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墨書 Inktalez
Blood, large blooms of it, could still blossom into vibrant, dazzling flowers even in the filthy alleys of the dark night. Those flowers, bright and intricate like woven brocade, spread across the oil-stained ground behind a dirty restaurant, bursting forth like the angry red plum blossoms of early spring, mingled with a taste of briny sea that stimulated my nostrils and controlled my pupils.
What an exhilarating sight! I took a deep breath; I could not smell the exhaust from thousands of cars, nor the foul stench rising from the sewers, nor the choking fumes from the cheap restaurant's kitchen that made one gag with the scent of rotting vegetables, nor the indescribable odor of stray cats and dogs. All I could smell was the acrid scent of stomach acid and bile mixed with the sweetish aroma of blood that spilled from the man who had collapsed before me.
Thirteen stabs—no, it should be fourteen—the one that pinned his ear to the construction debris should count too. Although it wasn’t a fatal wound, and he had already died by then, completely devoid of breath.
Even though wrapping him in a thick plastic bag would prevent blood from spilling when I thrust the knife in and pulled it out forcefully, his struggle was still shockingly strong. Was this what they called extraordinary strength in a dying state? It was hard to believe that this man, barely five feet tall, could muster such force.
My right hand, gripping the knife, was smeared with blood; strangely enough, this only heightened my enjoyment of his dying state. That moment of instant flaccidity felt like tearing down an annoying poster from a wall and crumpling it up vigorously until all that remained were wrinkled shreds—what a thrill!
The knife was truly a captivating little thing. Just one slice—shh—through skin and flesh, breaking open to touch bone, trembling slightly as it made its sound. It filled me with pleasure!
It was so quiet; no one heard his scream as I delivered the fatal blow. The scream was far too brief—three seconds? Four? No, no, it didn’t matter at all. That moment was an eternity I would savor for a lifetime.
...
Zhao Lang sat on the sofa on the first floor after finishing the introduction and asked the old detective who was flipping through other materials, “What’s going on with that case over at Zhang Da? Why is Li Yuecheng suspected?”
The old detective replied, “Xu Haitao was murdered around 11 PM last night. About ten hours before his death, Xu Haitao excitedly told several close colleagues that he was going to get rich. Two hours later, people at the company heard that Xu Haitao had a fierce argument with Li Yuecheng in his car; apparently, security from the company building saw it on surveillance footage from the underground parking lot. Afterward, Xu Haitao angrily jumped out of the car and pointed at Li Yuecheng while saying something; Li Yuecheng immediately drove into him at high speed.
If Xu Haitao hadn’t dodged quickly… An hour before his murder, Li Yuecheng made a very brief phone call to Xu Haitao just before he left his residence. That was Xu Haitao’s last call; subsequent calls showed as missed. At 4:30 AM, a cleaning worker found Xu Haitao’s body in the garbage room of his apartment complex; we immediately verified through multiple channels and determined that Li Yuecheng was a major suspect, so…” The echo lingered in the vast space.
Shui Yu’s voice suddenly floated down from the third floor: “So boring; I’m leaving.” As she spoke, she gracefully descended the spiral staircase. “A guilt-driven suicide after murder? Ruining one’s promising life in a moment of impulse? It’s no different from those exaggerated social news stories. Do people in showbiz really lack creativity? Captain Zhao, I’m off.”
Zhao Lang remained silent, his gaze quietly following her movements until he met Shui Yu's eyes at eye level, at which point he let out a soft "oh."
Shui Yu smiled gently, her beautiful face illuminated by the now bright sunlight. "Good morning, goodbye." With a graceful twist of her slender waist, she vanished through the door.
Zhao Lang silently organized the documents; it was time to return to the station. The other officers had already gathered all the necessary materials, and the coroner had placed Li Yuecheng's body into a body bag. From the sounds, two or three junior officers were discussing how to efficiently transport the body down to the entrance of the building.
The sunlight was always innocent and warm. Zhao Lang squinted slightly against the bright rays as they hit him. Before he could even sigh, the junior officers were already carrying the body down the spiral staircase, the dark body bag casting a shadow over Zhao Lang's vision. Once again, someone would be unable to see this innocent and warm sunlight. Regardless of his nature—good or evil—the body was just a body, merely a vessel that had lost its life.
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