Chapter 156: Thirty Years

The young police officer found a small notebook in the meditation room.

It contained what appeared to be Yuantong’s reflective diary, but the recent entries were rather peculiar:

*September 8th: I saw Xiaolian and couldn’t restrain my emotions. May the Buddha forgive me.

September 17th: I saw Xiaolian again and lost control. We spent the night together. May the Buddha forgive me.

October 5th: I saw Xiaolian once more and again lost control. The night was filled with passion. May the Buddha forgive me.

October 20th: Xiaolian asked me to come to Famen Temple. That night, I forgot the teachings of Buddhism entirely. May the Buddha forgive me.

November: I have added to my sins of killing.*

In the most recent entries, a name—Xiaolian—had appeared in Yuantong’s writings, and his interactions with her had escalated from mere emotional weakness to physical entanglement. The moral fall of a revered monk was not an uncommon tale throughout history.

But the last line was particularly chilling: *I have added to my sins of killing.* Had Yuantong broken the precept against killing for the sake of this Xiaolian? Yun Chaohai asked Changmei to verify the handwriting in the notebook.

Changmei nodded. “This is Master Yuantong’s handwriting.” He sighed deeply after confirming it.

“Xiaolian. We need to find this person,” Yun Chaohai declared immediately. “It’s highly likely that she manipulated Yuantong into committing murder. As a distinguished guest of the temple, he wouldn’t raise suspicion, even if he were present at the crime scene.”

The young officer took notes as Yun Chaohai spoke. Changmei performed the purification rites for Yuantong, dressed him in fresh robes, and prepared for his cremation to ensure his peaceful passage.

The turn of events was beyond my expectations. Who had killed Yuantong? Was it this person named Xiaolian? Were the severed hand, the burned corpse, and the decapitated head really Yuantong’s doing? Something about it all felt orchestrated, as if someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Was it Xiaolian?

After making arrangements, Yun Chaohai approached me with an apology. “Had you ever met Master Yuantong before?”

“No!”

“What about Xiaolian?”

I pondered for a moment. “No, not that either. In my opinion, ‘Xiaolian’ is likely a false name. There might be some unspeakable secret between her and Yuantong—or perhaps she was simply using him. ‘Xiaolian’ may not even be her real name.”

Yun Chaohai grunted in frustration. Just as they had finally uncovered a lead, it had gone cold. He was on the verge of retirement, and now his career was ending in disgrace. It was nothing short of rotten luck.

If they truly hit a dead end, they would have no choice but to escalate the case to higher authorities in Xi’an and request expert assistance for a thorough investigation.

But then, a breakthrough came.

The next morning, while investigating Yuantong’s recent movements in the surrounding areas, they finally spotted him—captured on security footage at a hotel in Xinglin Town, where he had been seen meeting someone in private.

Just as Yun Chaohai was overjoyed by this discovery, another twist emerged. A woman claiming to be Xiaolian turned herself in—but she insisted on confessing her story within Famen Temple.

This woman turned out to be the snake spirit I had encountered before, the one who called herself Xiaolian.

According to her confession…

…

Thirty years ago, news reports covered the story of four grave robbers—three of whom had been trapped and died in an underground tomb, while the fourth had escaped with stolen artifacts. That last robber had been caught by the police, leading to the exposure of an entire smuggling ring.

In reality, thirty years ago, when the four robbers had attempted to loot the underground chambers beneath Famen Temple (which housed numerous relics, the most valuable being those from the Tang Dynasty), they were discovered by the then-abbot, Master Donggua.

The robbers were a seasoned crew who had planned meticulously for over half a year, even going so far as to dig tunnels for months and discreetly dispose of the excavated soil far away. Their scheme was flawless—until Master Donggua noticed the rhythmic sounds beneath the temple and, after consulting ancient texts, uncovered the existence of the Tang-era tomb beneath one of the eighteen-tiered pagodas.

The details of what followed remained largely unknown to outsiders. The origins of the four robbers, their names, and how they had learned of the tomb’s location were sealed away in classified files.

Master Donggua later became the abbot of Famen Temple, renowned for his wisdom and compassion, attracting thousands of devoted followers from all walks of life. The temple’s reconstruction progressed steadily, especially in the early 2000s, when renovations accelerated rapidly.

