8
Sunday is a symbol of rest, but lately, every Sunday I visit, I'm busier than usual. To gather intelligence on a murder case, I skipped cram school again and rushed to a government-run residential building south of downtown. This is Zhang Zhihao's home. During the time I was being treated like a subordinate by Zheng Kun and his gang, I was forced to come here many times. Each time, they made me wait in the bicycle shed outside the door.
I imitated myself back then, sitting on the back of a bicycle in the carport, my eyes fixed on the corridor entrance. Luckily, after three hours, I finally saw Zhang Zhihao come out.
After not seeing him for a few years, he was taller and fatter, as if he had grown a size larger. His belly, which barely held his belt, looked like it was about to burst, and the flesh on his face trembled horizontally. The broad forehead and protruding chin remained, and he still looked stupid.
Unlike when I faced Zheng Kun, I was a bit apprehensive. If a fight broke out over a disagreement, I had no confidence in winning.
Generally speaking, Zhang Zhihao's thinking patterns were easy to understand and easily led. Zheng Kun's sweet talk would have him jumping into the heated kang without hesitation. But a dark current seemed to lurk within him, and when his emotions got the better of him, he could become an uncontrollable abuser.
I once witnessed Zhang Zhihao, acting as a thug, demanding protection money. A third-grader refused to pay. Zheng Kun signaled with his eyes, and he launched his punches. Initially restrained, his blows gradually intensified. As blood foamed, a darkness deep within him seemed to spread and take over. Finally, Zheng Kun had to intervene to prevent further trouble.
Zhang Zhihao passed by the carport and our eyes met, but he clearly didn't recognize me. I couldn't help but shout out, mustering the courage to chase after him.
He stared at my face for a moment, then suddenly realized, "It's you?"
I nodded, hoping my smile wasn't as forced as I felt. "Zheng Kun asked me to help."
"Are you still in contact with him?" He made a short, guttural sound, and it was hard to tell whether it was a cough or a laugh.
"Actually, we haven't seen each other for a few years. But he suddenly found me a few days ago and said he had a troublesome matter and needed my help. It was hard for me to refuse, after all, I owed him a favor." I was a little nervous and almost bit my tongue.
"Oh." Zhang Zhihao looked a little confused, so I seized the opportunity to change the subject. "It's about the trouble at the music store, you know."
"Why are you still worried about that box of videotapes?" He looked impatient. "I told you it's okay. We've returned them all. The police won't find out."
Videotapes? Did they really steal something from the video store? I suppressed my excitement, trying not to show it on my face. I hadn't expected to get the truth so easily. This guy was really easy to fool. But I didn't dare to keep asking about the videotapes, as that would reveal my complete ignorance.
I feigned concern, trying to scare him. "But I heard the police have been tracking down the stolen videotapes lately and have even set up a special task force."
"No way!" he hissed, wiping his nose with his forearm. "How much can a few crappy videotapes be worth? Is it really worth all this trouble?"
"But they're not stupid. After investigation, the videotape and the clues of the murder case have been linked together..."
"Wait, where's the murder?"
"Of course it's the death of the video store owner. It's like a real-life Ring. The police are investigating."
"That woman is dead? How did she die? I have never heard Zheng Kun mention this..." The confusion on his face seemed to be genuine.
I was as confused as he was. I had assumed he was an accomplice to the murder, but now it seemed he might know even less about the case than I did.
"What exactly did Zheng Kun tell you? Did he return the box of videotapes?"
"Well... he was in a hurry when we met, as if he had other things to do. He just gave me a few simple instructions and left without saying much."
Suspicion suddenly flickered in his narrowed eyes. "Oh, then when did he ask you to meet him?"
"Um, just two days ago..."
"Two days ago?" He suddenly looked fierce. Memories of being bullied in elementary school were brought back, and I couldn't help but jump.
"I'm talking about a while ago. Um, last Sunday, when it was raining heavily." I forced myself to calm down and tried to recall the moment I met Zheng Kun at the music store. Mixing one or two truths in ten lies is the key to avoiding being caught. "That day, he was wearing a gray cotton jacket and light brown corduroy pants, and he looked very worried. He didn't have an umbrella. He talked to me and then left in the rain."
"Oh, no wonder." Zhang Zhihao seemed to believe it. "You haven't seen him since then, right?"
I nodded quickly and continued the conversation, "He hasn't shown up yet."
"He certainly won't show up. He got caught in the rain that day and fell ill that night."
"Really?" The current situation was too favorable for the investigation. I had to make an effort to hide the smile that appeared on the corner of my mouth. "How is he now? Is he feeling better?"
