Chapter Four: Knocking at the Night Shift

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It was around four or five in the morning, that ghostly hour when cold air seems to claw its way up from the depths of the earth. I crouched beneath the wall, clutching a human head, every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

“What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?”

The head was still warm, and my hand, dragging the bundle, felt sticky. I hadn’t seen clearly whose head it was, but I guessed it must be Niu Erpao. Otherwise, why would the person run when I called out his name? But then again, maybe it was Niu Erpao who killed someone, got caught in the act, and shoved the head into my hands.

By now, there were few people left on West Market Street. The buyers had made their choices and gone; only a few loafers wandered about aimlessly. Seeing that no one was coming this way, I quickly called Jin Yitiao, told him where I was, and urged him to hurry over.

Maybe I was too shocked at the time, but through it all, I clung tightly to the head, not daring to drop it or even move. My legs were jelly, but I forced myself to stand beneath the wall, waiting for Jin Yitiao to arrive.

Jin Yitiao, always reckless and brash, thought I had found Niu Erpao. He came running with a battered basket from the alley, shouting as he ran, “Where is he? Where is he? If that bastard lets me catch him, I swear I’ll split his head for you!”

“Where’s the guy? Where did he go?” Jin Yitiao, basket on his shoulder, darted his eyes around, searching for Niu Erpao.

I looked at him and asked, “Old Jin, have you ever seen a dead person?”

He stared, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

I didn’t know how to explain it to him. After thinking for a while and glancing around to make sure no one was near, I took a deep breath and unwrapped the bundle in front of him.

Our eyes met.

Jin Yitiao froze for a few seconds, glancing back and forth between me and the head in my arms. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with trembling hands, took a deep drag, and asked, “Where’s the body? Where did you hide it?”

I was stunned for a moment, then burst out cursing, “Damn you! The head was given to me by someone else. How the hell would I know where the body is?”

Jin Yitiao puffed on his cigarette, looked up at me, and asked, “You really didn’t do this?”

I nodded. “Stop talking nonsense and think—what should we do?”

The sky was growing light, and holding a human head in my arms felt like cradling a ticking time bomb. Finally, after my repeated assurances, Jin Yitiao believed the head hadn’t been my handiwork—and, moreover, he recognized whose it was. It was Niu Erpao!

“Call the police.”

The two of us squatted by the city wall, chain-smoking through a whole pack, a pile of spent cigarette butts at our feet. Jin Yitiao sighed, “Call the police first. Whatever happens, let them take the head away. We can’t keep this thing with us.”

I looked at Jin Yitiao. “But what if the police decide I did it?”

“That’s why you have to call. If you report it now, at worst you’re an innocent bystander—they’ll take your fingerprints and a statement, and that’s it. But if you run or dump the head somewhere, that’s destruction of evidence. When the time comes, you’ll be up to your knees in mud, and no matter what you say, you won’t be able to explain it away.”

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I sucked in a sharp breath after hearing him out. After his coal business went bust, Jin Yitiao had worked for a while as an auxiliary police officer, so he knew more about these things than I did. Right now, the most important thing was to clear myself. After thinking it over, I dialed 110.

Ten minutes later, two police cars screeched to a halt, sirens wailing. The officers who got out stared in shock when they saw Niu Erpao’s head, their eyes boring into me and Jin Yitiao. After a few questions, they left two officers behind and took us to the station.

Jin Yitiao and I rode in separate cars. All the way there, I could feel the skinny officer beside me eyeing me with suspicion. When we arrived at the station, he took me to the interrogation room, sat across from me, slammed his report book on the table, and barked, “Tell me—what was your relationship with the victim?”

Clearly, they were treating me as a suspect. I bristled and replied, “I didn’t know him.”

“If you didn’t know him, why did you have his head? You’d better tell the truth. If you don’t come clean, you’re not getting out of here.”

His tone was harsh. I figured he thought I was just another petty thief from the ghost market, so I explained, “I run a jade shop. Early this morning, I was setting up a stall on West Market Street. Someone I didn’t know handed me the bundle while I was using the bathroom. I’m a law-abiding citizen—first thing I did was call the police. You can’t just treat me like a criminal, can you?”

