Chapter 019: Beast Blood? Natural Death

The two policemen approached, speaking in the dialect of the port district, and questioned us about the details. They had originally come to investigate the unknown bloodstains in Sansong Temple, but had not expected to find someone dead upon arrival. They asked who had first discovered the elderly Taoist’s death, and two Taoists, wiping their tears, walked toward us.

They explained that they had come early in the morning to open the temple doors, preparing for the worshippers coming up the mountain. As soon as they pushed open the doors, they found the elderly Taoist sitting there, only to realize he had passed away. At that moment, panic-stricken, they called everyone over.

Frowning, I stared intently at the lifeless body of the elderly Taoist. I noticed he still held a whisk in his hand, and there was a scripture on the ground beside him. His face showed neither pain nor struggle; he had departed peacefully, with no signs of violence nearby—this did not seem to be a murder.

Yet, I could not bring myself to believe that the Taoist whom I had met just last night had vanished so abruptly. After the body was discovered, the two policemen immediately notified the authorities, and about an hour later, more police arrived at the scene. The coroner gently placed the elderly Taoist onto a stretcher.

When they tried to carry the Taoist away, several Taoists blocked their path, insisting the master had ascended to immortality and that the police had no business with him, refusing to let them take the body. The leading policeman, clearly unconvinced by such claims, sneered and cursed, “Ascended to immortality? Then what are you all crying for?”

His attitude was uncompromising, and the Taoists had no choice but to give in. The police promised that once they determined the cause of death, the body would be returned. Soon, the corpse was carried down the mountain, accompanied by several Taoists. With a death in the temple, worshippers were dispersed by the police.

Sansong Temple cooperated, immediately locking the main gate. Aside from those accompanying the body, the rest remained in place, waiting to be questioned. The lead policeman asked us where we were from; Chen Fan replied honestly that he was a mainland officer, assisting the port district police in investigating the Ghost Banquet case.

Chen Fan showed his credentials, and the policeman asked no further, presumably thinking I was also a police officer. Thus, I was free to wander the temple. I was eager to know who this elderly Taoist really was, why he knew my name, and why he had urged me to leave the port district.

But after searching the Taoist’s quarters for some time, I found nothing that could reveal his identity. I questioned every Taoist in the temple, and as the burly man had said yesterday, no one knew the old master’s name—not even a Taoist title.

His room contained only Taoist texts. Finding nothing, I withdrew. Chen Fan asked me how the old master had died. I smiled and said I didn’t know, but it seemed he had died of natural causes. Soon, the two policemen who had first met us sought us out.

They asked me about the bloodstains, and following my recollection, we arrived at the spot. In daylight, I could finally see clearly—it was indeed a patch of mud, but the color was strange, a dark red mixed with gray. The mud was still wet. After putting on gloves, I grabbed a handful and sniffed it.

Immediately, I smelled earth, but on closer inspection, there was a faint scent of blood. The scent of earth masked the blood, but it was unmistakable. I stood up and told the policemen that it was definitely blood. They promptly called others to collect samples, intending to take them to the station for analysis.

Meanwhile, they asked the Taoists about the origin of the mud, but not one could answer.

After circling the temple, we came to the Forbidden Gate. The police and Taoists were arguing; the officers wanted to investigate inside, but the Taoists refused, claiming only the old master could enter. The lead policeman sneered again, “He’s dead—do you want his soul to enter instead?”

The police did not force their way in. Since the old master appeared to have died naturally and no evidence of foul play was present, they could not conduct a forced investigation. This stalemate could not continue, so I feigned gentleness and said, since the old master has ascended, surely he has left all mortal concerns behind. The Forbidden Gate should no longer bar entry. Whatever should remain hidden, the old master would ensure it stayed unseen.

Chen Fan joined in, smiling awkwardly, “Master, please be accommodating. We’re just doing our duty. We won’t disturb anything inside and will be out shortly.”

