Chapter 38: Eight Ice Sculptures
The chief of the Taichang Town police station looked at the man wailing on the ground and, for a moment, almost wanted to laugh.
But he was a battle-hardened old cop, professionally trained—no matter how funny something was, he wouldn’t laugh. Still, at times like this, it was hard not to.
He calmly tugged the corner of his mouth up. Before the man could react, he let out a quick, silent chuckle, then put on a solemn face, helped him up, and looked at the black vehicle with open admiration.
Yet after a closer look, he realized something was off. Wasn’t this door a little too thick?
Then the door swung open, and a man stepped out from the passenger seat—broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, his features sharp and cold.
The one who’d kicked the car was still cursing nonstop. Not only did he not rein himself in when he noticed someone getting out, he even cursed every female ancestor in the man’s family line, so vulgar the people around them could barely stand to listen.
But the moment he lifted his head and saw the man’s face clearly, his expression froze—then turned deathly pale.
“Go on,” Shang Fuyan said coolly. “Why’d you stop? I was thinking of recording it for my mom and my grandma to hear.”
The man’s face broke out in cold sweat. He never would’ve imagined that the eldest grandson of the Shang family in the capital would show up in a tiny town like this.
No—wasn’t he supposed to be in Yue City? This place wasn’t even remotely connected to Yue City!
Seeing how the man practically tried to shrink into himself, the chief instantly sensed that this newcomer’s background was likely even higher than the arrogant nuisance standing beside him.
Damn it—another “heaven-dragon” big shot. He hated heaven-dragons.
“Hello. Are you the chief of Taibai Town police station?” In the next second, the “heaven-dragon” smiled at him with gentle politeness and produced his ID.
Shang Fuyan, Captain of the Criminal Investigation Detachment, Wen’an Branch, Yue City Public Security Bureau.
The chief was baffled. What was a detachment captain doing here? He hadn’t received any request for cross-jurisdictional investigation.
“Please don’t misunderstand,” Shang Fuyan said. “I’m showing my ID only to prove I have nothing to do with this man. I’m not here today in my capacity as a detachment captain.”
As he spoke, Lin Jiangye also got out and handed over his own credentials.
Under the chief’s increasingly confused gaze, Lin Jiangye explained, “We wanted to ask—four days ago, did eight students go missing on Mount Taibai?”
The chief’s expression grew heavy. He nodded. “We’re not sure they disappeared in the mountains. We’re still investigating. But how did you know the time they went missing?”
Lin Jiangye and Shang Fuyan exchanged a glance. Both sighed.
Then, while everyone stood there utterly bewildered, the middle door of the vehicle slowly opened. A blast of cold air poured in, waking the raven, the white deer, and the owl that had been sleeping inside.
“Mmm! Are we there?” Bixi was the first to wake, stretching its wings wide.
Next, the white deer lifted its little head, revealing a pair of watery, bright eyes.
Beside it, the snowy owl opened one eye and stared at the cluster of humans.
The sight of those two animals made the chief’s blood surge; his scalp buzzed.
“You—” he started, but a travel permit appeared in front of him. It bore the official seal of Yue City’s Forestry Bureau and stated that the wild albino sika deer and the snowy owl had not been captured by the vehicle owner, Lin Jiangye. It also stated that this trip was to return them to nature.
The chief’s boiling blood instantly cooled. He exhaled and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
He’d almost thought these two were smugglers masquerading as law enforcement. Thank god—the seal checked out, and the IDs checked out.
“So what exactly is going on here?” he demanded. “What’s Yue City’s Forestry Bureau doing? Why didn’t they explain how these two even got to Yue City in the first place?”
“And—normally, if a wild animal wanders to another area, you notify the local forestry bureau and have them escort it back. How did this turn into private transport?”
“It’s like this…” Lin Jiangye pointed at the deer and the snowy owl and explained how the two had run over a thousand kilometers overnight just to come “file a complaint” with him.
