by Gangxueyin
When Han Yin and Chief Cai arrived, a number of villagers had already gathered in the little courtyard, each one frightened but unable to restrain their curiosity.
They parted the crowd and walked into the yard. Liu Liang and his mother were not there. Two neighbors who’d stayed there to keep an eye on the scene said the old lady had been so frightened that she was unconscious, and Liu Liang had taken her to the village clinic. The forensic pathologist and tech team had arrived and started cleaning up the crime scene. They discovered other human heads under a peony bush. In all, there were four women’s heads. Of these, three belonged to Li Lan, Zhang Dan, and Liu Xiao’e. Not surprisingly, the fourth head belonged to the bride mannequin, missing from the shop window. They were buried side by side, tilted upward. The eyes of each head were propped open with toothpicks. All the heads faced the east wing—Teacher Zhao’s room.
The killer had used the mannequin head as a substitute. Perhaps he’d never be able to get the real head. Han Yin felt this plastic head could represent Yin Aijun. Seen in this light, the case of the rural village serial killer was connected to her case. And the killer had three times made a point aimed at Teacher Zhao and buried the heads tilted upward under her window. Han Yin really needed to have a deeper conversation with the old teacher. Even though her body and spirit were in bad shape, he had to try his best to protect future victims.
Liu Liang returned in his van and said his mother had regained consciousness and was on an IV drip. Han Yin asked if anyone had come by over the past two nights or if he had heard any unusual sounds late in the evening. Liu Liang thought for a moment, then said, “Nothing unusual.”
When the site examination was drawing to a close, there was a big commotion at the gate. A middle-aged man wearing a white lab coat was scuffling with the police and yelling at the top of his lungs that someone had killed Teacher Zhao.
The village clinic was made up of a row of whitewashed single-story houses—a simple setup that was well below standards for such an operation. At night, there was only one doctor, and he was responsible for diagnostic questions, injections, and transfusions.
At sunrise, Liu Liang had taken his mother to the clinic. With an IV transfusion, Teacher Zhao quickly regained consciousness. Liu Liang requested the sleepy-eyed doctor look after her and told him he was going home to see how things were but would come right back. The doctor agreed, but as soon as Liu Liang had left, the doctor went into the office and fell asleep. When the doctor awoke, he went to the transfusion room, which was now a pool of bright-red blood.
Han Yin, Chief Cai, Liu Liang, and a crowd of police officers rushed over to the village clinic.
Clothing was scattered all over the transfusion room. Teacher Zhao’s naked body lay on the hospital bed. Her head had been cut off. On the front of the chest was a deeply incised vertical bar (|), a rodlike mark. This was twice as long as the incision on Zhang Dan’s chest. Her body and everything around the bed were drenched in blood.
The doctor further examined the body. Teacher Zhao had died from a massive loss of blood after the blade had severed her carotid artery. She had died approximately one hour earlier. Her labia had been sewn closed with silk thread, and a curved needle still dangled from it. The thread and needle had both come from the clinic. And, as with the earlier crimes, the killer had taken the head with him.
The murder of Teacher Zhao was both expected and unexpected by Han Yin. The day before, he had a feeling that the old lady would be the next target and had urged Chief Cai to assign some officers to keep an eye on her. But the station hadn’t acted in time. The interval between the previous three cases had been about a week, but this murder was only two days from the last. This had surprised Han Yin. He felt the killer had enjoyed the torture and devastation he was wreaking upon Teacher Zhao and wouldn’t have cut it short unless he’d sensed danger.
The killer had left a mark on each the four victims’ bodies: a horizontal rod, a short vertical rod, a short horizontal rod, and a vertical rod. As Han Yin figured, these marks might form some Chinese character or graphic. The long vertical and horizontals could form a 十, and if a short horizontal were placed on top, it would be a 干 character. But if a short horizontal rod were added underneath, this would be a 士 character. A short vertical could be added, but it would be difficult to make a character with it, regardless of where it was placed. If the angles were turned around, the long horizontal, the long vertical, and the short horizontal could form a 上 character. Adding a short vertical would make it 止. If Yin Aijun represented a long horizontal, then very possibly this would form a 正 character. But what would that represent? There was another problem: Had the killer’s sequence of strokes in writing the characters been conveyed completely? In short, what character or graphic had really been formed? The task force did not know. If they were going to make a breakthrough, they’d have to devote their energies to the victims’ bodies.
