened sofa sat in front of a large TV.
On the table were bags of junk food, some takeout cartons, and disposable chopsticks scattered about. The mixed odors were overwhelming. Rosasha grabbed the food I’d brought and started eating.
After she finally ate her fill, she lay on the sofa looking satisfied.
"I’m going to sleep for a while. Make yourself at home."
With that, Rosasha closed her eyes, ready to sleep.
"Did you go collect any souls last night?" I asked. Rosasha didn’t move.
"Come on, get up." I said, grabbing Rosasha and pulling her up.
"Ugh, you’re so annoying. Thanks for buying me food. The money’s in the room, in the cabinet. Go get it yourself. However much you spent, just take it. I’m tired and want to sleep now."
I was completely speechless at this woman.
"Hey, could you just tell me—did you go collect souls last night or not?"
Rosasha looked at me impatiently.
"No, it’s a pain. I’ve been so exhausted lately I could collapse."
I rubbed my aching forehead. People from the underworld could collect souls whenever they wanted, but they had to gather 9,999 souls before their lifespan ran out. If, by the halfway point of their life, they hadn’t collected half, they would face some kind of torment or punishment.
"Isn’t it risky for you to skip soul collecting like this?" I asked.
"Oh, it’s fine. I’ll go tomorrow, or the day after. No big deal."
I looked around helplessly, then turned to leave the room.
"By the way, the general store owner Richard Li should be dead by now. I went shopping there yesterday and saw him—he was barely hanging on."
Suddenly, I turned and glared at Rosasha.
"He died an unnatural death."