“It sounds unbelievable, but my ability has been verified by both Yue City police and the forestry bureau. If you don’t believe it, you can call and confirm.” Lin Jiangye sounded helpless as he watched them all go stiff.
The chief froze. The man the chief was supporting also froze, staring at the brazen young man. His facial muscles twitched as if he wanted to laugh—until the edge of his vision caught Shang Fuyan, and he forced it down.
Just as he assumed everyone would mock the young man as delusional, the chief actually thought for a moment and said, “Mm… it’s not impossible.”
The man stared at the chief in horror, his eyes screaming, Are you insane?
But for people who lived near Mount Taibai year-round, animals having “spirit” wasn’t rare. And people who could sense or comprehend animal meanings weren’t unheard of either—just not with Lin Jiangye’s level of direct, seamless communication.
Besides, he had official proof from relevant departments. People in a big city like Yue City wouldn’t be fooled so easily; they would’ve tested him thoroughly before granting him the title of special consultant.
And the deer and snowy owl were wild. Normally, they wouldn’t come close to people.
Yet here they were, sprawled lazily in the vehicle—clearly trusting this human.
“So what did they tell you after they found you?” the chief asked, immediately shifting to speak directly with Lin Jiangye.
Lin Jiangye sighed. That single breath lifted everyone’s hearts into their throats.
“The white deer said it found a corpse pit. Eight bodies inside.”
Before the surrounding officers could even react, the man whose son had gone missing lunged at Lin Jiangye. “You’re lying!”
Shang Fuyan’s reaction was lightning-fast. He grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him back. “Mr. Guan, what are you doing?”
“He’s lying! He must be lying! I don’t believe it… I don’t believe my son is dead! Was it you? Was it you who killed my son?!” Guan Huahui had completely lost his mind.
There was a trace of pity in Shang Fuyan’s eyes. He knew Guan Huahui’s situation—his son was his only son, born when he was already forty.
But that was only part of the story. Guan Huahui actually had two daughters too. He was severely misogynistic, barely treated his daughters as human beings, only as tools for family marriages.
When the precious son was born, he was raised into a spoiled playboy who bullied men and harassed women.
It’s just that the Guan family didn’t have much real power in the capital, so the son didn’t dare swagger around the capital itself.
The last time Shang Fuyan heard news about him was when his own younger uncle had him arrested for “tolerating others’ drug use.”
He hadn’t expected that this time… he’d be dead.
To be blunt, if the news of Guan Huahui’s son dying spread nationwide, the people he’d bullied would probably applaud.
Seeing Guan Huahui truly deranged, Shang Fuyan had the station officers detain him first.
“It’s late. Do you have somewhere to place wild animals here? Or a small courtyard we can rent? We’ll probably stay for a while.” Lin Jiangye privately didn’t want to stay in a hotel—mainly because he worried more animals might come looking for him, and hotels weren’t convenient for communication.
The chief smacked his lips. “How long? If it’s a short stay, it might be pricey.”
Lin Jiangye waved it off. Price wasn’t an issue. He estimated at least a week or two.
Since he was already at Mount Taibai, he wanted to explore, see what other small animals lived up there.
He had to enjoy it thoroughly before going back, right?
Hearing his requirements, the chief quickly found a place that suited him: a small farmhouse courtyard at the foot of the mountain. The owner had moved into the city. The price was cheap—500 for a week, paid weekly.
“There’s a stove. There’s firewood in the yard too. If you know how to cook with wood, go ahead. If not, just eat in town.” After checking everything and confirming it was fine, the chief left.
The two men carried their luggage in and started lighting the stove to warm the kang.
As for how the “kids” would handle the cold—Lin Jiangye never planned to have them sleep on the ground. The kang was big enough for him and Shang Fuyan, and even two more people, easily. Since that was the case, why couldn’t the deer and the snowy owl sleep on the kang too?
