Chapter 317: Confessions of a Killer: The Final Pages

2022-05-20

“The last person was Liang Mei. And the killer never realized—the old phone she found was the one Liang Mei had lost.” I went on, “What the killer didn’t know was that after that gathering, once Liang Mei heard about Hu Pei’s death, suspicion brewed inside her. She was probably the first to realize this whole thing wasn’t just a scary story.”

The story was nearly at its end, yet Jiang Xiaochun still ignored us. She stayed huddled with her blanket wrapped even tighter around herself.

I didn’t mind Jiang Xiaochun’s silence. I just continued talking. “Liang Mei learned caution for a reason. Seven years ago, she did something she’d come to regret over and over. And because of her actions back then, that old case became a tangled mess no one could see through.”

I stared straight at Jiang Xiaochun, speaking slowly and carefully. “Because it was Liang Mei who dismembered the body.”

As soon as those words left my mouth, Jiang Xiaochun finally looked up.

Her eyes were rimmed red. Anger and grief flickered in her gaze. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’d managed to spend seven years seeking vengeance for Lü Zhiqiu—if that’s not love, what is?

Clearly Jiang Xiaochun never found out about Liang Mei’s part in it. If she had, Liang Mei would have been the first to die. She was waiting for what I’d say next. I understood—when it came to Lü Zhiqiu, that was both her weakness and her armor.

Jiang Xiaochun would do anything for Lü Zhiqiu. But anything involving Lü Zhiqiu was something she never let pass.

I looked at Jiang Xiaochun and kept going. “The killer didn’t originally plan to kill Liang Mei last. Along the way, she realized someone had slipped out from under her watch. That someone was Liang Mei—the first to recognize the danger. The next day she left in a hurry, barely packing a thing. By then, the killer couldn’t turn back, and with everything in motion, she had no way to stop.”

Jiang Xiaochun didn’t react to my words, but at least now we knew for sure—she wasn’t insane.

“So once the killer finished off the rest, she went searching for Liang Mei. But while the killer hunted for her, Liang Mei was searching for the killer too. She couldn’t shake the guilt of that dismemberment seven years ago. When she heard Hu Xiaoxue was murdered, she feared her own son might be next—so she set out to find the killer.”

I shook my head, helpless. “That phone the killer had? It was Liang Mei’s all along. That photo too, Liang Mei took it herself. She figured out the killer was using her own pictures to make the murders look like a haunting, so she started tracing leads from her phone. While the killer tracked Liang Mei, Liang Mei was tracking the killer.”

“That’s how they finally crossed paths.”

With a bold guess, I continued, “The killer was wracking her brain, trying to find where Liang Mei was hiding. But then, out of nowhere, Liang Mei came straight to her. Talk about fate—the killer couldn’t have dreamed it’d be this easy. Liang Mei just turned up at her doorstep.”

I glanced at Zhao Mingkun. “I remember when we found Liang Mei’s office computer, the photo stored there was high-res. On that photo, Liang Mei spotted a shadow. She used some professional graphics software, and sure enough—those were Hu Pei’s pants. She realized that when Lü Zhiqiu died, Hu Pei had been hiding behind a pillar.”

“To get to the truth, Liang Mei approached the killer herself. Most people were dead already, but the killer was still alive—the only one left, and, by then, deeply unhinged. Liang Mei had run out of options. She had to find her. And the killer couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

I fixed my eyes on Jiang Xiaochun and said evenly, “So the killer played dumb, acting clueless as she went out with Liang Mei. Liang Mei pressed her about Hu Pei. The killer was overjoyed—because this gave her a chance to take Liang Mei to Hu Pei’s new place. By then, Liang Mei thought she’d finally discovered who killed Lü Zhiqiu seven years ago. She planned to call us to report it.”

“And so, Liang Mei called us and said she’d found the real killer.” I spoke up. “But the killer was right there beside her and couldn’t figure out whether Liang Mei meant her, or the one from seven years ago. It didn’t matter. The trap was already set. The killer didn’t give Liang Mei a chance to say more—in just a split second, she killed her.”

“Liang Mei only managed to get out a single word.” I said gently, “She said ‘you.’ Just one word, but it carried so much weight. On one hand, it showed her disbelief—that the person back for revenge was so unexpected, not the one she’d imagined.”

