Chapter 230: Turning Myself In

May 20, 2022

A tangle of sadness, despair and anger welled up in my heart. All these emotions mixed together led only to a deep, inexplicable sense of helplessness. Xiao Liu had read about the killer’s childhood in the notes—a time when, as an intersex child in that era, he was hidden away by his mother, too ashamed to let anyone see him.

His father knew the truth. He wasn’t his biological child, so his father didn’t like him. It’s very possible his father blamed himself for swapping the two children all those years ago. If he hadn’t done that, at least he wouldn’t have borne the shame of raising a child seen as a deformity.

Only Wu Xiufang, who wasn’t even his real mother, loved him. But there’s one scene I still can’t picture—if Wu Xiufang ever learned that the child she fought and begged for money to save wasn’t actually her own, what would she feel?

And on the flip side, if Wu Xiufen found out the child she refused to pay for treatment was actually her own flesh and blood, how would she feel then?

The killer’s life really had been hard—hard enough to move you to tears. He went through so much. But that’s still not a reason to kill. It’s never a good enough excuse to hurt others. Only now did I finally grasp what Team Leader Shao had always told me. Some things, you truly never understand until you’ve lived through them yourself.

After all, there are others out there who’ve suffered like the killer. They’re still trying to live decent lives, relying on their own strength, never turning their pain on others, not becoming murderers. If we let ourselves forgive killers just because their pasts are tragic, then what about everyone else still struggling to stay good?

I used to think that some people deserved death, that some were pitiful. But when it all happened to Guan Zengbin, I finally understood. The moment you tolerate any negative behavior, even a little, darkness will grow from that tiny seed until it’s beyond anyone’s control.

“I do feel for you, but I can’t let you go,” I said.

The killer nodded, wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “You just don’t understand. You know, I wish I wasn’t so smart. Sometimes smart people have to deal with the consequences of their own brains. Some things, it’s better not to think too much about. What happened years ago, Yama wrote it all down, but I’ve never read it.”

“Fifteen years ago?” I asked.

He hummed a yes, let out a long sigh and looked at me. “You’re smart. I’m smart. Some secrets are best left buried. I’m rebuilding my life now. If only all of the past would just vanish… the more you know, the more it torments you. Lately I can’t control myself anymore.”

My brow furrowed. Everyone has a different version of what happened fifteen years ago—Wu Jianguo says one thing, Wu Xiufen another, Wu Xiufang’s late husband’s notes give a third. I still can’t tell which is the real truth. Now even Yama has recorded those events.

The silence dragged on until the killer finally broke it. “Actually, your little girlfriend might still be alive.”

My eyes shot wide. “What did you say?”

He leaned against the desk, voice slow. “If you really wanted to kill someone, would you hand them the knife or just drive it straight into their gut?”

“Obviously the latter.” I had no idea why he was asking, but I answered anyway.

He went on. “It was Ze who grabbed everyone. She was the one who tied your girlfriend to the bed, doing everything while in control of the body. I never actually saw her tie up your girlfriend underground, but I know one thing—Ze is the least likely of any of us to kill.”

“So, let me put it this way,” the killer said. “If you wanted to kill, would you hand the victim the knife?”

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to think. Back in that underground passage, when I first ran into Ze, she didn’t try to kill me. Instead, she drove me off with that piercing scream. I used to think the killer was just dangerously mentally ill, but now I realized she only wanted to keep me from chasing her.

If Ze could spare me, maybe she’d spare Guan Zengbin too. She used Guan Zengbin to threaten me so I’d deliver the bowl—she didn’t really want to kill him. The more I mulled it over, the more likely his survival seemed. Think about it: if the killer truly meant to murder Guan Zengbin, she would’ve done it at the start and made up any excuse.

I couldn’t see what had happened to him anyway.

The killer looked at me and said, “Let’s go. It’s all over. If I want a life where I can finally live in peace, I have to turn myself in. I’ve recorded over five years of footage. All that evidence will prove I’m not the one who killed those eight people.”

