The eyeball that fell out of the envelope startled me. Could it be Grandfather's? But then I quickly shook my head—no, that couldn't be right. He had received the letter before he vanished. This eyeball must belong to someone else.
Aside from the sticky eyeball, there was nothing else in the envelope. Strange. What was the sender trying to tell him? Why had Grandfather suddenly disappeared?
I scratched my head, frustration bubbling up as I sat down heavily.
Grandfather had always told me: When confused, look past the surface—start with the basics.
I scanned the room. Everything was in order—the furniture untouched, the windows and doors intact. He hadn't been taken by force. That meant... he had left on his own after receiving the letter.
A letter always carries a message. If it made sense only to Grandfather, then perhaps I could decipher it too. The message must be hidden in the eyeball.
I switched on the desk lamp and examined the eye under the light. Judging by the slight clouding of the lens, it had been removed less than three hours ago. A short optic nerve still dangled behind it.
After careful inspection, I came to two conclusions:First, the victim was still alive when the eye was taken.Second, the procedure was done so skillfully that there was no visible damage to the eyeball—whoever did it had surgical precision.
There were tiny wood shavings stuck to the surface. I rubbed them between my fingers—pine resin. The scent was unmistakable.
Suddenly, it clicked. North of the county was a lumber processing plant where pine logs were shaved into boards for furniture. That must be where the eye came from. The message was clear: Someone's in danger at the lumber yard. It was a threat—a bait to lure Grandfather there.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed a flashlight and ran out into the night. The alleys were dark, with stray dogs howling in the distance. I ran all the way to the northern outskirts. The lumber mill loomed in the shadows.
The gate was ajar. A rusted lock lay broken on the ground, with a bent wire still lodged in the keyhole.
Someone had definitely broken in. Grandfather might still be inside.
But a chill crawled up my spine. Whoever sent that letter wasn't someone to be trifled with. Should I call the police?
Problem was, I didn't even own a mobile phone back then, and running back would cost time Grandfather might not have. He could be dying.
I picked up a wooden stick from the ground and crept into the factory. One warehouse had a faint light inside. I switched off my flashlight, gripped the stick tightly, and moved in.
Inside, wooden planks were stacked to the ceiling, covered with tarps. It was eerily quiet.
Turning a corner, I froze.
Two figures lay ahead. One was a fat middle-aged man, slumped in a chair, head tilted back, a dragon tattoo sprawled across his bare chest. A rag stuffed in his mouth. His eye sockets—empty.
And yet… there wasn't a drop of blood. Not on his face, not even on his clothes.
He was holding a black plastic bag. Something was inside it.
A short distance away lay another man, dressed in a red silk jacket and cloth shoes. I recognized him immediately.
It was Grandfather.
I rushed to his side. His limbs were ice cold. His heartbeat—faint to none. His pupils were dilating. I placed a trembling hand beneath his nose—just a whisper of breath.
Tears welled up instantly.
"Grandpa! Hang in there! I'll get help—now!"
He moved his lips faintly. "Yang…"
"I'll call an ambulance. You'll be okay. You have to be!"
"No…" he rasped. "No time…"
My chest tightened like it was caving in. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
Then, word by word, he forced out:
"Yang… my time has come… If you choose to become a forensic investigator… I won't stop you… But listen… if you ever hear the name 'Jiangbei Blade'... run. Don't look back."
I choked on my own sobs. "What? The Jiangbei Blade—who is that? Did they do this to you? I swear, I'll make them pay!"
"No!" he gripped my arm with surprising strength, locking eyes with mine. "Promise me."
I nodded furiously.
A faint smile curled on his lips, and he exhaled one final breath.
I dropped to my knees and wailed.
But then…
A flicker of shadow danced on the ground near me. A tall, thin figure was standing right behind me.
I stopped crying, heart freezing over. The silhouette was sharp under the warehouse light. From the angle, he was close—too close.
Yet… I hadn't heard a sound. No footsteps, no breath. Nothing.
A living person would have made some noise. Was this a ghost? A spirit? Or… could the eyeless man have risen from the dead?
No. This shadow was tall and slim. The dead man was stout and heavy.
Suddenly, the figure raised his hand. In it was a strange, curved blade, shimmering faintly.
I jumped up—but instantly, something sharp and cold pressed against my lower back.
A hoarse, inhuman voice whispered:"Don't turn around. If you see my face, you won't live to tell anyone."
The voice—neither male nor female—was like it came from a machine, distorted and eerie.
I clenched my fists in silent rage. This was the one. The one who killed Grandfather.
But I had no weapon. I was powerless.
"What's your name?" the shadow asked.
"…Song Yang."
"So Song Zhaolin had a grandson. Did he teach you anything?"
"No… nothing."
"Is that so? Heh…"
A strange chuckle echoed around the room.
"Want to live?"
I didn't answer. I nodded.
"Good. I'll give you a simple question. Answer it, and I'll let you go. Get it wrong… and you'll join your grandfather."
Shame and fear swallowed me. I couldn't even look at my enemy. I was like a mouse toyed by a cat.
But I wanted to live.
So I nodded again.
"It's simple," the shadow said. "Just tell me—how did your grandfather die?"