Luo Wenzhou watched him silently.
The corners of Fei Du’s lips quirked upward. “…which is not to let the body be discovered. And if the body is in danger of being discovered, then don’t let the person who found it go to the police.”
Luo Wenzhou nodded, expressionless. “Good job—very insightful. Your words are worth a decade of study. If you weren’t a weakling who faints at the sight of blood, I’d suspect that you did this yourself. Which reminds me: Why are you scared of blood?”
Fei Du’s smile stiffened a little, as though the question caught him off guard. He was silent for a moment, and when he did respond, he sounded rather rigid. “If I knew why, I wouldn’t feel faint.”
With a single question, Luo Wenzhou had transformed this forensic theorist into a silent vase that sat to the side, looking pretty. Meanwhile, having gotten rid of that distraction, Luo Wenzhou contentedly returned to Su Xiaolan’s diary.
“It is possible that the body was dumped in a high-risk flood zone with a lot of swamp plants,” Luo Wenzhou said quietly as he flipped pages. “Su Hui’s family was from Pinghai County. Pinghai has always been Yancheng’s water source, and there are all kinds of bodies of water there. She could have… Hm?”
He’d skipped over a lot of mundane details about Su Xiaolan’s daily life as he skimmed through her diary—but suddenly he stopped flipping. The diary was open to a page about things that had happened at school. Su Xiaolan was vicious, calling people “bitches” left, right, and center; it was like she lived on Planet Bitch, surrounded by the creatures on all sides. But what caught Luo Wenzhou’s eye was a photograph tucked inside the diary. It showed what was probably a performance at the school. Six girls stood onstage, bowing to their audience. A row of long, thin legs peeked out from beneath floral dresses. The other five girls’ faces had been scribbled out with a pen, and Su Xiaolan stood in the middle, staring at the camera with her chin held high.
Floral dresses—that’s right. Luo Wenzhou realized that Su Xiaolan hadn’t mentioned floral dresses in her diary yet. He flipped back a few pages.
The day, the month, the year. That bitch of a dance teacher told us to buy our own costumes. She’s afraid people would accuse her of taking some of the money herself (embezzling). Told the bitch, and she hit me in the back with a bottle. Die, bitch! Die, teacher!!
The day, the month, the year. Tomorrow’s the dress rehearsal. I don’t have a dress. I ran into that disgusting fatso outside the school. I left with him. He bought me that dress.
“The first time Su Xiaolan deliberately sold herself was for a floral dress.” Luo Wenzhou checked the date. “It was twenty-two years ago, which corresponds with the oldest case we found. She went from being an unwilling accomplice to committing crime of her own volition. Why didn’t she seek help before that? What are you laughing at…?”
“Sergeant Luo, you have no empathy at all. Men, women, children her own age—who could Su Xiaolan ask for help? To her, men were disgusting ‘customers,’ women were ‘bitches’ who abused her and forced her to do things she didn’t want to do, and as for kids… After Deng Ying died, Su Xiaolan was so scared that she subconsciously separated herself from others her age. Think about it. A gloomy girl who went through puberty early and was unlucky enough to also be pretty. Would her classmates have been kind to her? When kids bully someone, they have even more tricks up their sleeves than adults do. On top of that, she hated those other girls for getting their dresses so easily.”
Luo Wenzhou had nothing to say in response. He forced himself to refocus on the notebook.
Over the last few pages of the diary, the angry drawings gradually disappeared, all because one person had entered Su Xiaolan’s life.
The precocious young girl had expressed clear affection for this person, especially after finding out that he was actually her teacher. Wu Guangchuan was a “customer,” but he was gentle and kind; he was a teacher, but he had forbidden desires. He was like a verdant plant growing from the shadows, though he had an eerie disposition that made him seem malnourished. He loved young girls, and he often gave Su Xiaolan the attention and protection of a lover.
The day, the month, the year. I went to his place today. I never tell that bitch when I go, and I don’t take his money. He comes to my place twice a week so that bitch doesn’t have to find me other work.
The day, the month, the year. I like him. He’s my knight in shining armor.
The day, the month, the year. He said he wants to adopt me so that I can escape that bitch.
The day, the month, the year—some time had elapsed. That bitch said he’s been coming for over six months, which makes him a trusted customer. We can give him lambs. I bought rat poison. I’m going to kill her!
The day, the month, the year. She really fucking gave him a lamb. And he actually accepted! He accepted!! I hate him!!!
The day, the month, the year. I followed him secretly to Lianhuashan.
The day, the month, the year. He’s looking at others. A little bitch wearing a floral dress.
The day, the month, the year. He’s in the hospital, and I tricked that little bitch into going to his hotel room. I tied her up like a lamb and left her there waiting for him.
All that followed was pages full of scribbles. Several pages had been torn out, and the word “hate” was scrawled across several others amid all the chaos. Luo Wenzhou had nearly reached the end of the diary, and there was no more coherent content. But buried somewhere within all that ink was the maniacal, screaming phone call placed during the serial-kidnapping case that had shocked the entire city…and a floral dress that had been cut into pieces.
The costume that she had to get herself had left a floral-dress-shaped mark on her soul. As it turned out, that kind of dress hadn’t been in demand from customers; it was just how a young girl relived the process of her soul sinking into the mud.
Wu Guangchuan had helped her, then kicked her back into the endless abyss. Guo Fei’s floral dress—an unfortunate coincidence—had become a metal cage in Su Xiaolan’s bones that never rusted or broke over twenty years, not even in death. And that cage had been passed down to the next generation.
The diary’s last page was stuck to its plastic cover. Luo Wenzhou had the feeling that there was something on it, so he tugged it lightly, and a stack of photos fell out.
The photos had been taken at different times, but most seemed to be secret shots snapped inside a small room with soundproofed walls. The lighting was dim, the blackout curtains always closed. There was a different girl in each photo, as well as a different man. Each of those beasts in human clothing had his face angled toward the camera, so it was easy to recognize.
Fei Du picked up the only photo in the pile that contained a blurry face. It was very old, and with especially bad lighting. The photographer was skilled but had still only captured a vague silhouette. Shot from a distance, a short building stood blurrily in the night, its edges blending into the darkness. The photo was taken from high above, and the camera was focused on a flower bed near the building. A China rose plant there had withered, leaving a gap in the greenery just large enough for a pair of prying eyes.
A thin girl leaned on the windowpane, her hands pressed helplessly against the glass. Her face was blurred, and behind her loomed the shadow of a large, tall man.
It was Wu Guangchuan and Su Xiaolan.
The person who’d taken the photo must have lived across the street from Wu Guangchuan…in Xiangyang Community.
Leading a team of officers, Tao Ran pushed open the door to Apartment 201 in Unit Three of Xiangyang Community’s eighth building. The smell that emanated from the empty apartment was difficult to describe. The thick curtains were drawn. Tao Ran pulled them open and found a huge photo pasted on the window that had once faced Wu Guangchuan’s house.
The clear photograph put the crimes in that basement twenty years ago on full display. The photo—which depicted a nighttime scene twenty years ago—covered the entire window, not leaving a single gap. It made the viewer question what year it was.