Chapter 152: The Mystery of the Accidental Discharge

I thought for a moment, then took the golden monkey’s cigarette, signaling my agreement to Yun Chaohai. It turned out that after returning, Yun Chaohai had looked into my background and discovered I was a person of clean record. Moreover, when he called the police station in Jiangcheng, he learned that I had assisted in solving the decade-old unsolved case of Bai Yu’s dismembered and decapitated body. That’s why he came to see me this morning, treating me like a famous detective.

I laughed and said, “Where the body is hidden and who the murderer is—I truly don’t know. But since I’ve agreed, I’ll do my best to help.” Yun Chaohai thanked me repeatedly, saying he was due to retire in half a year and never expected to encounter such a case—truly bad luck.

An unidentified severed hand appearing in the abbot’s chamber, combined with the vanishing Master Winter Melon—these were more than enough to give Yun Chaohai a headache.

“Officer Yun, has Famen Temple ever reported any cases involving the theft of the Buddha’s finger bone relic? After all, if the relic is kept in the temple, some fanatical Buddhists with money might covet it and take desperate measures. Maybe we should start from this angle.” I said. The most valuable treasure in Famen Temple was the Buddha’s finger bone. Could the murder be related to it?

Yun Chaohai flipped through case files. “There have been some petty thieves stealing relics before, but they were all proven to be remains of eminent monks, not the Buddha’s finger bone. Over the centuries, Famen Temple has housed many enlightened monks, and after cremation, numerous relics were left behind—many stored in the pagoda. As for the Buddha’s finger bone, it was displayed a few years ago. Now, no one knows exactly where in the temple it’s kept.”

“Officer Yun, I have a feeling. I’m afraid this is just the beginning. The severed hand might only be the start.” No sooner had I spoken than Yun Chaohai’s expression darkened, his eyes filled with confusion.

I continued, “Solving a mystery always requires clues. An unidentified severed hand is just the beginning.”

I nodded thoughtfully, gazing at the gray sky—it seemed like snow was coming again.

Yet the monks were still sweeping the snow, even though it would soon cover the ground again. Why not wait until the snow stopped?

Perhaps snow is like human troubles—they keep falling, so one must clean the heart thoroughly before the next wave arrives, accepting it calmly.

Or perhaps sweeping is part of the monks’ daily practice. Even in heavy snow, they must do it.

That’s Zen, I suppose.

After rolling in the snow, Little Rascal panted hot breaths and barked twice at Yun Chaohai. Just then, Jiese, having finished morning prayers, took me to breakfast. Uncle Jianguo woke up leisurely and followed along. Yun Chaohai resumed gathering evidence, though my last words—that the severed hand was just the beginning—had visibly shaken him.

Even Jiese couldn’t say where the Buddha’s finger bone was kept, only that several white jade spiritual bones had been made to accompany it. A few of those jade bones had gone missing, and the finger bone was then stored away—possibly in the underground palace or the pagoda.

After eating a steamed bun, Uncle Jianguo suddenly told me, “Hua Chongyang didn’t return all night. He only came back just before dawn.”

Could it be Hua Chongyang? Did he kidnap Master Winter Melon for the Buddha’s finger bone, leaving behind a severed hand, then sneak back at dawn?

This was just speculation, with no solid evidence. Maybe Hua Chongyang had simply stumbled upon some delicious dog meat and stayed out late.

Jiese frowned. “Great-grandfather wasn’t in his room all night. What was he doing? Logically, he has no grudges against this temple—he wouldn’t harm anyone. And on the way here, I made him promise not to cause trouble here.”

Uncle Jianguo lost interest. He had no patience for the Hua family’s affairs. Seeing his expression, Jiese didn’t press further. I didn’t believe Hua Chongyang had come to Famen Temple without a purpose.

Then again, maybe his only goal was to keep an eye on me.

After breakfast, the sky gradually brightened, and the wind died down.

Uncle Jianguo and I, along with Xie Xiaoyu, went to the temple’s pagoda. Due to the heavy snow, there were fewer tourists, but some local devotees still visited.

The pagoda housed relics of many eminent monks. When enlightened monks were cremated, black stones often emerged from their bones—these were the relics. Of course, some cynical people joked that these were just gallstones, left behind because they couldn’t burn.

