Chapter 195: A Death Like No Other

2022-05-20

Old Wang’s indifference was no surprise to me. From his story, you could tell he was showing signs of depression. It hadn’t reached a critical stage yet, though. With timely help from a psychologist, there’s a real chance he could recover.

This was a private room in the First Provincial People’s Hospital. Not exactly cheap, which meant Old Wang had probably requested it himself and paid extra for some peace and quiet. Deep down, he liked the silence, never caring for the chaos outside—it just meant he didn’t want to talk to people. Naturally, our presence meant nothing to him.

Xiao Liu walked right up to Old Wang and blocked his line of sight but got zero reaction—almost like Old Wang saw straight through him, his eyes fixed somewhere past the window. When Old Wang didn’t respond, Xiao Liu waved a hand in front of his face.

Still, nothing.

I glanced at Xiao Liu and said, “You don’t need to waste your time with meaningless gestures. If you ask him something, he’ll answer.”

Xiao Liu looked between me and Old Wang, then pulled out a stack of files. “Old Wang—your real name is Wang Shouyin, right? You’re forty-three, divorced from your wife Liu Lihua five years ago, and you have no children. Right now, you’re working in a factory in Dongxing City as a shop floor worker—boring and repetitive detail.”

Old Wang didn’t say a word, and Xiao Liu pushed on. “You’ve lost hope in life, work, and love, so you tried to end things. But the drying rack couldn’t take your weight, so the attempt failed. The noise when you fell alerted the downstairs neighbors, and they rushed you to the hospital—am I right?”

“You heard a really loud noise, didn’t you?” Xiao Liu pressed.

At last, Old Wang straightened his posture but kept his eyes averted. “Yes.”

Xiao Liu pulled over a stool and sat by Old Wang. “Don’t you want to know what that loud sound actually was?” he went on.

“No,” Old Wang replied, his tone flat.

For a moment Xiao Liu was at a loss, uncertain what to say. He shot me a look, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Wang Shouyin, you’d better cooperate. Maybe you don’t understand your situation, but if you don’t work with us, you might just end up dead.”

I couldn’t tell if it was my presence or if Xiao Liu always spoke this way. Either way, that approach wouldn’t get him far. Interrogating people means using the right method for each person, and his scripted threats just wouldn’t work here.

Threatening someone with death when they’d already tried to end it all—that was more than a little foolish. But Xiao Liu wasn’t actually dumb; he was saying it for my benefit, hoping I’d step in and handle Old Wang. He clearly had a strange kind of ‘trust’ in me for this.

Realizing this, I didn’t call Xiao Liu out. Instead, I told him, “Let me ask the questions.”

He nodded, handing me the files.

I didn’t even bother reading them as I sat across from Old Wang. Watching him for a moment, I asked, “Let’s be honest—life’s gotten too dull, hasn’t it? How about we find something exciting to do instead?”

“Hm?” Old Wang looked my way, actually interested.

I’d picked up some psychology on my own. With Old Wang in these early stages of depression, the trick was to help him rediscover interest in life. Even when he knew people were taking advantage of his naivety, he wasn’t angry or resistant—maybe he just wanted any connection to the world, no matter how small.

“Ever thought about becoming a detective? It could be the wildest thing you ever do,” I suggested.

Still deadpan, Old Wang replied, “Alright.”

“Have you felt like someone’s been following you lately? Think it over—someone trailing an ordinary guy like you. Why would they bother with you?”

Old Wang mulled it over before finally saying, “Yes.”

“What do they look like?” I pressed.

He finally showed a hint of expression. “Yes! I’ve seen him often.”

“Who is it?” Both Xiao Liu and I leaned in, eyes wide.

Old Wang frowned, struggling to recall. “I keep seeing a man in black, always grinning at me. He’s unshaven. After every shift, I spot him on the road just standing there, always watching—every day for a whole month.”

I glanced at Xiao Liu, who started jotting notes in his notebook.

I guided Old Wang further. “Describe him in detail. How tall? Build? Any other features?”

Old Wang nodded, then continued slowly, “He’s always wearing black—clothes and shoes. About one-seventy centimeters tall, really skinny. After work, he’s always waiting across the street for me. It’s like no one else even notices him, but I do. It’s almost like looking at myself.”

As he spoke, a spark of agitation flickered across his face. “He’s basically me—spent, listless, zero energy. He just stands there like that.”

Old Wang’s depression had dulled his care for anything, but even so, he was fixated on this man. Most likely, the killer wanted Old Wang to see him—seeing the killer was like looking in a mirror, and that subtle influence had just driven Old Wang deeper into the fog.

“He just stands there and doesn’t say a word?” I asked.

Old Wang nodded again.

The killer had noticed Old Wang’s depressive tendencies and, day after day, showed up looking just as empty and defeated, silently pushing him closer to suicide. The murderer’s intent was chilling—they wanted to kill Old Wang, only using Old Wang himself as the weapon.

From his account, we now had a basic portrait: the killer always dressed in black, about one-seventy in height, sickly thin. This detail cropped up in three different stories, three cases. Everything else was a tangled mess—especially when it came to the killer’s gender.

“That’s the person you need to find,” I told Old Wang. “They’re stalking you, but you can stalk them right back. It’s like a duel in the shadows until only one is left standing.”

Suddenly, a mad grin twisted across Old Wang’s face. “That’s right. That’s the kind of life I want.”

“Where do they show up? Do they follow you after you leave?” I kept pressing.

latest novels first published at six-nine-shu-ba!

Old Wang shook his head. “No.”

I didn’t ask any more—push too far and you could turn a depressed man into a split personality case.

I slipped out into the hallway and told Xiao Liu, “Get a psychologist in here. If things don’t change, he’ll either try suicide again or turn on someone else.”

But that wasn’t what Xiao Liu wanted to talk about. “So, is the killer a man or a woman? First it’s one gender, then it’s another. Sometimes someone sees a young girl, sometimes a scruffy man. How many killers are there? Are they old, young, a group?”

“What if,” Gu Chen chimed in, but he aimed it at me this time, “the killer’s actually a team? Maybe one writes the story while others make it happen. They’re all dressed alike, in black, about one-seventy centimeters tall, men and women both.”

When Gu Chen finished, we fell silent. If that theory was true, it was terrifying.

“No,” I argued. “It’s not a group. There’s only one killer.”

“But how can one person be both a man and a woman?” Xiao Liu challenged.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I said, “Let’s check on the autopsy in the morgue.”

Once we reached the morgue, we found a crowd pressed outside. Heart-wrenching wails shook the hall, so loud it felt like my eardrums would burst. It was a young couple—a woman kneeling on the floor and a man slumped against the wall.

Someone approached us, lowering their voice. “Those are the little boy’s parents. His name was Gao Ze, only six years old… He fell from the sixth floor—it’s tragic.”

A six-year-old boy—the same age as the talkative ‘brat’ in one of the stories. If I was right, this child was the very one Old Wang fantasized about dying. But with Old Wang in his condition, I couldn’t exactly ask if he really wished that on the boy. After all, everything in those stories had come from the killer’s mind.

Still, that wild glint on Old Wang’s face told me the killer’s script was disturbingly accurate.

Suddenly, it clicked. The killer clearly had training in psychology, or at least a keen grasp of human nature—to write so deeply into a stranger’s mind.

We pushed open the door and went in. Guan Zengbin and Zhang Qinrui were inside, sewing up the body. The autopsy was just about done.

“How’s it looking?” I asked.

But before anyone could answer, someone called from outside, “Captain Wu! Captain Liu! There’s been another death—and it’s just as bizarre!”