Chapter 20: The Brief Life of a Transgender Patient

2022-05-20

We finally arrived at Zhang Mingliang’s place around half past twelve.

“Let’s see what a transgender person’s home looks like,” I said, closing the front door behind us and glancing at the other two.

“That’s pretty shallow. Medically, it’s actually called gender dysphoria,” Guan Zengbin corrected while snapping photos around the apartment. “It’s a mental condition. They feel a deep disconnect with their assigned gender and want to transition. But very few choose surgery—public pressure is intense.”

“Is it something you’re born with or something that develops later?” I asked, looking around at the room’s furnishings.

It was a typical apartment: two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and a small balcony. Not much space and nothing fancy about the place. The living room was cramped, dominated by a sectional couch, and across from it stood a cabinet supporting a big-screen TV.

“Some are born with it, others develop it over time,” Guan Zengbin replied.

I nodded and switched on the TV with the remote. Looked like Zhang Mingliang hadn’t fully turned it off the night he died—maybe just his habit. Lots of folks just hit the remote these days rather than shutting off the power.

“The game’s heating up—James with a huge slam! What a shot…” came the announcer’s voice from the TV.

Apparently, last time Zhang Mingliang watched TV, it was the sports channel.

Letting the game play in the background, the three of us stepped into the first bedroom. Inside was a big wardrobe and a bed. Beside the bed stood a small bookshelf filled with all sorts of books—from serious tomes to webnovels and romances, even a crime scene investigation book. So, this transgender person liked mysteries too.

I picked up a few books and flipped through the pages at random.

“So what’s a transgender person’s orientation like?” I asked.

Guan Zengbin kept snapping pictures. “Might like men, might like women—there’s no set rule. Gender dysphoria is about their own identity, not necessarily their attraction. It’s tricky to analyze someone’s preference just from this.”

The other bedroom had a yoga mat for practice and a computer nearby.

These days, if you want to really get to know someone, just dig into their computer. Problem was, none of us felt right doing that. So, I called Mary for help. She told me to just log in to my QQ on Zhang Mingliang’s computer.

“You guys check out the other rooms. I’ll keep an eye on the computer,” I told Guan Zengbin and Gu Chen.

While waiting for Mary’s results, my mind drifted to something important. The timing between Zhang Mingliang’s decision to transition and the threats the killer made to Hu Jiajia were just way too close—almost like the two were plotting together. And why had Zhang Mingliang showed up at the construction site that night?

As I frowned over the puzzle, a sudden noise burst from the computer, making me jump. I hurried over to check the screen.

“Wu Meng,” Gu Chen spoke up behind me. “We’re working a case here. If you have… personal needs, do you mind sorting them out somewhere else?”

Guan Zengbin joined in, cheeks red, saying, “Shameless.”

“I’ve been framed!” I shouted.

Right then it hit me—Mary must be behind this. Hacking into a computer remotely isn’t exactly rocket science.

I quickly messaged Mary on QQ: “Come on, sis, quit messing around. Found anything yet?”

Just then a hidden folder popped up on the desktop, stuffed with documents all stamped with dates.

The earliest document was from four weeks ago.

Once the three of us finished reading every last file, we all fell silent.

Seventeen years ago, a first grader was kicked to the ground: ‘Behaving like this at your age? What happens when you grow up? And now you’re stealing girls’ skirts? Call your parents!’

“We’ll keep a close eye on our kid. Just give him another chance, teacher,” the parents pleaded.

Deep down, the parents actually felt relieved—they’d managed to cover another lie. Even if their child was branded as a troublemaker, it was better than exposing the real truth.

“Why did you steal that girl’s skirt?” the father asked, trying to sound stern.

“Our son sure is a precocious one,” he whispered to the boy’s mother, pride glinting in his tone.

They held back laughter. To these simple farmers, it just meant their son was acting like a real man.

But their child’s next words made those smiles fade forever.

“I’m a girl. I want to wear skirts too,” the child said softly.

After that, the parents had to lie again and again.

One day the father snapped: “You have what I have—how can you not know you’re a boy, not a sissy!” He figured that would set things straight. But the child’s answer sent chills down his spine:

“If I didn’t have this, would I be a girl then?”

