Sun Xingye’s parents had their daughter late in life, both being over forty when she was born. As a result, they cherished her dearly, though they never quite knew how to connect with her—especially after she entered her rebellious phase. Now, as they faced this crisis, they felt helpless. Fortunately, they had left Sun Xingmei’s room untouched, clinging to the hope that she would one day return.

  As I stepped into Sun Xingmei’s bedroom, a faint, delicate fragrance filled my nostrils—the unique scent of a young girl’s room. The furnishings were simple: a desk and a single bed. The walls were covered with Jay Chou posters, and a few of his CDs sat neatly by her bedside.

  It seemed that Sun Xingmei was a devoted fan of Jay Chou. I picked up one of the CDs, hoping to sense something about her whereabouts, but I felt nothing.

  Disappointed, I continued searching the room but found no useful clues. Then, something caught my eye—a bright rose-colored diary. It stood out starkly against the otherwise muted decor.

  I picked it up and noticed it had a combination lock. However, at this moment, the lock didn’t matter—I assumed it was filled with the typical musings of a teenage girl. But the moment my fingers touched the diary, a familiar sensation surged through my mind…

  I heard the sound of heavy breathing—deep, labored breaths from a man.

  Flashes of green fields rushed past my eyes, followed by a sudden, dizzying shift, as if the whole world had been turned upside down. I saw the sky, and towering trees swayed in the wind…

  A bamboo forest.

  I realized this must have been the last thing Sun Xingmei saw before she died. The man beside her—the one panting heavily—had to be her murderer. But I couldn’t see his face.

  The bamboo trees grew thick and tall, some of them marked with red symbols. What did they mean? I tried to focus on them, but just then, a dark figure loomed before me. This time, I saw his face clearly—a middle-aged man in his forties, his features rough and cruel. His lifeless, greedy eyes fixated on me—or rather, on Sun Xingmei.

  His hands groped at her, the sound of fabric tearing filling the air. The monster! Even now, I could feel Sun Xingmei’s despair and helplessness…

  As the man’s movements grew more frantic, my vision blurred. Sun Xingmei was losing consciousness. I knew I had only seconds left. Straining my eyes, I desperately tried to make out the writing on the bamboo. It was a single Chinese character: “下” (xià, meaning "down" or "below").

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  In an instant, I was jolted out of Sun Xingmei’s final memory, but my mind was left with a burning question: Where was this bamboo forest marked with the character “下”?

  Holding the diary, I stepped out of the room, where her parents and older brother stood anxiously waiting. I didn’t want to tell the grieving parents what I had just seen, so I exchanged a glance with Sun Xingye. He understood and quickly led me outside to a field of rice paddies.

  “Jinbao, Master Li told me about your abilities. If you know something, just say it—I can handle it,” Sun Xingye said, his eyes filled with sorrow.

  I sighed heavily and said, “I can confirm that your sister is gone. Her body is in a bamboo forest.”

  Sun Xingye’s eyes turned red with grief, but at the mention of a bamboo forest, he hesitated. “A bamboo forest? But there are bamboo forests everywhere around here!”

  I glanced around. He was right—bamboo forests stretched as far as the eye could see. But I knew that the one I had seen in the vision was different. I pointed to a patch of bamboo and asked, “What species is this?”

  Sun Xingye, though confused by my question, quickly answered, “That’s arrow bamboo. It’s very common around here.”

  I nodded. “Show me pictures of the different bamboo species in this area.”

  Pulling out his phone, Sun Xingye scrolled through images and explained each type to me. Suddenly, an image of 慈竹 (cí zhú, "compassion bamboo") appeared on the screen.

  “Stop! Where can I find this type of bamboo?”

  Sun Xingye hesitated. “Compassion bamboo is also common here. It grows in many places.”

  I pressed on. “Do you know of any bamboo forests where people write on the bamboo?”

  He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of that. Writing? What kind of writing?”

  “It’s the character ‘下’. Your sister’s body is in a bamboo forest covered in this symbol.”

  Sun Xingye fell silent, searching his memory for such a place, but after a long pause, he came up empty.

  I could see his frustration, but standing here speculating was useless. “Let’s go look for it. Someone in this town must know where we can find a bamboo forest marked with ‘下’.”

  That afternoon, Sun Xingye and I searched every nearby grove of compassion bamboo, questioning locals along the way. Some people did recall bamboo being marked with symbols—farmers often wrote on the bamboo to mark the ones scheduled for harvesting.

  But a forest full of “下” characters? No one had ever heard of such a thing.

  After a long and fruitless day, I felt a growing sense of disappointment. More than anything, I dreaded facing Sun Xingmei’s parents again. How could I tell them that their daughter was dead, and that despite all our searching, we still couldn’t find her body?

  Sensing my frustration, Sun Xingye actually tried to comfort me. “Jinbao, don’t lose heart. I believe in Master Li, and I believe in you. If we don’t find it today, we’ll find it tomorrow. You’ve been running around all day—come on, let’s go eat.”

  I dragged my exhausted body into a small restaurant with him. He ordered a few local specialties and two bottles of beer.

  But I had no appetite. The thought of what had happened to Sun Xingmei made it impossible to eat.

  。