Peng Ye strode into room 203. His brothers stood grim-faced, the tension palpable; Shi Tou's expression was a mixture of fury and frustration.
Ji Yun was dead.
He lay face up on the floor, the blood beneath him thick and dried—he'd been gone for hours. Peng Ye knelt, his gaze clinical as he examined the wound and the victim's hand.
Nima muttered, "Someone plunged a knife right into his heart. Clean, cruel, and precise."
Peng Ye gently lowered the hand. "No defensive wounds. He offered no resistance when the killer struck."
Shi Tou theorized, "Must be an acquaintance, maybe an internal dispute?"
"Did you call the police?" Peng Ye asked.
"Already done."
"Sixteen." Peng Ye flicked his chin toward the bedside table where a plain, round metal alarm clock sat. Sixteen, known for his nimble hands and sharp mind—the "Shiliu Lang" who could dismantle anything—knew the unspoken command. He immediately began inspecting the clock for hidden compartments.
"Sang Yang, go downstairs. Get the proprietress to hand over the registry—everyone who came and went today."
"Got it."
Sangyang and Nima returned quickly.
The landlady reported the inn had been quiet. A man checked into room 201 yesterday, but due to the heavy snowfall, his face was obscured. Careless, she hadn't registered his ID, and he hadn't left a deposit. His departure time was unknown.
Sixteen frowned. "We played it cool, we didn't tip them off. Ji Yun's a small fish; why silence him?"
"We misjudged him," Peng Ye stated, his gaze hard on the corpse. "Ji Yun is no small figure. His superior is the Black Fox."
Shi Tou was stunned. "What?!" His anger solidified into pure hatred. They had chased this ghost for so long—all the way to Qiangtang—and now this?
The "Black Fox"—the notorious leader of the most active poaching team in the Hoh Xil No Man's Land. The name itself was a curse among patrol officers. Years of fierce, bloody battles had cost dozens of lives, yet the Black Fox remained elusive, escaping every net only to recruit new blood for the next slaughter. He was terrifyingly cautious, always masked. No patrol officer knew the true face of the man they hated most.
Nima confirmed Peng Ye's grim conclusion. "You're right. We thought Ji Yun was bait for a small-time crook. But if his superior is the Black Fox, he was eliminated to prevent exposure."
Shi Tou, furious at the realization of the missed opportunity, stamped his foot. He and Shiliu had tracked this line for thousands of kilometers, only to have the trail severed at the throat of a witness.
"Found something!" Sixteen's soft exclamation cut through the tension. He'd cracked the clock and pulled out a key labeled: "Cangjia Inn, 314."
They moved instantly.
"Brother," Sixteen asked excitedly on the way out, "how did you know to check the alarm clock?"
"Room 202 didn't have one. This clock didn't belong to the inn." Peng Ye's voice was flat.
But his mind betrayed him. He suddenly recalled the white Marlboro and the red Zippo on the bedside table in the next room—the woman's slender fingers holding the cigarette, the pair of lukewarm eyes behind the smoke. Unbidden, his fingers twitched, recalling the moment he'd reached into her bed, the warm, soft, full curve of her breast. Peng Ye frowned and subconsciously twisted his hand, trying to rub the memory away. It was useless.
The girl at Cangjia Inn reported that the guest in room 314 had rented the room a month ago and forbidden cleaning staff entry.
The moment they entered, the familiar, awful smell hit them: a sickening blend of fishy, muttony odor, medicine, and burning sandalwood. The floor was covered in burlap sacks. When ripped open, they spilled forth the grotesque harvest: the hides of Tibetan antelopes, white-lipped deer, and brown bear, the remnants of lives violently extinguished.
Nima grimly sorted through the bags. "These are all ewes. Their lambs will starve."
"They didn't even spare this," Sixteen muttered, holding up a piece of lamb skin.
Peng Ye dug out several sheep heads. The hair was still soft, the horns majestic, but their eyes and brains had been gouged out, leaving empty, accusing sockets. He remembered the eyes of other dead sheep, brilliant and piercing, capable of staring through the soul.
In another sack, three furry bear paws lay piled, soft pads still visible, dried blood staining the severed ends. He shoved the things back.
Finding this cache of poached goods changed everything. The road ahead was now guaranteed peril. They had to cross the Qiangtang River and get the evidence—and themselves—back to the Qilian Mountains, and the Black Fox would surely come to reclaim his "goods."
Peng Ye looked at his companions. He had to bring them all back safely, including all the dead souls in this room.
