Chapter 24: Gao Rui’s Plan

2022-05-20

First, Gao Rui threw his head back and laughed like a madman. Then, all at once, tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks.

All of us are tangled masses of contradictions—no one is exempt.

When we see someone taking a beating on the street, we imagine rushing to help, but fear getting hurt ourselves. Spotting someone pickpocketing a wallet, we want to speak up but hesitate at the thought of that flashing knife. If a husband turns on his wife, we burn to intervene but shrink back, dreading the weight of public gossip.

Sure, those who stand up in those moments are heroes—but we shouldn’t be so harsh on those who hold back. Courage and fear, greatness and weakness—these exist side by side. At least they’re not bad people.

For Gao Rui, this was something that kept him up at night.

He hated Principal Zhang for the despicable things he did in secret. And yet, another part of him just as deeply despised how easily he’d accepted the benefits Zhang brought him, letting himself feel comfortable about it. With Zhang’s actions growing bolder by the day, something Martin Luther King wrote in his letter from Birmingham Jail flashed through Gao Rui’s mind:

One day, our generation will regret, not just the hateful words and deeds of bad people, but also the terrifying silence of good people.

So that night, right after watching a headless corpse crash to the ground in front of him, Gao Rui decided it was time to act.

He didn’t choose to call the police. Instead, he was ready to fight fire with fire.

Gao Rui followed Zhang down into the sewer.

Principal Zhang moved slowly with the corpse hoisted on his shoulder. Gao Rui trailed behind at a measured pace. With every step, his resolve to kill Zhang only grew firmer. The darkness gave Gao Rui eyes made for the night, and those eyes stayed locked on Zhang’s back.

“Thud, thud, thud.”

Gao Rui made sure his footsteps rang out loud and clear.

“Who’s there? What is it?” Principal Zhang’s voice quivered with fear.

When he spun around, all he saw behind him was endless darkness—nothing at all. The stretch of tunnel ahead called to mind some cosmic black hole, swallowing everything in sight until only emptiness remained.

“Thud, thud, thud.”

The footsteps kept echoing, bouncing from wall to moldy wall, undulating through the stinking blackness. Zhang’s heart climbed higher in his throat. He finally dropped the headless body from his shoulder and tightened his grip on the knife, standing perfectly still as he listened hard for the next sound.

For a time, Zhang and the footsteps faced off in tense silence.

Trying to bolster his courage, Zhang muttered, “I already killed a man. Like I’d be scared of ghosts now.”

So with that, he headed toward the direction of the sound.

One step.

Another.

The source of the footsteps was just around a bend. Zhang’s hand gripped the knife so tightly his knuckles popped. He was just an arm’s length from the corner and stopped, straining to listen. The sound came to an abrupt halt. Three whole minutes ticked by—dead silence.

Zhang let out a shaky laugh, trying to reassure himself. “Probably just some rat. I’ve been scaring myself for nothing.”

With that, he turned to go back the way he’d come.

The next moment, someone was suddenly at his back.

A mug glinted in Gao Rui’s hand.

The knife clattered into the foul water. Zhang tumbled in right after it.

Gao Rui didn’t let up until the handle of the coffee mug finally snapped off, then he released his grip. Zhang had passed out from the very first blow—he hadn’t managed even a single word.

Only then did Gao Rui realize he’d spent every bit of strength he had. He collapsed next to Zhang’s unmoving body. Still, there were no regrets. That night, Zhang had killed the wrong person, but if he realized his mistake, who’s to say he wouldn’t kill again to cover his tracks?

But now, Zhang would never get the chance.

Time stood still—five minutes or maybe a hundred years. Gao Rui simply lay there in the sewer, and as his heart quieted, he found that the world outside didn’t seem so bad, no matter how foul or filthy the place. For the first time, peace settled deep inside him. He didn’t have to shoulder unbearable guilt alone anymore.

He’d done what needed to be done, and his conscience was clear.

There was no doubt anymore—Principal Zhang had killed that fake Hu Jiajia. And if Zhang disappeared after that, all suspicion would point to him. Bit by bit, reality would reveal his true nature.

Sooner or later, the final conclusion would be obvious: Principal Zhang killed someone resembling Hu Jiajia, then went on the run.

Gao Rui quickly played out the case in his mind. As long as nobody found Zhang, that’s how the case would be defined. No one would ever suspect him—a perfect plan.

Carrying Zhang’s corpse, Gao Rui marched to the far end of the sewer where it met the outskirts of town.

He climbed up the mountain, knife in hand, digging a grave. But the blade was too narrow for a big hole, and he had to hurry home, or Hu Jiajia would get suspicious. So he dug just deep enough to lay Zhang’s body inside, buried him, tossed the knife far off, and rushed home without looking back.

