Chapter 38

Chapter 36: Ominous Joy (36)

In the alley almost diagonally opposite Liang Lanjun’s house, Cheng Wei discovered a black Santana that stood out distinctly from the surrounding vehicles. Its surface was covered in dust and a few fallen leaves, along with vertical streaks left by melted snow—as if it had been parked there for a very long time. Cheng Wei and the other team members immediately asked around in the vicinity whose car it was. Quite a few townspeople gathered to look, all shaking their heads.

“This car has been parked here for ages. Isn’t it Old Zhang’s?”

“Nonsense! I’ve never driven it! Looks like one from the factory, right? How did it end up here?”

“Maybe it was scrapped and abandoned?”

Cheng Wei immediately fetched the factory’s vehicle management director. When the man arrived and took a look, he said this was indeed one of the factory’s cars, but it was very hard to drive, always breaking down. It had been left in the warehouse all along. When workers needed a vehicle, they preferred to use their private cars for work rather than this one. He had even forgotten it existed.

“Strange—how did it end up parked here?”

There was no surveillance in this area, and no one could say exactly when it had been brought here. Cheng Wei requested the warehouse surveillance from the factory, but footage was only kept for one month. In the earliest available video, the car was already gone from the factory.

Cheng Wei then found the worker who had previously said he saw Liang Lanjun driving a black Santana. The man stared at the car for a long time and said it should be this one, though it could also be another. “I didn’t note the license plate. Black Santanas are too common around here.”

Cheng Wei opened the car door and began examining the interior. The other team members continued canvassing, trying to find someone who could clarify how the car got here.

Inside the car was the stale smell of long unventilated air mixed with alcohol and disinfectant. The floor mats had been replaced; there were no tread marks. But in the seam of the backrest of the rear seat, Cheng Wei extracted trace amounts of blood. It had soaked in deeply. The outer layer of the backrest had been cleaned, but the inside was beyond salvage unless the entire backrest was discarded.

Somewhat unexpectedly for Cheng Wei, he also lifted a complete fingerprint from the steering wheel.

The person who used this car had been very cautious—changing the mats, cleaning bloodstains—yet somehow overlooked the steering wheel, the one thing that should have been cleaned most thoroughly.

Next, Cheng Wei collected substances from the car body and tires and hurried back to the city for testing.

Later, when Cheng Wei’s call came in, Hai Shu was at the glass factory, listening to a minor warehouse supervisor explain how that Santana had “disappeared” from there.

“That car was already useless long ago but hadn’t been fully scrapped, so it was still parked inside. Last year Liang Lanjun came to me asking to borrow a car. All the other vehicles were out, so I pointed that one out to him. I told him he knew how that car was—might kill you if you drive it. He said no problem, he’d fix it up and it’d still run.”

“I didn’t think much of it and gave him the keys. Later I didn’t ask. When I saw he never drove it, I figured he couldn’t get it fixed. Too many things going on—I forgot about it. You found the car?”

Hai Shu turned to take the call. “Xiao Cheng, results?”

“Captain Hai!” Cheng Wei said excitedly. “The blood matched Li Hui’s DNA! The mud in the tires has a very high similarity to soil near the Normal College! Most crucially—the fingerprint left on the steering wheel belongs to Liang Lanjun!”

Hai Shu was instantly energized. “Great work, Xiao Cheng!”

In the interrogation room, Hai Shu placed the fresh evidence in front of Liang Lanjun. “Last June you borrowed this car from the factory. Now we’ve tested blood from victim Li Hui and your fingerprint inside it. Liang Lanjun, I’ll ask you one more time: where were you on the night of December 3 last year?”

Liang Lanjun looked at the printed papers and photos on the table. His eyes seemed to hurt; he raised a hand and rubbed them several times.

Hai Shu waited for his reaction. Evidence was gradually emerging. Zhao Yue’s emotional state was an important breakthrough point. She wasn’t in a hurry—she could wear Liang Lanjun down slowly.

But Liang Lanjun lifted his head. The bitterness and misfortune in his features made him look like a crumpled sheet of paper.

“I was tailing Li Hui. I pretended to ask for directions, then choked his neck and dragged him into the car,” Liang Lanjun said hoarsely.