Cheng Jia watched the plateau's volatile mood swing: heavy snow yesterday, dazzling, deep-blue sun today. She put on sunglasses and grabbed her camera.
She hadn't slept well. Peng Ye's sudden, sharp slap—even if verbal—had stung. Forget it, he’s thick-skinned; I'll just beat him if I see him, she thought with grim resignation.
The town was tiny, the single street bustling with morning life. She passed a house where a woman in a robe was making tea inside, the air rich with the aroma of milk. The woman, her face wrinkled like a sun-baked lake, smiled gently and waved Cheng Jia in.
Cheng Jia thanked her, shook her head, and gestured to her camera. The woman agreed. In the cool, shadowy room, a single ray of light pierced the ceiling. The woman sat in the light's embrace, stirring her morning tea. Cheng Jia snapped photos, but found herself disappointed. The woman's most beautiful smile—the one that had struck her heart—was fleeting. The image in the lens lacked that indefinable, powerful force. Cheng Jia bowed and left.
Out on the small street, while Shi Tou was haggling over quail egg-sized eggplants, Nima elbowed Peng Ye. "Seventh Brother, look, the... 'family planning product' vendor."
Peng Ye glanced over, spotting Cheng Jia taking photos on a doorstep.
Sixteen snickered. "Sharp eyes! My heart was fluttering all night staring at her."
"Why's she so white, though? Didn't you notice?"
"Nah, not a big deal. I prefer Maiduo at the canteen."
Nima grew anxious. "Don't talk nonsense!"
"You don't like her? Then I'll buy Maiduo a hairpin."
"You dare!" Nima pushed him, and Sixteen nearly tumbled into the eggplant pile.
Sixteen stood up, smiling. "She’s a backpacker, just a tourist, right?"
"Don't know, don't care," Peng Ye answered, his disinterest palpable.
Nima sighed. "Tourists here are as common as lambs now. But it's dangerous, especially for lone women. We've seen so many missing person notices, people whose remains are never found. Why do they keep coming?"
Shi Tou, stuffing eggplants into his bag, chuckled. "You don't know? 'Artistic young women' are all the rage. They come to the deserted areas, take a few moody pictures, write some pretentious captions, and everyone's envious."
"It's just mountains and dirt, cows and sheep. What's the big deal?" Nima was genuinely confused.
Sixteen slung his arm around Peng Ye's shoulder. "Traveling is going from a place you're tired of to a place others are tired of. But..."
"I'm not tired of it yet," Peng Ye finished.
"Me neither," Nima agreed.
"Thirteen ninety, rounded up to ten," Shi Tou announced, looking up. "Me neither. ...Hey, you bought so much, at least give me a piece of beef. If not, how about a head of garlic?"
Cheng Jia checked her phone. The signal was minimal. She tried to dial out, but the connection immediately cut.
Before coming, she'd contacted the Hoh Xil Reserve. They gave her a number—the captain of Patrol Team No. 3—and asked her to coordinate directly. She'd chosen this longer, dangerous detour to Qiangtang simply because she wanted a good photo.
The term "running out of talent" was the nightmare of every creative. Her agent's call last week had been blunt: "Dear, you haven't submitted a photo in a year. You have the skill, but you're being too idealistic. Winning awards and fame is the real deal."
The agent's cynical formula echoed in her mind:
Be stained with poverty to appear universal, because being rich is selfish.
Get close to the bottom layer for depth, because the upper layer is superficial.
Go to a remote area for ideas, because the city has no connotation.
If the fringe is natural, people can find inner peace, because society makes people impetuous.
When the agent heard she was coming to Hoh Xil, he was ecstatic: "Honey, you finally get it." Cheng Jia had simply laughed and walked on.
Cheng Jia walked a few dozen meters, phone in hand, searching for a signal. Still nothing.
She turned back and spotted a small shop. A wooden sign, with Tibetan script and the crooked Chinese words "Maiduo's Shop," indicated a public telephone inside.
The girl behind the counter was a young Tibetan woman with braids woven with colorful ropes, thick eyebrows, and a smile that revealed bright white teeth and deep dimples.
"Can I make a call?" Cheng Jia asked, dialing the number.
The line repeated a relentless, empty "beep, beep, beep..." Cheng Jia waited, her fingers unconsciously tapping the counter.
At the other end of the road, the group of men moved quickly through the morning crowd, their mood sobered by the cache they'd discovered.
"Let's count the guns, ammo, and gear in the car later," Peng Ye whispered to Sixteen. He knew their journey home would be deadly.
Nima, walking slightly ahead, suddenly froze. He turned and called back softly, "Seventh Brother, your phone is ringing."
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