Chapter 248: Death by Fear

2022-05-20

Hearing Zhao Mingkun’s theory, I crouched down to examine the body more closely. No matter how well trained a person is, in moments of true shock, their instinctive micro-expressions can’t be faked or rehearsed. When fear strikes, your first reaction is wide eyes, pupils shrinking, mouth agape, face frozen in place.

That’s the split-second look of terror. But after that brief moment, our bodies all react differently to fear. Most people just run for it—the fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. Some, though, freeze up, their limbs going stiff, minds blanking out so hard they can’t even move. Then you have the brave ones, who actually fight back.

No matter how someone reacts, the moment fear hits, the brain floods the body with adrenaline. Blood circulates faster, muscles tighten, and your body gets ready to do something—anything.

But this victim, it was clear—he was the type to freeze.

His arms were wrapped around himself; in psychology, that’s a classic sign of fear, of someone trying to shield themselves or even deny what’s happening. And if you look at his face, the way his muscles are clenched from that surge of adrenaline, you can see it—the terror, caught forever in his final expression.

Guan Zengbin’s told me before—that’s called cadaveric spasm.

I said, “In a psychology book I read, it described how, in moments of intense stress, if a powerful external shock hits—especially a fright—the blood in your body can surge like a flood bursting a dam, tearing heart fibers and even making the heart bleed.”

I glanced at Zhao Mingkun and continued, “That can make the heart stop cold—death on the spot.”

“So, you’re saying,” Zhao Mingkun said, “this really can happen, medically?”

I nodded. “Research shows that if someone gets spooked over and over, adrenaline keeps building up in the body. When it gets to a certain point, it damages heart cells—sometimes you see rose-colored spots on the skin. When it piles up enough, it doesn’t just add up, it crosses a line and kills.”

“They got scared to death, bit by bit?” Zhao Mingkun squatted down beside the body, rifling through his clothes.

I nodded again, my reply slow. “That’s one way to put it.”

A wallet turned up in Zhao Mingkun’s hand. He checked the ID inside and said, “It’s definitely Hu Pei. But someone clearly beat us here. Someone really doesn’t want us finding your girlfriend.”

I frowned, watching Zhao Mingkun still searching through Hu Pei’s clothes. “Right. Ever since Guan Zengbin got caught, whoever’s behind this has been planning everything. Does that mean anyone who knew about this is at risk now?”

Zhao Mingkun nodded, then shook his head. “But think about it—if this was that group, why kill Hu Pei like this? Wu Zui has to be busy pulling off a bigger scheme. Why would he waste time killing someone in person?”

We sat in silence for a moment before I said, “But Wu Zui’s just that kind of person. He gets off on watching people suffer, manipulating them, never kills the ordinary way. The process is what he really enjoys, isn’t it?”

Zhao Mingkun nodded, then fished a phone out from the pockets. Checking the screen, she said, “Take a look at this.”

I leaned in to see the phone. It was a 5.5-inch screen, and the wallpaper was a temple bathed in golden light—like a holy aura shining from it. In the center stood a massive golden Buddha, serene and gentle. Just looking at it made my nerves settle a bit.

“So tell me,” Zhao Mingkun said, “why would someone use a Buddha like this for their wallpaper?”

I looked at the Buddha and said, “They’re either a true believer or they’re scared of something.”

Zhao Mingkun snapped her fingers. “Exactly. Now, look at the doorframe.”

I glanced back and spotted a yellow talisman pasted above the entryway, red characters inked across it with an air of solemnity. A Daoist charm—definitely there to ward off evil.

Then Zhao Mingkun pulled a silver cross from her pocket. She told me, “It’s made of silver.”

I shrugged. “Interesting taste. If someone’s collecting this many religious charms and repellents, they must be terrified. But what are they so scared of?”

“If you haven’t done wrong, you aren’t afraid of ghosts at your door,” Zhao Mingkun said. “Funny thing is, a lot of people don’t follow religion to serve a higher cause—they just want protection. When things go wrong, they beg the heavens. When life’s smooth, they forget all about it.”

I shrugged again. “If he’s that scared, he must’ve seen something freaky lately. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have just died from fright.”

Zhao Mingkun mimicked my shrug and said, “Come on, want to see something good?”

I followed her into the kitchen, where she grabbed some flour and sprinkled it over the phone screen. Then, with a strong breath, she blew the flour away. What was left stuck to the screen were some faint, irregular circles.

Zhao Mingkun unlocked the screen and said, “See these four spots? They’re where he touched the most. You can tell this guy was glued to his phone. Even when nothing’s happening, he unlocks it out of habit. So—four numbers—how many combinations?”

I shook my head.

“What’d you even do in high school?”

“Dated?” I said, grinning.

“Four numbers—that’s four factorial—so, twenty-four possible combos. I already checked his ID. If it were six digits, maybe it’d be his birthday, but this code’s just four—not a date.”

I frowned. “Not sure if we can mess up a lock attempt on this phone, but most of them only let you try twice. If we get it wrong, we could have to wait a while. Are we just going to take it with us?”

Zhao Mingkun shook her head. “Can’t keep the phone. It’d give us away. People in Xingdong Village are already watching us. They’ll come down on us harder if they notice.”

She picked up the phone again. “So let’s assume he’s right-handed, holding the phone comfortably, first number should be on the left. Look here—only one number on the left.”

With that, she pressed the number seven.

“Now there’s only six ways it can go, a lot less than before.” Zhao Mingkun tested out each pattern, but two tries later, still no luck—and now the phone said we only had one more shot.

She glanced at me. “Last chance. Want to go for it?”

“Go for it,” I said.

Zhao Mingkun nodded and tried one final time.

A moment later, the screen lit up.

The photo we saw made us both jump. It was a corpse, lying far away—looked like it was at some construction site, half built. You couldn’t even see her head, the body hacked up. Chills ran down my spine.

Both of us stared at the image, and just then, a woman’s face suddenly appeared right up close on the screen, alongside this piercing, blood-curdling scream.

We both flinched hard. Zhao Mingkun almost dropped the phone, her hand shaking. My heart hammered in my chest, my scalp tingled, and it felt like every nerve in my body went numb. Imagine staring at something with all your attention, when suddenly something horrifying pops up with a scream—you feel your heart just stop.

“Now I get how he died,” Zhao Mingkun breathed. “Even just looking at that photo—my heart’s still pounding.”

I took several deep breaths, forcing myself to focus. The image burned itself into my mind—it’s a real human head, not something someone photoshopped just to scare you.

“No, he didn’t die from seeing that photo on his phone,” I said.

“He didn’t?” Zhao Mingkun asked, confused.

I shook my head, studying the screen. “When you found the phone, it was still in his pocket. If he’d died from seeing the image, how would he have put it away? Whatever killed him—it wasn’t just this photo. There were more things set up to scare him.”

I added, “So the killer left all kinds of nasty surprises. Even if this photo hadn’t killed him, it would have, eventually. Who could hate him this much? And that woman in the photo—who was she?”