“On the other hand, that word showed Liang Mei must have known her killer. Right then, I started to suspect Deng Xuemei wasn’t actually the murderer, but I had no solid proof. Everything pointed at the elusive Deng Xuemei, and nothing else seemed to make sense.”

Now, all the pieces had finally come together, guiding me to keep unraveling the truth. I continued, “Liang Mei’s death marked the end for all those student interns from back then. Of course, Zhang Xue, Zhao Pingjuan, and Zhou Moli were still alive at that point. But to the killer, they were already as good as dead.”

“Now, here’s a question,” I said, raising one finger. “There’s a trick when it comes to deleting files on a computer. If you want something gone for good, the best method isn’t to delete—it’s to overwrite. That way, the originals can never be recovered. People are the same.”

I looked at Jiang Xiaochun and explained, “The killer understood this. If she wanted a clean getaway, she didn’t need to hide—she just needed someone to take the fall. With a scapegoat in place, everything would calm down. Instead of leaving a mystery, she’d hand over a culprit herself.”

“Honestly, the killer missed her calling—she should’ve studied psychology.” I locked eyes with Jiang Xiaochun, who stared back at me, fearless.

“So, who to choose? After thinking it over, the killer found the perfect candidate. Her own best friend—who was also her enemy. She was madly in love with Lü Zhiqiu, but there was someone else in Lü Zhiqiu’s life who always treated him like a fool. Lü Zhiqiu kept silent, never telling us a thing.”

“That person was Deng Xuemei.” I shook my head, a bit resigned. “As people say, you can paint a tiger but not its bones, know a face but not a heart. Sometimes you look at someone through others’ eyes, and the bias couldn’t be further from the truth. Deng Xuemei’s father was very sick. Not only did she refuse to take responsibility, she flaunted her wealth at university. People lacking something are always looking to show it off. Deng Xuemei just couldn’t help herself.”

I gestured at Jiang Xiaochun. “As Lü Zhiqiu’s closest friend, the killer knew exactly what Deng Xuemei was really like. But if she wanted to pin it all on her, she needed to tweak Deng Xuemei’s personality. So after digging into Deng Xuemei’s home life, she staged a whole drama for us—how Deng Xuemei, out of gratitude for Lü Zhiqiu’s help, transformed into a vengeful goddess.”

“But that’s just not who Deng Xuemei was.” I waved my hand. “She was incredibly selfish. No way would she kill over Lü Zhiqiu—not after everything. Still, the killer wanted her story to hold up, so she forged medical records, letters, and documents. She wasn’t any good at faking handwriting, but by rewriting everything in her own hand, she could make it all fit.”

Casually, I pulled a book from the bookshelf and flipped through it. “The killer had this habit of jotting notes in whatever she read—even if it was a kid’s book. Last time I was here, I noticed the handwriting inside matched the script in those medical records almost exactly.”

“Ever since then, my suspicions only grew.” I continued. “The killer was also friends with Deng Xuemei. And Deng Xuemei—greedy as she was—loved bargain shopping at the supermarket. So the killer invited her to the coast for a trip, covering all the expenses. Deng Xuemei happily agreed. A few days before the trip, she bought a bait tray for fishing. Little did she know death was right beside her. They weren’t gone long, so she left her clothes scattered on the bed and didn’t bother tossing her leftovers. In our investigation, there were no signs she was planning to take her own life.”

“At the coast, alone in a secluded spot, the killer asked to take her picture—then easily pushed her into the icy sea. She was swept away, vanishing for good. The killer returned to Deng Xuemei’s place and gathered up all the books with her handwriting. What she left behind was a set of chemicals—the very ones she used to kill—and some moths and a certain plant.”

“But in her eagerness to pin everything on Deng Xuemei, the killer went too far. Still, I have to admit, she was terrifyingly thorough. If we’d stopped investigating once we reached Deng Xuemei, it would’ve ended there—a case of murder and apparent suicide under the strain of illness.”

“But!” I said sharply, “Everything on the surface could be staged. But a person’s heart, that can’t be forged. We both know who Deng Xuemei really was. She would never kill, not for Lü Zhiqiu or anyone. No matter what, the killer had done everything in her power. Now, all that’s left is her own fate.”

“Do you know what her biggest mistake was…?”

I looked from Zhao Mingkun to Jiang Xiaochun, letting my question hang in the air.