Our words seemed to have an effect. Eventually, a Taoist authorized to make decisions agreed, after some bargaining, to let two of us in, with the condition we come out quickly. The lead policeman, evidently impressed, pointed at me and said I was clever, instructing me to join him.

Inside, we split up. I immediately went to the room where the old master had sat yesterday. In daylight, the layout was clearer. The room was peculiar; it had only one door, and a single window near the entrance—the rest were closed walls.

As I had seen by candlelight the previous night, the furnishings were simple: a few life-sized Taoist statues, a table, and a bed. On either side of the table were two thick cushions. The one the old master had sat on last night was sunken in the middle, showing obvious signs of use.

When I looked at the other cushion, I discovered it too bore the mark of someone sitting.

My mind instantly conjured the image of the old master muttering to the empty space opposite him. As I pondered this, the policeman who had come in with me called out, asking what I was looking at. I shook my head, saying it was nothing. The frequent strange events had made me rather suspicious.

The presence of two seat marks didn’t necessarily mean two people sat there at once; the old master could have used both at different times.

The policeman said he hadn’t found anything either. We searched the rooms thoroughly but still found nothing. I paid particular attention to these rooms because, at that time, I had heard Yunqing’s scream, though I couldn’t be sure if it was my imagination.

Outside, the Taoists were urging us to leave, so we had to go out.

We stayed at the temple until afternoon. During that time, the blood-stained mud was sent down the mountain for analysis. Perhaps because of religious sensitivities, the police acted swiftly, and as the sun was about to set, we began receiving updates.

First came the results of the blood-mud analysis.

The police reported that it was indeed blood, but not human—animal blood. Many officers breathed a sigh of relief, saying it was a false alarm, but I found it odd. No one in the temple knew where the blood had come from; no one admitted to any animal slaughter, and the worshippers would not have done such a thing without being noticed.

Unlike Buddhism, Taoism has branches: some forbid killing and eating meat, others do not.

Why was animal blood mixed with mud and found in Sansong Temple? It remained a mystery. Since it wasn’t human blood, the police had no intention of pursuing it further.

Next was the investigation into the old master’s identity. The police quickly checked records and found that his personal information had never been registered—he was essentially undocumented, and no one knew his name.

Finally, the cause of death: the coroner’s preliminary report concluded it was natural.

The policemen still on the mountain, upon hearing this, all stood up. They had no desire to complicate matters; with a natural death, nothing major had happened, so they prepared to descend.

Chen Fan asked me what to do next. The temple was indeed strange, but with nothing uncovered, we could only leave with the police.

Before leaving, Xuan Yi still hadn’t returned. I asked the Taoists where he had gone.

Someone told me that two days ago, Master Xuan Yi had received orders from the old master to leave the mountain for a period. The old master had cast a divination for him, deeming the previous night the best time for departure. When I asked where the old master had sent Xuan Yi and for what purpose, the Taoists all said they didn’t know; neither Xuan Yi nor the old master had told anyone.

So, over two days, we had made multiple trips up and down the mountain.

By the time we reached the foot, dusk had fallen. The old master’s body was brought back; Chen Fan remarked that with his death, Sansong Temple would soon be filled with mourners. The Taoists carrying the stretcher wept incessantly. I glanced at the old master’s face one last time—his eyes tightly shut, lips pale. I resolved to uncover his identity.

And Xuan Yi—both men were so peculiar, and I had an uneasy feeling they somehow knew me.

After returning to the hotel, we quickly went to sleep.

There was still no progress in the Ghost Banquet case or the Fat Kee murder. Chen Fan told me the police were exhausting themselves over these matters, and Yunqing, who had gone missing, was still nowhere to be found.

I used Luo Feng’s connections to assign the investigation of the old master and Xuan Yi to his team.

Just when I thought another day would pass without progress, Chen Fan suddenly brought news: Yunqing had been found, in a remote house, where the memorial tablets of the four members of the Old Nine were enshrined.

I was momentarily stunned, for I had followed Yunqing to that place before…