The island sat in the southeastern stretch of the Andaman Sea, closer to Indonesia's Simuelue, Malaysia's Penang, and even Singapore than it was to Bangkok. During the southern hemisphere's cold season, tourists from western Australia flocked here to soak up the sun. Most visitors flew into Na-Khi international airport, then took an hour-long speedboat or small ferry to reach the island.
Na-Khi itself was a renowned international tourist destination—beyond its dreamy coastline and tropical islands, it boasted a cosmopolitan nightlife district and a fully legalized red-light zone.
Dame Island wasn't large—just under 0.3 square kilometers. Walking the entire perimeter took less than half an hour. Half the island had been developed into a luxury hotel zone; the other half was still forested, left to nature.
In the hotel area, the pure white sandy beaches are surrounded by sapphire-blue shallows and coral reefs. Deep-green tropical plants surrounded clusters of reddish-brown villas designed in local style. The shade was so generous that even at noon, guests could walk outside without roasting. Modeled after Maldives-style luxury resorts, the hotel operated under an all-inclusive plan—meals, drinks, afternoon tea, even the mini bar in the villas were all free of charge. Non-motorized water sports, tennis courts, and all recreational gear were also complimentary.
There were two restaurants and two bars on the island, plus two communal swimming pools. The 30+ beach villas included ten with private pools; over 20 overwater bungalows perched on stilts above the reef, five of them also boasting private pools. At the western tip of the island—where sunsets were most glorious—stood the most exclusive suite: a presidential overwater villa.
The surrounding sea was famed for its biodiversity, and the coral reef system that nourished this life had earned the island a spot on the list of Thailand's "Top Emerging A-Grade Snorkeling Destinations." Even standing on the dock, one could see colorful fish darting beneath the surface.
Each facility—the gym, spa, dive center, water activity hub—was discreetly separated by vegetation. Surveillance cameras were installed only in public areas like bars and restaurants, ensuring maximum guest privacy. The spa was the quietest space of all, hidden in a lush nook surrounded by palms, ferns, and banana trees—an oasis tailor-made for yoga and meditation.
However, these design features meant to ensure privacy were now Li Ye's biggest obstacle in solving the case.
He stood beside the lotus pond outside the spa, lost in thought. This was where the first victim had been found. His mind was filled with questions; everything seemed too coincidental.
First, all four victims were from the same group of guests. Manager Kevin had explained that roughly a week ago, five sets of guests arrived on the same boat from the Na-Khi Si pier: a couple from Australia, a family of three from Singapore, a family of five from Malaysia, a family of four from Indonesia with a nanny, and a couple from Hong Kong. Now, three families were shattered.
Second, they were all Chinese families.
Half an hour ago, Li Ye and Somkhun saw the four bodies, and it was a truly unforgettable experience. The bodies were crammed into a small back room in the hotel's storage area. It had windows but no air conditioning, and a strong smell of decay had been festering for days. The moment the door opened, Li Ye nearly threw up. The hotel lost power the day after the typhoon hit. Although a backup generator kept some essential services running, it was only enough to barely provide for the guests' meals, not even the air conditioning in the rooms, let alone the storeroom. This level of decomposition would be a challenge for a medical examiner, let alone Li Ye.
Third, all four victims had drowned, but each death occurred under increasingly bizarre circumstances.
Even worse, the scenes where the deaths occurred were already compromised. The bodies were discovered by guests, so hotel staff had to quickly move them to the storage room as far away from the guest rooms as possible. After several days, the typhoon had completely wiped out the scenes anyway.
Although this typhoon was rare, typically typhoons that originate in the Pacific don't reach mainland Thailand. Even the biggest ones only stir up waves in the Gulf of Thailand, and by the time they cross Thailand's narrow southern landmass to the edge of the Indian Ocean, they're usually spent, at most a Level 8 or 9 storm. This island's loss of power and water wasn't due to the typhoon's ferocity, but purely because its initial design hadn't considered typhoon defense—its infrastructure was fragile. Perhaps the only typhoon defense was the "wish-fulfilling power" of the *Phra Phrom* (Four-Faced Buddha) statue in front of the restaurant.
As for witnesses? Or suspects? Almost impossible to locate. Before the two officers had even arrived, the shaken guests had already used their "cash power" to find seaplanes or speedboats to leave, with some even rushing to fly back to their home countries. Only a few remaining guests and bereaved family members still waited for the investigation to conclude.
Despite this, the hotel insisted the deaths were accidents. Manager Kevin pounded his chest, assuring that both guests and staff were witnesses. He urged Li Ye and Somkhun to wrap up the case quickly, issue death certificates, expedite the removal of the bodies and families, and—preferably—keep things quiet so the hotel could resume operations. He'd even pulled two thick red envelopes from his pocket, trying to stuff them into their bags.
*I hope they really did die accidentally. How many "locked-room murders" can there be in the world?* Li Ye could only pray. Yet he firmly believed that all coincidences in the world were connected somehow. Even accidents had their logical causes.
