11

11

When I was little, my father would occasionally feel like telling me a bedtime story. He was too lazy to look up children's storybooks, so he would just tell me stories about major crimes he'd solved, perhaps ones he'd personally experienced.

Even a man as stoic as my father could recognize the inappropriate aspects of a story. He would often omit specific names and places, and leave out the gory parts. But even after addressing them, some cases were still too stimulating for a child, often frightening me to the point of not turning off the lights to sleep. Although these bedtime stories always backfired, I still listened, perhaps because I inherited my father's adventurous nature.

After listening to it many times, I realized that all the crime-solving stories with twists and turns are almost always murder cases.

I asked my father why.

He pondered for a moment, then spoke in a tone of rare seriousness, "For a person, killing one's own kind is the gravest sin. Even the most foolish murderer will do everything in his power to escape responsibility, inventing cover-ups beyond the imagination of ordinary people."

This was the first time my father, who usually spoke in a gruff voice, had spoken so philosophically, and it truly left a lasting impression on me. So much so that even now, tied to a chair and facing death, his words resurfaced in my mind.

Stop imagining things. Now isn't the time to be curious about the truth of the case; the most important thing is to think carefully about how to protect myself, I warned myself.

But an irresistible thought seized me. There were so many contradictions in the current case that it seemed only a fantastical hypothesis could explain it all. This hypothesis might even hold the possibility of allowing me to escape danger.

But it was just a vague feeling, like the misty fog in the early morning, unable to reach out and grasp the entity.

"Anything else you want to say?" the man's voice asked.

I looked up. I didn't know when Beazi had finished his worship ceremony and was looking down at me.

"I think I'm almost figuring out the truth. The sudden appearance of the videotape is indeed very strange, but there must be a reasonable explanation..."

"That's enough! Don't try to stall for time any longer. I've heard enough of your nonsense." He stopped me. "I'm asking if you have any unfulfilled wishes."

I was shocked and opened my eyes wide, then I realized that both of his hands were covered with stained work gloves, and he was holding a new plastic bag and hemp rope.

"Wait, what do you want to do? I've answered everything I know honestly, so why won't you let me go?"

"I'm sorry." There was a faint emotion in Beazi's eyes, like a mixture of guilt and sympathy. "You know too much. If we let you go, we won't be able to escape."

"Are you crazy? This is murder! You want to use murder to cover up an accident? If you don't think about yourself, you should think about your son."

He glanced towards the bedroom and said, "This has nothing to do with Kun. I will take all the responsibility. He didn't even know you were here today."

I heard myself begging for mercy, tears streaming down my face, my voice breaking from time to time. Fear stole all my dignity, my muscles trembling uncontrollably. All I knew was that I was terrified and wanted to go home.

"If I had a choice, I wouldn't want to do this. What a shame." Besie shook the plastic bag, letting air rush in. He stared at the bag's opening for a long moment, then, as if making a decision, he took a deep breath and wrapped the bag tightly around my head.

Once again, I sank into a sea of ​​despair. I tried to twist, tense, to break free, but the chair didn't even sway. A chill coursed through me, freezing my blood. I was going to die. Suddenly, it was an unshakable fact. The seconds ticked by, and I had nowhere to escape but to let my fate take its toll.

No, wait, maybe there's another way, to convince Beavis with the truth. Although I knew it was too late, I would rather die fighting for my life. I shouted in a muffled voice, "Give me a little more time, I have something to say!"

But he turned a deaf ear. As if still unsure about the quality of the single-layer plastic bag, he added an extra layer. The light was completely blocked, and he could see nothing.

Just half a minute, even ten seconds would do. My brain raced, but I couldn't break through the final layer of fog. I felt the rope around my neck, and I knew it would be too late if I didn't say something.

"You've all got it wrong, you've been wrong from the very beginning. Xu Lan's death was not an accident at all; she was the victim!"

No response. I knew my biggest enemy at this moment was panic. I had to keep thinking. Keep thinking. Pretend the outside world no longer existed. Time, gravity, temperature no longer existed.

