Chapter 358: Wang Mai

2022-05-20

Just then, Gu Chen’s phone started ringing. Since he was driving and couldn’t answer, I picked it up and saw it was Uncle Chen calling. It was already the middle of the night, so if Uncle Chen was reaching out now, he must have found something important.

I answered, “Uncle Chen, it’s Little Wu. Have you discovered something?”

Uncle Chen replied, “I just finished investigating the last fishing supply store in town. There are twelve in total here, and from when we split up until now, we’ve checked all of them. But none of the owners remember seeing a man in his thirties or thereabouts.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “Most of the people who come to buy fishing supplies here are men around thirty-three or thirty-four. Our town sits along a branch of the East River, so there are a fair number of anglers. But if someone had come in and bought a whole bundle of fishing line or dozens of fishhooks all at once, the store owners would definitely remember. Nobody made such a big purchase.”

I frowned and said slowly, “Yeah, that’s about what I expected. The killer always acts carefully, cleaning up after every murder. It’s likely he bought things in small amounts or sent someone else to buy them.”

Uncle Chen said, “You can find fishhooks in more than just fishing supply stores. There are plenty of hardware stores around here too, and they also carry fishhooks. But there are way more hardware stores than fishing ones. Investigating all of those will take some time. It’s too late to do more tonight, but I’ll send people out in the morning to start checking. It’ll be a bit before we get answers.”

I said, “Alright, send some people to look into this tomorrow. It’s late—get some rest. We’ll be heading back soon ourselves.”

Uncle Chen replied, “You too—get some sleep when you get back. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.”

After quickly filling in Gu Chen, we turned back for home.

Back in the room, I said to Gu Chen, “Looking at the profiles, most folks around here are either farmers or laborers. That’s not meant as an insult, but a person’s worldview really is tied to their background and education.”

“What are you getting at?” Gu Chen asked, doing push-ups in the room while we talked.

I was stretched out on the bed, cigarette in hand. “I’m saying this killer isn’t your average laborer or farmer. He’s got a grudge against Taishan Elementary. My profiling tells me he has a child—likely a student at that school.”

Gu Chen switched to one-handed push-ups, sweating heavily. “So what you’re saying is, maybe the killer started murdering people because he was afraid these kids would bully his own child?”

I met Gu Chen’s gaze. “That’s very possible. Not just being afraid either—it could be they already hurt his child, which pushed him to do something extreme. That’s why I asked the principal to pull all the student records, even for kids who’ve transferred out.”

Gu Chen stood up and said, “Mary’s coming tomorrow. Do you think she can track this guy down with just a phone search?”

“Let’s get some sleep,” I said. “We’ve been running all day, aren’t you tired? How can you still be doing push-ups?”

Gu Chen replied, “Habit. If I don’t work up a sweat at night, I can’t sleep. I’m going to take a shower. You can hit the sack first.”

The next morning, still bleary-eyed, I was woken by Gu Chen. In that way, he really was a bit like Zhao Mingkun—like he had endless energy every morning. After washing up, we headed to the school. First, we needed to check the principal’s progress; second, we wanted to find the stuttering kid.

Uncle Chen was leading a team to visit every hardware store in town today, trying to find out if anyone bought sixty fishhooks in one go.

Gu Chen and I went straight to the school—it was just after 8:10 a.m. The elementary students were starting their first class. We called the principal, and he hurried over to meet us, sporting dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept a wink.

As soon as he saw us, he yawned and said, “I had our teachers pull these records together overnight. We marked the troublemakers in each class. But just because they’re mischievous doesn’t mean they’re the same sort as Liang Zhengyu or that they bully others.”

I shook my head. “Think about it—if Liang Zhengyu hadn’t died, maybe none of this would’ve come to light. It’s a classic survivor bias. We only ever see the tip of the iceberg—the five percent that floats to the surface. The rest, the darker part, stays hidden from us.”

I took the thick stack of files from the principal.

Flipping through, I saw the records ran from first through fifth grade. Every file listed the kids’ names, home address, and parents’ jobs—pretty detailed, really. Luckily, Taishan Elementary isn’t that big. Six grades total around five hundred kids.

I asked, “Did Liang Zhengyu’s homeroom teacher come in today?”

The principal nodded. “After what happened, the school’s letting her go, but she still needs to finish her handover today. I figured you’d want to speak with her, so I asked her to wait for you first.”

“Could you go through the records and mark any parents with a high school education or above, or those who aren’t farmers or laborers? We’re going to talk to the stuttering student next.”

“Sure, I’ll have one of the teachers help.” the principal replied.

At that moment, Gu Chen’s phone rang—it was Mary calling. She’d just landed in Dongxing City and would be arriving at the town soon.

Not long after, a female teacher in her fifties came into the office. We knew without asking—this was Ms. Zhao, Liang Zhengyu’s homeroom teacher. She told us the stuttering child’s name was Wang Mai. But she also said his parents didn’t know anything about his recent troubles.

We nodded, and I could see how downcast she looked. It was hard to tell whether she was mourning her teaching career or grieving for Wang Mai.

At that time, the kids were still in class. Ms. Zhao stood by the back door’s window, discreetly pointing out Wang Mai. We saw him, sitting alone in the corner, eyes down. While the rest of the class enjoyed their Chinese lesson, he scribbled in his notebook, lost in his own world.

Wang Mai looked frail and small, the type of kid others would see as easy to pick on.

Just then, a girl was answering a question for the teacher.

Ms. Zhao said, “That girl—she was involved too.”

But looking at her youthful face, you’d never guess she could behave that way. There’s just so much you can’t tell from someone’s appearance. After answering, she beamed when the teacher praised her and happily took her seat.

Such a dedicated, hardworking kid—or so it seemed.

Ms. Zhao suggested, “I’ll call Wang Mai out now.”

I checked the time. There wasn’t long till class ended. I said, “If you call him out now, then when other kids get scolded later, they’ll know Wang Mai snitched. That’ll only open him up to more bullying. Kids can be ruthless, especially to those who talk to teachers.”

Ms. Zhao nodded. “He’s so withdrawn, I doubt he’ll say anything even if you talk to him alone.”

I could only shake my head.

“Let’s wait—it won’t kill us to give him another ten minutes. He’s put up with this for years. We can wait a little longer.”

Watching through the back window, I saw Wang Mai still alone, absorbed in his scribbling while the lively classroom played out around him. It was like he existed in a world of his own.

Ten or so minutes later, class finally ended. As Wang Mai headed out for the bathroom, Ms. Zhao brought him to the office. Once he left, I finally got a look at his notebook. It was filled with abstract pencil sketches, all fragmented, not a single complete picture.

From a psychology perspective, what someone draws can reveal their mind. Looking at Wang Mai’s art, I saw a clash between reality and fantasy—a fractured sense of self, isolated from the world.

The way he sees things is just different from ours.

Ms. Zhao brought Wang Mai into the office, then stepped out again.

Gu Chen and I didn’t rush in. We stood outside, observing Wang Mai. He sat quietly at Ms. Zhao’s desk, not fidgeting or even glancing around—all too serious for such a small kid.

His gaze was angled at the ceiling, as if he could find some secret amusement up there.

I glanced at Gu Chen beside me. “Let’s go.”

Gu Chen nodded.

We pushed open the door, and I pulled up a chair next to Wang Mai. “You’re Wang Mai, right?”

Wang Mai nodded.

“I’m here to ask about whether Liang Zhengyu bullied you. You don’t need to be scared. We’re here to help you. Tell us—did Liang Zhengyu pick on you?”

I looked at Wang Mai.

He just looked back at me—five full minutes, and not a single word.