But relics and relic stones are different. Relics include hair, bones, and ashes, while relic stones are crystalline formations from cremation, also called “adamantine beads.” They are believed to be the result of monks’ spiritual cultivation and vows.

The pagoda was covered in thick snow. Looking around, the pine trees were laden with white, but there was no trace of spider lilies. It was winter—could flowers still bloom?

Finding nothing around the pagoda, I thought of checking the underground palace, but it was off-limits. Decades ago, during an excavation, a vast collection of Tang Dynasty artifacts was discovered. The excavation was prompted by a group of tomb raiders.

Legend had it that four thieves spent half a year digging a tunnel nearly a kilometer long to break into the underground palace. But after entering, three of them died mysteriously inside, while the fourth was caught by police while trying to sell stolen artifacts.

Later, experts began excavations. Initially, they struggled with how to enter until someone suggested using the thieves’ tunnel. Inside, the three dead robbers were found mummified, not decomposed. The unearthed artifacts revealed Tang Dynasty culture to the world, providing invaluable historical evidence.

Unable to enter the pagoda or underground palace, we searched the surroundings. The snow-covered ground revealed no flowers, and neither Xie Xiaoyu nor Little Rascal sensed Xie Lingyu’s presence.

“Jiese, can you arrange for me to meet the Long-Eyebrow Monk?” I asked.

Jiese sighed. “Great-Uncle is still angry with me. He might refuse. But if you donate a million, he’ll definitely see you.”

“A million?!” I was stunned. Where would I get that kind of money?

Uncle Jianguo asked, “The abbot is called Master Winter Melon. What’s the Long-Eyebrow Monk’s real name?”

Jiese chuckled. “Outsiders call him Master Long-Eyebrow. But actually… his name is Master Papaya. Once, while performing a ritual outside, he accidentally learned that some women use papayas for… *certain purposes*. Since then, he’s hated being called that.”

“Breast enlargement? A monk with such concerns?” I said, feigning seriousness.

…

After a fruitless morning search in the cold, we retreated to our room to warm up. Yun Chaohai had spent the morning expanding his investigation but found nothing.

By afternoon, there were still no leads.

Yun Chaohai had to return, hoping to extract more clues from the severed hand—at least to identify its owner and find a breakthrough.

At 8 p.m., Hua Chongyang woke up, having slept all day. He devoured the congee and steamed buns Jiese brought. I asked if he planned to steal more dogs tonight.

Hua Chongyang scoffed. “This lord will pray devoutly tonight—no dog hunting. Besides, any dog I eat should consider it an honor.”

“Lord Hua, is that silver jar always on you?” I asked carefully.

Hua Chongyang narrowed his eyeless gaze, his lipless mouth curling slightly. “The less you know, the better. If not for Elder Mo, I wouldn’t spare you.”

“Fine. Then tell me, why did you come to Famen Temple?”

Hua Chongyang’s expression darkened. “This lord came for my great-grandson. Because soon, something major will happen here.”

“What do you know?” I pressed.

It seemed Hua Chongyang was indeed involved. That silver jar would attract the Guo family—maybe even the Silver-Armored Corpse. Combined with his warning, things were getting complicated.

Hua Chongyang had definitely not been out stealing dogs last night.

At 8 p.m.—the same time as yesterday when the severed hand was found and Master Winter Melon vanished—the smell of smoke filled the air.

Famen Temple had undergone renovations, with many new structures built from concrete and brick, but some old wooden halls remained. A fire could be disastrous.

Uncle Jianguo and I rushed outside. Thick black smoke rose from a crumbling building, standing out against the snow like a monstrous beast.

Monks formed a bucket brigade, eventually rolling giant snowballs into the flames. Within twenty minutes, the fire was out, sparing the other buildings. The blaze had consumed a lone woodshed where an old monk lived.

Long-Eyebrow Monk shouted, “Check if anyone’s inside!”

The ruined shed still smoldered. Beneath fallen beams lay a charred corpse, its clothes unrecognizable, the floor slick with rendered fat.

Just then, the drunken woodshed monk stumbled over. “Why’s everyone visiting this old monk today?”