I forced a breath from my throat and continued, "Do you know why the police didn't find any bloodstains, fingerprints, or other clues in the video store? Because that wasn't the real crime scene. Xu Lan was moved to the video store after her death. That person is the real murderer."

Still no response. The knot around his neck tightened and he stopped moving. I didn't know if Beavis was still standing before me, but for now, I had no choice but to keep talking.

"What Zheng Kun saw when he sneaked into the music store that night was actually a fabricated scene. The shelf that fell on the deceased, the watch that stopped at 8 o'clock, the sound of the shelf falling to the ground at the same time... these were actually all deliberately fabricated evidence by the murderer. The evidence he used to do this is the same as the reason you dumped the body. The original crime scene would have contained a large amount of evidence related to the murderer, which had to be hidden. To do this, they had to mislead the police and fabricate a new scene. But quite unexpectedly, this fabricated new scene was discovered by Zheng Kun first, and he fooled him. But he didn't fool the police. Because Xu Lan was moved here after her death, the amount of blood on the music store was very small. Plus, it was wiped by you, making it difficult to detect - the reactants are scarce, and the luminol reagent is not bright enough."

My breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Talking while trying to think was clearly using up too much oxygen. This was a hopeless race against time. There were no referees, no other competitors, and the only criterion for victory or defeat was the amount of oxygen remaining. With every forced breath I took, I was closer to death. But if I shut up now, I was done.

"Then everything happened naturally. The murderer realized you'd been tricked and was planning to dispose of the body. Then he had an idea: to pin the blame on you. He must have followed you from a distance the entire way to the train station, carrying the body. He ended up on the same train as you, just a few cars away."

He lost control of his lower body, and the heat flowed uncontrollably into his trouser legs.

"He arrived at the steel mill just like you did. After observing you disposing of the bodies, he began his own operation—dumping a dozen videotapes into the well. Those were the tapes Zheng Kun had taken to the store to return, but had panicked and left at the scene. Yes, the murderer must have assumed the tapes were legitimate rentals, keeping records of the rentals. This would have made it easy for the police to identify the suspect and help him frame the suspect. But he miscalculated at this point; he hadn't anticipated the tapes were stolen."

My consciousness faded again. Every cell desperately sought fresh oxygen, but all it received was the toxin carbon dioxide. Drowsiness descended, and my brain shut down, like a hotel nearing off-season, with guests leaving and rooms empty. My body and mind gradually separated. I could no longer consider the logic of my words; I simply kept talking. As long as the words continued, there was a glimmer of hope for survival.

"You went through so much trouble, took an all-night train, and chose a deserted factory to dump the body. I believe you wouldn't be so foolish as to openly pry open the factory gate and deliberately leave a one-way trail of footprints leading to the well. That was a deliberate trace left by the murderer, and it's proof of his crime. It wasn't raining when you left the factory, right? The rain in Wudu didn't start until after four in the morning that night. So your actions left no footprints. And after the murderer confirmed you'd left, he returned to the scene, first picking the lock, then creating footprints. To ensure the body was discovered quickly, he deliberately left footprints on the muddy ground leading all the way to the well, and then walked back along those footprints..."

I couldn't utter a single word. My tongue was paralyzed, and my consciousness was falling from its highest point. It was over. Everything was over.

I fell into the deep lake.

The cold water of the lake hit me in the face. No, I wasn't at the bottom of the lake; someone was splashing water on my face.

I felt myself lift off the surface, accompanied by a violent cough. I concentrated on breathing, my lungs roaring like bellows. The blood vessels in my temples, neck, and limbs pulsed, and hot fluid rushed through my body at full speed, carrying fresh, vital oxygen. Being alive was wonderful. Just being alive was enough.

It took me a moment to realize it was Beavis who had untied the plastic bag. He'd already peeled off his mask, revealing small, vicious eyes and a wrinkled nose. His sparse hair, pressed against his forehead, could no longer hide the gleaming redness of his scalp. He squeezed my shoulders and shouted something, his bestial, burnt-yellow front teeth jutting eerily between his lips. It took me a moment to regain my hearing and realize he was questioning whether I was telling the truth.

