Chapter 73: Fire Execution

Before anything is thoroughly confirmed, all is speculation. Only when something is truly verified does it become fact.

Neither Cao Guangshan nor I entered the station; instead, we turned and caught up with the officers heading to the crime scene.

“Old Zheng, what’s going on?” Cao Guangshan asked an older officer, who raised his eyebrows and muttered, “What else could it be? Seeing all this, you know someone’s dead.”

A death was well within our expectations. Thinking of the fatal method required by the Five Elements Life Borrowing ritual, I took the initiative to ask, “Was someone burned to death?”

No sooner had I spoken than the old officer abruptly stopped and turned to look at me. “How did you know someone was burned? We only just got word ourselves.”

The reality matched my speculation. I was about to claim it was just a guess, but changed my words mid-sentence: “I calculated it.”

With the Five Elements Life Borrowing, three people had already met tragic ends, and two more would die because of this scheme. But to say everything would end after five deaths was premature.

On the contrary, the deaths of five people were only the beginning.

The rules are always fair. Whatever is given must be paid for; the only difference is in what one receives.

Should someone recklessly claim what is not theirs and defy the rules, the price to be paid will be beyond imagination.

Drawing on the experience my grandmother passed down to me, I was certain that the person behind all this—the life-borrower, desperate to avoid death—had no idea of the true cost of succeeding with the Five Elements Life Borrowing.

To snatch others’ lives to extend one’s own might ease their own suffering, but within three days, their blood relatives would be implicated, as if in cosmic retribution.

Without the Five Elements Life Borrowing, only one would die.

But once the ritual is set in motion, the deaths will only multiply. The five selected victims are just the start.

The greatest tragedy for the life-bearer would be watching their own blood relatives—children, grandchildren—die one after another before their very eyes. Only when all close kin are gone will the punishment cease.

For a parent with white hair to bury their black-haired child—there is no greater sorrow in this world.

Hearing that I had “calculated” it, the old officer looked at me with obvious doubt, but Cao Guangshan quickly interjected, “Old Zheng, he’s Granny Chen’s grandson—he inherited her mantle.”

Evidently, “Granny Chen” was how Cao Guangshan and the others referred to my grandmother. She had worked for the Sixth Division and had likely handled many strange cases. Old Zheng probably knew her reputation, because after hearing her name, his gaze toward me changed markedly.

I revealed my identity because I knew the three recent cases were all linked—and shrouded in mystery. Apart from an occult approach, there was no way to explain what was happening.

To stop this, I needed someone in the station with authority to believe and interpret these events through the lens of metaphysics.

In these times, most things related to the mystical arts are dismissed as superstition. If people don’t believe, it’s nearly impossible to explain or intervene.

As we walked, Cao Guangshan relayed our earlier findings. After listening, Old Zheng grumbled, “I also thought Hu Chun’s death was odd. I never expected it to be like this.”

Clearly, with my grandmother’s reputation as leverage, Old Zheng had changed his mind, convinced now that the previous two cases were not unrelated.

The two officers ahead of us overheard our conversation, slowed their pace, and expressed their skepticism. They were dubious about the notion of murder by secret arts, but after my detailed analysis, could only nod in agreement.

The incident had happened right in town, so we soon arrived at the scene—a derelict factory, now surrounded by a crowd.

The air was thick with the stench of charred flesh. On the ground lay a corpse, burned beyond recognition—a truly horrifying sight.

The witness was the owner of the hotel across from the factory. At the time of the incident, he had been tending to the flowers at the hotel’s entrance. He saw the victim enter the factory, thought nothing of it, but soon noticed black smoke billowing from within.

Although the factory was abandoned, much flammable debris was piled inside. Seeing the smoke, the hotelier assumed the debris had caught fire and hurried over to check.

The victim was lying on the ground, flames raging across his body.

Seeing a man on fire, the hotelier rushed back for water to put out the blaze.

At this point, the hotelier’s face grew visibly anxious; after a moment, he continued, “When I got back with water, the man wasn’t moving—I thought he was dead. But as I was about to douse the flames, he suddenly opened his eyes and looked at me. Scared me half to death. Yet from the look in his eyes, it was as if he felt no pain.”

I hadn’t witnessed the scene myself, but I could easily imagine it.

Judging by the hotelier’s composure, he was relatively calm—an ordinary person would likely have been paralyzed with fear, let alone dared try to put out the fire. But in cases involving secret arts, unless one is versed in such things, no intervention can prevent death.