After all the quilts were laid out and the kang turned warm and soft, Bixi copied the dogs back home—let out a goofy howl and flopped onto it, rolling around.
The white deer hesitated, glanced carefully at Lin Jiangye and Shang Fuyan, and when it saw neither objected, it cheered and hopped onto the bedding too.
So soft! A human blanket nest!
The snowy owl had long since made itself comfortable, lying there with its big eyes squeezed into happy slits.
After the two of them showered, they lay down on one side, quietly discussing the man they’d met earlier, while a whole pile of “kids” sprawled around them, sleeping in crooked, messy heaps.
Shang Fuyan hadn’t expected his first time sharing a bed with Lin Jiangye would happen like this—no ambiguity, no private atmosphere, none of the mood he wanted at all.
“Who was that person?” A warm breath suddenly drifted close. Shang Fuyan’s body stiffened on instinct.
He felt helpless, but still explained the Guan family’s background to Lin Jiangye in full detail.
“Ah, got it. Late-life son, spoiled like a pearl, and the father is a mess like that—of course he couldn’t raise a normal kid.” That also explained why they’d gone chasing thrills into an undeveloped area.
“But they didn’t die by accident.” Once Shang Fuyan calmed down, he immediately sensed something wrong.
According to the officers, the missing count was eight. That matched the eight bodies in the pit.
So did the killer make it back down the mountain? But Guan Huahui didn’t look like someone who’d found a scapegoat to blame.
If someone else had gone up with them and returned safely, Guan Huahui would’ve chased that person to the ends of the earth. Since he hadn’t, there were two possibilities.
Shang Fuyan lay on the warm kang and raised two long fingers.
“First: there were only eight, and the killer died with them. Second: someone else led them up the mountain—a guide they hired secretly. The parents don’t know, and the scenic area management doesn’t know either.”
On the way to the farmhouse, they’d asked the chief whether those people were confirmed to have gone up the mountain.
The chief had said, “Not sure. Them going into the undeveloped zone is only a theory. We can’t confirm they went up, and we can’t confirm they came down. Mr. Guan’s son sent a message saying he was climbing Mount Taibai, but we never saw them on the scenic area cameras.”
That uncertainty was why the whole station—plus traffic police—were checking everything: passing vehicles, hotels, guesthouses, and they even had scenic staff repeatedly call out along the trails.
Two days had passed since the parents reported the case. Only then did they suspect the kids might’ve gone into the undeveloped area—otherwise, how could eight people vanish without leaving even a shadow?
The chief’s eyes were dark with exhaustion; he clearly hadn’t rested at all these past days.
Several officers looked just as drained.
By Shang Fuyan’s logic, if it was the first scenario, they’d get very limited information—no suspect to interrogate, maybe not even a clear motive.
But if it was the second, then the hatred behind it might be beyond imagination.
To plan that tightly meant the killer had been laying groundwork for a long time.
Thinking of that, Lin Jiangye offered his own guess. “Maybe the killer didn’t even want the bodies found. If the deer hadn’t seen it, who would’ve thought they were dumped into a giant pit?”
The deer’s “corpse pit” was a literal pit. By the deer’s description, even the leader of the deer herd—if it fell in—would struggle to leap back out.
Deer could jump far better than humans. If even the deer king said it would be hard, then those students trapped inside—without outside help—could never escape.
“That pit may have been made specifically to trap them,” Shang Fuyan murmured, lowering his lashes. His gaze lingered on the young man’s long eyelashes, his thoughts unreadable.
Lin Jiangye was completely unaware of Shang Fuyan’s quiet thoughts. He was still wondering how someone could dig such a huge pit—and then lead those people into it so precisely.
That was an undeveloped area—wouldn’t the killer get lost? Wasn’t he afraid of running into fierce wild animals?
If you wanted a group of people dead, there were plenty of ways. Choosing to strike in the dangerous, undeveloped part of Mount Taibai—wasn’t that far too risky?
Or was the killer simply not afraid of death?
