Chapter 6: The Black Goat Case

Han Zhi’s first reaction was disbelief.

“Your father’s body was handled by the bureau back then. After the case was sealed, it was cremated immediately.”

Even after more than a decade, Han Zhi still felt a chill down his spine when he heard the name Song Cheng.

Most people wouldn’t be unfamiliar with that name. Song Cheng had once been a top-tier researcher at the Central Research Institute. His high intelligence and impressive academic credentials paved the way for a smooth career path—he became a core member of the Institute at a very young age.

When he was assigned to Tong City by the Institute to work at the Center for Infectious Disease Control, it caused quite a stir.

Back then, only four or five years had passed since the emergence of mental pollution. Its devastating consequences had not yet fully manifested or spread. Both the government and the public remained hopeful, eager for a miracle solution.

They had high hopes that this young rising star from the Institute would lead his team to discover a way to eradicate the disease from its source—or develop a cure.

But instead of delivering hope, this highly anticipated researcher became the orchestrator of the Black Goat Massacre, a case that shook all nine major cities.

Using the corpses of sixty-four children, he revealed the sheer horror of mental pollution to a world still clinging to hope.

The brutality of the Black Goat case’s first crime scene left many of the staff involved deeply traumatized.

Even Han Zhi himself had to undergo extensive psychological therapy after the case was sealed.

Now, recalling it again, he felt the same suffocating sense of dread creeping back over him.

“But that case was never really closed,” Song Nanxing said slowly, as if suppressing some deep emotion.

“Are you sure he really died? Or rather—are you sure that body was actually his?”

A jolt ran through Han Zhi’s heart. Song Nanxing’s suspicion wasn’t baseless.

Though the case had technically ended with Song Cheng’s “death,” many loose ends were never tied up.

For example, to this day, no one knew why he had murdered so many children—or why he hadn’t even spared his own son and daughter.

The only clue was a massive black goat statue left at the scene, leading to speculation that he had fallen victim to mental pollution and joined some cult that worshipped the black goat as a totem.

Another key point: including Song Nanxing, there had been sixty-six children in total. But at the scene, they only recovered sixty-four bodies.

It was only through a detailed investigation—including the discovery of human tissue and blood samples from Song Nanxing’s younger sister, Song Nanyue, and surveillance footage, along with Song Cheng’s work notes found in Unit 401—that they concluded Song Nanyue had also been one of the victims.

And yet, her body was never found, even up to the day the case was sealed.

And then there was Song Nanxing—

The fact that a ten-year-old child had managed to survive such a desperate situation was already something of a miracle.

But all the unanswered questions came to an abrupt halt with Song Cheng’s death and the subsequent sealing of the Black Goat case.

“Don’t rush,” Han Zhi said. “Let me check the official website of Good Dream Psychological Counseling first. If it’s really him, I’ll file a report and apply to reopen the investigation.”

He let out a long breath, pinched his phone between his shoulder and ear, and opened his laptop to search for Good Dream’s official website.

The page loaded quickly. He scrolled down to the section introducing the counselors. The moment he saw the photo, his brows first relaxed—then furrowed even deeper.

“You’re sure you saw your father?”

Song Nanxing glanced at the photo on the screen and replied firmly, “It’s him. I couldn’t possibly be mistaken.”

Han Zhi fell silent.

Sensing the shift in his tone, Song Nanxing immediately asked, “What is it?”

Han Zhi sighed.

“Let’s add each other on WeChat. I’ll send it to you directly.”

They quickly exchanged contacts.

Before Song Nanxing could even say hello, Han Zhi had already sent a screenshot.

“Look carefully. Is this Song Cheng?” Han Zhi’s voice, coming through the speaker, was heavy with concern.

Song Nanxing opened the image, enlarged it, and stared at the photo of the plain-looking, unfamiliar middle-aged man.

He, too, fell silent.

This was definitely not Song Cheng.

Song Nanxing pressed his lips together, exited the call screen, and reopened the website on his own browser—only to find that the counselor’s photo matched the one Han Zhi had just sent him exactly.

It wasn’t Song Cheng.

