In the hall, over a dozen black wooden round tables were arranged, each accompanied by four long benches. The tables were laden with empty bowls and chopsticks, lined up on both sides, leaving a passageway in the middle that led directly to the mourning hall.
The altar in the mourning hall was makeshift, separated by hanging white cloth and yellow talismans. A long table stood in the center, bearing the deceased’s portrait and burning incense sticks. Behind the portrait, a large coffin was visible, where a few women and children, dressed in mourning attire, knelt on either side, whispering to one another.
Officer Huang approached the altar, took the incense offered by a man, and solemnly bowed three times to the portrait. He then knelt on a straw mat and performed three ritual kowtows. Though Gao Yang and his companions were unfamiliar with this custom, they followed suit.
The traditional band nearby began to beat drums and gongs, and the sharp notes of the suona filled the air. Outside, firecrackers exploded, and the wailing of the women inside the mourning hall grew louder, as if a switch had been flipped, unleashing their grief. They cried out in dialect, words like, "You died so tragically," "How will I live without you?" and "I can’t go on."
After paying their respects, Officer Huang sat at a corner table. At that moment, a burly middle-aged woman brought over five cups of hot tea. “Here, have some tea.”
The five men politely accepted the cups but didn’t drink.
Officer Huang sniffed the tea's fragrance, pretending to take a sip, then asked, “Are the people behind the altar relatives of the deceased?”
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Relatives? Hah, Huazi’s family was never close to anyone. Now that this happened, who would dare come to pay their respects? The few people back there are just kind-hearted neighbors helping out. This whole funeral was organized by the villagers.”
“How thoughtful,” Officer Huang said.
“Ah, Huazi was an honest man in life, a good person. His fate was tragic, and everyone in the village feels the loss. We’re just doing what we can, making sure he leaves with dignity, hoping he reincarnates soon.”
Officer Huang nodded. “How should I address you?”
“Just call me Sister Fan.”
“Alright, thank you, Sister Fan. You can go about your business.”
“Oh, no need to thank me. We’re about to eat soon, Officer Huang, why don’t you and your friends stay for the meal? If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I was Huazi’s neighbor, so I know a bit about his family’s situation.”
After Sister Fan left, the five men began whispering among themselves.
“Did you see the portrait on the altar?” Fatty Jun asked, visibly uneasy.
“I saw it,” Wang Zikai replied nonchalantly. “Why?”
“There’s something off... Why are there only four people?” Fatty Jun’s voice trembled. “Wasn’t it a family of five?”
Gao Yang had noticed it too. The portrait showed four men, a group photo. In the center stood a dark-skinned, kind-eyed man in his fifties. A young man sat in the middle, flanked by two teenagers, around fifteen years old. It was a black-and-white photo taken in a photography studio, with a cheap, distorted backdrop depicting the Great Wall.
Officer Huang spoke up. “Before we came to Gugu Family Village, I looked into this case. The head of the household was Gu Huihua, 54, a farmer. His wife was also a farmer, but she passed away a few years ago from breast cancer. His eldest son, Gu Chunxiu, was 27. One brother had dropped out of school to farm, and the other was still in junior high.”
“Who’s the missing person?” Gao Yang asked.
“The wife of the eldest son, Gu Chunxiu. She had just married into the family and hadn’t had a chance to be photographed. The night of the wedding, the entire family was dismembered.”