SES Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Huo Zihong’s body was being dragged. The sound of her limbs scraping the ground was heavy and dull, leaving behind a wide, bloody trail. Li Yaqing saw the man doing it—he wore wrinkled corduroy pants and scuffed dress shoes, the sole of the right one smeared with a piece of hardened chewing gum stuck deep in the tread.

His build felt familiar.

There came the sound of nails being hammered into the wall. The hand was steady, the force strong. Thunk. A moment later, thunk again.

It wasn’t loud or disruptive—nothing that would draw attention or annoy the neighbors—but each strike landed like a blunt chisel on the inside of her skull.

She didn’t dare open the wardrobe door or even shift too much. All she could do was peer through the thin crack in the door. Twice, the man walked past her narrow line of sight, but both times she only caught his back. What she could see, though, were the items in his hands.

Fishing wire. An awl. And swaying at the end of the line—a crochet hook.

Why wasn’t Li Tan here yet?

Seconds crawled like years. Terror and confusion churned inside her. Had she escaped this? Not likely. Home invasions and murder were usually followed by robbery. Would he start ransacking for valuables next?

Countless thoughts rushed through Li Yaqing’s mind. If he came to open the closet, should she strike first, kick the door open to knock him off balance, and then run? Or grab him and scream at the top of her lungs?

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she suddenly heard footsteps moving away. Then—creak—the front door slowly opened.

She knew that door well. If you didn’t shut it properly, the hinge would swing it back open with that telltale squeak.

He left?

A realization struck her: if that man left and disappeared now, there was a good chance they’d never catch him.

Hot blood surged to her head. But she remained cautious, slowly pushing the closet door open. The scene outside nearly made her faint.

Hundreds of strands of fishing line were crisscrossed across the room like a spider web. Blood glistened along the threads. Her father, her mother, and Huo Zihong were all entangled in it—rigid, twisted, grotesque. On the ground, thin streams of blood were beginning to pool together.

Li Yaqing held back her tears and forced herself to fight down the nausea welling in her chest.

“Don’t look. Don’t look,” she whispered to herself, trembling.

Carefully, she tiptoed around the blood and ran out the door.

Bloody footprints trailed down the hallway, fading after a few steps. Driven by terror and grief, she remained surprisingly sharp. She pinned her hair up in a style she’d rarely worn. She removed her coat, flipped it inside out, and hugged it to her chest—otherwise, she’d be dressed exactly like Huo Zihong. Lastly, she pulled the high collar of her sweater all the way up over her nose.

It was winter. It was cold.

And cold it was. The sky was overcast, the wind howled, cutting like knives. Even at midday, the streets were empty. A couple of cyclists zipped past, bundled like bears.

He was walking just ahead, slowly, hunched, completely unlike a murderer fleeing the scene. His shoe occasionally flipped up, flashing that same dried-up gum. As if taunting her: Yes, it’s me.

He paused in front of a dumpling shop and tilted his face upward. “Do you sell dumpling wrappers?” he asked.

That voice. That face…

Li Yaqing bit her lip and walked past him, her gaze locked straight ahead. Their shoulders nearly brushed, but the side facing him felt completely numb.

She kept walking. Never stopped.

Zhang Guanghua. Zhang Guanghua. Zhang Guanghua.

She didn’t know how long she had walked before someone grabbed her arm.

“Huh? Xiaohong? Why are you holding your coat instead of wearing it? Aren’t you cold?”

She blinked in confusion. She had reached the entrance of Chenqian Alley.

Using the excuse that she’d lost her keys, she borrowed a spare from the landlord. Once inside, she collapsed onto the bed. A long while later, she sat up in a daze and used all her strength to drag furniture in front of the door. She latched the windows shut, but even that didn’t feel safe enough, so she glued layer after layer of paper over the panes.

Why Zhang Guanghua?

Was it because her parents had interfered in their relationship and sabotaged his career? No, that couldn’t be it. He’d shown no mercy even when he thought he was killing her.

Her eyes narrowed, filling with a bitter, cutting hatred.

He hadn’t even hesitated when he thought it was me.

Li Yaqing didn’t sleep that night. When she opened the door the next morning, exhausted and disheveled, the world outside felt like a different one entirely.

Everyone in town was talking about it. This was the early 90s—no internet, no instant messaging—but gossip alone could boil a sleepy town to fever pitch. Even pagers were going off more than usual. At the market, buyers and sellers would exchange knowing glances: “Did you hear?”

Wearing Huo Zihong’s clothes—a cotton coat, thick-soled black cloth shoes, and a red checkered scarf with tassels—Li Yaqing walked emotionlessly toward the police station. She paused at the entrance, pretending to read the bulletin board.

A few officers stood outside, smoking and chatting.

“Poor Xiao Li’s family. Should we do a donation for them?” one asked.