“Don’t call me ‘uncle’—address me as ‘comrade!’” The skinny officer slapped the table, about to say more, when the door behind him opened and a middle-aged man in uniform entered.

The middle-aged man looked like someone of rank—his epaulets had several more stripes than the skinny officer’s. He waved the skinny man out, then sat down across from me, closed the report book, and smiled. “You found the head and reported it right away?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He glanced through the report. “You’re free to go.”

“Go?”

He looked up. “Yes, you can leave.”

I hesitated, but as he paid me no further attention, I got up and left the interrogation room. In the waiting area, I found Jin Yitiao, who had already been released.

We exchanged a glance, silent but understanding, and left the station together. Only when we were standing by the road did Jin Yitiao turn to me and ask, “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t ask anything. What could I say?”

“Yeah, strange… no cross-examination, nothing. Why’d they let us go so fast?”

I could tell Jin Yitiao had also been released by the middle-aged officer. Usually, in a homicide, the police don’t let the informant go until every detail is nailed down. Though I’d told them everything, it seemed rushed, as if something was missing.

We stood by the roadside, smoked, then went to the noodle shop across the street for a bowl of noodles each. Jin Yitiao went back to West Market to drive, while I hailed a cab to Yu East Gate to tend the shop.

After a sleepless night in the ghost market and half a day at the station, it was nearly noon when I got back. I pulled out my keys, planning to close up for the day and get some rest.

But as I turned the key in the lock, my wrist stiffened and my brow furrowed.

The door had been opened.

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I always lock the door when I leave. The lock is a triple security lock—you have to turn the key three times to open it. But this time, after just one turn, the door was already ajar.

Anyone in the antiques business needs sharp eyes and a good memory—that’s basic. My shop is small, with little capital; one mishap and I’d lose everything. So I had to be vigilant.

But it was already noon. If someone had broken in, it must have been after we left last night. I took a breath and pushed the door open. Even though I’d braced myself, I still couldn’t hold back a curse as I stepped inside.

Every porcelain vase and jade piece on the display cabinets against the three walls was gone. Even the teapot, cups, and bowls on the counter had vanished. All that remained were the three empty display shelves, the counter, and the tea table—anything movable had been taken.

This wasn’t a thief—it was a demolition crew.

I stood at the door for a long time, hands trembling as I walked into the shop. My blood pressure soared. I forced myself to check both floors. Upstairs, where I slept, there was nothing of value left—just an old secondhand TV. Then I called the police.

Twenty minutes later, a police car pulled up outside. I sat inside, watching the officers get out. I couldn’t help but curse again.

The skinny officer paused when he saw me, then led another officer in.

“This your shop?” he asked.

I nodded. “You could call it a warehouse, too.”

He hesitated, then had his team log the scene and list the stolen items. What I’d lost represented nine years of hard work—a sum impossible to calculate precisely. After a whole afternoon, the two officers left. I was alone again.

I sat on the floor, gazing at the empty shop, my heart as hollow as the room.

I didn’t hold out much hope that the case would be solved or my things recovered. Real life isn’t full of Sherlock Holmeses; back then, forensic technology was far from advanced, and there weren’t surveillance cameras on every street. All I could do was cling to a shred of hope.

After sitting on the floor for over an hour, I locked the door, went behind the counter, knelt down, reached into the bottom compartment of the display case against the wall, hooked my fingers under a loose brick, and pried it free.

I reached into the wall cavity and carefully pulled out the items hidden inside: the “Notes of the Imperial Scholar,” the “Ancient Treasures Compendium,” a deerskin pouch, and the Red Dragon jade carving.

I sat in a chair, eyes closed, thinking back over my past deals. Had I crossed someone? Offended a real heavyweight in the trade? It was rare for a master to clear out an entire shop—who would bother with a small fry like me, scraping for a living in Haihe?

As I pondered, I heard a knock at the door. Glancing up, I saw it was nearly midnight. At this hour, only Jin Yitiao would come looking for me, but I still kept my guard up, calling out, “Who is it?”

There was silence for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jin Yitiao. I wondered who would come knocking so late, when a voice spoke from outside.

“Give me back my head.”