During the time he'd possessed the Black Phone,
He held the fishing rod at a distance, tailing the Fisherman from behind.
The Fisherman was terrified out of his wits, half-jogging the whole way without noticing he was being followed.
Not far from the reservoir stood a cluster of low, rundown houses, ramshackle and dilapidated.
The Fisherman crept up to one of them, stopped furtively by the door, pulled out a key, checked that no one was around, and slipped inside.
"Fast runner, this one." Chen Ge waited until the man was inside before approaching. He pressed himself against the door crack and peered in—the cottage was far larger than it looked from outside, with its own courtyard.
"Knock and ask to return the fishing rod, or just climb over the wall?" Chen Ge was deliberating when a noise suddenly erupted from inside.
His pupils contracted slowly. He kept watching through the crack.
The Fisherman had dropped to his knees in front of his own refrigerator, both hands planted on the ground, chanting something over and over—it looked like he was begging someone's forgiveness.
"What happened to him at the reservoir? Why is he screaming and crying at a refrigerator? Are the victims hidden inside?"
What happened next indirectly confirmed Chen Ge's suspicion.
The Fisherman kowtowed to the refrigerator, confessing his sins, dust and tears smearing his face.
This went on for roughly ten minutes before he finally calmed down. He wiped his face with his sleeve, then rummaged through the back room and came out with a shovel.
"What's he doing?"
Chen Ge could see everything clearly from outside. The Fisherman didn't even bother resting—gasping for breath, he dug a large hole in the small courtyard.
"Digging a hole? Hiding a body?"
Chen Ge's guess turned out to be right once again. The Fisherman opened the refrigerator and pulled out several large black bags.
His arms trembled as he kowtowed several more times to the black plastic bags, only then tossing them into the pit.
"I'll never go fishing again. Every year from now on I'll burn paper money for you—I'll burn as much as you want, whatever you want."
Muttering these strange words, the man picked up the shovel and prepared to fill the hole back in.
Chen Ge felt he couldn't wait any longer. Otherwise, before long, he'd have to dig this man's freshly filled hole open again himself.
"Anyone home?" Chen Ge gave the door a light knock, then suddenly raised his voice. The shout startled the Fisherman so badly that he collapsed straight into the hole he'd dug, cold sweat erupting across his face in an instant.
"I'm the guy who was fishing next to you at the reservoir. You forgot your rod, so the caretaker asked me to bring it back." Chen Ge kept his eyes fixed on the man through the crack. "Brother, how are you feeling? Need me to call an ambulance for you?"
Hearing that Chen Ge was about to dial 120, the man couldn't sit still. He scrambled to his feet, swaying. "No, no—just leave the rod by the door. I'll come get it myself later."
"Brother, something's wrong with your voice. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine! I'm fine! Put the rod down and go!" The Fisherman was drenched in sweat, shouting while frantically shoveling dirt back into the hole.
"I can't leave—you're clearly not okay. Open the door and let me check on you. If you're really fine, I'll leave right away." Chen Ge simply refused to budge from the doorstep. The Fisherman was so desperate he wanted to curse.
How did he end up with someone like this?
He hastily covered the black bags with dirt, then gasping for breath, cracked the door open. "I'm fine. Give me the rod."
"But you look awful."
"Give me the rod! Give it!" The Fisherman was on the verge of losing his mind. He let out a roar, and perhaps from being too worked up, his body swayed—and the fishing float tumbled out of his pocket.
The specially made luminous float hit the ground. Chen Ge hadn't screwed it on tight earlier, so that finger-sized piece popped right out.
The Fisherman reacted faster than Chen Ge, throwing his body between them to block Chen Ge's line of sight.
"What was that?"
"You saw that? Just a sausage. That's my secret bait." The Fisherman reassembled the float, and his demeanor shifted abruptly—the manic anger gave way to calm, and he even offered Chen Ge a smile.
It was a forced smile, though, and paired with those dead-fish eyes, it was deeply unsettling.
"My rod's custom-made too, very expensive. Thanks for bringing it back. Why not come in and sit for a bit?" The man was catching his breath, his tone sounding odd.
"Sure." Chen Ge played the part of an honest, guileless man with not a thought in his head. He quietly toggled the voice recorder switch in his backpack and stepped inside.
The large pit in the courtyard hadn't been filled yet. Yellow mud was scattered everywhere.
"I was planning to grow some vegetables here—just turned the soil over." The man suddenly became warm and hospitable. "Come inside and sit. I caught a few river fish this morning—let me cook them up for you so you can taste my cooking."
Chen Ge walked ahead without a shred of defense. The moment he stepped through the doorway, the man following behind quietly locked the door and raised the shovel in his hands.
Every trace of the smile vanished from his face. The Fisherman's eyes brimmed with venom and hatred as he stared at the back of Chen Ge's head, looking for an opening to strike from behind.
But before he found one, the man in front of him suddenly took off his backpack and, without warning, without any explanation at all, smashed it into his face.
It was far too sudden—nothing like his plan.
The backpack struck him square on the bridge of the nose, blocking his vision. Before he could recover, his stomach exploded with pain as if someone had kicked him with everything they had.