[Dad actually lied to him!]

Huo Zhenye continued making rounds at churches. The lead hadn’t completely gone cold yet—there might still be some connection between the different churches.

He asked whether the churches ever held joint events. The priest told him that each church had its own schedule of activities and that congregants rarely mingled across churches.

Whichever priest they listened to and whichever church they were baptized in, that’s the one they stuck with.

When Huo Zhenye arrived at the second church, Father Brown proved to be even more enthusiastic than Father John. After hearing Huo Zhenye explain that the only known link between the three families was their faith, Father Brown said solemnly, “This must be the devil’s work.”

Huo Zhenye nearly let out a laugh—Father Brown was apparently a firm believer in demonic forces.

Raising a crucifix, Father Brown stood bathed in the holy light filtering through the stained-glass dome of the church. He said to Huo Zhenye, “Satan is the source of all evil. Countless evil spirits serve this winged demon, leading mankind into sin…”

Huo listened with gritted teeth and was just about to interrupt when a worn-down middle-aged man approached. His clothes were made of fine fabric, but they hung loosely on his frame, showing he had lost a lot of weight recently and hadn’t yet had new suits made.

The man looked unwell, like someone who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months. He lowered his voice and said, “Father.”

“Mr. Song, is your wife feeling any better?”

“Father, please give me more holy water.”

Huo Zhenye raised an eyebrow, watching as Father Brown scooped water from the baptismal font and poured it into a glass bottle.

Handing the bottle over, Father Brown made the sign of the cross and said, “May the Lord bless you. Your child is surely by His side now.”

That caught Huo Zhenye’s attention. Once the man had walked away, Huo Zhenye asked, “What happened to his child?”

Father Brown’s expression turned sorrowful. Mr. and Mrs. Song were a loving couple with a very sweet little boy. The whole family were devout believers and made large donations to the church every year.

Last year, the boy had been kidnapped. Though they paid the ransom, the child was never returned. Since then, Mrs. Song had fallen ill.

“What was the child’s birthday?”

Father Brown shook his head. He only knew the names of the family members.

Huo Zhenye jotted the names down. Then something occurred to him, and he looked up. “Did Mr. Song only donate to this church?”

Father Brown replied, “The Song family are deeply faithful. They’re very generous. During Christmas, they even hand out gifts in person.”

Which meant—they didn’t just donate to this one.

Huo Zhenye drove back to the police station and told Da Tou, “Roughly a year ago, there was a comprador named Song Fusheng whose son was kidnapped. Check how old the boy was and when he was born.”

Da Tou dug out the old case files from last year. As soon as he read it, he froze—Song Fusheng’s son, Song Mingjie, was ten years old and born on September 9th.

He was abducted while shopping with his mother for birthday gifts—on the very day of his birthday. The kidnappers “returned” him to his parents that day.

Da Tou’s jaw dropped. “Could this really be connected?” The kids’ birthdays were way too much of a coincidence.

Huo Zhenye didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it was indeed a lead. “Come on, let’s visit the Song residence.”

—-

Song Fusheng returned home with the holy water. His driver had long since quit, so he drove himself, parking the car in the garden.

A year ago, this garden had been his wife’s beloved sanctuary. She used to plant flowers and raise dogs here, while their son played badminton or rode his tricycle.

Currently, this garden was nothing but a mess of weeds. The evening sun’s dying light barely touched this house, instead falling fully on the house in front, leaving this one by happenstance swallowed by shade.

As Song Fusheng stepped into the dark, it felt as though he had crossed straight from a golden autumn into a bleak winter. He pulled his suit tightly around him and pushed open the door.

The maid peeked out from the foyer—she’d been waiting for his return.

“How is Madam?” Song Fusheng handed her his briefcase.

The maid glanced at him quickly. “Madam has stayed upstairs the whole time. She hasn’t come down.” She had seemed to be getting better recently, but her condition had worsened again.

“Has she eaten?”

The maid shook her head. “No.”

Just as Song Fusheng was about to go upstairs, the maid added, “Sir, today’s my last day. I won’t be working anymore after this. When is the new person arriving?” She needed to see the replacement before she could leave.

Song Fusheng waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay you an extra month’s wages.”

The maid was tactful. She slipped back into the kitchen to prepare dinner for him, not even willing to stay the night. As soon as she got paid, she was out.

Three servants had already quit this month. With this one leaving too, there would only be him and his wife left in this house. Just the two of them.

Climbing the stairs, Song Fusheng saw the maid hadn’t even brought the food to the bedroom door—just left the tray on the landing. His anger flared. The servants all said his wife was mentally unstable, and now they didn’t even dare bring her food when he wasn’t home.

But the anger faded quickly. He gently pushed open the bedroom door. “Yingying, I’m home. How are you today? Feeling any better?”

The curtains were tightly drawn, letting in only a sliver of dim light through the cracks. The woman sat by the side of a crib, gently rocking it as she hummed a lullaby.

She acted as if her husband were invisible—seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

When Song Fusheng didn’t get a response from his wife, he set the bread and milk on the table by the door. “Eat something if you’re hungry.”

He had mixed the milk with holy water from Father Brown. The last time she drank some, she had actually spoken to him. If she drank more, she would definitely get better—she had to.

The woman sat by the crib, smiling and softly singing a lullaby, but she didn’t even glance in his direction.

Defeated, Song Fusheng went downstairs and handed money to the maid. She picked up her bag and left the Song residence. On the dining table, there was only a serving of toast.

—-

When Huo Zhenye and Da Tou knocked on the door of the Song house, Song Fusheng looked a bit flustered. “You are…? Who are you looking for?”

