Chapter 176: The Second Story

2022-05-20

“Let me try,” I said seriously, meeting Guan Zengbin’s eyes.

Gu Chen grinned. “Usually I’m stuck with all the dirty work. What, now that Guan Zengbin’s doing a reenactment, you have to jump in too? Be honest—do you have a thing for her or what? If you like her, you should just go for it. Don’t let yourself regret it later.”

His teasing in front of everyone left me a little embarrassed. I quickly explained, “From what I see, the killer must’ve followed the victim by stepping in her footprints. On the way back, he wore someone else’s shoes and retraced his steps backward. That suggests their heights can’t be too different.”

Seeing everyone’s faces light up in understanding, I continued, “There’s a direct relationship between foot length and a person’s height. Sure, there are exceptions, but mostly that’s the case. If there’s a big height difference, the killer simply couldn’t walk away in the victim’s shoes.”

Gu Chen said, “If that’s the case, let’s get started.”

We nodded and began the reconstruction.

Guan Zengbin purposely picked a path without footprints to walk down, making everything clearer. She played the part of an office worker who hadn’t noticed anything, hurrying home after a late shift—capturing all the anxiety of a woman alone at night.

I was right behind her, but honestly, this wasn’t as easy as I’d imagined. Suddenly it reminded me of trying to walk across those odd stone paths in high school—whoever designed them must’ve enjoyed watching others struggle, and now here I was in the same awkward spot.

As a woman, Guan Zengbin took small but hurried steps. To match her precise footprints, I had to really pay attention—if I missed, my tracks would stick out like a sore thumb. That would make it obvious a second set of prints didn’t belong. I ended up having to tiptoe just to keep up.

Moving like this was exhausting. It took a toll on body and mind.

After a dozen steps or so, my calves felt heavy as lead. If I kept this up, my legs would be completely shot. I could barely look after myself, let alone pull off an intricate murder.

Meanwhile, up ahead, Guan Zengbin had definitely picked up on me trailing her, but she stuck to her role for the sake of the experiment.

Eventually, my legs were so sore I couldn’t take it. I lurched forward, closed the gap, and mimed slashing Guan Zengbin’s throat from behind. She didn’t hesitate—just collapsed to the ground.

I covered my own footprints with her ‘body’, then slipped off her shoes.

I jammed my feet into her high heels, but as soon as I tried, I felt like one of those brides from ancient times forced into tiny bound shoes. There was no way my whole foot could fit inside.

As I tried to backtrack, it became clear this was almost impossible. I held my own shoes in one hand, shuffling backward slowly. My heel wouldn’t fit in at all—it felt like wearing a pair of ill-fitting slippers, making every step awkward. Forget matching the original footprints, just staying upright was a challenge. Sure enough, after a few tries I toppled backward, limbs flailing.

Everyone rushed over to help me up.

Gu Chen shook his head. “You’re hopeless. Let me try it.”

He insisted on jamming his foot into the high heel. Gu Chen was at least a head taller than me, well over six feet—his feet were much bigger too. Watching him struggle, I couldn’t help thinking of a plus-size girl desperately trying to squeeze into a tiny dress.

After a long struggle, he gave up. “There’s no way the killer was my height. These shoes are far too small—my foot only fits halfway in, and they’re high heels to boot. I look like I’m performing some circus act.”

Brushing snow off myself, I watched Gu Chen kick the heels aside. “If even you, a trained professional, can’t manage it, how could an average person? In other words, the killer can’t be your height—it’s more likely they’re shorter than I am, maybe even shorter than the victim.”

Guan Zengbin added, “There is a difference in foot size between men and women, even if they’re the same height—men’s feet are usually bigger. So you’re saying the killer must’ve fit perfectly into Zhao Kaifang’s shoes? Following someone else’s footprints is tough, but retracing your own is another story.”

I brought over her own shoes and helped tie them for her as I nodded. “Exactly. Honestly, I think the killer’s feet might be even smaller than the victim’s. Otherwise, stepping in her footprints would create an awkward sound.”

Standing up, I said, “We need to examine the body. If the killer really is shorter than the victim, it should show in the wounds.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

As I considered the killer—some man in black standing between 1.65 and 1.7 meters tall—I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man he was. Someone who moved silently behind his victim in the dead of night, blending into the darkness like a shadow.

Picture this: Walking alone in the dark, you sense someone quietly tailing you. He’s dressed head-to-toe in black, shoes merging with the night. A chill crawls down your spine, feeling like a pair of eyes are locked on your back.

You walk faster, but so does the presence behind you. You finally can’t hold it in any longer, turn and see a face.

A smiling face. Staring straight at you, grinning.

Cold steel flashes, and you feel warmth bloom at your throat.

Your whole body heats up before you, but your heart only gets colder. You try to scream, but no sound comes. You collapse, bidding this world goodbye forever. The killer isn’t in any rush—he slips off your heels, puts them on, and calmly walks backward away.

Even as your sight fades, you helplessly watch those feet moving further and further, until they vanish at the roadside. Then—nothing.

Inside the autopsy room.

Even though the results were already out, I wanted to check the wounds myself for any missed clues.

Both bodies had had their throats slit. When we saw them together, it was clear: the wounds were cut in different directions. Zhao Kaifang was 1.7 meters tall. The wound on her neck ran from right to left—the right side was deeper, the left more shallow.

That told us the killer was cutting from above, downward.

Luo Xiaolu, meanwhile, stood only 1.6 meters tall. Her wound also went right to left but was slightly angled upward. Again, it was deeper on the right and shallower on the left.

Both bodies revealed a crucial detail—the killer wasn’t left-handed. And the variation in wound angles also confirmed that his height was somewhere between 1.6 and 1.7 meters.

“The killer is a male between 1.6 and 1.7 meters tall. Early twenties—no older than twenty-five.”

Guan Zengbin stroked her chin, a little puzzled. “How can you tell his height is between 1.6 and 1.7 meters?”

I tugged at my hair, pointing to the wounds as I explained. “Look at the cuts—one’s angled down, the other’s angled up. That means he used two different movements.”

I lifted my arm, finger out like a dagger, and slashed downward. “This is how he killed Zhao Kaifang—because she’s taller, the killer had to raise his arm and slice down, which made that downward wound.”

Bringing my arm up, I repeated the motion horizontally. “But Luo Xiaolu was shorter. If he did the same, he would’ve been cutting hair, not a throat. So he held his arm level and swept it sideways—his hand rose naturally at the end, causing that upward angle.”

Everyone nodded. Gu Chen said, “No one beats you at profiling. You can picture the whole crime scene in your head.”

I paused for a second, then said, “If the killer is under 1.7 meters and keeps targeting women, I bet he’s been humiliated by a woman before. Still, this is only his first case—who knows, maybe his next victim will be a man.”

We rolled the bodies away as I went on. “For now, this is all the info we have to build a profile. Still, since this is a pleasure killer, the patterns are about the same.”

Just then, someone burst in and called, “Mary says to hurry over—there’s been a new discovery.”

“A new discovery?” My eyes lit up and I pressed for more.

He nodded solemnly. “After the murder, someone stumbled on a story online that exactly matched the killing. Turns out, the story was posted before the murder, so we’re sure the killer wrote it. And now, there’s a new story just added to that thread.”

“A new story?” Everyone gasped.

“That’s right. Everyone’s reading it. Mary says to get over there now. If we can catch the killer before he acts out this new story, the next target might still be saved.”

“Let’s go!”