Chapter Twelve: The Truth Comes to Light

Just as Luo Ming and Qiu Xi began their exhaustive search in the provincial capital, tranquil Luoshui Village had already erupted into a furor. Today was neither the first nor the fifteenth of the lunar month, nor any particularly auspicious day, yet a large crowd of villagers had gathered in front of the Guanyin Temple, demanding an explanation from the temple caretaker, Li.

No one could quite pinpoint who first discovered the secret of Guanyin's disappearance. It started as vague, whispered rumors, but within a few days, it seemed every villager knew. Such is the nature of rumors in most rural places.

That morning, a few people trickled in, pretending to offer incense, but scarcely uttered a word. They were there to confirm the truth for themselves, still harboring a subconscious fear of incurring the goddess’s wrath. After noon, the crowd swelled, packing the temple until there was no room to move.

With so many eyes scrutinizing the statue, the fact that the Guanyin was not genuine was bound to be exposed. Sensing things were about to come undone, Li slipped out the back door of the kitchen while no one was watching and hurried to the small shop at the bridgehead.

The shop had a landline—a rarity in the village. Li seldom used his mobile phone, mostly because he had no one to call; though he had a device, it was perpetually out of battery. So, in his desperation, he had no choice but to come here to contact Luo Ming and to hide for a while.

He tried dialing twice, but there was no answer. Restless and anxious, Li asked the shopkeeper to call Luo Ming a few more times. The shopkeeper, noticing his flustered state, agreed, but each attempt was met with either a busy signal or no answer at all.

Li cursed his own judgment for entrusting such a critical matter to someone as unreliable as Luo Ming, but regrets were useless now.

Despite his panic, Li dared not linger. He couldn't predict how the villagers might react; in decades, nothing so outrageous had ever happened. Would they tear the temple down? It was entirely possible. The villagers were usually docile, but once provoked, they could be utterly unpredictable.

“Well, let them tear it down,” Li thought to himself, so long as they didn’t tear him apart as well. He feigned nonchalance, as if just returning from the toilet, and ambled back to the temple. As he was about to slip into the kitchen through the side door, he caught sight of a familiar face.

Li was overjoyed. “Fuqi, you’re here at last. I was at my wits’ end.”

Li Fuqi, brow knotted, was equally anxious. “Uncle, tell me the truth—what on earth is going on?”

Li muttered, “What can I say? These people are so aggressive, not even asking what’s really happened—just making a scene.”

Li Fuqi was both exasperated and amused. His uncle was still clinging to hope. As the village party secretary, Li Fuqi had no choice but to pierce through the pretense. “Uncle, stop hiding things from me. The Guanyin statue in the temple—is it really missing?” He was direct and incisive.

Li inwardly struggled. “Who’s been spreading such nonsense? Who’s the bastard making up these stories?”

Li Fuqi could only sigh, both admiring and resenting the old man. For decades, his uncle had faithfully guarded the temple, and yet no one could be more self-deceiving.

Li Fuqi suggested, “Should I ask my eldest uncle and the others to mediate?”

Li hesitated, but after a few moments’ thought, realized this was indeed the best course. Thus, Li Fuqi searched in vain for Li Qisi and finally decided to seek out Li Yiting, asking Li Qihuai to intervene instead.

After listening to Li Fuqi’s account, Li Yiting found himself facing a thorny problem. The matter was neither trivial nor grave, depending on how forgiving the villagers could be.

Li Qihuai soon arrived. Faced with such a crisis, how could he afford to be slack? The third brother might be eccentric, but he was still family. The eldest brother, Li Qisi, was nowhere to be found. By the time he and his son arrived at the Guanyin Temple with Li Fuqi, the situation was already close to spiraling out of control. Several hotheaded young men had grabbed Li by the collar, shouting accusations and even slapping him now and then.

Li couldn’t utter a word, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his whole body shaking like a leaf—nearly wetting himself. These were the notorious bravos from Yuan Village, known for their fierceness, and Li, having a guilty conscience, was terrified.

Given the tension, no one else dared intervene, not even Li Fuqi as party secretary; only someone with great prestige could resolve such disputes in the countryside. Li Qihuai wasn’t quite venerable enough, but in this moment, that hardly mattered. He strode forward and pulled Li to safety behind him.

The two young men glared ferociously, not recognizing Li Qihuai, and were about to make a scene but found themselves powerless to move, resorting only to curses.

Li Yiting held back, understanding the situation: his third uncle was at fault, but he only wanted to protect his father and buy time for mediation.

Li Qihuai had already learned the basics from Li Fuqi, so he addressed everyone as gently as possible: “We’re all one community here. Let’s talk things through peacefully, no need for violence.”

Some older villagers recognized him as the second Li brother and signaled the young men to calm down, easing the tension somewhat.

A burly man in his forties barked, “Where’s your family’s eldest? Why isn’t he here to explain himself? Lost his nerve?”

Li Qihuai frowned and checked Li’s injuries. Apart from a swollen face and bleeding mouth and nose, he was otherwise unharmed, though he moaned pitifully, half-dead in appearance.

Li Qihuai was furious but knew this wasn’t the time for anger, with so many hostile eyes watching.

