by Lei Mi
"Yep!" Meng Fanzhe nodded vigorously. "That seems to be the case." He placed the kettles on the floor and reached out to shake Fang Mu's hand, a serious look on his face. "Fang Mu, I want to thank you so much for the help you gave me."
Fang Mu smiled and shook his hand. "Don't mention it."
"When you're free, you'll have to come visit me in my room," said Meng Fanzhe. Then he waved goodbye, picked up his kettles and left.
Seeing Meng Fanzhe so relaxed made Fang Mu deeply happy. As he looked in the mirror, a slight smile gradually climbed his face.
That's right, he thought. Nothing is impossible.
It rained for two days straight, and as September began there was an unexpected chill in the air.
Umbrella overhead, Fang Mu carefully climbed the rain-slick library steps. He glanced at a piece of paper on the wall. It looked like a missing person notice. Momentarily distracted, he nearly slipped on some fallen leaves. He looked up. It seemed like only yesterday that the big tree had been covered in green. Now the leaves were all golden yellow, and as another gust of wind blew, several more floated down.
Five minutes earlier, he had received a call from Professor Qiao telling him to meet in the Psychological Consultation Room. He had not said what was going on, only that Fang Mu should hurry.
The Psychological Consultation Room was on the second floor of the library. It was the first of its kind to be located in any of the city's universities, and Professor Qiao was the man in charge. In 2000, the members of the Provincial Education Commission had held a meeting concerning university students' mental health, at which they called for all schools of higher education to establish mental health services for the benefit of their students. Jiangbin City University administrators had then tapped several professors from the schools of law and education to form the staff of a psychological consultation room located at the university. Being the eldest staff member, Professor Qiao Yunping had been chosen to be the project's director. But in the two years since its founding, very few people had come in for a consultation. Of course, this did not in the least mean that no one at Jiangbin City University had psychological issues; just that most would rather not confront them head-on. And since Professor Qiao usually had many things to attend to, he began showing up at the center less and less, until he was rarely there. So Fang Mu found it very puzzling that this was where the professor wanted to meet that day.
After Fang Mu knocked on the door, he heard Professor Qiao's distinctly calm voice. "Come in."
Fang Mu opened the door and walked inside, only to find that Professor Qiao was not alone.
On the sofa against the wall sat two visitors wearing police uniforms. One of them wore the stripes of a top-ranked officer. Both men turned to look at Fang Mu as he entered, obviously sizing him up.
Professor Qiao sat behind his desk. Several thick folders were stacked in front of him. He held one open in his hands. Glancing at Fang Mu from over the top of his presbyopic glasses, he motioned for him to sit in a nearby chair, and then handed him one of the folders.
The two policemen glanced at one another.
Without looking up, Professor Qiao said, "My student."
This didn't seem to ease their doubts in the least.
Feeling a little awkward, Fang Mu had no choice but to take a seat and open the folder.
Once he saw the first page, he knew exactly what they were: the files from the Qu Weiqiang and Wang Qian murder case.
Preliminary case notes. Autopsy reports. Crime scene investigation details and photographs. Interview transcriptions. Almost casually, Fang Mu flipped through it all.
Qu Weiqiang face down on the turf, arms extended, severed bones sticking out of either wrist.
His hands beside the goalposts, pale white and bloodless, like they had been chopped off a plastic mannequin.
Beneath his caved-in skull, his face wore a serene expression.
In a flash, Fang Mu’s mind returned to that night he had stood alone in front of the goal. Everything around him became quiet. The overflowing bookshelves, Professor Qiao and the two policemen sitting up straight on the sofa, the large oil painting of Sigmund Freud on the wall—all of it now seemed very far away.
A single person now slowly took shape before Fang Mu, as if raised from the pit of his stomach. The person extended his vine-like arms farther and farther until they were wrapped tightly around Fang Mu, and then they burrowed under his skin, without leaving a mark or making a sound. Then a moment later a piercing pain spread throughout his body, and with it a calm, clear sort of feeling gradually emerged from within.
