by Cai Jun
He flipped through more of the album, all of which was adorned with photos of Liu Man, from kindergarten through junior high. It was strange to know that she had been dead for so many years. The last photo was from her senior year. Everyone posed on the school’s playing field, right in front of the vivid oleander flowers. It had been late spring, or early summer, and all the pink-and-white flowers were in bloom. Back then, Liu Man would have had no idea that the flowers behind her would play a role in her death.
Homeroom teacher Shen Ming was also in the photo, standing in the middle of the first row. His face and body were slim and his hair was the longest a male teacher was allowed to keep. Even though his face was blurry, his gaze exuded a confidence that appeared to mask anxiety and sadness.
A few days after the photo was taken, Liu Man died on top of the library. Two weeks later, Shen Ming was killed in the Demon Girl Zone.
“Where is your brother?”
“Right here,” the boy said, pointing to a random face in the photo.
“He was a good-looking kid. Please thank him for remembering my daughter. When Liu Man first died, some said that she’d poisoned herself, but I didn’t believe she’d committed suicide. Then the police told me it was a murder, that she’d been forced to drink poison. The attic was locked from the outside, so she couldn’t get out. She was in pain. She opened the window and got to the roof. But the poison was already working and she couldn’t crawl any farther or call for help. She had to lie on the roof and watch the moon as she waited to die. The medical examiner said she struggled for at least an hour. Poor child! One hour. For sixty long minutes, she was alone with no one to help her. God knows how much she cried, how much she hurt. Sorry—you’re still a kid. I shouldn’t speak to you about things like this.”
The boy politely handed the man some tissues.
Still gripped by sorrow, the man said, “My wish hasn’t changed in ten years. I want to catch my daughter’s killer—and kill him.”
The boy left not too much later. Death had been a palpable presence in the home. His cell phone rang.
“Wang Er, where did you go?”
“Mom, my teacher was talking to me. I’ll be home soon.”
CHAPTER 22
June 19, 2005—10:00 p.m.
Gu Changlong had gone to a lakeside spa, and Lu Zhongyue was out, too. Gu Qiusha knew that her husband wasn’t out party-ing. Maybe he’d gone to Nanming Road? Gu Qiusha couldn’t sleep. She noticed black smoke and ashes rising past the window, and then flames jumped toward her window, like eyes watching her.
As she opened the window to see what was going on, her heart beat quickly. In the far corner of the backyard a small shadow was burning foil inside a pan.
“Wang Er,” she screamed from the second-story window. She ran downstairs and into the backyard. When she reached him, she grabbed his arm and took away the foil he was holding. The cool night wind became hot from the flames, scattering the ashes. Some specks got into her eyes, making her cry. With a hose she doused the burning pan, causing more smoke to rise. Coughing violently, she ushered Wang Er inside.
“What were you doing?”
“I don’t know.”
The boy looked innocent, and his expression was enough to generate sympathy. She was about to scold him but instantly softened and kissed his cheek.
“Wang Er, you mustn’t play with fire. You could burn down the house!”
“Mom, do you have someone you love the most in this world?”
“What a question!” She wiped her tears and washed her face. “The person I love the most? You, of course.”
“Besides me?”
“My father and mother, who have passed.”
“Besides them?”
Normally, a husband would be next on the list. She shook her head and frowned. “No one else.”
“Really?”
She didn’t want to mention that person tonight. “Let’s start a bath before bedtime.”
A few weeks later, there was another incident with Wang Er. He had the driver take him shopping downtown. While the driver was distracted, Wang Er disappeared into a store. It was raining hard that night. Gu Qiusha was worried, so she went to He Qingying’s home. He wasn’t there. She feared a kidnapping. Rich kids were often targets of criminals. She called the police. But at 10:00 p.m., he came home. Angry and frightened, she demanded to know where he’d been. He said he got lost, had no money, and was too shy to borrow a phone, so he snuck onto buses and trains to get home. Gu Qiusha wanted him to eat some dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry and went straight to bed.
