Volume One (Prequel): The Seventh Reader - Chapter 15: Hatred
Xing Zhisen did not break his promise. The next day when Fang Mu arrived at the police station, Xing Zhisen brought him straight to his office. He pointed to a large pile of files on the desk and said, "You can read them here. You can use my cup for water, and the thermos is under the table."
Then he turned and walked to the door. "If someone knocks, don't make a sound, and don't answer the phone." With that, he locked the door and left.
Fang Mu understood his meaning. Allowing an unrelated person like him to read the police files was a serious violation of protocol.
Why didn't he consider that I might be the killer? Fang Mu smiled and shook his head. He was very grateful for Xing Zhisen's trust.
He looked around the office. It was not large, with only a desk, a chair, and a three-person sofa against the wall. The rest of the space was occupied by several bookshelves, all locked. There should be many thrilling or absurd stories inside.
Fang Mu sat at the desk, facing a thick file bound in leather. The cover listed the date, location, and the victim's name. Fang Mu pulled out the bottom one, which read "December 31, 1999, Shida Club, Chen Xi."
Tears welled up in Fang Mu's eyes.
Interrogation transcripts. Crime scene investigation report. Autopsy report. Next were the crime scene photos. Fang Mu's hands began to tremble.
Chen Xi lying on the stretcher. Her fair and slender neck was bare, only with smooth muscles and broken bones. Apart from a few blood spots on the collar, her robe was spotlessly white.
Her head lying on the stage. Her long hair tangled with blood, revealing a broad and fair forehead. The graceful curve of her cheek.
A close-up of her head. Her hair parted, with a serene expression, but with a slight frown, closed eyes, and a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Below was a smooth and neat incision, the muscles showing no signs of life, pale and lifeless.
The axe lying on the stage. Long handle, iron-made, unremarkable. There were no obvious bloodstains on the blade.
Fang Mu couldn't help but burst into uncontrollable sobs, large tears falling onto the photos.
After a long time, Fang Mu bit his finger, forcing himself to calm down.
I will protect you.
He put it back and took a deep breath before opening the first file, "September 17, 1999, Shida Men's Dormitory, Third Floor Bathroom (West Side), Zhou Jun."
After reading all the files, it was already 5 p.m. Xing Zhisen came back silently. He lit a cigarette and sat opposite Fang Mu.
Fang Mu kept his head down, not wanting Xing Zhisen to see his still swollen eyes.
"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Xing Zhisen asked.
Fang Mu shook his head.
Xing Zhisen's face did not show any disappointment. He stood up, patted Fang Mu's shoulder, "Let's go, let's have dinner together. The police canteen has good food."
Fang Mu looked up, gazing at Xing Zhisen's kind face. "No, I want to go back early."
Fang Mu sat on the No. 64 bus, staring out the window. It was the peak of rush hour, and the noise of people and car horns filled the streets. Everyone's face showed an eager expression, perhaps looking forward to a simple or sumptuous dinner at home. The hurried footsteps, the turning wheels, leading them towards dry slippers, warm rice, affectionate complaints, and the murmurs of children.
Life, like an ever-flowing river, sometimes calm, sometimes violent, sometimes with waves, and sometimes with surging tides.
As the sky gradually darkened, Fang Mu felt a sense of exhaustion and powerlessness.
A No. 25 bus approached from the opposite direction. Fang Mu watched it pass by, filled with a crowded group of people, sitting or standing, with numb or loud expressions. Each person's life was unrelated to the others, as mundane as fate itself.
But, that person was no longer there.
"If fate has decreed that I am the next person, I hope he can kill me at once, preferably from behind, without my knowledge, without the pain of taking my life."
The autopsy report said that Chen Xi had been anesthetized with ether and beheaded while in a deep coma.
Who would have thought that one word could become reality?
The bus passed by Shida, but Fang Mu didn't want to get off, riding it all the way to the end.
He walked slowly back to the school, the sky completely dark, and the streetlights gradually coming on. His figure was elongated and shortened repeatedly.