"You've experienced it yourself, and you still ask me if it's true?" I replied reluctantly.

"Nonsense... You said there was such a murderer. The video store is such a small place. If there really was a living person hiding in there to fake the scene, we should have discovered it long ago, unless he is invisible."

"attic."

"attic?"

"When your son regains consciousness, ask him and you'll find out. Although the staircase leading to the second floor is always locked, there's actually a small attic of about ten square meters above. You said Zheng Kun picked the lock before entering, right? The murderer must have been startled by the noise. There was a body under his feet, and the store only had one door. With no other options, he had to risk his life and hide in the attic, waiting for a chance to escape."

“Hmm…”

"That's why he was able to turn the tables and make a plan to shift the blame. When you and Zheng Kun were discussing how to deal with the body in the house, he could hear it clearly by sticking to the attic door." I added.

Bezos didn't loosen the ropes around me, but he didn't show any signs of wanting to strike again. He paced back and forth in the room, his expression fluctuating between happy and sad. I knew he was recalling the entire incident, trying to figure out if what I said matched the facts.

I feigned confidence, but inside I was terrified. My current theory seemed to align perfectly with the facts of the case, but it was simply improvisation—I had to create the image of a third person as the murderer in order to survive. All my theories were forced upon this basis. I actually had no evidence to prove such a person existed.

Besie suddenly stopped, shook his head, and said to himself, "No, no..."

I didn't dare to answer at all.

He stared into my eyes and asked, "This doesn't make sense. If such a murderer really exists, he would want to suppress the case just like us. If no one had interfered, the body in the well might not have been found until now. Even if it was found by chance, it would be just an unidentified female corpse, and it would be difficult for the police to connect her to disappearances in other provinces. This is the best outcome for both of us. Why would he add unnecessary details and expose his own existence?"

I don’t know how to answer this question, and I haven’t figured it out myself.

Beguiled kept asking me about this, and I faltered, trying to change the subject and stall for time. After several rounds of confrontation, he finally saw through my intentions.

"After all, it's just another one of your own fabrications, isn't it? To save your life." He picked up the carpentry saw that had fallen on the ground and put it against my neck. The saw blade gleamed brightly in the candlelight.

My brain raced, faster than it ever had, even in the exam room. I'd finally gotten this far, so how could I just give up? Even if it was nonsense, I had to find a plausible explanation.

"Of course the murderer had a reason for doing this... because after Xu Lan disappeared, he would become a suspect to the police faster than anyone else."

"Why?"

"The reason is very simple. He's the closest person to Xu Lan." I caught a glimpse of light and continued, "According to statistics, in more than half of homicides, the suspect and the victim know each other, and the proportion of murders between relatives and friends is as high as 80.5%. Once someone goes missing, the police will inevitably start their investigation with the people closest to them. For example, Xu Lan's husband would definitely be the first one to be taken to the police station, and his whereabouts on the day of his disappearance would definitely be investigated clearly. If there is no third party as a scapegoat, the crime will be easily exposed."

Besie lowered his head in thought, muttering to himself, "If he wasn't someone close to me, he wouldn't have the key to the second-floor attic..."

Judging from his hesitation, the twitching of his eyes, the slight contraction of his pupils, and other signs, I knew my words had taken effect and I had to press the issue. "Actually, I already have a rough idea of ​​who the real culprit is."

"Who is it? Tell me quickly."

"You want me to tell you now? How could that be possible? Once you find out the truth, you'll definitely kill me to silence me." I said stubbornly, "Let me go, and I'll investigate thoroughly. I'll tell you naturally, through a third party like Zhang Zhihao."

The saw blade was close to his neck, and this time it drew blood. "If you don't tell me, you'll die right now."

"Go ahead if you dare." I gritted my teeth. My hand was quite limited, and I had to pretend I had a straight flush. "If you do this, you'll never find the real culprit, and your son's life will be ruined. He'll be a scapegoat forever."

We were in a stalemate, staring at each other with red eyes. I knew I couldn't be the first to back down, as that would mean death.

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