Chapter 54: The Lonely Widow Wang

2022-05-20

When I finally woke up, three faces were hovering over me.

I was groggy, still feeling the rope around my neck, though someone had already cut the other end. I sucked in deep breaths, savoring the most basic need for survival. Turns out the most precious things in life really are free. In that moment, I wanted to shout: Protect the air, it’s everyone’s responsibility.

Guan Zengbin punched my chest lightly. “Told you not to try it! You nearly scared us to death!”

“How long was I out?” I asked as I untangled the rope.

Xiao Liu just sighed. “You think this is a TV show? No one just faints for days and wakes up fine. From the time you dropped to the time you woke up, maybe ten seconds tops. Any longer and you’d be in the ER by now.”

I set the stool upright and sat down. “There was barely any pain. After a few seconds, everything started to blur. That’s probably hypoxia-induced blackout. My neck aches from the rope but it’s not a big deal. If it were Wang Yiman, she likely died while unconscious.”

“So after risking your life with that little experiment, did you actually find anything?” Guan Zengbin asked.

I nodded earnestly. “Yeah, I did. Right before I blacked out, my mind got really clear—maybe that’s what people call a flash of lucidity before death. I noticed two things that don’t add up. Maybe we can use them to figure out if someone else was involved in her suicide.”

Gu Chen jumped in, “You mean, like Gao Rui’s case, someone talked to her before?”

I gently traced the mark on my neck. “Exactly.”

“What’s not adding up?” Guan Zengbin pressed.

I held up a finger. “First, I remembered—the knot around Wang Yiman’s neck wasn’t tied like we’d practiced. I took a close look at it. It was a slipknot, the kind that tightens the more you struggle. You’d need special training to tie that. No ordinary person would know how.”

I raised a second finger. “Second, she knew how to avoid the windpipe, so it wouldn’t hurt as much. And she went to the bathroom before she died.”

“That’s the information gap,” I explained. “Wang Yiman finished high school, then became a full-time mom looking after her kid. If a regular person were going to kill themselves, who’d think about so many details?” I pointed at Gu Chen. “What about you? How would you hang yourself?”

Gu Chen shrugged. “Just loop the rope, stick your head in, done.”

I snapped my fingers. “Exactly. Normal people don’t overthink it. This means someone must’ve taught Wang Yiman how to do all this before she acted. Gao Rui was a biology teacher, of course he’d know—but a housewife…”

Guan Zengbin disagreed. “Maybe she learned from her husband? People get curious about strange things. Or maybe she just looked it up herself.”

I nodded. “Possible. Still, in a matter of days, both Wang Yiman and Gao Rui killed themselves, and their suicides were oddly similar. There’s something off here. We know why Gao Rui did it—lost the one he loved. But what about Wang Yiman?”

“She lost her loved ones too!” Guan Zengbin tapped his head. “Her husband and daughter died in an accident, right?”

Gu Chen piped up, “But wasn’t that five years ago?”

On this point, I actually agreed with Guan Zengbin. I ran my fingers through my hair and said quietly, “You can’t be sure. Sometimes feelings linger. There are centenarians who take their own lives; sometimes all they need is a trigger. If it happens, even someone patient might just break.”

“A trigger?” Gu Chen repeated, puzzled. “What kind of trigger?”

I glanced at the puzzle pieces that Gu Chen and Xiao Liu had dumped out. “A moment when you suddenly decide to let everything go. I think we should finish this puzzle, see if it means anything.”

By four in the morning, we were all bleary-eyed but finally finished. Except, a few pieces were still missing—no clue where they went. The puzzle itself was pretty basic, just Happy Lamb playing on a grassy field. Nothing special.

“You didn’t lose any while pouring them out, did you?” I asked Xiao Liu. “This belonged to the deceased!”

Xiao Liu shook his head so vigorously he almost wobbled off his seat. “Nope, what’s here is what there was. Besides, isn’t the point missing? I mean, I can’t even remember why we bothered with this puzzle tonight. Didn’t you say it was some major clue? I don’t see anything important. Can you explain?”