Hai Shu’s heart jumped—she had thought Liang Lanjun would continue to stay silent.

“So you admit you killed Li Hui?”

“It was me.”

“What about Xue Ninglin and Ping Sheng?”

“Also me.”

Many team members watching the monitor held their breath.

Hai Shu looked into Liang Lanjun’s fog-shrouded eyes and caught a faint whiff of lies. But right now she had to keep questioning, extract as much confession as possible.

“Why did you kill them?”

Liang Lanjun was silent for several minutes. “They’re the same kind of people as Gong Zhao. Why am I sitting here instead of doing research at the Academy like Ju Ning? Because of people like them.”

Liang Lanjun finally spoke of that hellish final stretch of his university life. The facts were not much different from Ju Ning’s account, but the helplessness pouring from his words was far beyond anything a perpetrator’s perspective could convey.

His hatred for homosexuals hadn’t begun brewing then. In fact, for a very long time his mind had been completely blank. He was not yet 22 then—leaving his hometown but not yet entering society. His parents had drilled into him “study hard and make something of yourself.” He had more than fulfilled the first half, yet not only did he not make something of himself—he was shoved into mud he couldn’t struggle out of.

Ju Ning, who stole his spot, went abroad. Gong Zhao, who trampled his life, disappeared. He didn’t even know where Gong Zhao was—that became a shadow he could never reach. His mother fell ill from anger at him. His father cut ties. After being abandoned by the school, he was abandoned by his family. He wandered the streets, clumsy and unskilled. He found odd jobs but was fired for refusing to bow his head.

There were days he couldn’t even eat. He didn’t know whom to hate—there were too many candidates.

When he finally adapted to society’s rules and forgot he had once been a top student, he had become a construction worker. Only after settling down did his mind start turning again. The needle of hatred pointed toward Gong Zhao, and toward people like him.

They had money and power, were young, good-looking. If they liked someone, they seized them. If they couldn’t have them, they destroyed them.

Over the long years, the shadow of Gong Zhao gradually blurred in his memory, but his hatred for the homosexual group grew clearer. Especially in recent years, as more and more people in society supported homosexuals and spoke for them, every time he saw related reports on TV he raged until he nearly went mad.

He thought: You speak for them—who speaks for me?

But his hatred had always remained deeply buried. He never spoke it to anyone. Because he knew his current life had come at great cost. He had met a virtuous wife; together they survived the hardest days of their lives. Then they met the kind factory director Li Yun, who gave them stable jobs.

Not long after moving to Zhou Ping Town, he tried to blend into the collective—but it was hard. He wasn’t outgoing by nature. People gathered around asking about his past made him feel like needles on his back.

Old director Li Yun once brought him to the old workshop, pointed to the basement under the furnace, and said: “Guess what this place is?”

He couldn’t answer.

Li Yun chuckled. “It’s a ‘fuck it all’ place.”

He didn’t understand at first. Li Yun explained: he too had many troubles, often felt everyone around him demanding something from him. In human society, who can cleanly refuse? So whenever it became unbearable, Li Yun would come here alone, lie down for a while, imagine he was the only person left in the world—no one else to bother him. It was self-deception, but at least it brought brief relief. When he returned to the surface, that lightness became energy to keep pushing forward.

“I went through many setbacks and humiliations when I was young, but I made it through. Xiao Liang, you’re still young. Your road is long—don’t give up. When you can’t take it, come here and stay a while.”

Liang Lanjun said Li Yun was a benefactor in his life. Yet in the end he failed Li Yun. That basement, which carried beautiful memories, never became a place to soothe his soul. Ultimately it became the grave he prepared for homosexuals.

After entering middle age, Liang Lanjun once thought the second half of his life would be calm. At home they sponsored a girl—very outstanding, full of upward drive. But he never imagined Liu Xiang too would be entangled by a homosexual.

Was misfortune contagious? Or did people like Gong Zhao deliberately target people like them, enjoying the pleasure of destruction?

Unlike what he had told police earlier, whenever they had the chance to go to the city for work, they would visit Liu Xiang and treat her to something good to eat.