Green turf. Goalposts. Both hands. Sharp blade.
Three stiff, hard knocks echoed through the room.
Someone was pounding loudly on the door. In an instant Fang Mu came back to reality.
"Come in," said Professor Qiao.
In walked Librarian Sun, a stack of books held in his arms. "Professor Qiao, these are the books you wanted."
"Put them over here," said Professor Qiao, pointing at his desk expressionlessly.
Librarian Sun carefully placed the books on the only open spot on the desk. Then he smiled at Fang Mu, turned and left.
After looking through the folder again, Professor Qiao took a few books from the stack and glanced at them. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair, deep in thought.
The two policemen sat respectfully on the sofa, not daring to say a word.
After some time, Professor Qiao suddenly sat up straight and said, "What do you make of this?"
Fang Mu was taken aback. It took him a moment to realize that Professor Qiao was talking to him. "Me?"
"Correct."
"I'm still sort of figuring it out; perhaps you should go first prof—"
"If I ask for your opinion then I want to hear it. Since when were you so timid?" Professor Qiao pointed at the top-ranked officer. "This is Bian Ping, director of the Criminal Psychology Research Division at the province-level Department of Public Security. He is also my former student, and therefore your shixiong. What do you have to be afraid of?" (Translator’s note: Shixiong means "elder apprentice to the same master," or in this case, graduate advisor. By the same token, Fang Mu is Bian Ping's shidi, or "younger apprentice to the same master.")
Bian Ping nodded at Fang Mu.
"After looking through that folder, what caught your attention?" asked Professor Qiao, staring straight at Fang Mu.
Fang Mu hesitated for an instant, and then said simply: "The hands."
Without betraying a hint of emotion, Professor Qiao said, "After murdering the victim, the killer chopped off both his hands and left them on the soccer field. What does that suggest to you?"
This time Fang Mu took a little longer to think through his response. "Deprivation."
"Oh?" said Professor Qiao, raising his eyebrows. "What do you mean by that?'
"When he was alive the deceased loved soccer and was the goalie for the school team. I don't know much about the sport, but I do know that the only player on a soccer field who can touch the ball with his hands is the goalkeeper. For him, hands are the weapons with which he defends the goal. So when you cut off a goalie's hands, you are implicitly depriving him of his most valuable objects. And behind this act of deprivation, I sense a kind of…" Fang Mu paused for a moment, and then said: "Jealousy."
Still expressionless, Professor Qiao pushed the pack of cigarettes toward Fang Mu. Then without looking at him further, he turned to the policemen on the couch.
"After the killer raped Wang Qian, the second victim, he strangled her to death and then dismembered her. Then, however, he pieced her back together. This is the most curious part of the case. If the symbols left by the killer at the crime scenes represent the fulfillment of a special need, and if, as Fang Mu said, the symbols left on the body of the first victim—the severing of the hands—represent jealousy, then what is meant by the fact that he dismembered the second victim and then pieced her back together?"
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sp; Fang Mu and the two policemen stared with bated breath at Professor Qiao, just as if they were back in class.
"I sense that the killer desired to construct Wang Qian anew. He seems to have simultaneously lusted after her flesh and despised it, and it was this inner contradiction that caused him, after he raped her, to strangle and dismember her. Then deep within him, the feeling that he needed to possess an 'all-new' Wang Qian led him to piece her severed limbs back together. I believe that while the killer was in the process of reconstructing the deceased, he must have felt extremely conflicted. The fervor of revenge and the delight of having conquered, yes, but also an irredeemable sadness and regret at everything he had done."