There was, of course, a human hand behind this, but to avoid public panic, the authorities would concoct a plausible explanation, as always. This time was no exception. Old Zheng told the hotelier he was mistaken—the victim was already dead, and any movement was merely a reflex caused by nerves contracting in the heat.

The hotelier seemed unconvinced. Old Zheng pressed, “Do you think a living person could burn like that and not make a sound?”

Even a minor burn makes a person howl for ages, let alone being engulfed in flames.

The body was burned head to toe, the face toward the south—fire execution.

Leaving the others behind, I wandered through the derelict factory, certain that the ritual array used for the secret art must be nearby.

Before long, I found a formation drawn in red on the wall. In the center was a folded yellow talisman. Opening it, I found the victim’s birth date and a lock of hair.

It was obvious these belonged to the deceased.

As for why the practitioner of the Five Elements Life Borrowing had chosen these three, I still couldn’t be sure. Judging by the birth dates of the two victims we knew, there was no clear connection to the five elements yet.

It seemed the evil practitioner was selecting victims at random, only needing to match the direction of the elements and manner of death to achieve his purpose.

Cao Guangshan joined me, photographed the ritual array as evidence, knowing these details would be crucial in convincing his superiors.

The investigation concluded swiftly. There were no accelerants on the victim’s body. The deputy chief who led the team frowned deeply—without gasoline or something similar, how could a person ignite so completely and so quickly?

No accelerants, yet the body burned as if doused in fuel—this was the work of the secret arts: maximizing the flames while ensuring the victim felt no pain.

Such evil techniques must be hidden from the public eye. If the killing caused too much commotion, people would realize the death wasn’t a suicide.

Now, deaths had occurred in three directions—southeast, northwest, and center. The eastern direction and the center remained, with the center coming last. So, the next death would occur in the east.

The Five Elements Life Borrowing ritual does not complete its killings in a single day; it unfolds in stages. Considering the three deaths so far, it is clearly one person per day.

With the fire execution just occurred, there would be no further deaths today—but tomorrow, another was certain to die.

Once we’d finished at the scene, we headed back to the station.

On the way, Cao Guangshan found the deputy chief and relayed all the details and my analysis. The deputy chief was surprised, and upon arrival, went straight to Chief Hao Jianguo.

Soon, an order was issued for a full meeting. I was invited to the office as well. Cao Guangshan began by outlining the basics of the Five Elements Life Borrowing ritual.

Hearing that the string of deaths was due to someone extending their life at others’ expense, every officer present was visibly furious.

The perpetrator, though not the life-borrower themselves, was essentially no different from the real murderer—trading five vibrant lives for a few more days of their own was utterly reprehensible.

Cao Guangshan had shared all he knew. At his signal, I took center stage. Surrounded by officers giving me odd looks, I couldn’t help but feel nervous, but still, haltingly, I began.

The deaths of the five victims were only the beginning; if not stopped, the deaths would continue.

Anyone capable of the Five Elements Life Borrowing must be wealthy or of high status. If they succeed, their family members will start dying one after another, causing even greater panic.

The one who deserves death is the evil practitioner—the one unwilling to accept their fate and desperate to prolong their life. Their blood relatives are innocent; they should not be made to pay the price.

With our enemy lurking in the shadows, I proposed two possible courses of action.

First, investigate who was most likely to perform the ritual—the suspect was likely one of the townspeople. Second, use the remaining time to watch for suspicious individuals in the east.

To kill, the practitioner would first set up the ritual array at the site of the next death, altering the atmosphere. Those chosen as victims would behave strangely before dying. If we could prevent even one death, the ritual would fail.

If we could find the life-borrower, we could warn them of the consequences.

Faced with the choice between a few more days of life and the deaths of their entire family, surely anyone, once aware of the cost, would give up.

If the ritual was stopped in time, there would be no more deaths.

I concluded all this in one breath. The office fell silent—I didn’t know whether to sit or remain standing.

Hao Jianguo was the first to applaud. The other officers followed, some giving me a thumbs-up, their eyes shining with admiration.

Their praise filled me with joy.

Especially seeing a few officers’ admiring gazes, I felt myself growing light-headed.

It was then I finally understood something my grandmother had once told me: “Once you taste the rewards of this path, your fascination for it will only deepen, and you’ll find it ever more mysterious.”