Thirty years later, the descendants of those four robbers had grown up, honing formidable skills. They reunited with one goal in mind—revenge. After multiple failed attempts to steal the Buddha’s finger bone relic (believing its absence would render the temple meaningless), they finally turned their focus to Master Donggua himself, plotting to make his death appear natural.

Fortunately, fate intervened—what they had stolen were merely jade replicas, not the true relic of Sakyamuni.

This year, the four descendants had regrouped, determined to execute their meticulously designed murder plot against Master Donggua.

…

Yun Chaohai, who had just started his career thirty years ago, vaguely remembered the case. Back then, forensic technology was rudimentary—fingerprint analysis was unreliable, surveillance cameras were nonexistent, and train tickets could be bought without ID. Amid China’s rapid development and population mobility, tracking down the stolen artifact and the escaped robber had been like finding a needle in a haystack.

The missing artifact was of immense importance. Failure to recover it would have resulted in the entire police force being dismissed. After five months of relentless pursuit, the last robber was finally cornered in a derelict building in Hubei’s Jiangcheng.

With no escape, the robber leapt from the fifth floor, landing headfirst and breaking his spine on impact. He died instantly. The artifact was never recovered—only the smuggling ring was exposed, serving as a consolation for the botched investigation.

Yun Chaohai confided these hidden details to me. Listening to the snake spirit’s story left me bewildered.

As Yun Chaohai recounted the events, his gaze occasionally flickered away, and the table was littered with cigarette butts. The unresolved case had weighed on him for decades.

“So you’re saying the descendants of the four robbers gathered to exact revenge, and you killed them to protect Master Donggua?” I asked. “But wait—there’s a severed hand, a charred corpse, and a decapitated head. That makes three victims. Master Yuantong was elderly and couldn’t have been one of the descendants, so who’s the fourth?”

The snake spirit’s eyes were mesmerizing, and I avoided direct eye contact. Even Yuantong, a seasoned monk, had fallen under her spell—I stood no chance.

Yun Chaohai, exasperated, had the young officer fetch sunglasses for her. The moment the officer met her gaze, his cheeks flushed crimson—a virgin’s bashfulness in full display.

“Even if they wanted to kill Master Donggua, why would you intervene? And where is he now?” Yun Chaohai finally addressed the snake spirit directly.

I was still fixated on the four robbers, but Yun Chaohai had dug deeper.

Why would this serpent woman go to such lengths to protect Master Donggua?

The snake spirit’s lips curled slightly before relaxing. “Got any alcohol? Anything—baijiu, beer, wine. I need a drink.”

“This is a temple. Where would we find alcohol?” the young officer reminded Yun Chaohai, urging him not to indulge her request.

Yun Chaohai hesitated. Asking for alcohol in a temple was like asking the virgin officer for condoms—absurd. But suspects often cooperated after a smoke or a drink.

“Easy. Give a novice monk a hundred yuan, and he’ll conjure a bottle for you,” I suggested helpfully.

The young officer nodded and hurried off.

The snake spirit veered off-topic. “How old are you? Married?”

“Twenty-five. Not yet.”

“Young, but your family must be pressuring you. Life’s tough for your generation—no house, no marriage. And even if you marry, raising kids is expensive.” Her words came fast.

I stayed silent. Why expose life’s harsh truths so bluntly?

“And you,” she turned to Yun Chaohai. “A lifetime in the police force, still stuck at the bottom. Retirement won’t bring much, and your wife nags, your kids resent you. One phone call in the dead of night, and you’re dragged out of bed.”

Yun Chaohai exhaled smoke wordlessly. His wife might scold him, but she still made him breakfast. His sons were dutiful, bringing their children to visit. But seeing peers who had climbed the ranks gnawed at him.

“But this struggle, this exhausting life—it’s what I’ve always wanted,” the snake spirit murmured. “To live as an ordinary person, saving up for a bit of meat to make soup for the kids, enduring a wife’s nagging but still getting breakfast in the morning. That kind of life… I’ll never have it.”

The young officer returned with a bottle of Xifeng liquor, a disposable cup, and a pack of fried peanuts from a monk.

Yun Chaohai poured her a drink. “Now that you’ve had your liquor, it’s time to talk.”