“That’s impossible… I saw him just now with my own eyes…” Song Nanxing murmured. His fingers dug into the back of his phone, and his voice began to waver.

Han Zhi asked cautiously, “Have your recent mental evaluation metrics shown any anomalies?”

“No,” Song Nanxing replied.

Han Zhi was silent for a moment before saying, “Instruments can malfunction. They can be fooled. Didn’t the local police station and Xu Cai both miss the anomalies before? Room 301 is right below your apartment, and you’ve had close contact with a pollutant. It’s not impossible you were affected. I suggest you go to the mental health center for a full evaluation as soon as there’s a break in the rain.”

“I understand. I’ll go,” Song Nanxing murmured.

After hanging up, Song Nanxing sat dazed on the sofa. He instinctively pulled the stuffed rabbit into his arms and hugged it tightly, as if drawing strength from it.

“Did I really… see it wrong?”

He still didn’t want to believe it. He kept reopening and refreshing the Good Dream website again and again, checking the photo over and over. But every time, the same unfamiliar middle-aged man smiled back at him kindly from the screen.

It was as if all the emotion building inside him had been drained in an instant.

Song Nanxing collapsed backward onto the sofa, blankly staring into space. After a while, he sat up again and opened the health center’s mini app to make an appointment.

*****

Because it was the rainy season, mental health center appointments were in high demand. The only slot Song Nanxing managed to book was for the afternoon of the next day.

By that afternoon, the rain had temporarily stopped, but the weather forecast warned that fog might roll in by evening.

Song Nanxing glanced at the sky. There still seemed to be plenty of time. If I go quickly and come right back, I shouldn’t be unlucky enough to get caught in the fog.

He stuffed his full protective gear into his backpack and headed out.

The mental health center was in the inner city. Due to the rainy season, most public transport lines had been suspended, with only a few safe routes still operating. The nearest bus stop was a kilometer and a half away—he’d have to walk there.

Maybe because the forecast warned about evening fog, the streets were completely deserted even though it wasn’t raining at the moment.

Walking alone down the road, Song Nanxing felt an eerie sense that he was trekking through some remote, desolate wilderness. He couldn’t help but quicken his pace.

Thankfully, about halfway there, he finally spotted a pair of figures up ahead—a father and daughter.

Just seeing other people sparked a wave of warmth in his chest, as if he were seeing family.

But then…

Was it his imagination, or did that man’s back look a bit like Xu Cai?

The moment the thought struck him, that warm sense of familiarity evaporated entirely. Song Nanxing fixed his gaze on the figures in front of him, his footsteps gradually slowing.

It wasn’t just a resemblance anymore.
Song Nanxing was almost certain—the man the little girl was holding hands with was Xu Cai.

But Xu Cai is supposed to be at the mental health center right now. Why is he here?

The question surfaced in Song Nanxing’s mind, and he stopped walking.

Noticing that he hadn’t caught up, the little girl turned to look at him. She had a round face and a pair of beautiful almond-shaped eyes, practically a carbon copy of her mother, Cheng Mu.

Bad luck happens every year, but this year it’s relentless.

Song Nanxing’s head buzzed. He hissed softly through his teeth and called out,
“Xu Cai!”

But Xu Cai didn’t turn around. Wu Mengyu continued to hop along cheerfully, tugging him forward.

Watching them disappear into the distance, Song Nanxing hesitated for a moment, then pulled out his phone to message Han Zhi and share his location. After that, he still ended up chasing after them.

After all, we were colleagues. I can’t just watch him walk into danger.

Besides… didn’t he promise me a roujiamo the day before yesterday?

At some point, the thin mist drifting around him had thickened and begun to gather. The two figures ahead—one big, one small—grew more and more blurred. After a few steps, Song Nanxing suddenly realized the fog had rolled in and immediately stopped.

But it was already too late.

A thick, white wave of fog surged toward him like a tidal flood, engulfing him instantly.

The mist was dense—visibility dropped to just three or four meters. Song Nanxing didn’t dare move recklessly. He pulled up his GPS and tried to locate the nearest safehouse.