That summer, the Gu family hired an economist to be his home tutor. Six hours of classes a week at 10,000 yuan per hour. Wang Er learned all about finance and economy, including world trends. The curriculum was close to that of an EMBA. The economist said he’d never met anyone this smart. The boy understood new concepts immediately, and he effortlessly applied them to other fields. Homework assignments about the stock markets—using real-world examples from the US and Hong Kong exchanges—were all done extremely well.
Gu Qiusha had never liked managing a large company; she’d always preferred being an editor. The daily meetings and financial reports gave her headaches. She wanted to use her time for workouts, traveling, shopping, and relaxation. Yet Wang Er was able to see the exact problem with each of her executives and analyze the risk for every project. She told her father about it, and he was also impressed. The company was growing rapidly, and cash was tight. Wang Er recommended that she hire a GM assistant. The person had to be an excellent manager and know how to deal with banks.
It didn’t take long to find the new hire.
CHAPTER 23
July 15, 2005—8:00 p.m.
Ma Li parked his car and took out his cell phone. “Classmates, July fifteenth is our tenth reunion. Dinner will be at Wu’s Hotpot on Longevity Road. We’ll go dutch. See you there!”
The message had come from a Nanming High classmate, and had been posted on Renren’s class page, too. Ma Li had waited a few days before replying that he’d be there.
He grimaced while walking into the busy restaurant. He stopped to check a mirror and straighten his hair. He wondered if his mustache made him appear jaded.
Ma Li’s classmates had already started eating. He had to search deep into his memory for the name of the husky man who was now at least 90 kilograms, his belly drooping over his belt. The two had been roommates. It was amazing what ten years could do to a person. Ma Li despised people who let themselves become fat and sloppy.
Everyone was excited about Mal Li’s presence, especially the female classmates. People quickly made room for him at the table.
“I’m sorry to be late. I’ll do three shots now!” He said it with a manly air and a deep voice, and true to his word he downed three shots. Everything about him made it seem like he was comfortable in all sorts of situations—and that his life didn’t lack women.
“We haven’t seen you much since you were accepted to Tsinghua,” the class president said, sounding jealous.
Ma Li didn’t notice, however. He was too busy passing out his business cards.
“Wow, a senior partner. You’re the boss now,” another classmate exclaimed.
“I went into venture capital three years ago. I’m just behind the scenes.”
His practiced smile lacked warmth but still made one comfortable.
The classmates caught up on each other’s lives. Some had wedding rings; some had thinning hair. Some pretty girls were still single. Many people dressed better. A few people talked about their kids. The most shocking thing was how some kids were old enough to be in school. It was like another lifetime ago.
“Wait, where is Ouyang Xiaozhi?” someone mumbled.
“The transfer student? I was her roommate,” one of the women replied.
The class presid
ent scratched his head. “I heard she got into the Teaching University, and then we lost touch.”
“Has anyone noticed that kid eating hot pot by himself?” the fat man asked quietly, indifferent to the class gossip.
The ten-year-old seemed extra pale behind the steaming hot pot. His eyes were pretty, and although his clothes had childish cartoons on them, he exuded a special power just sitting there.
“Yeah, no grown-ups there.”
“Kids nowadays aren’t like we were. Don’t be so surprised.”
Ma Li shook his head. The boy paid no attention to them. He was busy eating beef meatballs.
Suddenly, one gossipy classmate said, “Remember Liu Man?”
The table turned quiet; the only sound was that of the boiling hot pot, like the Hell where evil people burned.
“Do you think Mr. Shen killed her?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Liu Man seduced the teacher. He was about to be married, so he had to kill her. He got the oleander juice, lured her to the library attic, and poisoned her.”
“Mr. Shen was the first one to see her body that morning.”
“I remember. It was so scary. I had nightmares for a week!”
