Chapter 17: The Transgender Case

2022-05-20

By the third time a hospital nurse asked Guan Zengbin whether he wanted breast augmentation, he was close to losing his mind. That’s when we finally learned the victim’s identity.

Three weeks ago, Zhang Mingliang underwent gender reassignment surgery along with plastic surgery. Just as I suspected, this was the only hospital in town capable of such procedures. At the time, Zhang Mingliang had come prepared with a photo and told the lead surgeon, “Make me look like this.”

The woman in the photo was beautiful and sweet-looking, probably around twenty-three or twenty-four. She wore a flawless white dress and sat outside a street café, sipping coffee in a wicker chair. Only about two-thirds of her face was visible and the picture was shot from afar—you could tell it was taken without her knowledge.

Some people spend their whole lives trying to become someone else. When a man pours all his savings into becoming another woman, we can’t even begin to imagine what struggles rage in his heart.

The doctor tried to match the person in the photo as best he could, but a perfect match was impossible. Even so, Zhang Mingliang was satisfied.

“What do you want to do with this?” the doctor asked, handing Zhang Mingliang back the “item”.

Tears suddenly welled up in Zhang Mingliang’s eyes, catching the doctor off guard. The lead surgeon feared those patients most—the ones who regretted everything right after surgery. In a hurry, he comforted him, “Being a woman’s not bad at all. If I didn’t already have a wife and kids, I might have thought about transitioning too! You see, I even gave you a free breast augmentation…”

“I don’t need it anymore.”

“Well, it was yours to begin with…” The doctor sighed, catching Zhang Mingliang’s serious expression. “Come back for a checkup in three weeks.”

No one expected that three weeks later, all that would be left of Zhang Mingliang was a head.

“We need to find this woman.” I stared at the photo. “If Zhang Mingliang went to such lengths to look like her, we have to know who she really is. What if she’s connected to this case? Could the killer have targeted the wrong person—not Zhang Mingliang, but the woman in the picture?”

“Do you really think someone could kill the wrong person?” Gu Chen looked skeptical at my crazy guess.

“It’d be a tragedy if someone wanted to kill an influencer,” I joked. “With all those plastic surgery clinics, everyone ends up looking the same anyway.”

With Mary’s help, we quickly identified the woman in the photo. She was Hu Jiajia, a beautiful twenty-three-year-old graduate student, currently doing her teaching internship as a language teacher at a prestigious high school. We found her while she was in class.

From the side, Hu Jiajia’s face was striking and her figure was even better.

“Take a look—she’s about your age,” I nudged Guan Zengbin. “She’s got figure for days. You, on the other hand, look like you’re fourteen…”

“Get lost, would you?” Guan Zengbin grumbled. “I don’t know you.”

Hu Jiajia didn’t know Zhang Mingliang at all. When she heard someone had gotten plastic surgery to look like her, her face twisted in disgust.

Then Hu Jiajia told us something important.

Over the past few weeks, she’d noticed some strange things happening. She said it firmly: someone had been following her. She didn’t live in the school’s assigned dorm, preferring her own space. She’d rented a place near the school; her entire intern’s salary just covered the rent.

About a month ago, she started spotting a shadow at her back every time she commuted. The person wore a hoodie and a hat, face always hidden. He was about 1.75 meters tall and on the skinny side. Whenever Hu Jiajia noticed him, he would panic and run away.

At first, she was scared and thought about reporting it, but since the man never actually did anything to harm her, she tried to ignore him. But things only got worse.

She lived in an open-plan apartment on the second floor. Lately, multiple pieces of her clothing had gone missing. That was her limit.

She reported it to the police, but nothing changed.

Of course, it’s impossible to have someone following her 24/7.

Her world started to lose its sunshine. More than once, Hu Jiajia thought of leaving, but this internship had been a hard-earned opportunity. A young teacher from an unremarkable university, getting to teach at this elite school—it was a dream come true.

She was sincerely grateful to Principal Zhang, the fifty-year-old, suave and gentle principal who took a chance on her.

She felt trapped and ended up moving far away, leaving her apartment behind.

She got one blissful week. For the first time in ages, she no longer felt that gaze on her. She stopped looking over her shoulder, free at last to live in peace. Sunshine returned to her world—until the man returned.

He stuck to her like glue—always showing up, never shaken off.

Her clothes started going missing again.

Then one night, she woke from a dream to find a man standing at the foot of her bed.

Terrified, Hu Jiajia didn’t even remember to scream. But she was smart—she realized shrieking might get her killed. So she rolled over, pretending to sleep, hiding her face with her arm.

In the silent night, only the moonlight filtered through the curtains. In the faint glow, the man stood watching her and she sneakily observed him back. She couldn’t see his face—just his silhouette, standing right at the foot of her bed.

The door clicked shut quietly.

Sleep was impossible after that.

How did he get in? Would he come back? Those questions lingered in her mind like a cloud. She ended up inviting a male friend to move in with her. At least now, even a stalker would think twice.

“Isn’t that your boyfriend?” Guan Zengbin shot her a look.

Hu Jiajia shook her head. “No, he’s just a friend—nothing else.”

Then, as if remembering something, she added, “I know, as a teacher, this might look bad. But I had no choice—it kept happening, and the police never caught him. I trust this friend; he’d never hurt me.”

“Did things get better?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” Hu Jiajia said quietly. “That’s when the real nightmare began.”

She went on.

Once her friend moved in—even though they slept in separate rooms—the stalker lost it. The next day, Hu Jiajia got a call from a public phone.

“I won’t let you be with another man,” the man said, voice full of rage.

Hu Jiajia asked instinctively, “Who are you?”

The line went dead.

She knew exactly who it was.

He was the coward who couldn’t face her, and now he couldn’t stand to see her live with any man.

Her male friend came up with a plan: if the stalker didn’t want her with other men, then she’d openly live with her friend to force him out into the open. Maybe that would push the stalker to make a move—and if he did, her friend could catch him.

She’d reached her breaking point and agreed. Knowing full well she was being watched, she went out of her way to act close with her friend, hoping to provoke the man.

The plan worked. The stalker was furious.

One day, she noticed a message scrawled across her wall: Don’t push me.

She ignored it.

Soon after, she received a letter—just a few words: One day, I’ll chop off your head and write with your blood.

The words were pieced together from colorful letters cut from magazines and newspapers, as if to hide the handwriting.

She got the letter three days ago and reported it to the police.

But without a murder, the case didn’t reach us—until yesterday. Old Zhang discovered someone trespassing at the construction site. By midday, we found the severed head.

One clue finally connected.

But we still had no idea what happened to the rest of the body.

“So was it really a case of mistaken identity?” Guan Zengbin asked.

A stalker threatened to kill Hu Jiajia. Meanwhile, someone made themselves look exactly like her.

A man who became Hu Jiajia out of love and obsession ended up murdered simply for looking like her.

Zhang Mingliang was mistaken for Hu Jiajia.

Was this Zhang Mingliang’s greatest misfortune, or Hu Jiajia’s luckiest escape?

Even in daylight, we all thought Zhang Mingliang was a woman. How could the killer have known otherwise in the dark?

The killer mistook Zhang Mingliang for Hu Jiajia.

But then, why did Zhang Mingliang want to look just like her in the first place?

Suddenly, the phone rang.

“Mary, what’s up?” I teased. “Miss me or something—is that why you’re calling?”

“The corpse has been found.”