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墨書 Inktalez
Qin Qingxue's voice was gentle, like a cool autumn breeze rustling through the treetops. This was the last tenderness she could offer Kong Anping. The world was filled with malice, leaving Qin Qingxue feeling hopeless; it was a terrible place. Yet, she did not want Kong Anping to see this dark world.
Kong Anping would forever remain that boy in the clean white shirt on that afternoon in his second year of high school, smiling beautifully under the sunlight. He deserved a better life, like a dragon that had just leaped out of a pond, a brave youth determined to change the world—a world that should not harbor darkness.
Standing in the pouring rain, Kong Anping felt the droplets soak his hair, drench his clothes, and penetrate his heart.
That night, he gazed at the darkened campus, where lights had been turned off and doors locked, standing there in a daze for several hours.
What Kong Anping did not know was that on this stormy night, Qin Qingxue was curled up in the dark Underground Bicycle Shed, crying.
The rain fell into people's hearts, transforming into an endless stream of tears.
Kong Anping walked home in despair.
Not long after, a woman pushed a cart out of the shed. She looked cute in her outfit, but it was torn. Fortunately, the night served as her best camouflage; no one was on the deserted street in the heavy rain to notice her embarrassment. She pondered what to do next and whether she should call the police.
But as soon as she thought of calling for help, she could hear Zhuang Ziming's threatening words echoing in her ears. Yes, Zhuang Ziming's family was wealthy, while hers was poor. Zhuang Ziming's parents held power; with just a finger, they could make her family’s life unbearable. Yet how could the trauma she endured be repaid by simply sending Zhuang Ziming to prison?
She wrestled with her thoughts all the way until she reached her building and found clarity.
Because there, in the narrow and filthy alleyway, stood her parents' electric tricycle.
What a rusty tricycle it was! Qin Qingxue remembered it from her earliest days. The red paint had been washed away, revealing patches of rust beneath. The character "Fu," which she had personally affixed to the back of the tricycle, had now peeled off significantly.
Qin Qingxue spent her childhood on that tricycle. She knew how busy her parents were during those times and how hard their lives were.
It felt as if she had been injected with a powerful drug; Qin Qingxue found her resolve.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the worn concrete stairs and returned home.
"What happened?" Qin Qingxue's parents asked with concern.
Qin Qingxue forced a smile. "The road was too slippery, and I fell off my bike. My clothes got torn."
Her mother scolded her gently, "Look at you, being so careless. It's good that you didn't get hurt. Hurry up and take a shower; I'll sew your clothes for you."
However, her father dismissed the idea. "Sewing? No way! It's finally the holidays; let me take you to buy new clothes."
That night, Qin Qingxue didn’t know how many times she washed herself. No matter how much she scrubbed, she felt like a dirty person. The deep imprint left on her could not be washed away. She cried silently in the bathroom, the sound of the shower drowning out her sobs.
Just look at how brave she was; some people wouldn’t even dare to make a sound while crying.
From that moment on, Qin Qingxue became listless. She couldn’t sleep; every time she closed her eyes, those scenes replayed in her mind. She felt unbearable pain and contemplated suicide.
Suicide seemed like such a good escape; this way, she wouldn’t burden her parents anymore, and she could find relief.
Qin Qingxue's parents loved her dearly, but being simple and honest, they had no idea what psychological therapy was about. Qin Qingxue used the excuse of not doing well in her exams to brush off their concerns, and they believed her. After all, she had always been a good child who didn’t lie.
Finally, after enduring for about five days, Qin Qingxue decided to end her life.
As a good student, she meticulously prepared the steps for her suicide. In the days leading up to it, she went to a nearby store to buy candles, a jump rope, a spring knife, a lighter, and other items she would need.
After setting up her plan, she climbed onto the roof of a building.
To avoid burdening her parents further, Qin Qingxue chose not to call the police. However, the hatred she felt for Zhuang Ziming was something that would never fade away.
Qin Qingxue recalled a terrifying story she had once read.
If a girl chooses to commit suicide around midnight while wearing a red skirt, she will transform into a vengeful spirit. The eight white candles placed in eight directions can prevent the messengers of death from taking her soul.
However, Qin Qingxue did not wish to harm others; she only wanted the lives of three people.
Zhuang Ziming, Song You, and Shih Wenshan.
Zhuang Ziming was the main culprit, but if Song You and Shih Wenshan had offered her even a little help at that time, such a tragedy would not have occurred. This silence hurt Qin Qingxue more than the evil of the Evil Person; she wanted these three to accompany her to hell.
