As soon as I mentioned it, everyone turned their eyes toward me, making me feel awkwardly like I'd just stepped onto a stage.
I cleared my throat. "Uncle Sun, you're talking about the Trigram of Death, right? It's true that I could use it to find Li Wenjia's hideout—but this case was meticulously planned. The murders don't reflect any emotional or impulsive motive. I'm afraid the technique won't work here."
The Trigram of Death was an obscure, esoteric method I'd spent years mastering. Rooted in the I Ching, it was invented by a distant ancestor of the Song family and is considered the most mysterious branch of knowledge within the Chronicles of the Corpse Whisperer.
It works by mapping elements of a crime onto ancient hexagrams—dumping a body in the open would relate to the Qian trigram (Heaven), while doing so near water would relate to Kan (Water). Through complex deduction, the method could reveal startlingly specific information about a killer.
The system is split into three scrolls: Human, Earth, and Heaven. The Human Scroll can predict the killer's age, appearance, and height. The Earth Scroll can identify their hideout. The Heaven Scroll is the most mystical—it claims to predict a criminal's next move with uncanny precision. But no one has ever truly mastered that part.
Hearing my doubts, Sun Laohu resumed discussing the case with the team. But then a thought struck me. "Wait, Uncle Sun—you said ten people went missing?"
Interrupting a chief officer in a briefing is usually a big no-no, but Sun Laohu didn't mind. In fact, he looked energized. "You've got something? Say it, nephew!"
"I can perform a reading. But I need the exact locations of the disappearances, a detailed city map of Nanjing, and... a compass."
Sun Laohu slammed the table. "Someone get it. Now!"
Fifteen minutes later, we were still in the same meeting room. I had them draw the curtains and light a stick of incense in a bowl filled with soil. A few cops in the back started snickering at the theatrics—until Sun Laohu's sharp glare shut them up.
I laid the map flat on the table, using color markers to mark each disappearance site. Around the points, I drew eight trigrams, then hopped up on the table with the compass and began my calculations. I chanted the ancient formulas under my breath: "Heaven and Earth define the stars; Eight directions return to the source. Two and two make Dui, three and seven become Lü…"
At first, I was self-conscious. But soon, I became fully immersed. When the incense stick had nearly burned down, the reading was complete. I marked a single point on the map.
That incense stick wasn't just for show. According to the Corpse Whisperer's Canon, a reading must be completed within one incense cycle—any longer and you risk falling too deep, consumed by the trigrams themselves.
Everyone leaned in to look. Sun Laohu read out loud, "The old paper mill?"
I hadn't even known where I was pointing until that moment. My legs were numb from crouching so long, and I needed Huang Xiaotao's help just to get off the table. "I'm certain," I told them. "Li Wenjia and the missing people are almost definitely there."
One cop sneered. "Wait a second, Chief Sun. You believe this mumbo jumbo? What, now we solve crimes with compasses and incense?"
Others chuckled in agreement.
Sun Laohu's voice thundered. "You think I'd vouch for something without proof? Just because you don't understand something doesn't mean it's nonsense!"
The first officer scoffed again. "Sure, just chant some cryptic lines and wave a compass around, and presto—case solved? Who needs us cops then?"
"Then get the hell out!" Sun Laohu barked.
I didn't blame them. It sounded absurd to those who'd never seen it before. So I calmly explained, "Have you heard of criminal profiling?"
"Of course."
"There's also something called geographic profiling. It's used in the West—analyzing crime scenes statistically to pinpoint where the killer might live. This is basically the same thing, except we use ancient wisdom instead of math models. If you're skeptical, fine—go there. I guarantee she's hiding in that mill."
The room fell silent. Sun Laohu barked again, "What are you waiting for? Go!"
The team rushed out. Huang Xiaotao and I got ready to follow, but Sun Laohu stopped us. "You two should rest. You've been running on fumes all night."
We were dead tired anyway, so we didn't argue. Sleeping on a hard desk didn't appeal to either of us. "Let's go nap in my car," she suggested.
Inside the car, we reclined the seats. Huang Xiaotao curled up and said, "Sorry, Song Yang."
"What for?"
"I promised we'd go to Wuyi Mountain after the last case. Now we're stuck again. Being a cop sucks sometimes."
"Don't worry. We'll have plenty of chances."
"Your Trigram thing—is it really that magical? Teach me sometime, okay?" Her voice faded into a yawn.
I chuckled. "The Trigram of Death—well, it's kind of like…"
But she was already softly snoring. I smiled, draped her jacket over her, and dozed off too.
Felt like I'd just closed my eyes when the phone rang. Huang Xiaotao jolted upright and smacked her head on the car roof. Rubbing her scalp, she answered the call—then turned to me, eyes gleaming. "Song Yang, you won't believe it. You nailed it! Li Wenjia is at the paper mill!"
My heart leapt. "Did they catch her?"
"Not yet. She's holding hostages. Sun Laohu says she's in a standoff with the police—SWAT has already been deployed."
Good news and bad news. The good news: Li Wenjia had just escalated her charges with kidnapping. The bad news: arresting her just got way harder.
We rushed to the mill. Even after only thirty minutes of sleep, it was the kind that recharges your brain if not your body. The old paper mill on the city's northern edge was long abandoned—just a hollow concrete shell.
We arrived to a flurry of flashing lights and armored trucks. I asked what was on the roof—Huang Xiaotao smirked. "Snipers. Li Wenjia picked a spot with no tall buildings around, so SWAT brought their own elevation."
Sun Laohu was barking orders nearby. The same officers who'd mocked me earlier now looked at me like I was a prophet.
"What's the situation?" Huang Xiaotao asked.
"She's barricaded in a warehouse with over ten hostages. We've got a negotiator inside now," Sun Laohu said.
A distorted voice echoed from a bullhorn inside the building. "Wait, you sent a negotiator alone?" I asked.
"Of course not. Based on your advice, we sent an officer in with him."
Huang Xiaotao snapped to attention. "Chief! I request permission to lead a breach team!"
"Denied," Sun Laohu said without hesitation. "We're not there yet. Let the SWAT boys handle it."
I muttered anxiously, "She's not just some psycho. She's got a trump card—Wang Yuanchao."
One man under hypnosis, no fear, no limits—he could dismantle a whole squad on his own.
Just then, a single gunshot rang out.
Everyone froze.
A breathless officer ran from the comms van. "Chief Sun! The negotiator's been shot!"