Huo Zhenye pulled out his consultant badge from the police department and showed it to him. “Three children have gone missing recently. We’re here to ask a few questions.”

The muscles on Song Fusheng’s face twitched twice. He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. My wife can’t handle any emotional shocks. Let’s talk in the garden—please don’t let her hear.”

Before coming, Huo Zhenye had looked through old newspapers from last year. The case had caused a huge public outcry at the time.

After receiving a hefty ransom, the kidnapper had returned the child’s body—packed in a wooden crate. It was delivered on the boy’s birthday. The box was tied with a ribbon, like a gift, and the parents had to unwrap their own son’s corpse.

The case had never been solved. The police still had no leads.

The three of them moved into the garden.

Song Fusheng seemed incredibly tense, glancing upstairs repeatedly, as if terrified that his wife might discover something.

“None of the three missing children’s families have received any ransom letters or phone calls so far,” Huo Zhenye said as he looked around the house, feeling an inexplicable chill in the air.

“Then… then why are you here?” Song Fusheng asked, pale-faced. Still, he looked somewhat relieved upon hearing that.

“It’s this—the birthdays of the three missing children match your son’s.”

The color drained from Song Fusheng’s face. He stammered, “Really?”

His shock didn’t seem faked. Huo Zhenye asked, “Do you have any clues related to this?”

On the second floor, the window curtain parted a bit, showing a pale, ghostly woman’s face. Her vacant eyes stared down, seemingly seeing Huo Zhenye, yet perhaps not seeing him at all.

Huo Zhenye also quickly looked up. Is she holding… a child?

Song Fusheng saw it too. He lowered his head, seemingly finding it hard to speak. “That’s… a doll. My wife… she couldn’t take the trauma. She believes the doll is Little Jie…”

He couldn’t go on. Da Tou gave a loud sniff.

In this kind of situation, even Huo Zhenye couldn’t press further. “If you come across any clues about the kidnapper, I hope you’ll contact us.”

Song Fusheng shook his head. “I don’t have any. If I did, I’d definitely call you. I hope those three families… can get their children back.”

Huo Zhenye turned to leave, but paused and looked back. “Mr. Song, holy water isn’t effective for mental illness. You really should consider taking Mrs. Song to see a Western doctor.”

Song Fusheng gave a bitter smile. “Thank you, Mr. Huo.”

Da Tou, being a grown man, blew his nose and then wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

They hadn’t found any useful leads again, but Huo Zhenye couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He walked over to the car and looked up at the small brick Western-style house. “Do you feel like this house is… unusually cold?”

Da Tou glanced at the building steeped in shadows. “It is kind of chilly… maybe because it’s getting late.”

Huo Zhenye took one last look at the house. Mrs. Song was still standing there. She seemed to be looking at them—yet at the same time, not. She gently rocked the “doll” in her arms.

Just as Huo Zhenye was about to look away, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the “doll’s” head… move.

He quickly looked again—but the curtain on the second floor fluttered slightly, and Mrs. Song was gone.

After sending off Huo Zhenye and Da Tou, Song Fusheng had just turned to head back upstairs when Mrs. Song’s door creaked open slightly. From the narrow gap, one of her eyes peeked out.

That single eye stared straight at Song Fusheng, unblinking.
“Who was that?”

Her voice was shrill and thin, like a razor scraping over a scalp.

Song Fusheng trembled all over. “It—it was two officers, here to ask about the three missing children.”
He clung to a sliver of hope—hoping his wife would come to her senses, hoping they could return to the life they once had.

But *slam*—the door shut firmly.

Song Fusheng slumped as he walked back to his room. It was a study that had been converted into a bedroom; he no longer dared to step into that room. He sat by the window, watching the sun slowly slip beneath the horizon.

Just before the final sliver of light vanished, Song Fusheng carefully locked the door to the study, curled up under a blanket, and clutched the cross he always wore close to his chest.

As the sun disappeared, the house, once silent, suddenly came alive with noise.
In the hallway, the sound of toy cars echoed, followed by the patter of small feet running up and down the stairs.

Finally, someone knocked on the study door.

*Knock, knock, knock.*

Song Fusheng’s heart pounded. Every light in the room was on, yet he didn’t dare poke his head out of the blanket. He said in a muffled voice,
“Little Jie… Daddy’s busy. Daddy has to work, okay? Go play by yourself for a while.”

The little leather shoes stopped in front of the door but didn’t move away.
Then came a faint rustling sound—like someone outside the door was crouching down, lying flat, peeking through the gap under the door.

There was no one at the desk.

“Little Jie” was angry now. Daddy had lied to him!

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

The door rattled under the pounding. Each knock rang with fury and accusation!
Song Fusheng didn’t open it, so “Little Jie” refused to leave. Every few minutes, the banging started again.

He even drove his toy car into the door. The doorknob rattled, twisting back and forth without pause.

Song Fusheng was shaking with fear. His pleas came out broken and desperate:
“Little Jie, Daddy really has to work… Daddy has to work hard to buy gifts for Little Jie. Doesn’t Little Jie want birthday presents?”

“Little Jie” paused—as if thinking it over.

The sound of little leather shoes gradually faded away—*tap, tap, tap*—and Song Fusheng finally let out a breath of relief.
But before long, his nerves tightened again.

The sound slowly returned—this time, the footsteps were especially slow and deliberate.

“Little Jie” was no longer impatiently demanding that he open the door. Instead, he stood in front of it, and there came a soft *clink clink*—the sound of keys jingling in his hand.

*Click.*
A key slid into the lock and turned gently.

The door slowly creaked open.

“Little Jie” stood in the doorway, grinning at Song Fusheng. Then he tilted his head to one side.

“Caught you! Why aren’t you working?”