“Someone saw Liu Man alone with Mr. Shen the night before. They were talking in the self-study room. Then they found a bottle of poison in his room.”
“After they arrested him, the police released him for some reason.”
“The teaching director told everyone that Mr. Shen was fired. Who knew Mr. Shen would kill the teaching director?”
“Then Mr. Shen was killed, too! What a weird case. They found his body in the Demon Girl Zone.”
The silent Ma Li finally interrupted the chatter. “Stop it! I don’t believe Mr. Shen was the killer. Please respect the dead. He was our teacher after all. Didn’t everyone love him back then? All the girls said he was hot. The guys loved his high energy and how he was down to earth. He always played basketball with us. He was the advisor to the literary society, too. He knew all sorts of poems.”
The speech stunned everyone. No one had seen Ma Li so emotional before. The whole restaurant watched, including the boy at the next table, who stared at Ma Li with an odd expression.
“Never mind all of that.” The class president tried to make peace. “It’s all in the past, so no need to get upset.”
“Mr. Shen was online a few days ago,” one of the guys said mysteriously.
The girls screamed.
“Was it a ghost?”
Ma Li asked, “What happened?”
“I saw it, too,” someone else said. “He posted on our class page on Renren.com. You can see for yourself.”
“It must be a prank.”
After that, no one dared to mention Shen Ming again. The classmates finished their meal and started leaving, dropping their share of the bill on the table.
By 9:30 p.m., the restaurant was closing. The female classmates had all left. Ma Li was smoking. He stroked his mustache, his gaze dull and despondent.
The waiter asked the boy, “Hey, kid, did your parents pay yet?”
The kid fumbled in his pockets for a long time and took out a few twenty-yuan notes. “Sorry, this is all I have. Can I go get money from home?”
The waiter called for his manager. A brutish man came over and said, “You think you can eat for free?”
The boy’s eyes turned red and misty. The waiter and manager didn’t know what to do.
Ma Li stepped in and offered to pay for him, throwing down 200 yuan. It wasn’t until later that Ma Li realized that the boy was a great actor.
The manager took the money and made change. “Your kid?”
“I don’t know him. I just feel friendly.”
The boy sniffled and wiped away his tears. He shakily thanked Ma Li, whose face remained serious looking.
“Kid, go home.” He turned to his remaining classmates. “Don’t drink anymore—it’s time to go.”
It started pouring. When Ma Li got into his car, the boy rushed to his window and knocked on the glass.
Ma Li lowered the window. “What’s wrong, kid?” he said.
“Can you drive me home?”
“Why?”
“I want to pay you back.”
“It’s OK.”
“It’s dark out, and I’m afraid of going home alone. I don’t have an umbrella, either.”
Seeing the boy’s terrified expression, he frowned and opened the front passenger door. He touched the boy’s skinny wrist with a hand that felt as cold as a corpse’s. The stereo played the theme from A Chinese Ghost Story; in high school, Ma Li had idolized Leslie Cheung. A poster of Ouyang Feng from Ashes of Time used to hang over his bed.
Summer rain spattered across the windshield. The boy gave his address in the rich suburbs. Why couldn’t he afford a hot pot? Ma Li was intrigued. He started driving and lit up another cigarette. The boy watched him while pretending to look out the window. He glanced at the boy, too, but averted his gaze when their eyes met.
“To not go home when rich is like wearing a lavish gown in secret,” the boy uttered.
Ma Li wondered: Was that expectation or sarcasm? He was a bit shaken. He looked right at the boy, but the kid seemed calm, like he’d said nothing at all.
Ma Li sped through the night, arriving at the mansion in just half an hour. The boy got out of the car and said, “Wait here, I’ll bring you the money.”
Ma Li finished another cigarette and tossed it out the window. He felt like he was in a daze and drove off before the kid returned.
An hour later, Ma Li got back to his apartment, a cluttered rental. The only clean and ordered section of the apartment was the closet because his clothes mattered the most to him.