"No...it's more like he's gotten worse. When I went to see him on Wednesday, he still had a high fever and was unconscious. He didn't recognize me and kept mumbling something about 'videotapes.' I was just about to go see him again."
An idea suddenly occurred to me. "How about we go together? I'm also worried about his health."
"Hmm..." He hesitated for a moment, "It's not impossible, but there is a condition."
"What?"
"You have to pay half of the fruit money for visiting the patient."
Before leaving, I was told that Zheng Kun's home was far away.
We took three buses, heading north through the city. The further north we went, the more desolate the streets became, and wasteland began to come into view. Finally, we got off at a small stop without even a sign. After walking another ten minutes north, Zhang Zhihao pointed to an old adobe house and said, "That's it."
Chengguan City has a short history. Most of its residents hail from nearby rural areas. My family, for example, was still farming until my grandparents' generation. Over the past few decades, this coal-fired city has, like a newly awakened silkworm, devouring the surrounding countryside with all its might, gradually devouring the greenery. Our location is clearly at the edge of the city. The hardened cement road beneath our feet ends a few dozen meters ahead. Further north, there are vast expanses of farmland and impassable country roads.
There were three or four houses nearby, about a dozen meters apart. Some had red brick walls, others mud brick, but all had thatched roofs. The one on the far right was Zheng Kun's home. Weeds grew all around the house, and brown creeper roots covered the east wall, resembling wildfire licking it. Green moss grew at the base of the wall, closer to the ground. But his house wasn't the most dilapidated in the area. The neighbor next door seemed to have moved away long ago; through the cracked windows, one could see dusty, old furniture.
Zhang Zhihao knocked on the wooden door and a middle-aged man stuck his head out.
"It's me. Is Zheng Kun feeling better?"
"Well, I've been on IV drip for a few days, and my temperature has just dropped a bit." The man looked at me and asked, "Who is this?"
"Oh, he's our friend too."
"Hello, uncle." I knew I had to be very careful and tread very carefully at this moment. I pretended to be a model student and handed over the fruit basket.
The middle-aged man before me was probably Zheng Kun's father, who had just been released from prison. I remember his nickname was "Bie Si." I'd heard so many rumors about him that I expected him to be a menacing man with a beard and a scarred face. He turned out to be plain, even a bit downtrodden. His hair was as wiry as fine wire, slightly graying at the temples. His hands and feet were long, and his fingertips were stained yellow with nicotine. His demeanor was normal—like any other parent, he greeted us warmly and thanked us for visiting.
"It's great for A-Kun to have good friends like you." He forced a smile, revealing his yellowed front teeth. "Come in quickly."
It looked like the truth wouldn't be revealed anytime soon, so I smiled back.
The room was dark. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, a foul odor hit my nose. I couldn't help but feel like I was stepping into the nest of wild animals.
Most old houses have their own unique smell, but Zheng Kun's was truly unique. It smelled like spoiled garbage, the sour odor of rotting meat, and a myriad of other pungent, acrid, and indistinguishable odors.
Besi didn't take us to visit Zheng Kun right away. He asked us to sit in the living room first while he went to see if Zheng Kun was fit to see guests.
We sat down on the cheap faux leather sofa. It looked like a scrap found in a garbage dump; the springs had completely failed, and Zhang Zhihao sank into it like a snowy mountain casualty. The armrests were also unpleasantly sticky, as if they hadn't been wiped in ages.
Looking around, I suddenly sensed something was amiss. It wasn't the shabby surroundings—in those days, everyone's living conditions were similar, and no one was particularly wealthy—but rather the yellow talismans with indecipherable cursive writing pasted on all four walls.
At the west end of the room stood an incongruous altar. A statue sat cross-legged on it, its upper body covered by a red cloth, its face invisible. At its feet were offerings of plump chicken, braised pork, and fish in vinegar sauce, along with a large plate containing a linen bag. A candle burned brightly, and a few flies fluttered around the food. The sight made me gasp.
I nudged Zhang Zhihao's waist with my elbow and asked in a low voice, "Does his family believe in any cult?"
"Oh, you mean the incense for worship? I've seen it before." He answered nonchalantly, "People in my hometown are like this too. They believe in all kinds of things. During festivals, they even insist on taking me to the temple to burn incense."
“I think these are two different things…”
A strange squeaking sound faintly emanated from the west room, and I peered in. The wooden door was ajar, revealing a clay stove, clearly the kitchen. Next to the stove, I noticed a large iron cage, seemingly out of place in the kitchen. Was it for a large dog? It was barely big enough to fit a person. Inside the cage was something resembling a ball of fur.
