[Please, Mr. Bai, save me]

“How’s it going, Young Master Huo? Did you see anything?” Da Tou helped hold the wooden crates for Huo Zhenye and asked, craning his neck.

“Nothing at all.” Huo Zhenye jumped down in a few steps, brushed the dust off his hands and asked, “What about that crazy suspect? Did he say anything?”

“Young Master Huo, this is the Japanese concession. We can look around the scene, but interrogating the suspect isn’t our job.” If it weren’t for how much fuss the Song Mingjie kidnapping case caused at the time, with newspapers reporting repeatedly, they wouldn’t have been notified to come so quickly.

Da Tou suddenly said, “Should we go tell Mr. Song and Mrs. Song that the killer who murdered their child is already dead?”

Da Tou was very sympathetic; Mrs. Song had gone mad because of losing her child. Telling them the killer was dead might ease their hearts a bit.

Huo Zhenye nodded, “Yeah, we should tell them.” Maybe it was their son who took revenge himself.

They disturbed Mr. Song yesterday, making him recall his son’s murder; bringing good news today might comfort him a little.

They left the warehouse and saw the forensic officers collecting the bodies. The corpses were almost nothing but skin, piled up in a heap. Huo Zhenye glanced once, frowned, and turned away.

“Young Master Huo, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Da Tou comforted him, “The first time I saw it, I threw up. After a few times, you get used to it.”

Huo Zhenye sat in the car, took a deep breath, and said, “I hope I never get used to it.”

They drove to the Song residence and knocked for a long time, but no one answered.

“Could they have gone out?” Da Tou asked, looking toward the garden of the villa. Such a big house—surely someone must be inside.

Huo Zhenye frowned, scrutinizing the house. It seemed even gloomier than yesterday. He looked up at the roof and saw something thrown out of the attic window.

The object thudded to the ground and rolled along the gravel path.

“What is that?” Da Tou squinted from afar, unable to see clearly.

Huo Zhenye saw it and took a deep breath. “Did you bring a gun?”

It was a child’s wooden clog thrown from the window.

The Song family was Chinese; why would there be a Japanese child’s clog in their house? Could it be that Song Fusheng killed the three people at the Hongkou warehouse and brought the Japanese child back home?

Da Tou’s mouth dropped open. He stared at the window and saw a child’s hand reach out holding the other wooden clog. Before it could be thrown, another small hand pulled it back inside.

Da Tou immediately thought of the tangled intestines of those three people. He looked down at his baton and muttered, “Nope, our police don’t carry guns!”

With no other choice, Huo Zhenye rolled up his sleeves, climbed the iron gate in a few moves, got inside, and opened the door from within to let Da Tou in.

“You go in through the kitchen, I’ll enter through the garden. If the kid can throw things out the window, it means someone is inside the house or upstairs.”

Da Tou swallowed hard and gripped his baton tightly.

Huo Zhenye entered through the garden door, with the little yellow bird flying ahead of him as if scouting the way.

The house was quiet—no sound at all. The living room and hallway were filled with children’s toys, colorful ribbons and flags hung everywhere, and a long tablecloth covered the table. On it sat a double-layered cream cake.

Written on the cake was “Happy Birthday, Little Jie,” and even the candles were already placed.

On the sofa and tables, gift boxes were scattered everywhere, all beautifully wrapped and tied with ribbons, as if a birthday party was about to be held here.

Da Tou quietly stepped out from the kitchen, shaking his head at Huo Zhenye—there was no noise coming from the kitchen either.

The two exchanged glances and looked toward the stairs.

Huo Zhenye cocked his gun and walked ahead; Da Tou held his baton tightly, following closely behind.

The study door was wide open. Song Fusheng was sitting at the desk, but Huo Zhenye immediately noticed that he was tied to the armchair, unconscious.

Crayons were scattered across the desk. Song Fusheng’s face was pale, with two red patches drawn on his cheeks, making him look like a dummy.

Da Tou stepped forward and slapped him to wake him up. Upon waking, Song Fusheng first looked out the window. Seeing the sunshine outside, he broke down crying.

Da Tou covered his mouth, “Keep it down! Where are the kids?”

Song Fusheng struggled with a pained expression and whispered, “They’re all… in the attic.”

Huo Zhenye pointed to the phone on the desk and told Da Tou to call their fellow officers. Then he headed toward the attic. Song Fusheng cried out, “Don’t go!”

But Huo Zhenye had already pushed open the door. The scene in front of him stunned him into freezing for a moment.

The attic floor was covered with blankets and quilts. The entire attic looked like one huge bed. Several children were sleeping there, curled up like little birds.

They huddled together and, hearing the noise, cautiously lifted their heads to look at Huo Zhenye.

One, two…

Huo Zhenye frowned. How could there be five children? Could there have been other disappearances that parents haven’t reported yet?

He squatted down and said to the children, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to take you away from this house.”

None of the children moved. They continued to look at Huo Zhenye with frightened eyes.

Huo Zhenye had no experience dealing with children, so he called out, “Da Tou, come here!”

Da Tou was dressed in his patrol uniform, with a goofy, simple look that might make the children lower their guard.

Huo Zhenye left the attic to question Song Fusheng, who was still tied up but fully awake. He was trying to drag the chair toward the window.

Huo Zhenye saw him struggling and said, “Mr. Song, this is the second floor. You can’t get away.”

Song Fusheng wasn’t trying to escape; he just wanted to get closer to the sunlight.