So she used a knife to carve three deep wounds on her wrist. Then, she let her blood drip onto a prepared piece of paper, on which were written the names of the three individuals. By dripping her blood on it, she believed that after death, she could seek revenge on them. She set the paper ablaze, watching it turn to ashes.
She wrapped the jump rope around the clothes drying rack and then coiled it three times around her neck. Lifting her legs, she put all her weight onto the rope.
Qin Qingxue ended her life, a life that had just begun, filled with hope.
As a high school student, Qin Qingxue surely knew that all of this was nonsense. But what could she do? No one could help her; she could only place her faint hopes in ghosts. This was her final act of defiance.
Many people know that ghosts are not real, yet they force themselves to believe because they hold a simple wish: that good people can live in peace while wrongdoers meet their demise.
But clearly, there are no ghosts in this world.
Yet if there are no ghosts, then she would willingly become one.
Upon hearing the news of Qin Qingxue's suicide, Kong Anping felt as if his world had collapsed. Yet his rational mind told him that Qin Qingxue would not take her life over failing an exam. They had once promised each other that if one did poorly, they would retake the year and ensure they both attended the same school.
But Qin Qingxue broke that promise and chose such an extreme way out.
Kong Anping's thoughts drifted back to that rainy night.
He saw Zhuang Ziming, Song You, and Shih Wenshan hurriedly running out of the Underground Bicycle Shed, disappearing into the rainy night without even opening an umbrella. Although these three were classmates, they were merely acquaintances at best; how could they possibly be together in the bike shed?
More importantly, Zhuang Ziming's first act as an adult was to get his driver's license. He either took a taxi or drove to school, so how could he have come out of the bike shed?
However, Qin Qingxue usually rode her bicycle to school, and Kong Anping, after hearing the news of their breakup, was in such a daze that he didn't even consider this point.
Kong Anping's intuition told him that Qin Qingxue's death might not be so simple; it had to be related to Zhuang Ziming and the other two.
Thus, Kong Anping began his investigation, starting with Shih Wenshan. He knew that among the three, Shih Wenshan was the most timid. If they had done something wrong, Shih Wenshan would be the best point of entry for information.
He sent Shih Wenshan a vague text message: "I am Qin Qingxue. Do you remember what you did to me?"
To Kong Anping's surprise, Shih Wenshan chose to believe this message from an unknown sender. Under Kong Anping's gentle probing, Shih Wenshan recounted what had happened that night.
Kong Anping's hands trembled as his heart bled; he began to understand the struggles behind Qin Qingxue's seemingly calm conversation that night.
He wanted revenge; he wanted to avenge the deceased Qin Qingxue.
Kong Anping wished he could tear Shih Wenshan apart for still conversing with him, but he knew he couldn't act impulsively if he wanted to kill all three of them. Otherwise, before he could finish his task, the police would surely trace it back to him. He had to think things through carefully.
During this preparation period, Kong Anping rented a cabin.
He told his parents he was going on a trip out of town and set up scheduled text messages on his phone.
After everything was in place, Kong Anping meticulously crafted a plan.
This was the habit of a smart person: think twice before acting.
Since Qin Qingxue wished to become a vengeful spirit to kill, Kong Anping would be Qin Qingxue's vengeful spirit.
He first used his phone to notify Zhuang Ziming. He knew what Zhuang Ziming had done to Qin Qingxue that night, but he wouldn't report it to the police; he only wanted money. Zhuang Ziming, who was not short on cash, agreed. Perhaps he also wanted to see who this person was that knew about the incident and how he should act in the future.
Kong Anping arranged to meet him in the biology storage room at Anxiang District Fourth Middle School and told him to simply place Fifty Thousand Yuan in the locker, where the video he had recorded would also be.
Zhuang Ziming did not want anyone else to know about this matter, so he did not drive there. Uncharacteristically discreet, he slipped out of his house under the cover of moonlight and arrived at Fourth High School. The hallway was dark without any lights, and he followed his memory until he finally reached the storage room.
Pushing open the door, he headed straight for the locker with the faint moonlight guiding him.
However, before he could get close to the locker, he heard someone calling his name from behind.
Zhuang Ziming jumped in surprise and turned around, only to be met with a large hammer.
The blow sent his brain matter spilling out.
In his final moments, all he saw was a figure in a red skirt.
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