Chapter 227: The Painting

2022-05-20

The killer kept talking, and the moment he spoke I could tell it was that refined, gentle middle-aged man: “I know there’s a tracker in the bowl. When you were unconscious, I checked all four bowls carefully. There was no way for me to get the tracker out without smashing them.”

I frowned.

“But we’re underground right now—the signal can’t get through. If they want to find us, it’ll take time. And that’s time enough for us to escape.” The refined man smiled at me. “But, we don’t have much time left either. Do you understand?”

I stared at the killer, and he stared right back. In this nameless underground space, even the air seemed to freeze. He locked eyes with me, and in his gaze, I couldn’t quite tell who was looking back. All I saw there was a mixture of sorrow and hope.

Everything fell silent. In the stillness I almost heard a faint “beep, beep, beep”.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

Slowly, the killer responded: “I can sense the other personalities inside me, and I can talk with them. They’re like regular people too—they grow old, get sick, and die. But my little sister… she’s been stuck at that age for too long. She’s fading away. If it weren’t for your friend, we would have finished everything by now.”

I knew he meant Zhao Mingkun.

“I need to know if the person you took is alright.” I hadn’t seen Guan Zengbin, so I had to know if he was safe.

The killer gave me a look that said he couldn’t answer, then said, “I won’t tell you where that woman is until we get what we want. That’s the only card we’ve got left. When we’re out of here safely, I’ll tell you where she is.”

“But here’s what I’m really curious about. From the moment I arrived at Xingdong Village, you already had everything planned? Wu Xiufen was your real mother, so whatever you wanted, she’d do it for you.”

I searched the killer’s face, hoping to find a clue. “Five years ago, your father—well, Wu Xiufang’s husband—died. You learned the truth from the diary, and even then your main personality was already starting to unravel. You were all created by her, all protecting her.”

The refined man spoke: “There are four personalities in this body. The primary one has been stuck at five years old, unable to accept her mother’s death, so she chose to withdraw and hide. And it was then the second personality—Yama—appeared. He’d do anything to survive. He was tough but humble, cowardly but brave. Every murder—that was him.”

His words were always composed and logical, soothing when he spoke. He continued, “But that second personality couldn’t fill the deep need for safety the main personality lacked. So, her older sister Ze appeared. Ze took on the role of big sister, comforting her and giving her a sense of security.”

“Five years ago,” he went on, “I appeared. As the last of the four, I didn’t know much about what happened before. Ze, being the third personality, also has a lot of secrets she isn’t aware of. Yama knows everything, but he never likes to talk to us.”

“I’m rambling,” he said. “Anyway, five years ago I arrived. All I knew was, I had to find those twelve bowls for my little sister to copy. I’d checked the handwriting—it said nothing was taken, so the twelve bowls were collected. The first thing I figured was, I had to find Wu Xiufen—my birth mother.”

I nodded.

The man broke into a smile. “It sounds odd, but Wu Xiufen gave this body to me, so I suppose you could call her my little sister’s mother. Actually, Yama wanted to kill her, but one thing made him change his mind.”

“The family photo by the bed, and the same daily self-redemption for thirty years?” I asked.

He snapped his fingers. “Exactly. I don’t know why Yama gets so furious when he sees Wu Xiufen—after all, she’s his Madonna—but I’m sure you don’t want to have to meet him again for another explanation. So, I used Wu Xiufang to get in touch with the outside world, because by then, Yama was beyond control.”

“He had already started killing by then?” I pressed.

He nodded. “Yes, five years ago, Yama started changing. He became violent. You know, the owners of the bowls—they were all innocent. But try to understand: after ten years of torment, you’d probably turn out like him too.”

I continued where the killer left off. “So, to prevent more murders, you all lived underground, away from people—so Yama couldn’t hurt anyone?”

He replied, “That’s right. We’ve lived down here for five years. I had to gather all twelve bowls before I could go out to buy things. Otherwise, with Yama’s temperament, someone would end up dead. He’s obsessed—no one can touch the twelve Zodiac bowls. If they do, they die.”

“Why?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That’s his secret. I don’t know either.”

“But how did you make it back to Dongxing City so quickly?” I asked. “If you drove, the absolute fastest would be three and a half hours.”

“Five years ago, Wu Xiufen helped us dig out an underground space. After tying up your teammate, I set up a program to automatically send a photo. By the time you got the picture, we were already two hours on the road to Dongxing City.”

“You move fast,” the man said with a laugh. “When I drove back, roadblocks were already everywhere. That really surprised me. After all, you should have guessed the killer was in Xingdong Village, so all the checkpoints seemed unnecessary. But tell me, why didn’t they catch me?”

I glanced at him. “Your clothes.”

“Smart,” he nodded. “Too smart for your own good, maybe. From the start, we’ve worn black clothes, but if I changed into something else, you’d assume the killer wasn’t me. That’s human nature—what we expect to see. Originally, this trick was a last resort, and you can really only use it once.”

I nodded seriously. “You came up with all this? I knew the killer was skilled at psychology.”

He just smiled, not answering.

I went on: “As the only high-intelligence personality, if it wasn’t for you, none of the others could ever have managed all this. Only you have both computer skills and psychology training. Maybe you were the first to realize there are other personalities inside?”

The man glanced at his luminous watch, then started placing bowls one by one on the desk beside him, arranging them in the order of the twelve Zodiac. Some bowls still had streaks of blood on them, not yet wiped clean. Each bowl, behind it, a bloody story.

He pulled out a piece of fabric and a small bucket of dish soap, spreading the soap on the bowls and gently washing them. He moved slowly, almost like he was handling priceless art. As the blood was wiped away, he spoke: “Wu Meng, is there something you’ve always wanted?”

I watched his hands and thought before answering: “Yes.”

He chuckled. “This main personality wanted those twelve bowls since she was five. It took fifteen years, but she finally got her wish. Thing is, she’s been stuck at five this whole time. To her, fifteen years might feel like just one.”

“What about Yama?” The killer continued, “For fifteen years, he’s been fighting back—wanting to live free, not hide or grovel. In the end, we’re all forced to hide underground because of him. Pretty ironic, don’t you think?”

He carefully, quietly cleaned the bowls one by one, talking to me yet half to himself: “Ze tried to help the main personality accept everything, to face reality. But after fifteen years, she’s still stuck and now she’s slowly fading away.”

At last, the killer set down the final bowl. Now, they were all perfectly clean, like they’d just come from the factory.

“And you?” I looked at the killer. “What is it you want?”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, “In a bit, the main personality will come out. She doesn’t know about your teammate, so don’t try to get any answers from her. Your girlfriend is tied solidly on the bed—the scalpel can’t cut the chains. There’s a mechanism set up: at seven o’clock, the bed will fold down completely, and with the knife bound to her hand, if she can’t let go, it’ll stab her.”

The man checked his watch again. “It’s five thirty now—an hour and a half left. My little sister is really talented at painting, even though she’s only studied a year. For her, a year is your fifteen years. I’m leaving now. Take care of her. If you don’t, Yama will come out again.”

As he finished, the killer closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked shy, holding onto the corner of his clothes and peeking at me bashfully.

A wave of frustration washed over me. How was I supposed to get used to talking to four completely different people who all shared the same face? But, thinking about it, there was something almost comforting. Maybe having yourself for company did make the loneliness a bit easier.

“Look.” I pointed at the twelve bowls lined up on the desk.

“Wow.” The little girl beamed. “They’re all back!”