Once they arranged to meet Liu Xiang at a place, but she didn’t show up on time. While waiting, Liang Lanjun walked a bit into the lane ahead and saw Liu Xiang struggling with a tall female student.

The girl held Liu Xiang’s arm, arguing about something. He was about to step forward when the two separated. The girl didn’t see him and left in another direction—clearly on bad terms. Liu Xiang saw him and ran over. “Uncle Liang!”

“Was she bullying you?” Liang Lanjun asked. “Who is she?”

“Not really bullying.” After all, Liu Xiang was a girl and found it hard to say to Liang Lanjun. “She keeps pestering me. It’s annoying.”

Liang Lanjun’s personality didn’t let him press further, but he got the girl’s name: Xue Ninglin.

Because of his own experience, Liang Lanjun’s first reaction to “pestering me” was Gong Zhao. He guessed this Xue Ninglin was the same kind as Gong Zhao.

After that, no one mentioned the matter again. But when Liang Lanjun came to the city again, he secretly observed Xue Ninglin. She was very pretty, very rich, had friends calling her everywhere on and off campus, and was intimate with another girl.

Liang Lanjun almost confirmed his guess was correct.

After the summer break following freshman year, the sunny, cheerful Liu Xiang became silent and withdrawn, then committed suicide in the second half of sophomore year. Reasons varied, but Liang Lanjun believed none of them—only his own judgment: Xue Ninglin drove Liu Xiang to death.

Homosexuals again—these damned homosexuals who should go to hell!

Buried hatred that had lasted years could no longer be suppressed. Back then he hadn’t avenged himself. Now he wanted revenge on the entire group!

These people deserved to die! Not just Gong Zhao, not just Xue Ninglin—every single one!

How should he kill them? Let them taste the despair of falling from a height, just like Liu Xiang—cervical fracture, resentment toward the world in their final moment!

At the end of March last year, Liang Lanjun began his revenge plan. He used his trips to the city to linger near several universities. Because of his psychological fear of Gray Surge University, he avoided it.

Besides Xue Ninglin, his initial target was Li Hui from Gray Surge Normal College. Li Hui had delicate, feminine features and long hair—very much like a homosexual. There were also related rumors in Li Hui’s college. Later he added Ping Sheng to the list.

He had long planned to kill them in the basement—there was a long vertical shaft. Pushing them down would be enough to snap their necks.

But from the city to Zhou Ping Town he needed transportation. Neither his own car nor the factory’s frequently borrowed ones would do. He found that soon-to-be-scrapped Santana, drove it away, fixed it up—but didn’t use it immediately, not until the minor warehouse head forgot about the loan.

Hearing this, Hai Shu interrupted. “Why did you think Ping Sheng was homosexual? Did you ever see him confess to a police officer?”

Liang Lanjun looked somewhat blank. “What police officer?”

Hai Shu asked, “Then what about Ping Sheng made you think he was homosexual?”

After a moment Liang Lanjun said, “I know his dad is an official. His family is very rich. Everyone revolves around him. He reminded me of Gong Zhao.”

Hai Shu’s anger surged. “Just that was enough for you to kill him?”

Liang Lanjun said, “He is homosexual. I was harmed by that group—I know how to read people. You never saw him alive, right? He was very clean, dressed very stylishly. Go look around university campuses—ordinary boys don’t look like him. Ones like him are definitely homosexual.”

Hai Shu suppressed her fury. “But he never harmed anyone! You can’t even be sure he belonged to the group you wanted revenge on!”

“Doesn’t matter.” Liang Lanjun shook his head. “They have money and status—they have the capital to trample people. I never harmed anyone either—why did Gong Zhao ruin me like this? He even has police speaking up for him. What do I have?”

Hai Shu took a deep breath, paused, then continued. “And then? How did you carry it out?”

“Tranquilizer gun,” Liang Lanjun said.

While still studying at Gray Surge University, Liang Lanjun had often made small mechanical devices. During his hardest days he once set up a stall at an elementary school gate selling them. After settling in Zhou Ping Town, with life stable, he had more time for them. Long ago he had designed a gun on paper but never built it.

When making the revenge plan, he understood he only had nighttime opportunities—so his chosen targets all had habits of going out alone at night.