He never imagined Zhang’s corpse would be discovered so soon.

And now he understood—once Zhang was found, it wouldn’t be long until the investigation led straight to him. The knife and Zhang’s body were both smeared with his fingerprints—he had no chance. So, he made up his mind to confess.

In the autopsy room.

“It’s true. I found someone’s fingerprints on Principal Zhang’s clothing,” Guan Zengbin said. “I compared them earlier, and as expected, they’re Gao Rui’s. Plus, the blunt force trauma on Zhang’s head matches damage caused by something like a mug. If we can find the actual mug, we can match it for sure.”

“We’ll split into two teams. One goes into the sewer to search for the mug, the other heads up the mountain to look for the knife,” I told Xiao Liu. “I’ll take Gao Rui to the construction site so Old Zhang can see if he recognizes him.”

We broke up and moved out.

Gao Rui specifically asked me to stop by the apartment he shared with Hu Jiajia and pick up an item of clothing. It was the shirt he’d worn to the construction site that night. Even though he knew Old Zhang had probably seen what it looked like, he never threw it out, mostly because it was a gift from Hu Jiajia.

I sighed and turned to Gao Rui. “Do you want to come along? This might be the last chance you two have to see each other.”

“No,” Gao Rui replied quietly.

“Did Gao Rui ask you to come pick up some clothes?” Hu Jiajia asked, a little puzzled when I explained.

“Yeah, the one you gave him,” I replied with a grin. “He and I hit it off right away—he pretty much lives at my place now, glued to the game controller.”

Hu Jiajia handed me the shirt, her face tinged with sadness. “Now that Principal Zhang’s body has been found, it’s only a matter of time before the killer is caught. We won’t be able to live together anymore. If you see him, tell him to come home. I’ve got something to say.”

“Alright,” I said softly.

At least no one would ever bother Hu Jiajia again. And Gao Rui, as the murderer, would have to accept his fate. Still, it didn’t feel right to break the news to her. To find out the man she loved was a killer—most likely for her sake—who could find the words for that?

“By the way,” I said, taking the shirt, “five nights ago, did Gao Rui go out and come back really late?”

Hu Jiajia looked puzzled for a second, unsure why I’d ask, but answered honestly. “He did, yeah. Said he’d be out for a bit, but came home really late. His shirt reeked. Said he fell into a stinking puddle by the road, so I washed it for him.”

So Gao Rui hadn’t lied—everything matched up.

“I’m off,” I said.

“Alright.” Hu Jiajia leaned on the doorframe, looking like a wife waiting for her husband to come home.

At the construction site.

“Old Zhang, are you sure it was him you saw that night, five days ago?” I asked.

Old Zhang scratched his head. “He does look familiar. How about you have him act out what happened that night?”

Before I could say anything, Gao Rui already started to play out his movements.

“That’s it! That’s him!” Old Zhang slapped his thigh in excitement. “No mistake, it’s definitely this guy. His movements are exactly the same as that night, right down to the shirt—it can’t be anyone else!”

I pressed him. “You’re sure you’re not mistaken?”

Old Zhang gave a firm nod.

“Take Gao Rui back,” I told the others. “I’ll wait here for Gu Chen to finish searching for the mug in the sewer.”

While Gu Chen and the rest scoured the sewer, I passed the time chatting with Old Zhang.

About an hour later, Gu Chen finally clambered up, grimy and exhausted, reeking of filth. In his hand: a mug with a broken handle.

“Found it—wasn’t far from where we discovered the body,” Gu Chen reported. “I never want to go down there again.”

We hadn’t been back in the autopsy room long when the knife was found too.

Guan Zengbin ran a thorough comparison of all the evidence. His results showed that the knife had indeed killed Zhang Mingliang, and the mug had been used on Principal Zhang. The marks on both bodies matched the weapons exactly, and both items bore Gao Rui’s fingerprints.

“We’ve got everything—witnesses, the murder weapons, timelines, motives. He even confessed. Everything fits.” Guan Zengbin slumped in his chair staring blankly at the ceiling. “It’s ironclad. But seriously—how could such a gentle teacher be a killer? You’ve seen him in class.”

Gu Chen added, “This past year, Gao Rui’s won most popular teacher twice in a row. The students love his biology class—always exciting…”

I dragged my fingers through my hair. “But we still don’t know how Principal Zhang killed someone upstairs without leaving blood. There was just so, so much of it.”

“Principal Zhang’s dead now,” Guan Zengbin muttered with a sigh. “Unless he appears in your dreams to give you the answer…”