Qin Guan's luck never failed.
Upon deciding his next move, he discovered two suitcases in the shabby room—both Hanke brand. One oversized case overflowed with Qi Min's clothes, both summer and winter wear, including pieces she'd once cherished. Clearly, she'd never planned to return to Li Yang. She'd packed everything, waiting to vanish with the three million.
At the suitcase's bottom lay two folded, empty travel bags—Qi Min's meticulous habit. The smaller suitcase, newly purchased, held five or six brand-new outfits with tags and a pair of unworn shoes. Even while faking her death, she'd found time to shop.
Qin Guan checked her phone—no recent purchase records. Time to create some.
Donning her gloves, he tossed old clothes and shoes out the window into the garbage-strewn backyard. He emptied the large suitcase, transferring items into the smaller luggage and travel bags. Toiletries went into a canvas tote.
Then, he stuffed Qi Min's body into the large suitcase.
This was his second time. Same method, same victim. But now, his hands were steady, his mind clear. At the lakeside villa, he'd been a sweating, panicked mess. Today, his pulse remained calm as he worked.
He noticed dark blood under her fingernails—his DNA. Washing was futile. A bleach bottle in the bathroom corner caught his eye. Though bleach could destroy DNA, traces might linger in crevices. He remembered a case where police extracted evidence from floorboard cracks despite bleach.
No risks could be taken.
Spotting a new fruit knife on the nightstand—used by Qi Min for dragon fruit—he carried her to the bathroom. Cold tiles met her body as he methodically sliced off her fingernails, flesh and all. Collecting the remnants, he wrapped her hands tightly. Blood pooled on the floor.
After stuffing her into the suitcase, he doused the bathroom in bleach, erasing every trace. This couldn't be her "crime scene."
Dawn tinged the sky as he finished. 4:30 AM.
Wiping all surfaces with a damp towel, he donned gloves and hauled the luggage out. The hallway reeked of decay, empty and dim. The defunct camera posed no threat.
Exiting through the back door unseen, he walked four minutes to a main road. All-night mahjong parlors and pool halls lined the street, with taxis and pedal-powered rickshaws waiting.
Hailing a taxi, he loaded the travel bags. "Take these to the new train station. My wife's waiting at the North Square ticket hall. Call this number when you arrive." He handed the driver Qi Min's old number—the SIM card now in his pocket. Prepaid sixty yuan, twenty upfront.
Watching the taxi leave, he approached a gaunt rickshaw driver. "To Minsheng Road, the old cinema."
The abandoned cinema faced a construction site—a client's project. Cement pouring would begin today.
The rickshaw weaved through alleys, delivering him to the site. Support frames and foundation trenches stood ready. In a secluded corner, a deep pit awaited cement.
No one in sight.
He shoved both suitcases into the pit. Dirt cascaded, burying them. Even under phone light, nothing seemed amiss. Workers would start at 6 AM, pouring cement without a second glance.
Removing his gloves, sweat-soaked and triumphant, he dialed the taxi driver. "Almost there? My wife missed you—leave the bags at Dewang Tobacco Shop near the square. Tell the owner it's a deposit. I'll transfer 100 yuan. Take a photo after…"
By sunrise, Qi Min would be entombed in concrete—a puzzle even Zhuge Liang couldn't solve.