Ping Sheng liked night running. Li Hui always went out at night to feed stray dogs. As for Xue Ninglin, she was a regular at nightclubs.

Liang Lanjun drove the modified Santana along old roads from Zhou Ping Town to the city, spent time mapping their routines, and began building the tranquilizer gun. Making the gun was no difficulty for him, but the drug was hard to buy. Human-use drugs like sevoflurane weren’t available on the market. He could have bought them through back channels but feared exposure during purchase—so he simply bought livestock anesthetic instead.

Everything ready, Liang Lanjun’s first target was originally Xue Ninglin, but during that period Xue Ninglin seemed to tire of nightlife and stayed holed up in school. Unable to proceed, Liang Lanjun turned to Ping Sheng, who ran at night every few days.

Ping Sheng grew up surrounded by police, tall and strong, seemingly unafraid of danger. He always ran in places with no one around at night—and wore earphones.

Liang Lanjun parked in shadows. When Ping Sheng passed, he pulled the trigger. Ping Sheng stopped in pain, felt something stuck in his neck, immediately realized he should flee and call police—but the drug took effect fast. He staggered and fell; his phone flew half a meter away. Liang Lanjun rushed forward, took the phone, and looked down at Ping Sheng raising his hands in struggle. After he fully lost consciousness, Liang Lanjun dragged him into the car.

He had already chosen the burial ground for the “faggots”—he wanted them to experience despair and pain before death, as if that despair and pain were inflicted on Gong Zhao himself.

At the vertical shaft in the old workshop, Ping Sheng had regained some awareness. To prevent accidents, Liang Lanjun bound his hands and feet. He couldn’t speak, tears streaming as he looked at Liang Lanjun—as if asking who are you, why?

Liang Lanjun showed a cold-blooded smile and said to Ping Sheng, “When people like you destroy others, do you ever consider who they are or why they deserve to be destroyed?”

Liang Lanjun stood, like a demon risen from hell. He stepped on Ping Sheng’s back and kicked him down.

A muffled thud came from below. Liang Lanjun squatted, listening carefully. Ping Sheng hadn’t died immediately—he made extremely faint gasps. Liang Lanjun waited above, shining the flashlight down in a beam that lit Ping Sheng almost white. In that beam, Ping Sheng twitched, hands slowly reaching forward in final struggle. When the gasps finally stopped, he lay still.

Only then did Liang Lanjun descend the ladder, tidy the body, and throw it into the dirt pile already dug at the end of the corridor.

When he climbed back up from the basement, he felt reborn.

Killing someone like Ping Sheng was compensation for the first half of his life that had been trampled.

Afterward he improved the tranquilizer gun and waited for the next chance. He could have killed Li Hui immediately, but the excitement of killing Ping Sheng hadn’t faded—he wasn’t in a hurry to do it again. He had always been frugal. When his father gave him a pack of beef jerky as a child, he ate only one strip at a time, savoring it for ten days or half a month until the savoring no longer brought joy—then he took the next.

Moreover, he didn’t dare act right away. At that time police were still treating Ping Sheng’s case as an ordinary disappearance. If Li Hui vanished too soon, police would definitely take notice.

While waiting, he noticed Xue Ninglin had started going to clubs again, always getting very drunk. He didn’t know why, but he knew opportunity couldn’t be missed.

Killing Xue Ninglin didn’t even require the tranquilizer gun. She staggered along the road. Liang Lanjun slowly drove up, pretended to ask directions. Xue Ninglin mumbled directions in a daze. Liang Lanjun seized the moment and dragged her into the car. She screamed and struggled; Liang Lanjun punched her unconscious.

Before pushing her down the shaft, the alcohol still hadn’t worn off. Liang Lanjun asked why she forced Liu Xiang. Hearing the name, contempt flashed undisguised in her eyes. She muttered, “That… green tea bitch. She deserved it, she deserved it…”

If Liang Lanjun had still held any doubt before, now he was completely certain Liu Xiang’s death was because of Xue Ninglin. Haha—misfortune really was contagious. Even though he wasn’t Liu Xiang’s father, he had been ruined by “faggots,” his life destroyed. The girl he sponsored had to encounter the same kind!