I stared for a moment, but heard no more strange noises. Just when I thought the noises were just an illusion, the fur ball suddenly moved. I almost cried out in surprise. Then Bessie emerged from the east bedroom, and I quickly swallowed the noise.
"He's still in very bad shape," Beazi said. "You guys go in and take a look."
Opening the wooden door, the east bedroom revealed a completely different scene. The room was spotlessly clean, with not a trace of odor. Zheng Kun lay in bed, a damp towel covering his forehead, two thick layers of quilt covering his body. His face was flushed, his cheekbones prominent, and he was emaciated, skin and bones. His skin was dull, like rough brown paper, devoid of any life.
"Akun, your friend is here to see you."
Besie helped his son up and sat him up with his upper body against the headboard. Zheng Kun's eyes were cloudy as if covered by a film, and it was impossible to tell whether he really recognized us.
My brain and tongue were on strike, and I had no idea what to say. Fortunately, Zhang Zhihao, with his unwavering ability to talk to himself, struck up a conversation with the bedside. While the topics were mostly boring, the atmosphere was somewhat less tense.
Beazi wiped his eyes and said, "You guys chat first, I'm going to go out and cut some fruit."
As soon as he left, I hurriedly reminded Zhang Zhihao: No one went to the toilet on the way here.
"In the car you said you were feeling suffocated."
"Did I say that? But I really feel like I need to pee." Zhang Zhihao muttered and went to find the toilet.
Zheng Kun and I were the only ones left in the room. My original intention was to get everyone else out and coax the truth out of the delirious Zheng Kun. But ever since we entered, he'd been staring at a single spot on the ceiling, motionless, like a soulless corpse. I couldn't help but feel pity for him.
Even a murderer with blood on his hands should be treated with respect when he is seriously ill? But then, who will fight for the interests of the innocent victims? I lowered my head and fell into deep thought.
A sound of "Ahhh... woooooo" came from the bed. Startled, I looked up and saw Zheng Kun, who hadn't moved a finger so far, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, exhaling white air.
"Are you feeling unwell?" I asked.
Zheng Kun groaned and said something again. I shuddered and leaned close to his mouth, listening carefully.
"……video tape."
He finally squeezed out a complete word.
"Where's the videotape?"
"Why did the videotape I stole end up in the well..."
It took him a long time to finish his sentence, and it took me even longer to sink in the implication. He was referring to the videotape that had been fished out of the well with the body, and I felt myself go stiff with cold.
"Didn't you throw those videotapes into the well?"
"no……"
"What about the body dump? Was it you who did it?"
"It's a curse from an evil spirit..." He muttered unrealistically.
No matter how I questioned him afterwards, he just kept mumbling, "The curse of the evil spirit..." as if he had reached a dead end.
Counting the time, the beggar peeling fruit and Zhang Zhihao squatting in the bathroom were almost back. I was so anxious that I pinched Zheng Kun's shoulder blade with my right hand and whispered in his ear in a low but deliberately emphasized voice, "You are the murderer who killed Xu Lan, right?"
Startled, Zheng Kun slowly turned to look at me. For the first time, his expression subtly changed, then rippled like a lake after a stone was thrown into it, rapidly expanding. He seemed to recognize me.
"It's not me, I didn't kill anyone!" he shouted hysterically.
I quickly tried to comfort him and told him to lie down. But he was shaking all over and kept shouting, "I didn't kill her..."
There were hurried footsteps outside the door. Bezoar rushed into the room, his mouth half open, his chest heaving as he gasped. "What's wrong?"
I shook my head to indicate that I didn't know.
He rushed to the bed, held Zheng Kun's shoulders, forced him to change the ice towel, and fed him medicine. Zheng Kun finally calmed down again.
"I just chatted for a few minutes and he suddenly lost control of his emotions." I explained bravely.
The beggar suddenly turned his head, his pupils contracted to sharp points, and his glass-like eyeballs reflected a cold light. I instinctively sensed danger, and the hairs on my body stood on end.
Besie stood up, and I followed suit, taking two steps back. Zhang Zhihao's voice, unperturbed, rang from the door. "Excuse me, the restroom is out of paper... Is anyone there? Can you hear me?"
Beagles stared at me for a while, then his expression gradually returned to normal. "Wait, I'll get it for you."
The visit concluded, and we returned to the living room. Besie chatted with us incoherently, his expression seemingly calm, but a closer look revealed his fingertips gripping the sofa armrests tightly, his nails white and trembling. Even someone as slow-witted as Zhang Zhihao felt uneasy.
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