Han Yin was now confident that Teacher Zhao and the girls had been involved in something bad. Otherwise why would the killer have taken such crazed revenge on them? Still, probing the families of the victims and a number of villagers turned up nothing that would support such conclusions. In addition, of the eleven suspects questioned last night, every one of them had sufficient alibis. If the case hit a dead end, what would they do? If they couldn’t get useful information from the corpses, then could they get it from a potential victim’s body? If so, they’d have to find her before the killer struck again.
The potential victim should be the same age as the three victims, have been in the same class in primary school, have had a very close relationship with the other victims, and have been very close to Teacher Zhao and often been in the teacher’s home. Han Yin hoped Liu Liang, as Teacher Zhao’s son and Liu Xiao’e’s younger brother, could come up with someone who fit the criteria.
23
DIVINE CURSES
The following day at Teacher Zhao’s house
In just a few days, Teacher Zhao and her daughter had been viciously murdered. For the son, Liu Liang, this would have been hard to bear, and what made it worse was that he didn’t know whether he might be the next victim. He looked as if he had aged a lot overnight. His stubbly face looked waxy and sallow, and his hair was disheveled as he curled up on his mother’s bed. His eyes were pink from crying. When he spoke, his body swayed, either a sign that grief had overpowered him or that he was still in shock.
Liu Liang’s brother-in-law, He Jun, was in the same predicament and felt deeply affected. He also looked thoroughly exhausted and in grief, though he was a little calmer. He sat on the side of the bed and said a few words of comfort to Liu Liang from time to time. Han Yin could tell from their body language that they were not close.
When Han Yin asked about other potential victims, Liu Liang said it was so long ago that he couldn’t remember clearly. He said many of the students his mother taught came to the house to play. He didn’t pay much attention to who had played with his sister, Li Lan, or Zhang Dan. And those three didn’t always come together.
Han Yin would have to find another approach. He asked Liu Liang if his mother normally kept a diary. Liu Liang said no. Then Han Yin asked, “Is there a photo album around?”
“Yes,” said He Jun. He opened the desk drawer and took out a few albums and handed them to Han Yin and Chief Cai. Then, he pointed to the wall above the bed where two big framed photographs were hanging. “There are a lot of pictures of her and her students.”
Liu Liang turned his head and stared wide-eyed at one of the frames. He pointed at it and said, “Ai! Chief Cai, there’s my sister, Li Lan, Zhang Dan, and Yin Aijun.”
“What?” Han Yin and Chief Cai put down their photo albums and ran over to get a closer look.
Almost all of them were group pictures of Teacher Zhao and her students. It seemed she treasured her students more than anything.
The photograph Liu Liang had pointed to was a group picture of five female students—the three
recent victims, Yin Aijun, and a mystery girl. They appeared to be about ten years old. The five of them were posing sweetly in front of a big tree.
“Do you think it’s connected to our case? Teacher Zhao isn’t in it,” Chief Cai said.
He Jun said, “Her only hobby was photography.”
“That’s right. Mom really liked photography. She often brought her students to the countryside and took pictures of them,” Liu Liang said.
“She took this picture, and four of the five girls have been murdered. That’s no coincidence,” said Han Yin. Then, he pointed to the mystery girl. “She’s the only one left alive. Who is she?”
Liu Liang tried to remember and said, “Huang . . . Huang Ling. Yes, Huang Ling, and she lived right next to Yin Aijun.”
“Where was the picture taken? Can you tell?”
“I know where,” said Chief Cai. “It would have been in the courtyard of Yongxiang Temple on North Mountain under the thousand-year-old juniper tree.”
“Right,” said Liu Liang.
“Could we borrow this photo?” asked Han Yin.