I scratched my head, feeling a little awkward. If it was nothing, why did Wang Yiman keep it sealed in a glass jar?

“Isn’t it obvious!” Guan Zengbin yawned. “She probably kept it as a memento of her daughter. After the kid died, she’d fiddle with it whenever she missed her. Has nothing to do with the case. Feels like a whole night wasted, but at least we finished it—a small tribute to her memory.”

Xiao Liu yawned too, started by Guan Zengbin. “What a night! And I still have to check out Yucai High School today.”

“Why are we missing a dozen pieces?” I asked.

“Probably lost over time,” Guan Zengbin replied.

I frowned. “I need to go somewhere.”

“Where?” everyone asked.

“To Wang Yiman’s house.”

Xiao Liu’s snores answered me.

Right then, I was sitting on the bed in Wang Yiman’s bedroom, everything around me deathly still. Her house was the only one with the lights on. Through the window, darkness still blanketed the world. It was four-thirty in the morning, everyone else fast asleep. Gu Chen and Guan Zengbin were in the living room, leaving me undisturbed.

I’d actually been sitting here half an hour just thinking.

I closed my eyes, imagining what Wang Yiman did every night. If I were her, how would I fall asleep? I stared at the family photo, dazed. When loneliness is absolute, what’s left for her to do?

Loneliness and solitude, after all, are not the same.

Wang Yiman was alone, but never truly lonely. She was only thirty-two but didn’t remarry, didn’t start a new family. Five years is a long time. She must have had plenty of suitors and matchmakers, but none ever moved her.

So, for five years, every night alone but not truly lonely—how did she make it through?

I am Wang Yiman.

I reached for the glass jar in her vanity drawer, poured out the puzzle pieces.

That’s it. I was alone, so I pieced together puzzles to pass endless nights. That way, I wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t dream about my husband and daughter—not feel the ache of loneliness. I didn’t want to dream, since every dream became a nightmare.

I sat there frozen, returning to myself.

Right—I’m Wu Meng. My mother named me that, hoping all her nightmares would stop too. Not wanting to dream means not wanting nightmares. I can’t really describe it, but for me, every sleep brings bad dreams.

Maybe the biggest comfort in this world is hearing: Sleep through the night without a single dream.

The first rays of sunlight slipped through the window. The world around me started to stir.

As the silence faded, so did the loneliness.

Wang Yiman only managed to sleep after dawn, when the world was noisy again. When life returned, the quiet vanished.

I finally understood what that jar of puzzle pieces was for.

Were they just for piecing together during lonely nights?

Maybe at first. But after enough years, you’d know every piece by touch alone, eyes closed.

That, right there, is solitude.

The puzzle wasn’t for solving.

I walked out of the room. Gu Chen and Guan Zengbin were already asleep on the couch.

I called out loud on purpose. “Thunderstorm’s coming! Time to take in the laundry!”

They startled awake still half-dreaming. I told them, “I know what the puzzle is for. Wake everyone up. Search every inch of Wang Yiman’s house—even if you have to haul out all her furniture—find the missing pieces.”

“Why?” Gu Chen stared at me like I was nuts. “You want people to look for a few puzzle pieces? Even if we find them, what’s the point?”

I shook my head. “Does it matter if something’s useful? I just want to help a lonely woman find what she really wanted.”

“Nutcase,” Guan Zengbin muttered under his breath.

Now I truly understood what it meant to be alone. These puzzle pieces weren’t for completion. Each had stains, as if they’d been scattered all over the house. I noticed that from the start.

Every lonely night, a widow—she’d toss puzzle pieces around the rooms. Then bit by bit, she’d search for them—under the bed, behind the couch, atop the fridge. By the time she gathered most of them, morning had arrived and the world was waking up.

She was scared of being alone. So she made herself stay busy, never still.