Ma Li went online to look for Nanming High Class of ’95 on Renren.com. He saw many familiar names, though not everyone was online. He found the post from Shen Ming.
Shen Ming: I’LL BE BACK.
Anyone who’d seen The Terminator would understand the reference. A few people had posted replies.
Anonymous 6953: Didn’t Mr. Shen die a long time ago?
Hin Lau: Who’s doing this?
Nanming High 95: So pathetic!
Ma Li registered with his real name and replied, too:
Ma Li: Mr. Shen, if you are still alive . . .
If you are still alive . . .
Three days later, someone friended Ma Li on QQ. The new friend’s name was Shen Ming, and he left a message.
Shen Ming: Ma Li, do you still remember Mr. Shen?
Ma Li saw that the person was online and replied.
Ma Li: Who are you?
Shen Ming: I am Shen Ming.
Ma Li: Don’t scare me like that so late at night.
According to the computer’s clock, it was 1:40 a.m.
Shen Ming: Still not asleep?
Ma Li: Working late! Doing an investment report. I have an early meeting at the bank tomorrow morning. It’ll be an all-nighter.
Shen Ming: Why work so hard?
Ma Li: I like to.
Ma Li felt weird saying so much to someone online. The person was probably a prankster or mentally ill.
Shen Ming: You seemed tired at the reunion. Take time to rest.
Ma Li: Reunion? Hot pot? Who are you?
He typed a few names, all of which the other person denied.
Shen Ming: If you don’t think I’m Shen Ming, why did you accept my friend invitation?
Ma Li: I don’t know. I just miss him.
Shen Ming: I didn’t die.
Ma Li’s fingers shook on the keyboard.
Ma Li: I saw your body at your funeral.
Shen Ming: How did I look?
Ma Li: You had a crystal casket. You looked weird, very pale. They said you needed really thick
makeup to cover your decaying face. The school forbade us to go since you’d killed the teaching director. I secretly went. Some middle-aged guy paid for all of it. He cried so hard over your coffin, and I tried to comfort him.
Shen Ming: Thanks very much for that, Ma Li!
Wind shook the shadows of the trees outside the window as a few raindrops fell. Ma Li continued typing.
Ma Li: I saw you going into the cremation chamber. That middle-aged guy took out your ashes by hand. I cried a lot. Why am I telling you this? You’re not Mr. Shen!
Shen Ming: If I wasn’t Mr. Shen, how would I know that you helped a classmate cheat in junior year, charging him ten yuan per question? When I found out, you came to my room at midnight, knelt in front of me, and begged for mercy.
Ma Li’s hair stood on end. No one else knew about this.
Ma Li: Mr. Shen must have told somebody!
Shen Ming: Do you really think I would tell anyone? You cried and swore that you’d never do anything like that again. I promised not to tell. Remember how I even paid a visit to your family’s home and saw that your dad was a drunk and your mom pushed a street cart? You worked every summer to make money, to help your family. I don’t think you told anyone at school about any of this.
Ma Li: Stop!
Ma Li would never forget that visit. Afterward, Mr. Shen gave him fifty yuan every month out of his own pocket. He refused to accept it at first, until the teacher said it was lent to him and to be paid back when he got a job. Mr. Shen helped him through the hardest months of his life. He would be forever grateful to his young homeroom teacher.
More from Shen Ming appeared in the QQ chat window.
Shen Ming: In senior year, you came to me and said you lost a notebook in the library. You’d filled it with all sorts of complaints and insults about classmates and teachers. You were afraid someone would find it, so you asked me to take you there in the middle of the night. You knew I had the library key. We went in and found the notebook. It was really windy that night. The attic door was blown open. We were both curious, so we went up there. It was dusty and filled with old books. You took a copy of Hugo’s Les Misérables. The moon hung above the skylight, and a black cat crossed the roof and stared at us. I remember you telling me, “This cat looks possessed. It’s not a good omen. Someone will die here.”