“Of course!” Liu Liang signaled to He Jun, who took down the picture frame, opened the back, and took out the photograph to give to Han Yin.
Han Yin took the photo and looked at it carefully; then he and Chief Cai thanked them and left.
As they walked through the little courtyard, Chief Cai asked, “Why does this maniac want to kill the girls from the photograph? What could have caused such anger and hatred?”
“I don’t know. But let’s not worry about him right now. The important thing is to arrange protection for Huang Ling. She has to be the killer’s next target!”
“Let’s get a move on, then, and head to her house.”
Gaoshen Village was small, and its residences were densely packed together. It took Han Yin and Chief Cai less than ten minutes to reach Huang Ling’s house.
Her parents were both home but claimed they didn’t know anything about her current circumstances or contact information. She had left home to find work, and it had been years since they’d heard from her. Their body language strongly suggested that they wanted the officers to leave.
Chief Cai tried to control himself as he explained what was at stake. But he never expected what they said in return.
“Death would be the best thing for her. We should never have had her!”
What had happened between them that had caused such anger toward Huang Ling? No matter how hard Han Yin and Chief Cai tried, the old couple insisted they didn’t know where their daughter was. Not wanting to waste any more time, Han Yin and Chief Cai had no other choice but to leave.
They went next door to where Yin Aijun had lived so Yin Dexing could look at the photo of the five girls. They thought he might recall something, or they might pick up something about him.
Yin Dexing warmly invited them to sit down and brewed two cups of tea. He looked at the picture and said they had a copy in the house. Then he asked why Han Yin wanted him to look at it. Han Yin explained that all four girls had been cruelly murdered. Yin Dexing was seized by fear.
“What is it? What’re you thinking about?” asked Han Yin.
Yin Dexing gazed at the photo, took in a deep breath, and said to himself, “Can it be? Can it be that the curse is real?”
“What curse?” asked Chief Cai. “Please, tell us!”
“They disturbed the tree spirit and have suffered its punishment!” Yin Dexing pointed to the big tree behind the children and heaved a big sigh.
“You mean to say these kids have been killed because they were disrespectful to this thousand-year-old juniper tree?” Chief Cai stared, wide-eyed.
Yin Dexing nodded. “It’s all about revenge!”
“Uncle, please be honest with us! What’s this all about?” Han Yin was anxious and felt that a big breakthrough was on the horizon.
“It’s a long story,” said Yin Dexing, pulling himself together and taking a sip of tea. “On our North Mountain is Yongxiang Temple. It was built during the early part of the Northern Song dynasty, and this was when the juniper tree was planted, a thousand years ago. People believe it has intelligence, and people in the village worshipped it as a tree deity. On festivals and holidays, people burn incense to it, make offerings, and pray for good fortune.”
“I’ve heard the villagers talk about this while I was on this beat as a People’s police officer,” Chief Cai said. “They say that during the War of Resistance, a bunch of Jap devils grabbed the village women and raped them under the tree. It ended after they were shot dead the next day. The strange thing was, there were no wounds on their bodies. I also heard that during the Cultural Revolution, a bunch of rebels who were intent on eliminating feudalistic superstitions insisted on cutting down the tree. They hadn’t been sawing long when red sap, looking just like fresh blood, started flowing from the wood. The rebels were frightened and stopped sawing. The leaders all died from strange diseases.”
Han Yin wasn’t interested in legends of the old tree. Lots of local places and novels had similar horror stories, so he interrupted Chief Cai and pressed Yin Dexing. “Please, tell us about the children in the picture.”
Yin Dexing ignored him and picked up where the station chief left off. “The rebel faction stopped sawing, then wrecked Yongxiang Temple. They sent the monks running and knocked the votive statues over and smashed them to pieces. They also tore down and wrecked several buildings in the temple courtyard. Then, in the early 1980s, a crazy monk showed up and treated the place like his refuge. Although he seemed like a lunatic, he restored the temple. He called himself the guardian of the tree spirit and would chase away the kids who would often climb the tree to steal eggs from bird nests. But his attitude toward the villagers who came to burn incense and pray to the tree was different and kind, and those villagers made him the abbot of the temple.”