With all kinds of questions churning in his mind, Lin Jiangye’s eyes gradually closed, his breathing slowly evening out.
Even with Shang Fuyan taking turns driving, each of them had still driven for hours. Add in the heavy snow they were about to face—snowy roads were slippery, and staying focused required even more concentration—so Lin Jiangye grew drowsy early.
Listening to the young man’s steady breathing, Shang Fuyan stared for a long time at the upper half of his face left uncovered by the blanket. A soft sigh drifted through the room, and then everything fell quiet.
Early the next morning, Lin Jiangye woke up.
He hadn’t wanted to wake up so early, but the three little ones next door were hounding them like they were collecting debts. The two humans had no choice but to get up.
“You’re so loud…” Lin Jiangye felt like he still hadn’t slept enough. Hearing the white deer chattering nonstop, he reached out and pinched its mouth shut. “Little mouth!”
“Just talking!”
Lin Jiangye’s sleepy eyes snapped wide open and fixed on Bixi, who had just talked back. The raven didn’t even flinch—on the contrary, it looked utterly righteous.
At that moment, he finally understood why some parents online got headaches over their kids’ education.
Now his head hurt too.
Lin Jiangye released the deer and lunged at Bixi. “Where did you learn that line?! Speak!”
Bixi wasn’t the least bit afraid. Its tail kept flicking nonstop—thank god it wasn’t a real dog, or it would’ve been panting and licking his face by now.
“Scrolling videos… hehehe!” Bixi tried its best to crane its neck, rubbing its head against Lin Jiangye’s cheek, its throat rumbling in a pleased gurgle.
Against a raven’s shameless cuddling, Lin Jiangye couldn’t even last three minutes before surrendering.
“You, honestly…” He poked Bixi’s head—and Bixi promptly sprawled across his chest, wings spread like it was hugging him.
“This lord likes you the most!”
Lin Jiangye let out a heavy sigh. Fine. He was helpless.
Who could resist an arrogant little brat acting cute? Lin Jiangye certainly couldn’t. He cupped the raven’s head and planted a hard kiss on it.
They got dressed. Lin Jiangye looked at Bixi perched on his shoulder, worried. “How is it—are you cold? If you’re cold, then maybe you…”
“Not! Cold!” Bixi even flared its wings, striking a proud soaring pose.
Watching Lin Jiangye’s speechless expression, Shang Fuyan’s lips curved slightly.
The station chief had contacted them early as well. After all their frantic efforts to locate the students, they hadn’t expected to receive a piece of devastating news instead.
Some officers found it hard to accept. Not because they thought Lin Jiangye was lying, but because… maybe one or two of the kids still had a slim chance.
They didn’t like Guan Huahui, they didn’t like reckless teenagers charging into undeveloped zones, and they didn’t like the extra trouble the disappearances had dumped on them—but that didn’t mean they wanted to see eight bodies.
No matter what, they didn’t deserve to die… eight living people.
Lin Jiangye didn’t mention his own suspicions. He took the group to the mountain road, drove them there, and only then released the white deer and the snowy owl.
“Follow them. Only they know where that pit is.”
The moment he spoke, the snowy owl spread its wings and shot into the sky. The white deer let out a long call, as if announcing it had finally returned home.
Their party included, besides the three little ones and Lin Jiangye and Shang Fuyan, six officers. Only four would follow them into the undeveloped zone; the other two stayed outside to wait for updates.
Tourists climbing nearby stopped when they saw the pure-white sika deer—then immediately sensed something wrong when they noticed police officers hiking along.
What had happened to mobilize this many cops?
The hikers had already heard that eight students had vanished in town, and that all vehicles coming and going were being inspected.
“I heard those eight students went into the undeveloped area… and then vanished.” Someone muttered quietly, watching the group disappear from view.
Others slowly realized something odd. “Wait—did you notice those cops are following behind the white deer? Don’t tell me that deer knows where the eight students are, so it came down to lead the police up?”