Li Fuqi responded on his behalf, “Uncles and brothers, let’s all calm down. The Guanyin statue didn’t vanish on its own—someone must have taken it.”

His words were cut off by the burly man: “You’re village secretary; you have to be impartial. Li here failed to guard the deity and ruined our village’s feng shui—what are you going to do about it?”

Li Fuqi scrutinized the man and soon recalled he was Zhang Kun, the notorious bachelor from Yan Village, a compulsive gambler who’d never married even in his forties. That such a man would take the lead in demanding justice struck Li Fuqi as odd, but having spent much time away from the village, he was unfamiliar with the nuances of each household and refrained from judging.

Li Yiting remained silent, also unfamiliar with recent village affairs, but he knew this was not a place for reasoned argument—here, power, numbers, and fists decided everything.

That his third uncle had suffered a beating was inevitable. As for the consequences, Li Yiting was optimistic; after all, the six Li brothers were a formidable clan in Li Village.

If the fourth uncle were around, who would dare trample on the Li family? Fourth Uncle, known as “Madman Li,” wouldn’t be cowed even if a mountain of gold were lost, let alone just a statue.

Li Fuqi clearly hadn’t inherited his father’s domineering streak, and as an educated man and official, he had a gentler approach.

It was a trivial matter, or so Li Yiting thought. That’s why he hadn’t summoned Chen Tianyu and the others, treating it as family business.

When Luo Ming returned to Luoshui Village, it was already late the next morning. He’d dawdled until the sun was high before catching the bus home.

What greeted him was a bombshell.

In front of the Guanyin Temple, the crowd was in an uproar, yet the old caretaker was nowhere to be seen. The main and side halls stood open, but the quarters were locked tight. No matter how hard they knocked, there was no response.

The villagers considered breaking down the door, but the presence of patriarch Li Qisi kept them in check. Still, the consensus was that Li had fled in guilt.

Li Qihuai had assured everyone otherwise. The previous night, he’d talked with Li for hours before leaving around ten, reassuring his third brother that, come what may, the family would stand behind him.

Li Qisi had instructed that they try to find out who had stolen the statue. Failing that, the Li family would commission a new Guanyin to take its place—at least that would not offend the gods.

This coincided with Li’s own thoughts, so he confided to his second brother about Luo Ming’s secret trip into town, which made Li Qihuai curse Luo Ming for being more trouble than he was worth.

“When trouble strikes, you don’t consult your brothers but trust an outsider?” Li Qihuai reproached.

Li dared not reply. He knew his second brother was usually mild but uncompromising when it came to serious matters; he had indeed panicked into poor decisions this time.

He could only plead pitifully, waiting for his brother’s anger to subside before saying timidly, “He’s my apprentice, someone I know well—I didn’t expect this…” But even he knew how weak that sounded.

“A drunk and a gambler—only you would call that trustworthy,” Li Qihuai grumbled, both angry and helpless.

He tried calling Luo Ming, but there was no signal—likely the time Luo Ming was on the train back to the city, where poor reception was commonplace.

Li Qihuai didn’t expect much, having vented his anger. His third brother had always been this way; there was no point in scolding further.

Ultimately, it was the lawless thief at fault, and Li Qihuai was reasonable enough to see that.

“What’s done is done. Just guard what’s left—if anything else disappears, the villagers really won’t spare you,” he warned.

Li nodded repeatedly. “Exactly—I didn’t dare go into town, afraid the thief would strike again. I can’t make another mistake.”

“You…” Li Qihuai sighed, too weary to argue, and left the temple. He waited until he heard his brother enter the quarters and lock the door, relieved that he wouldn’t run off and be accused of absconding.

At worst, it was only a matter of money, he thought.

So, returning the next morning, he was sure Li was still inside, though he was puzzled as to why he hadn’t emerged. With the phone switched off, he and his elder brother could only wait in the main hall, discussing the aftermath with some of the village elders.

The elders were, after all, reasonable, and Li Qisi’s influence was considerable.

Li Yiting, being of the younger generation, stayed out of the negotiations, but he and Chen Tianyu had come to observe, chatting idly outside since things hadn’t yet escalated.

Occasionally, some young men would knock on the door of the quarters, and as the attempts increased, so did the clamor.

It was at this moment that Luo Ming returned to the temple. As soon as he appeared, a dozen villagers surrounded him, loudly denouncing him.

At first, he tried to bluster his way through, feigning ignorance, and even shouted back at a few of his card-playing friends in the crowd, acting unconcerned.

But soon, he lost his bravado. Seeing the once-proud clay statue smashed to pieces on the main altar, he realized all pretense was useless. His face turned ashen, and he could only mutter feebly.

Upon hearing that Li was hiding inside, Luo Ming volunteered to fetch the key and open the door. Though he didn’t usually share the quarters with Li, he had a key.

Everyone watched as Luo Ming entered. Minutes later, a blood-curdling scream erupted from within.

The villagers froze, then surged inside—only to be shocked by the sight before them.

Luo Ming stood rigid beside the wardrobe, eyes vacant, utterly stricken.

On the floor lay a corpse, face twisted in agony, blood pouring from its mouth…