“Speak. How did you and your wife manage to kidnap these children?” The longest missing had been five days—five days all spent at the Song residence. It was impossible that nothing happened there.

“Were you tied up because you had a fight with your wife?”

Song Fusheng was still dragging himself toward the window, the armchair scraping loudly against the floor. He didn’t stop—he was very determined.

Huo Zhenye had no choice but to take out his gun. “Mr. Song, you’d better cooperate. This case might end up in the Japanese concession, and once it does, getting out won’t be easy.”

Song Fusheng stopped moving, his eyes wide with terror as he looked at Huo Zhenye. Huo Zhenye raised an eyebrow—he only intended to scare the man, not shoot.

Then suddenly, Huo Zhenye realized someone was behind him.

He spun around swiftly, aiming his gun at the doorway. Outside stood only a dark shadow—a child’s silhouette—likely hiding at the door, too afraid to come inside.

Huo Zhenye relaxed his expression. “What’s wrong? Didn’t Uncle Da Tou take you out?”

Before a smile could form on his lips, he suddenly recalled the other small hand that had reached in through the window, the child-sized handprints on the warehouse skylight, and the terrified, silent eyes of the children.

They weren’t afraid of him. They were afraid of someone among themselves.

But it was still daytime; even if there were ghosts or spirits, they should only appear at night.

Then the gun lowered moments ago was raised again. “Who are you?”

The shadow moved, and the room echoed with childish, reckless laughter. The little yellow bird on Huo Zhenye’s shoulder darted forward like a projectile.

Huo Zhenye didn’t want to shoot a child, and he wasn’t even sure if this child was a ghost or possessed by a spirit.

The child’s shadow stepped inside, avoiding the sunlight streaming on the floor, suddenly merging into the dark shadows on the ceiling.

Song Fusheng stared at the swirling black shapes above in terror. “Don’t come closer! You’re not Little Jie! I’m not your father!”

Handprint-like marks appeared on the ceiling, crossing the room like footprints, heading toward Song Fusheng.

Terrified, Song Fusheng fainted.

Huo Zhenye aimed at the black handprints, but they darted all over the ceiling. He couldn’t get a clear shot. The trail of prints had already reached the window—and was about to pounce on Song Fusheng.

The little yellow bird suddenly rushed forward, but the thing had no physical form. The bird couldn’t attack it, so it just flapped its wings nonstop to stop it from touching Song Fusheng.

The shadow grew angry and swiped at the yellow bird.

The little bird opened its beak but couldn’t make a sound, then fell out near the window.

Huo Zhenye pulled the trigger; the bullet made a hole in the ceiling. The black shadow recoiled in fear, climbed back to the doorway, and quickly disappeared.

Huo Zhenye first untied Song Fusheng, then returned to the attic and found Da Tou lying on the floor, bleeding from a head wound.

The sound of a car starting came from outside. Huo Zhenye rushed to the window and saw Mrs. Song driving away, clutching something in her arms. The police officers, just about to enter the house, were scattered by Mrs. Song crashing into them. They rushed in and saw Song Fusheng tied up and Da Tou unconscious; they all assumed Huo Zhenye had subdued Song Fusheng.

The four children were still in the attic. The Japanese merchant’s child had just been kidnapped to the Song house; he was the one who could move and talk, who opened the window and threw out the wooden clogs to ask for help.

The remaining three children—the youngest one often stood against the wall, eyes dull and lifeless.

Huo Zhenye recognized him as Little Kai, walked up and called his name: “Little Kai, you’re safe now. Your mom, dad, and sister are all waiting for you to come home.”

Little Kai’s eyes stared straight ahead, but when he heard “sister,” he slowly turned his head.

Huo Zhenye gasped inwardly. That movement was very familiar—like the paper dolls Bai Zhun had, which all turned their heads like that. He quickly checked the boy’s pulse—his heartbeat was abnormally slow, and his body temperature was dropping.

Huo Zhenye took off his suit jacket and covered him, then told the patrol officers who had arrived behind him: “This child seems injured. I’ll take him to the hospital first.”

He put both Da Tou and the child into the car and drove to Shengxin ^[1] Sacred Heart Hospital to find Xu Yan, an old classmate from his time abroad.

Xu Yan wasn’t very close with Huo Zhenye—he was a diligent student while Huo Zhenye had been wild. When he heard Huo Zhenye was looking for him, Xu Yan found it strange.

“Huo Zhenye, why are you here?”

“No time to explain. Where’s your office?” If he had any other option, he wouldn’t have come to this bookworm.

“I’m a surgeon. Are you looking for internal medicine or surgery?” Xu Yan adjusted his glasses and pointed to his office. Huo Zhenye carried the child and hurried inside with him.

The door slammed shut behind them with a *bang.* Huo Zhenye laid Little Kai down on the exam bed: “Check him quickly. Keep his vital signs stable. I’ll make a call.”

The Bai family didn’t have a phone, but the tobacco and liquor shop at the entrance of Yuqing Alley did. Occasionally, Ah Xiu would bring Bai Zhun’s handwritten note and ask the shop owner to help call the restaurant to deliver food.

Huo Zhenye had used that phone before to call the police station; luckily, he had memorized the number.

The shop owner answered the call, then went to knock on Bai family’s door. Through the door, he showed them the note and repeated: “Mr. Huo says he’s at Shengxin Hospital and asks Mr. Bai to save lives.”

Turns out this Bai shop owner could read medical stuff too.