That was the custom then—weddings, funerals, burglaries, illnesses—any excuse was reason for a donation, as if failing to give meant you weren’t friends or colleagues.

Family? Who’s his family?

Li Yaqing clutched the edge of her scarf and turned away. Then it hit her: in a way, she and Huo Zihong had quietly traded lives—if she chose to keep silent.

She went to the county bookstore and bought letter paper. There were no tables, so she knelt beside the storage shelf beneath the legal section and started writing:

“That man named Zhang Guanghua lives in the same building as the victims. He’s highly suspicious. Please, officers, look into him…”

Halfway through, her knees ached. She rubbed her eyes and looked up. She was kneeling beside the “Law & Criminal Penalties” section.

She grabbed a book on sentencing and flipped through a few pages. Then she stuffed it back on the shelf, tore up the half-written letter, crumpled it over and over, and tossed it in the trash outside as she left.

In this modern society, with increasing “civilization,” few crimes are punished with an eye for an eye. No matter how monstrous the act, no matter how deep the pain inflicted, at most, all you’d get was a “justified bullet” to end your life.

Too easy. And that bullet wouldn’t even be fired by her.

Zhang Guanghua didn’t stay long. She found out he was heading to Taiyuan on a business trip soon.

And the police investigation didn’t point to him. Old Wang, who sold sesame flatbreads at the alley corner, had a brother-in-law who did janitorial work at the police station. He was gleefully recounting what he’d overheard: “They say it’s a serial killer—very clean, nerves of steel. I mean, come on, the victim’s son-in-law works at the station! And yet this guy stayed calm, threading fishing wire like he was doing embroidery…”

If criminal profiling had existed back then, Zhang Guanghua wouldn’t have matched. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she’d never have believed it.

People were spooked. Everyone locked their doors at night and kept rolling pins under their pillows.

Li Yaqing canceled her rental in Luoma Lake and got on the long-distance bus to Shanxi, following Zhang Guanghua.

She dressed, curling up in the last row of the bus, pretending to nap while keeping her eyes fixed on him.

He had no idea he was being followed. Chatted cheerfully with his seatmate: “Anything fun to do in Shanxi? Business trips are all the same, might as well enjoy it.”

His seatmate suggested the giant Buddha statue. “Things as big as a mountain.”

Zhang Guanghua liked the idea. The day after he arrived, he secretly bought a ticket to Datong to visit the grottoes. Didn’t tell anyone—didn’t want to get in trouble for mixing personal travel with official business.

Li Yaqing followed him from the province to the city. But she still didn’t know how to take revenge.

Killing someone wasn’t easy. She’d never done it. She couldn’t think of any twisted methods like those fishing-line traps. And there were people everywhere.

Zhang Guanghua stayed in a village outside Datong, planning to catch a bus to the grottoes the next morning. That night, he went out for dinner. Took forever to find a noodle shop—only a couple of other diners inside.

He ordered noodles with meat sauce. I was happily eating when someone rushed past and sprinted away.

He looked up, stunned. Didn’t even register what had happened until the staff pointed out: “Your wallet! Someone snatched it!”

He jumped up and ran out.

The staff and diners laughed. “Out-of-towner… That thief was a woman, wasn’t she? Kept her head down the whole time. Fast as hell.”

Fast indeed. Zhang Guanghua ran and ran, closing the gap—until the thief flung the wallet in one direction and bolted in another. He couldn’t catch her.

Panting, he jogged over to retrieve the wallet. They were on a provincial road—cliffs on one side, a roaring river on the other. The water was fast and loud in the moonlight.

He opened the wallet under the pale glow, checking to see if anything was missing.

Then—whack. A heavy blow to the back of the head. Everything went dark.

Behind him, Li Yaqing stood, gasping, clutching a stone. She’d used every ounce of strength in that swing.

She’d thought about using a knife, but it would be too bloody. Messy. She’d planned to strangle him. Even brought rope.

The river roared louder now. Beneath the icy moonlight, it gleamed black.

She changed her mind.

She tied his hands and feet. Fastened heavy rocks to his body. Then, grunting with effort, dragged him onto the guardrail.

He was heavy. Even heavier with the stones. Thank god for the river—otherwise, what would she have done with the body?

It was like fate had helped her. No cars came by. The noodle shop was closing up. One of the workers joked, “Wonder if he caught her. Probably not. Out-of-towner…”

She waited.

Zhang Guanghua groaned, starting to stir. Li Yaqing slapped him hard.

“Why did you kill my family?”

He stared at her in confusion. Then his face twisted in rage. He screamed, “Let me go or I’ll kill you too!”

Absurd. Did he not realize who held the power now?

A car could be heard in the distance.

Li Yaqing laughed coldly. She shoved his head.

“Go to hell.”

Splash.

The sound of something heavy crashing into water.

She looked down. The river was fast. The splash and whirlpool he caused disappeared in an instant, swept away like he was never there.