Huh… when you put it that way, it really did look like it.
Some doubted it, but others firmly believed the deer was guiding them.
“Don’t you know? The animals on Mount Taibai are spiritual!” someone protested.
His hiking buddy nodded along. “Yeah—some of them are even more human than people online.”
That line made everyone laugh. These days, some “people” on the internet really did talk in ways that barely resembled human speech.
The white deer was fast. Even in deep snow, it moved as if it were walking on flat ground.
Lin Jiangye and Shang Fuyan managed fine, but the officers behind them were having a rough time.
“Good thing I hike regularly—this distance is nothing,” the station chief said, sounding pretty relaxed. “You lot, though—you’re not cutting it. Add this to your training.”
His words landed like a heavy blow.
At the warning sign, the chief handed out walkie-talkies, in case anyone fell behind, got lost, or lost phone signal inside.
“Don’t worry too much. The snowy owl and the raven will watch over things,” Lin Jiangye said, pointing at the two birds circling above.
The officers looked up. Knowing those birds were placed by Lin Jiangye, their anxiety eased by half.
They continued deeper into the woods, following the white deer. From here on, they could only rely on themselves to keep direction.
No one knew how long they walked. By the time the sun climbed from the east to nearly overhead and the surroundings were entirely unfamiliar, the white deer began calling toward one spot.
“It’s up ahead!”
Lin Jiangye pulled down his mask and exhaled cold air, then sniffed hard. The icy wind carried a faint, faint trace of corpse stench.
Very faint—probably because the temperature here was low, and a fresh snowfall had smothered most of the smell, making it hard to detect.
But once they stopped, the chief noticed something. “This isn’t right. There’s signal here.”
He’d only meant to check the time, but his phone showed three bars—weak, but absolutely enough to call for help.
So the chief tried sending a message to the officer waiting outside. After a few seconds, it went through. Half a minute later, a reply came back.
Good. And with that, everyone’s hearts sank again.
Getting lost and dying in the mountains was one thing.
Eight lives being taken was an entirely different level.
Every officer—chief included—looked grim.
And when they reached the pit the white deer had indicated, they became even more certain: this was murder.
The pit looked over five meters deep. The walls were smooth and neatly cut—clearly not natural.
Lin Jiangye turned and asked the deer, “Did this pit exist here before?”
The deer tilted its head, blank. It wasn’t sure. It had only been playing nearby, smelled something strange, and wandered over to look.
The snowy owl landed on a branch and hooted, “No. I’m sure it wasn’t here!”
A pit this large—if it existed, it would’ve seen it flying past.
“Then did you see who dug it?” Lin Jiangye pressed, but this time the owl couldn’t answer.
“I don’t know! I don’t live around here!”
Lin Jiangye’s mouth twitched. Then he looked to the deer—only to find it didn’t know either.
Fine. Two silly kids.
Everyone stared at him, hoping he’d produce more information, but the two “complainants” weren’t exactly reliable.
“Forget it. First, we get the bodies down and confirm identities,” the chief said. By now he’d completely given up on the possibility of survivors.
The eight were frozen into ice-sculpture shapes. Clearly, before freezing to death, they’d been doused from above with a bucket of water.
Under circumstances like that—after so many days—how could anyone possibly still be alive?
“So vicious…” An officer nearby looked full of pity. “This left them zero chance. Death was guaranteed.”
He didn’t know what they’d done to provoke someone, or who they’d met up there. But no matter what… killing eight people at once was unforgivable.
Even if all eight had done wrong, not every wrong deserved death. An accomplice and a mastermind shouldn’t bear the same punishment.
While the officers waited for more personnel to come up and retrieve the bodies, Lin Jiangye led Shang Fuyan off in another direction.
He’d heard movement over there earlier, and he wasn’t sure what they’d run into.
Hopefully this time they’d meet a sensible “elder,” someone reliable.