He locked eyes with me, voice earnest. “The real killer is gone now. Once he finally did what he set out to do, he vanished. You know, all the other personalities had their own fixations. Me? I was the one who pulled everyone together.”

“Funny thing is,” the killer went on, “when my body stood there zoned out, everyone thought I was daydreaming. But deep down in my mind, in my spirit, the three of us were arguing. When we were bored, the three of us would play cards—fight landlord, even.”

At that, his mood suddenly darkened, and his voice turned low. “But those days are gone. Now I’m finally just me. Those voices in my head are gone for good. For the first time, maybe I can finally sleep soundly.”

I felt a strange sadness rise up, even knowing Guan Zengbin was probably safe. Maybe it was the weight of these shadowy underground walls, or maybe just sorrow for the end of those other personalities. Except for Yama, who had to go, the rest had no reason to disappear.

But things had come to this. Nothing I could say would change what had happened.

“There’s still one thing I don’t get.” I looked at the killer. “If Yama did it all, then he must be the one who wrote those stories, right? But why would he put them online? And as for his personality, Yama isn’t someone who could have pulled off all that advanced computer encryption. So the IP address lock—that had to be you, not anyone else.”

The killer nodded. “I set up the encryption, but I wasn’t the one who wrote the stories.”

I stared at him. “You didn’t write them? Out of all four personalities, who could know psychology better than you? Every story you wrote was clearly from the victim’s perspective—I can’t believe that kind of insight came from Yama.”

We locked eyes. In each other’s gaze I could see panic and confusion.

“Really not you?” My voice was serious. “No one else could possibly know psychology as well as you do.”

But the killer just stared at me, then slumped onto the desk, his whole body trembling. Finally, he said, “It really wasn’t me. Yama didn’t like talking to people, but sometimes he would ask me about psychology. I admit it—I set up the IP encryption, so at most I was just covering for him. Besides, there’s one thing I know for sure—a detail that will guarantee leniency for me.”

I looked at him, just as serious. “But that’s still nine people dead.”

He waved a hand. “Then they’ll just lock me up for a few years, that’s it. I’m only thirty—my whole life still ahead of me. A life of my own.”

“And what is that last thing?” I pressed.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. I can only share that with someone else. Back when you were unconscious, I…”

He suddenly stopped and changed the subject. “So, I’m going to surrender—with you. I think the team tracking us is already right above us. In a moment they’ll find us down here.”

I had no idea what drugs the killer was hiding up his sleeve, or what secret he kept from me. All I knew was, during our time underground, only the two of us knew everything that happened.

He’s a clever man, and he surely understood that. Yet just when he was about to say more, he bit it back. So, is this something he has to keep from me, no matter what?

My thoughts snapped to Zhao Mingkun. The killer had seen both of us together. If he knew Zhao Mingkun’s true identity and gave that information up, the authorities might treat him leniently.

Compared to what Zhao Mingkun had done, the killer’s crimes looked small. Nine murders at most—but under Shi Huacheng’s command, who knows how many lives were lost. And there are still Shi Huacheng’s people on the loose, which we’ll need Zhao Mingkun to catch.

I shot a look at the killer, and for one brief moment, a wave of murderous intent rose up inside me. It startled even myself—I pinched my thigh hard, reminding myself who I was now.

At that instant I realized my guilt delusions were resurfacing—and I’d left the Psychiatric Hospital barely a year and a half ago.

Right then, a loud “bang” echoed out, and searchlights swept down from around the bend.

“Nobody move in there! Freeze!” Xiao Liu’s voice carried from a distance.

“I’m turning myself in! I’m not moving!” The killer dropped to his knees, raised his hands and stared toward the approaching lights.

I glanced at the fragments of the broken bowl at my feet, each one sharp as a blade.

Xiao Liu was just seconds away from reaching us.

What exactly did the killer know?