Han Yin frowned, and Yin Dexing quickly got back to the point. “Right, the children. They were all about twelve years old when the photo was taken. That day, Teacher Zhao took them on an outing up the mountain. At one point, they went into the temple to play, and a few of the children didn’t know how to behave properly. They carved something on the ancient tree. Teacher Zhao was an educated big-city woman who didn’t believe in feudalistic superstitions. She didn’t give it much thought and just told the children not to harm the plants and trees. Then she took their picture. The crazy monk had seen this and went after them, cursing and lashing out. Teacher Zhao went over to reason with him, and a scuffle broke out. Later, when Aijun came home, she said the monk had been no match for Teacher Zhao and that he cursed them for having harmed the tree spirit and broken the peace of the Sacred Land of Buddhist Teaching and that all of them would come to dark ends. And the strange thing is, some of the children had stomachaches and fevers that night. Under the advice and instruction of the village elders, I went with the parents of those children into the temple to burn incense and spirit money for the sake of the tree. After that, the children were fine again. I figured that was that. Squashed. Who would have expected that now they’d suffer that retribution? If we’d known it would turn out this way, we’d have offered a Buddhist mass to beg the tree spirit’s forgiveness and avoided this horror.”
Han Yin tried to comfort Yin Dexing. “Don’t be sad. Maybe it was just a coincidence. The deaths of those children didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the curse.”
“No, it’s not a coincidence.” Yin Dexing kept shaking his head. “One month ago, that monk appeared in the village. Maybe he suddenly returned to take revenge on those kids and Teacher Zhao.”
“‘Suddenly returned?’” Han Yin asked.
Chief Cai said, “Around the end of 1999, that thousand-year-old juniper tree was listed by the State Administration of Cultural Heritage as a key cultural icon for provincial-level protection. In view of this, the village rebuilt Yongxiang Temple, invited a bunch of monks, and developed it into a tourist attraction. And the crazy monk wa
s kicked out.”
“That’s right. The chief’s right. The monk was kicked out and driven away,” said Yin Dexing.
“If that’s what happened, then the monk had a motive for revenge and also matches the profile I’d made on the potential killer. And the time of his reappearance fits right in. So Huang Ling must be next.” Han Yin asked Yin Dexing, “Sir, Huang Ling’s parents don’t seem to care if she dies.”
Yin Dexing looked as if he’d like to sidestep the question, but the old man awkwardly nodded and said in a low voice, “That child, Huang Ling, is simply the bane of Old Huang’s family. If it weren’t for the connection with this case, I wouldn’t be saying a word about her, but that Huang Ling always hung around the most worthless kids in the village. She dressed up like some little hooker. She’d get picked up by three or four guys in a day and steal other women’s men. She did every immoral and indecent thing you could imagine. She drove her mother to her death. Her father remarried, so Huang Ling went even more wild and fought with her stepmother. Later, she ran off to screw around in the city, and nobody’s heard a peep from her since. They say she’s a hostess in a karaoke bar. Sings with them. Sleeps with them. Enough to make the Huang clan lose face for all eternity. Ever since, they’ve acted as if the child doesn’t exist, and nobody mentions her name in their presence.”
Now Han Yin and Chief Cai finally understood. But regardless of what kind of person Huang Ling was, the police were responsible for her protection. They had to locate her before the killer did.
Chief Cai rushed back to the town to report to the task force, issue an APB to find the crazy monk, and track down the whereabouts of Huang Ling in the city. Yin Dexing took Han Yin up North Mountain to Yongxiang Temple to ask around about the monk.
The Yongxiang Temple resembled a small courtyard house. It consisted of a gatehouse, a main temple hall, and two side temple halls. The area wasn’t large, but the juniper tree in the middle of the courtyard looked grand and imposing. It was as high as a ten-story building. Countless strips of red cloth used to pray for good fortune were tied to the railing that surrounded it. Incense swirled around the little courtyard. The walls around the temple were painted with Buddhist symbols and patterns, and a very strong atmosphere pervaded.