After exiting the storage room, Somkhun had ordered Li Ye to begin immediate scene investigation while he interviewed the families and staff. No doubt, he'd accepted the red envelopes without shame.
Li Ye sighed and reviewed what he knew about the first victim.
A Chinese-Australian engineer named Mark—passport name Chengjie Ma. He had just gotten his Australian green card and died five days ago. Came here on a honeymoon with his wife. They'd been staying in one of the beachfront villas with a private pool—nestled near a grove by the sea. The beach was right outside their door; two steps and you could dip your toes in the surf.
According to the manager, on the night five days ago, when the typhoon was still small, the hotel had called every guest to warn them. In the evening, his wife kept calling the front desk, saying her husband was missing. The staff went out to search as the typhoon intensified, and at around 7 p.m., they found him in the lotus pond in front of the spa. His face was in the water.
Dead.
He was in his early 40s. Highly educated. Highly paid. Pre-death photos showed him looking confident and dashing, arm wrapped around his glamorous wife. But when Li Ye pulled back the sheet covering him, a smell of feces mixed with a sickly sweet jasmine scent hit him, and he heard a "blerg" behind him as Kevin, the manager, threw up.
Mark's eyes were bulging like two mangosteens, and his face was pale and bloated with a greasy sheen, like the sloppy ghost makeup from an old Hong Kong horror movie. The body was in a state of secondary rigor mortis. When Li Ye rolled the body, he found livor mortis pooling along the back.
Accident?
That conclusion seemed… unbelievable.
Especially given the pond in question.
The "lotus pond" was shallow—barely fifty centimeters deep.
How could someone drown in that?
And why would a man venture alone to the spa in the middle of a typhoon night? The spa had long since closed. Was he looking for peace and quiet? Or waiting for someone?
Questions raced through Li Ye's mind.
He looked up. Several massive coconut trees towered around the pond, and on the ground lay two or three coconuts the size of basketballs—probably knocked loose by the storm. His thoughts were interrupted.
"Looking for coconuts?" a woman's voice called from behind him, making him jump.
She was wearing a hotel staff uniform. Young, with a heavy Chinese accent. She picked up a coconut and held it out to him.
"I'm not thirsty," Li Ye said. "I'm a police officer. This is a crime scene. I don't need service."
"That's probably the coconut that killed Mr. Mark," she said plainly.
"…What?"
"Hello, Officer Li. I'm Ada. Chinese name An Zhi. I'm Kevin's assistant—intern, technically." She tapped her name tag, which read: Ada An. "You can ask Kevin—I'm here to help."
She handed him a walkie-talkie.
Kevin confirmed it over the radio. Li Ye turned to look at her with new interest.
She had a classic East Asian face—round cheeks, large almond eyes set slightly wide, with a delicate mouth and smooth jawline. She looked sweet, even a little naive—but there was a quiet stubbornness beneath her gentleness. For someone working on a tropical island, her skin was uncommonly fair.
"Why are you here? Why keep this coconut?" Li Ye was still processing.
"Manager Kevin sent me to assist you, to help wrap up these accidental deaths quickly. Though several coconuts fell near the pond," she explained, handing him the coconut, "this one has obvious impact marks that match the wound area on Mr. Mark's head. It snagged a few hairs, about his length." Li Ye only then noticed she was wearing disposable gloves professionally. He examined the coconut. Just as she said, there was a clear impact mark and a strand of hair.
Ada continued, "You recall Mr. Mark's head had a large contusion? After they pulled him out, I noticed he kept frothing at the mouth. That means his lungs were full of water. I deduced he was unconscious when he fell into the pond, inhaled water, and suffocated—not that he fell in after death. So, I suspect he was likely knocked unconscious by the coconut *first*, then fell into the water. That makes homicide highly unlikely."
Li Ye thought for a moment, then took out his phone to look at the photos he'd taken of Mark's body. There was indeed a large bruise on the back of his head, with a subcutaneous hematoma. How did this young Ada not only remain fearless in the face of death, but also have such a knack for detective work?
"How do you know this stuff?" he asked. "What's your major?"
Ada smiled, a little sheepishly. "I'm studying hotel management. But I love detective novels. I also took elective courses in nutrition and health science—so I know a little about anatomy and physiology."
Li Ye raised an eyebrow but only shrugged. "Real investigations aren't like fiction, you know."
"That's why Kevin asked me to help you," she grinned. "Oh—and I also used to work part-time with my mom at a Chinese funeral service company. So… I'm not superstitious about corpses."
"Part-time doing what?"
"Band, ceremonies, front-facing roles, odd jobs… whatever was needed," she admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. "That's probably why hotel guests say I'm very polite—I used to deal with bereaved families and guests all the time. Oh… that probably sounds inappropriate. Please don't tell the manager!" She playfully mimed a "shush" gesture.
*Seriously?* Li Ye found it darkly amusing, but the girl's earnestness warmed him to her. "What was his wife's first reaction?"
"She was very emotional. She almost got into an argument with Captain Somkhun earlier." A flicker of something—perhaps envy—crossed Ada's face. "She kept insisting she and her husband had a very strong relationship."