He walked faster and faster, finally breaking into a run, drawing astonished glances from passersby.
In the midst of his run, he burst into uncontrollable sobs once again.
Two days later, Fang Mu attended Chen Xi's funeral.
The funeral was held at the Chaoyanggou Crematorium. Most of the attendees were Chen Xi's classmates, as well as members of the SUO group.
Chen Xi's parents were supported by her aunt and uncle as they greeted those who came to bid her a final farewell.
Chen Xi bore a striking resemblance to her father.
The sound echoing in the hall was not funeral music, but the song "Love" by Karen Mok, reportedly Chen Xi's favorite song.
If it weren't for loving you, how could I not sleep late into the night?
Fang Mu walked past the coffin placed in the center of the hall. Chen Xi lay quietly inside, a light purple veil wrapped around her neck, thanks to the mortician, she looked remarkably peaceful.
Love is a torment, yet we can't bear to give it up, constantly conjecturing about your heart, does it have my name... Her hands were crossed in front of her chest, slightly clenched, as if holding a deep-seated secret.
Love is my only secret, breaking hearts yet enchanting, no matter what words are used, only missing you.
The memorial service ended. As Chen Xi's distraught parents were assisted out of the hall by relatives and classmates, and the crematorium staff lifted Chen Xi's body, preparing to place it on the cold trolley, Fang Mu turned around.
I love you.
Zhou Jun was strangled in the restroom. After his death, the killer posed his body in a grotesque manner, likely to prevent it from being discovered too early.
Liu Weili was lured to the rooftop from the copy room and pushed off, and then the killer cleaned the scene thoroughly, leaving no trace.
Jia Feifei was tied to the flagpole and froze to death. The killer stripped her clothes but left no signs of sexual assault, indicating that he only wanted to kill, not to violate. A statue in the snow.
Song Bo was impaled by a falling icicle. From the scene, it seemed like an accident, no one could have calculated it so accurately. So why didn't the killer hide the bodies or clean the scene like the previous two murders?
He could have easily hidden Jia Feifei and Song Bo's bodies in the hollow space under the sports stadium stands. That way, they might not have been found for days or weeks.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Tying her to the flagpole was probably intended to draw attention to his cruelty and intelligence, as if an artist wanted his work to be displayed in the most prominent place in the exhibition hall.
Song Bo's death was likely an accident, but for the killer, it seemed more like a surprise. What kind of death is more eerie and astonishing than being instantly killed by a falling icicle? Compared to Jia Feifei on the flagpole, he probably wanted people to see Song Bo kneeling outside the sports stadium, with an icicle impaled in his neck.
As for Chen Xi, beheading her in front of over 3000 spectators, then calmly escaping.
A perfect murder staged in front of everyone, leaving no trace, and then watching the audience's fear and escape, the police's panic and confusion.
"The Devil's Feast." That night's play was a solo performance, his feast.
Cunning. Cautious. Strong. Cruel. Arrogant. He enjoys dramatic life experiences.
More importantly, deep within his heart lies a profound—hatred.
What kind of hatred is this?
What kind of hatred requires slaughter to appease?
What kind of hatred demands the lives of five people in retribution?
What kind of hatred can make him willingly give up his soul?
What kind of hatred can inspire such cruel inspiration?
The killer, male, physically strong, with an incredibly intelligent mind, cautious, cruel, introverted, longing for extraordinary experiences and encounters.
And, he is around me.
"You mean, the killer is someone from this school, and it's very likely someone you know?" Xing Zhisen and Fang Mu sat in a small restaurant on the campus, the food in front of them already cold. Xing Zhisen looked at Fang Mu through the smoke from his cigarette.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"First, the person who killed Zhou Jun in the restroom must be someone familiar with his habits. It would be very risky to attack him in the dormitory building, as he might be seen by others. Zhou Jun had a habit of using the restroom late at night when everyone should be asleep, so the killer must have known Zhou Jun. Second, Liu Weili was lured to the rooftop from the copy room, and then pushed off by the killer. He must have known that Liu Weili needed to work late that night, and it's impossible for a stranger to lead her to the rooftop late at night. Third, Chen Xi was killed on the stage, and the method of killing matched the plot, indicating that the killer must have known the development of the play in advance. So, he must be someone from this school."