Rage burned fiercely. After pushing Xue Ninglin down, he didn’t wait for her to die. He immediately went down, grabbed her head, and smashed it hard against the ground. Soon she stopped breathing.

In the past half year, something unexpected happened to Liang Lanjun—he saw Gong Zhao on TV again, but this time not the glamorous Gong Zhao, but a disheveled, down-and-out one. Gong Zhao had actually been arrested. Police were also investigating Fengman Real Estate behind him!

He collected all related news. At first excited, then furious, then numb. Turns out Gong Zhao was exposed because he played someone to death—that dead child was only 20. And the many others harmed by Gong Zhao and his “faggots” were also under 20.

These beasts!

After Xue Ninglin went missing, Liang Lanjun noticed police activity was clearly heavier than after Ping Sheng vanished. He lay low for a while. After winter set in, Li Hui’s stray-dog feeding trips increased in frequency and range, often going to more remote places.

Liang Lanjun felt the timing had come again.

When dealing with Li Hui, Liang Lanjun used less anesthetic than with Ping Sheng. Li Hui was smaller, looked frail—if the dose was too high he feared Li Hui would die in his sleep. That would be too cheap for this “faggot.”

But this time there was a small mistake. Li Hui wasn’t fully sedated. When he woke in the car he fought Liang Lanjun; blood flowed onto the seat.

Liang Lanjun, furious, shot him in the neck again. This time Li Hui never woke. Perhaps he briefly regained consciousness when his neck snapped—but Liang Lanjun had no way to know.

Among the three victims, he may have died with the least pain.

Every team member watching the monitor felt a weight in their chest. These three were completely innocent—especially Li Hui. He wasn’t even one of Liang Lanjun’s so-called “faggots.” He was just effeminate-looking. Yet this male student who persisted in caring for stray dogs through the cold winter died for such an absurd, vicious reason.

Hai Shu also struggled to breathe. Holding back, she asked, “Then what about Wan Zeyu?”

Police had already found the answer, but they still needed Liang Lanjun’s confession as corroboration.

“Killing him was an accident. He discovered the basement,” Liang Lanjun said.

After killing Li Hui, Liang Lanjun planned to pause for a while. One reason was that his psyche had been satisfied. Another was that police investigation had grown denser. Before Spring Festival, during his last trip to the city, he learned the three cases were no longer handled by their respective sub-bureaus but transferred to the municipal Criminal Investigation Branch.

His eyelid twitched hard. Though he didn’t know the Branch’s capabilities, the higher level meant police were taking it very seriously. He grew restless—worried what if police traced it to Zhou Ping Town? Was the basement truly safe? After much thought he decided to check the old workshop again before police arrived.

But that check led to trouble.

That night, to avoid attention, he rode a motorcycle and parked it facing away from town. Just as he was about to enter the basement, he heard movement outside. He immediately closed the basement door and hid in a dead corner.

Then he saw a shadow enter the old workshop, looking around sneakily—it was Wan Zeyu.

His heart pounded. What was Wan Zeyu doing here?

Wan Zeyu didn’t notice him. He climbed the stairs with loud “clang clang” sounds and went upstairs.

He didn’t dare leave—kept hiding.

Soon another shadow appeared, also looking around furtively before going up. This one took him half a day to recognize—Yuan Zhong.

Voices came from the rooftop, but he couldn’t hear clearly. Then a muffled thud hit the ground—he knew that sound too well: a body falling.

Rain began. Only Wan Zeyu came down, holding the knife that had appeared in the old workshop that day. Winter thunder cracked, lighting his deathly pale face. Wan Zeyu glanced toward his direction. In that instant, he felt Wan Zeyu saw him.

But Wan Zeyu didn’t come over—he hurried out of the workshop.

He knew Wan Zeyu must be checking if Yuan Zhong was dead.

Rain and wind were too loud—he couldn’t hear outside. Time stretched endlessly. It felt like a full night before he heard an engine fade away.

He waited another half hour before going out. The night was silent—no stars. Relying on his familiarity with the old workshop, he found where Wan Zeyu buried the body—just ten-odd meters from the building in wasteland grass.