But maybe because this was such a remote part of the outer district and the infrastructure was poor, the nearest safehouse was two kilometers away.

With the GPS open, he started carefully making his way through the fog, staying alert and watching his surroundings.

The good news was that the ever-present tentacles that usually harassed him hadn’t appeared.

The bad news was… Xu Cai and Wu Mengyu were gone.

“What kind of crap day is this…” Song Nanxing muttered under his breath, staying vigilant as he followed the GPS route.

It was eerily quiet all around him.

No low, murmuring whispers. No twisted, garbled chanting.

He walked about 200 meters and finally spotted Xu Cai sitting alone on an iron bench by the side of the road. He sat stiff and unmoving.

Wu Mengyu was nowhere in sight.

Song Nanxing couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on. He stayed where he was and observed for a while. After making sure there was no sign of Wu Mengyu nearby, he cautiously stepped a little closer.

Just to be safe, he kept a distance of about two meters and waved tentatively.
“Xu Cai?”

The blank-eyed man slowly turned his gaze toward him.

Seeing that he could still respond, Song Nanxing let out a breath of relief and quickly asked,
“Are you okay? I contacted the poli—”

Mid-sentence, he abruptly fell silent—because Xu Cai’s mouth split open from the middle into four grotesque flaps.

“Uh… well. Guess not.”

Song Nanxing kept up a stiff smile and carefully started backing away, doing his best not to draw attention while scanning the area for a safe escape route.

Xu Cai’s four-lobed mouth opened and closed as he spoke.

“It hurts, Song Nanxing… it hurts so much… feels like my body’s going to explode…”

As he spoke, his facial features contorted in agony, and the area beneath his head writhed like a skin pouch filled with liquid.

Scarlet, skinless meat-rats squirmed out from his gaping mouth.

Nope, absolutely not.

Song Nanxing turned on his heels and bolted.

Behind him, Xu Cai’s body collapsed like an emptied sack of skin, and a tidal wave of crimson meat-rats surged forward, flooding the space in pursuit. Their exposed flesh made a squelching sound as they scraped and slapped against each other.

One glance over his shoulder was enough to make Song Nanxing almost lose his dinner.

There were too many of them. In such an open area, their speed quickly outmatched his. Within seconds, they had caught up and closed in from all directions—front, back, left, and right—cutting off every escape route.

Trapped, Song Nanxing gripped the only card he had left and tried reasoning with them.

“Hey, uh… why are you chasing me anyway? We’ve got no bad blood between us. We’re neighbors, you know? And like they say, a close neighbor is better than a distant cousin. If you’ve been wronged, I can help you file a police report. But look at yourself right now—so bloody and gross… you were way cuter before…”

Song Nanxing kept rambling, unsure which line finally struck a nerve. The pile of writhing meat-rats began to shift, rearranging themselves like building blocks—quickly forming the shape of a five- or six-year-old girl.

The little girl tilted her head at him, her body torn apart at the seams.

It should have been a horrifying sight, But instead, Song Nanxing actually felt a little relieved.

He carefully stepped a bit closer and squatted down, speaking in a soft, gentle voice, “Can you tell me, sweetheart—how did you end up like this?”

Wu Mengyu blinked at him with innocent eyes, her expression pure and untroubled.

“It was Daddy.”

Song Nanxing’s expression froze for a moment, a heavy feeling settling in his chest. Murder and dismemberment cases weren’t exactly rare in the news. The moment he saw Wu Mengyu in this state, his mind had jumped to the suitcase found in berth 301. A dark suspicion had begun to take shape about what she might have gone through.

“Where’s your dad now?”

Trying to stall for time and create an opening, Song Nanxing carefully chose a topic that wouldn’t provoke her but might keep the conversation going.

Wu Mengyu pointed at the squirming pile of scarlet flesh near her feet and said, “That’s Daddy.”

Then her thin finger shifted slightly to the right.

“And that’s Mommy.”

“……”

Song Nanxing stared at the clump of meat squirming together and forced himself to respond with an awkward compliment: “Wow… your parents must really love each other. So close and… inseparable.”

Literally inseparable.