Pointing at the folder, Professor Qiao continued. "I've noticed that the Public Security Bureau has barely investigated whether Wang Qian's personal history might have something to do with the case. I believe this could be a breakthrough point. My idea is that one of Wang Qian's former suitors watched helplessly as the girl he was in love with went everywhere with another man—even to the point of living together. And when he imagined how the pure, well-bred young goddess of his heart—for I have noticed that Wang Qian was a notably attractive and innocent-looking girl—was having crazed-sex with this muscled, simple-minded young man in the couple's own apartment, his emotions must have erupted like a volcano. Thus he went mad, and did what he did. However," he paused for a moment, "these are merely a few of my thoughts on the matter, for there are still several questions I am unable to answer. The syringe, for example. Maybe it belonged to the victim, but wherever it came from, why did the killer plunge it into her chest?"
"Perhaps as a way of venting his conflicted feelings for the victim's body; the killer spontaneously grabbed the syringe and stuck it in her," interjected Bian Ping.
"Right now it's still unclear," said Professor Qiao, shaking his head. "But if you think there's some merit to my idea, then you should begin investigating this possibility. And you had better start with people who knew Wang Qian as far back as middle school. Such intensity of feeling does not simply emerge after a day or two—it takes many unfulfilled years."
The two policemen rose to their feet and said their goodbyes. But when they were about to leave, the one who had been silent throughout turned back to Professor Qiao and, pointing at Fang Mu, said: "So this one's your student, too?"
Professor Qiao raised his eyebrows. "That's right," he said, a hint of arrogance in his tone.
The policeman said nothing further, just glanced at Fang Mu one more time, and then turned and followed Bian Ping out of the room.
After returning to his room, Fang Mu sat at his desk for a long time, staring at nothing. Other than smoke cigarette after cigarette, he didn't move an inch.
Then the door opened and Du Yu appeared, a grin on his face. As soon as he entered the room he began to cough.
"Jeez, keep smoking like this and you'll get cancer if you're not careful," he said, opening the door to aerate the room. "Brother, if you're trying to kill yourself, you've picked an awfully slow method."
Fang Mu said nothing, just smiled bitterly, his brows knitted together.
Du Yu's appearance made him realize that this whole time he had been reflecting on the case files he had seen that afternoon. Even now his mental state was much as it had been while in Professor Qiao's office. It was as if a second Fang Mu had quietly emerged within him while he wasn't paying attention, and then had taken over his whole being. This feeling had changed the very nature of his thoughts, and just as any addictive habit that had taken a stronghold, it was difficult to break.
This lack of control was terrifying.
Du Yu walked over and cautiously looked down at Fang Mu.
"What's up with you?" he asked.
"With me? Nothing, I'm fine."
"Then why are you wearing that same gloomy look as before? If something's on your mind you should let it out."
Fang Mu shut his eyes, but then a moment later he opened them and smiled. "It's really nothing. Let's go get something to eat."
CHAPTER
14
The Grayson Perry Vase
The Jin family household was already in a panic.
Holding a cordless phone in his hand, Jin Bingshan anxiously paced back and forth in his living room. On the sofa behind him sat his wife, Yang Qin, her eyes red from crying, along with several female coworkers who were supporting her limp frame and babbling all sorts of worthless words of consolation.
Jin Bingshan looked at the clock on the wall. It was already almost 10 p.m. He turned his attention back to the phone and dialed forcefully. Seeing this, Yang Qin stopped crying and struggled upright, looking expectantly at the phone in her husband's hand.
The call went through. After speaking briefly to the person on the other end, Jin Bingshan hung up. He turned toward his wife, but unable to meet her eyes, just shook his head.
With the piercing wail of an injured animal, Yang Qin collapsed back on the couch. As the sobs reached her throat, she began to choke and her face went bright red.
Jin Bingshan hurried over and began hitting his wife soundly on the back. A moment later she coughed violently, and then burst out crying once more.
"I don't care what you have to do, Jin Bingshan," she said, pointing a finger as skinny as a chicken's talon at her husband, "you are finding our daughter and bringing her home! What kind of father are you, ignoring your child for the sake of some goddamned clients?" Grabbing a pillow, she hurled it at him.