Alarm bells rang—not just worry whether Wan Zeyu had seen his face, but fear that once Wan Zeyu’s killing was exposed, his basement wouldn’t stay hidden.

Another lightning flash passed; cold rain soaked him through. He thought—he must get rid of Wan Zeyu.

After the murder Wan Zeyu showed no abnormality—like a natural-born killer. And Yuan Zhong was a negligible figure in the factory. Except for Liang Lanjun, almost no one noticed Yuan Zhong was gone.

A big event was happening in Zhou Ping Town—Deputy Factory Director Guang’s son Guang Jun was getting married. Before the formal wedding banquet there was the bride’s family farewell party. Liang Lanjun seized the opportunity. While smoking cured meat, he approached Wan Zeyu and whispered, “I know where you buried the body.”

Wan Zeyu’s eyes changed sharply—as if he couldn’t understand how this reclusive man could say such a thing.

Liang Lanjun: “Quite a coincidence—I also buried something there. Planning to move it to this woods. Cooperate? How about it?”

Wan Zeyu was caught off guard. The situation didn’t allow much questioning. “Find a time to talk in detail.”

Liang Lanjun: “Tonight. Guang family is busy with wedding prep—no one will notice.”

They agreed to meet at dawn in the woods. Liang Lanjun knew Wan Zeyu must intend to kill him—but he had something Wan Zeyu didn’t: the tranquilizer gun.

Half an hour before the agreed time, Wan Zeyu appeared, casually swinging the knife from the old workshop that day.

“Old Liang, come out, Old Liang.”

Liang Lanjun hid behind a tree trunk, breathing suppressed to the lightest.

“You’re pretty good at hiding,” Wan Zeyu said contemptuously. “That day I already felt like there were eyes in the workshop. Turns out there really were. What were you doing—staying up all night to squat there? Everyone says you’re an honest man. I see you’re not that honest.”

Liang Lanjun gripped the tranquilizer gun tightly; his fingertips trembled slightly. Wan Zeyu slowly walked in the woods not far from him.

“You didn’t call me out here just to chat, right? You want to kill me.” Wan Zeyu laughed. “Funny coincidence—I was thinking the same. You saw me kill Yuan Zhong that day, didn’t you? Yes, with this knife.”

Wan Zeyu held the knife to the moonlight. “I took this knife from Yuan Zhong’s house. Tsk. Guess why I killed him? You can probably figure it out—same reason you called me here. Yuan Zhong knew my secret; I knew his. We couldn’t coexist. Either he died or I did.”

Wan Zeyu stopped. His chilling aura almost reached Liang Lanjun’s ear. “Come out, Liang Lanjun.”

Liang Lanjun turned with maximum speed and shot Wan Zeyu in the neck. Wan Zeyu clearly hadn’t expected a gun. He swung the knife. But Liang Lanjun had already dodged. When Wan Zeyu raised the knife again, he felt searing pain in his neck, his body going numb, vision blurring.

Liang Lanjun used maximum dosage. Wan Zeyu soon stopped moving.

But Wan Zeyu wasn’t dead. Liang Lanjun immediately used the knife Wan Zeyu brought to sever his neck.

Wan Zeyu wasn’t like Yuan Zhong—missing for days unnoticed. Dawn would bring Guang Jun’s wedding. Wan Zeyu’s disappearance would spread immediately.

Liang Lanjun had already thought of a perfect plan to mislead police: use Wan Zeyu and Yuan Zhong’s bodies to create a bizarre, ritualistic scene.

It was an extremely busy night. Wan Zeyu’s limbs, head, and Yuan Zhong’s head and torso were cut off and buried with Ping Sheng and the others. Wan Zeyu’s torso was placed in the smoking barrel, with Yuan Zhong’s limbs hung above.

Before sunrise he erased his own footprints. If anything was missed, it could be explained as him having come to smoke cured meat anyway.

While Guang Jun fainted from shock at the sight in the smoking barrel, he was at the post-wedding banquet card table winning a hand. He didn’t like such events, but social obligations—even for someone like him—dragged him to play cards.

Liang Lanjun raised his head in the interrogation room. “I plead guilty.”

Meeting those dim eyes, Hai Shu heard her own voice in her ears: No—this isn’t the full truth.