In middle school the child tried on women’s clothes for the first time, dressing up like a girl in secret. The father discovered it and beat the child for over an hour, until he was exhausted, tears streaming down his face. Sobbing, he finally asked, “Are you a boy or a girl?”

Bruised and barely conscious, the child still answered stubbornly, “I’m a girl.”

That was the first and last time his father ever laid a hand on him.

Confused about gender yet always a strong student, the child grew more understanding with age. He realized his parents, honest rural folk, would never understand terms like gender dysphoria. Still, he knew they loved him—their tolerance for eighteen years proved that.

At eighteen, on their birthday, the three of them cried together. The father, who never drank, downed three bottles of baijiu on his own; the mother finished one. That night, the father said, “Child, this is your life. We can’t decide for you. Whether you’re a boy or a girl, you’ll always be our child. Do what you want.”

After that, the child never mentioned being a girl again.

Second semester of college, the father died of illness.

Then junior year, the mother passed away too.

All the parents left behind was a little money and one last meeting with his mother. She told him, “We’ve always known, even if you never said it. From here on, live for yourself. Do whatever you want. Be yourself, okay?”

He cried his heart out.

After graduation he came to this city. That’s when he fell in love—with a man named Gao Rui, who was interning as a teacher. Gao Rui was everything he wanted: gentle, educated, good-looking and athletic. He did his homework and found out everything about Gao Rui, only to discover Gao Rui had a girlfriend.

Stealing someone’s boyfriend is hard enough—harder still when, in the eyes of the world, you’re also a man.

He couldn’t hold himself back anymore. The idea of gender-affirming surgery became an urgent goal.

To know more about Gao Rui, he’d started following him around years ago. Even if it was just to catch a glimpse from afar, that was enough. For months he trailed after Gao Rui, collecting dozens of photos—each one snapped in secret. But then, one day, Gao Rui moved in with a woman.

That woman was none other than Hu Jiajia.

Three weeks ago, Zhang Mingliang finally achieved the dream that had haunted him for over twenty years.

He walked out of the hospital as a new person—he’d become her.

Zhang Mingliang even had cosmetic work done to look a lot like Hu Jiajia. Her plan was to fully recover then confess to Gao Rui. She thought, ‘I’m taller than Hu Jiajia, just as pretty—it’s only a matter of time before Gao Rui falls for me. Once he’s mine, I’ll tell him everything about who I am.’

She kept tailing Gao Rui for several more weeks. But then things got interesting—Zhang Mingliang noticed someone else shadowing Hu Jiajia. Not only that, but this mysterious person seemed even more obsessed.

One day, Zhang Mingliang saw this person carrying a bucket of paint and heading into Hu Jiajia’s apartment building. What his real goal was, she never found out. Suddenly, she figured—maybe this guy could help her win Gao Rui, since an enemy’s enemy is a friend.

So, Zhang Mingliang dropped a note where that stalker always lingered:

‘I’m Hu Jiajia. Meet me tomorrow night at the abandoned construction site east of Yucai High School. I have something to discuss.’

That was Zhang Mingliang’s final entry.

At the end of it she wrote: ‘I’m sure he’ll show up when he sees this note. Then we can work together—he’ll help me get Gao Rui, I’ll help him get Hu Jiajia. I’m so happy—soon I’ll finally be with Gao Rui.’

“Zhang Mingliang didn’t know the killer had already sent a threatening letter to Hu Jiajia,” analyzed Guan Zengbin. “That’s why she dared to set up the meeting pretending to be Hu Jiajia—the killer thought his threat had worked, so he agreed.”

“So in the dark, the killer probably couldn’t see Zhang Mingliang’s face clearly—he might have killed the wrong person by mistake!” Guan Zengbin’s eyes widened in surprise.

Gu Chen let out a long sigh. “Feels like something right out of a movie.”

“Why did Zhang Mingliang choose an abandoned factory near Yucai High? Why was she so sure this partnership would work? Why didn’t she ever think that guy might hurt her?” I frowned, thinking aloud. “There’s probably just one reason.”

“What?” They both asked in unison.

“Maybe Zhang Mingliang knew him.”