Reborn a day later, I emptied my enemy's possessions beforehand.

Li Guoqiang frowned and asked, "Just now, exactly when?"

Zhou Fuxiang thought for a moment: "It was probably around 6 p.m., but I don't remember the exact time!"

Upon hearing this, Li Guoqiang and Wang Lei exchanged another glance.

It's almost 9:30 a.m. now, but Zhou Fuxiang said it was a little after 6 p.m., so the times don't match up at all.

"Sir," Wang Lei interjected, his voice low but each word slow and clear, "you must be mistaken, it's a little past 9 a.m.!"

Zhou Fuxiang immediately reached into his pocket and discovered that his phone was missing.

He had no choice but to borrow Li Guoqiang and Wang Lei's phones to check the time, and sure enough, it was a little after 9 a.m.

"Is it really nine o'clock in the morning?" Zhou Fuxiang's eyes widened, his mouth opened and closed a few times, and the voice seemed to be squeezed out from his throat.

"Impossible! I was just drinking, how could it be—how could it be morning already?"

His gaze shifted from the phone to Li Guoqiang's face, then to Wang Lei's face, and back to the phone.

He checked it several times, his face gradually turning pale, as if something was slowly cracking open in his mind.

Li Guoqiang squatted down, his voice very soft:

"Grandpa, tell me again, what happened before you fell asleep? Tell me as much as you can remember."

Zhou Fuxiang's lips trembled, and his fingers trembled as well. He reached out and grabbed the iron gatepost beside him, took a couple of breaths, and then slowly spoke, his voice muffled, as if he were talking to himself:

"I...I was drinking with some old buddies at home. Haibing suddenly came back and said he had something to tell me."

I let those guys leave first. Haibing came into the house and told me to watch over him... and then I don't remember anything else.

Honestly, I don't remember anything. It's like someone pulled the switch in my brain, and everything went black instantly.

I'll wake up again when you call me.

Li Guoqiang mentally compared Zhou Fuxiang's account with the brief description of the case that Captain Fang had given him on the phone earlier—

She met Zhou Haibing, then lost consciousness, and when she woke up, the house was empty.

The same.

He stood up, walked to the side, took out his phone, and dialed Captain Fang's number.

I answered the phone after it rang twice.

"Squad leader, this is Li Guoqiang from Wolong Town Police Station. I've arrived at Zhou Fuxiang's house." He lowered his voice, afraid Zhou Fuxiang would hear him.

"The situation is similar to what you described. Zhou Fuxiang's place was completely emptied; nothing was left behind."

He said his son, Zhou Haibing, came over around 6 p.m. yesterday. He lost consciousness after that and only woke up just now.

The descriptions are largely consistent with previous cases. The elderly person's mental state is alright, but they are quite agitated.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then Captain Fang's voice came through, steady but speaking faster than usual: "Was Zhou Fuxiang injured?"

"No. The house was just emptied out; all the stuff is gone."

"Okay. After you've finished dealing with things on your end, go to Sun Deming's house again and see how things are going. Keep in touch."

"Good formation."

After hanging up the phone, Li Guoqiang turned to Zhou Fuxiang and said, "Old man, please take us to Sun Deming's house."

Zhou Fuxiang got up from the ground, dusted off his pants, his voice still trembling, but steadyer than before, carrying a gnashing hatred:

"Sun Deming's house isn't far from here, I'll take you there."

You must catch the person who stole my things and get them back.

That wild ginseng was bought by my son at a high price; I couldn't bear to eat it myself, and now it's gone.

Li Guoqiang said, "We will do our best to investigate. You lead the way."

The three people left the courtyard.

Zhou Fuxiang walked ahead, taking large strides, unlike a man in his seventies.

He walked east along the cement road in the village, and after less than ten minutes, he stopped in front of a three-story villa.

With its off-white exterior walls and Roman-columned portico, it's even more impressive than Zhou Fuxiang's house.

But like Zhou Fuxiang's house, the courtyard was empty, with nothing on the bluestone ground, not even a flowerpot.

The wrought iron gate was half-open, and the door knocker swayed gently in the morning breeze.

"Sun Deming!" Zhou Fuxiang shouted at the top of his lungs and pushed the door open to go inside.

There was indeed nothing in the courtyard.

Zhou Fuxiang walked quickly to the front door of the villa. The door was ajar, but he pushed it open.

The main room was large, but empty, just like Zhou Fuxiang's house—no furniture, no appliances, no curtains, nothing at all.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating the bare concrete floor and making the whole room dazzlingly bright.

A person lay motionless on the floor in the center of the main room, dressed in a white martial arts uniform, with gray hair, his face up to the sky.

Zhou Fuxiang ran over, squatted down, and nudged the man's shoulder, his voice loud and urgent, as if he wanted to pull the man out of the water:

"Deming! Deming! Wake up!"

Sun Deming's eyelids twitched, then slowly opened.

His eyes were just like Zhou Fuxiang's before—unfocused, cloudy, and dazed.

He saw Zhou Fuxiang's face, his brows furrowed, and he slowly sat up, propping himself up on his arms. His voice was hoarse, with that sticky feeling of just waking up:

"Old Zhou? What are you doing in my house? What happened to my house? Where did you move my things?"

Zhou Fuxiang's face was as bitter as if he had eaten bitter herbs, and his voice was hoarse and strained:

"Your things are gone, and so are mine. Think about it, who came by yesterday?"

"Who's been here?" Sun Deming rubbed his eyes, yawned, then suddenly remembered something, his eyes lit up, and his gaze began to sweep across the room.

"Where's Haibing? Didn't Haibing just come? He said he needed to talk to me about something and asked me to keep an eye on him—where did he go? Where did he go?"

"Deming!" Zhou Fuxiang's voice suddenly rose, almost a shout.

"Look at the time! Hai Bing isn't here! He arrived yesterday afternoon, and it's already the next morning! You've slept for a whole day and night!"

Sun Deming was jolted awake by the shout and became completely sober.

He suddenly turned his head to look out the window—the sun was in the east, and it was bright daylight.

He glanced down at his watch again—9:37.

His expression changed little by little, from confusion to bewilderment, from bewilderment to shock, and from shock to something indescribable, a mixture of fear and anger.

"What did you say? It's the next day?" His voice changed.

Without waiting for Zhou Fuxiang's reply, his gaze suddenly swept over the empty main room.

His mouth gaped open, his eyes widened, and he looked as if something had struck his chest, almost choking him.

He sprang up from the ground with such force that he almost fell, and staggered to the wall in the center of the living room where the fish tank used to be.

There was nothing left on the walls.

The blood-red dragon he bought for a million dollars, the two-and-a-half-meter-long fish tank, the filtration system, the lights, the air pump—all of it disappeared.