Jin Bingshan let the pillow bounce off of him and drop to the floor. At that moment, his normally dignified, understanding wife, an assistant professor at the university, had become little more than a screaming shrew. Looking at her, he felt his heart fill with immense grief.
Turning away, he glanced quickly around the room and then yelled, "Little Chen!"
Little Chen, his driver, immediately scurried out of the kitchen. Wiping instant noodle soup from his mouth, he said, "I'm here, Boss Jin."
"Do we still have more missing person notices?"
"A few."
"Then let's go. We're going to make one hundred more copies and then paste them up."
Saying this, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. While putting on his shoes, he looked back at his wife. She was crying soundlessly on the shoulder of one of her coworkers. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out.
By the time he returned, it was already two in the morning. Jin Bingshan quietly opened the door to his apartment. The light in the living room was still on, but the room was empty. He tiptoed to his bedroom door and quietly pushed it open. His wife was already asleep on the bed, her face streaked with tears. In one hand she clutched a piece of their daughter's clothing.
Jin Bingshan's heart was seized with pain. After a moment, he carefully shut the door and returned to the living room. He stood there dazed for a moment, and then took off his ripped jacket and lay down on the couch.
While posting the notices, he had gotten into an argument with several security guards, and one of them, a young punk, grabbed one of his daughter's missing person photos and ripped it to pieces. Enraged, Jin Bingshan struck the kid, and as a result he and his driver Little Chen were beaten up. Later, after they were dragged into the local police substation and questioned, the officers on duty decided not to give Jin Bingshan any more trouble, and let him off with only a warning.
After sleeping restlessly on the sofa for a few hours, Jin Bingshan got up and decided to post the remaining notices in a more distant location. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to open the door, only to discover that something was blocking it from the other side. Then with a strong push he opened it. In the hallway sat a large cardboard box.
Jin Bingshan froze for an instant, and then, instinctively, began tearing off the tape sealing it closed. As soon as he peeled back the lid, a putrid scent shot forth.
His daughter, Jin Qiao, was curled inside, her body stark naked and covered with wounds.
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sp; In the courtyard of the Public Security Bureau, Tai Wei and his fellow officers had just switched on their sirens and were about to leave when Tai Wei saw Zhao Yonggui rush out of the building and into another police car. Hurriedly rolling down the window, Tai Wei called out. "Where are you off to, Old Zhao?"
"Hegang City," he said, and then without another word stepped on the gas and peeled out.
Seeing the smug look on Old Zhao's face, Tai Wei figured the guy must have finally gotten a lead.
Tai Wei thought about the still-unsolved hospital murder case, and then about his destination that night. At last he gave a tired wave of his arm and said, "Let's head out."
Once more they were driving to Jiangbin City University. Tai Wei didn't know what in the world was wrong with this school, but in the last three months, two students and the wife of a staff member had already been killed. And from what he had heard, this time the deceased was a professor's daughter.
It can't be a curse, thought Tai Wei. That kind of thing just doesn't happen.
The squad cars flew through the city and before long they had reached the Jiangbin City University campus. Tall buildings stood on either side as far as the eye could see, giving the campus a very modern, impressive air. But to Tai Wei, these peaceful ivory towers now appeared enshrouded by a dense and gloomy haze, which, although it was a sunny morning, seemed to be spreading a somber chill through the air.
Tai Wei knew that because of the nature of their work, many of his fellow officers carried some sort of protective talisman on them, and in the past he had always been quick to laugh at their superstitious nature. But now, speeding toward Jiangbin City University, he felt a nameless terror come over him, and deeply wished he had some good luck type of object to hold and calm his fears.
Several officers from the local substation were waiting at the entrance to the Jiangbin City University residential area when Tai Wei arrived, although he hardly needed to be told where to go, for as he drove into the courtyard he saw a large crowd had already formed outside of one of the buildings.