Xing Zhisen exhaled smoke silently. Fang Mu's analysis was consistent with his inference. He looked at the college students coming and going in the restaurant, dressed in either luxurious or simple attire, but all with a youthful and innocent look. He couldn't imagine any of them having such a cruel character or such meticulous thoughts.
"Why did he do this?"
"Hatred." Fang Mu thought for a moment and softly uttered these two words.
Hatred? How could a student with shallow life experiences harbor such hatred?
"Hatred is not always about avenging a father or a lost love," Fang Mu seemed to see through Xing Zhisen's thoughts. "Hatred often quietly breeds in the smallest of things, a glance, a gesture, a joke, all of which could be the source of hatred. When a person feels hurt, they have a reason to hate. Just like your smile that day, it made me want to strangle you on the spot."
Xing Zhisen looked at Fang Mu, and in the boy's eyes, he could no longer see the nervousness and the age-appropriate innocence when they first met. His gaze was world-weary, lonely, with deep weariness yet a sharp and bright light.
"Have you ever hated anyone?"
"I have," Fang Mu said in a low voice. "Bullies from high school, a teacher who caught me cheating, a disrespectful ticket seller." He sighed. "But those were fleeting moments of hatred. The person I hate the most now is just him."
Fang Mu looked into Xing Zhisen's eyes. "Whenever, wherever, if you catch him, please let me..."
"Let you do what?"
Fang Mu fell silent and shook his head.
Fang Mu arrived at the desolate club, standing at the entrance for a while before walking in.
The second-floor corridor was empty, and the sound of Fang Mu's footsteps echoed around. He stood near the stairs.
This is where Wu Han was knocked down by the killer.
He swung his right hand in the air, striking an invisible object.
The wound on the back of Wu Han's head was almost vertical to his shoulder, indicating that the killer had struck his head from behind with a wooden stick.
So his habitual hand should be his right hand.
Yes, the night the killer raised the axe with both hands, it was clear that he exerted force with his right hand.
Fang Mu stood still, as if trying to sense the lingering breath of the person who had swung the stick in the air a few days ago.
The surroundings were incredibly quiet, with the occasional sound of the wind blowing through the window cracks. The tap in the bathroom was dripping.
After a long time, he walked down the stairs with a hint of disappointment.
As he entered the lobby downstairs, Fang Mu noticed someone sitting inside the theater.
He held his breath and quietly entered the theater, approaching the person.
The theater was very dimly lit, and the person sat motionless in the front row of the audience seats, staring at the stage.
Fang Mu's eyes gradually adjusted to the light in the theater, and he noticed that the person had a bandage on the back of his head.
It was Wu Han.
Fang Mu let out a breath and no longer tried to move stealthily.
He sat down next to Wu Han. Wu Han had obviously noticed Fang Mu, but he didn't turn his head, still staring at the stage, unmoving.
The stage was empty, with the previously used decorations hanging listlessly, and the floor had been hastily cleaned, still bearing dark red bloodstains and chalk outlines marking the position of the head and the axe.
Wu Han let out a heavy sigh. "Right here? In front of everyone?"
Fang Mu remained silent.
Wu Han lowered his head and said softly, "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," Fang Mu's voice became hoarse.
"I know," Wu Han looked back at the stage. "But... Chen Xi was a good girl."
"Stop talking!" Fang Mu's voice became more strained.
Wu Han closed his mouth obediently.
The two sat in the increasingly dark theater, silently side by side, until they were completely shrouded by the thick darkness.
"Let's go," Fang Mu stood up.
Wu Han picked up his bag. Fang Mu felt for the steps and was about to move his foot, but his arm was grabbed by Wu Han.
In the darkness, Wu Han's eyes flashed with an odd light.
"Fang Mu, no matter what, no matter what, catch him!"