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墨書 Inktalez
I truly cannot believe that after searching for so long, we discovered that Zhang Zuocheng had actually died six months ago. This means that the so-called transfer of Zhang Zuocheng must have been a ruse orchestrated by Zhang Zijun and Ha Li Min. But why would they do such a thing?
When a person dies, there is a certain period during which their household registration must be canceled at the local police station. This process signifies that the person is officially recognized as deceased in society. While this timeframe can be extended, it typically does not last this long. Now, with Zhang Zuocheng having been dead for half a year, it is clear that Zhang Zijun and Ha Li Min are deliberately concealing this fact.
Otherwise, there would certainly be a record of Zhang Zuocheng's death in the police files. The absence of anyone coming to cancel the household registration indicates that very few people even know about Zhang Zuocheng's death. There must be a reason for intentionally covering up someone's death.
I looked at Gu Chen and asked, "Zhang Zuocheng died six months ago, but from Zhang Zijun's description, there is no indication at all that Zhang Zuocheng is dead. There must be something fishy going on. Did Chen Bo mention the cause of Zhang Zuocheng's death?"
Gu Chen nodded and replied, "Chen Bo briefly mentioned it; anyway, it wasn't homicide. If it were homicide, I believe Zhang Zuocheng's parents would have reported it to the police, which would have resulted in detailed records. Chen Bo learned about Zhang Zuocheng's death while investigating Ha Li Min. However, since Zhang Zuocheng's death, the two of them have moved away, and Chen Bo hasn't yet found out where Ha Li Min is living now."
This now proves that their divorce was not due to a breakdown in their relationship, nor was it because of a breakup that led to transferring their child to another school. Zhang Zijun deliberately reversed the cause and effect, which confirms that she is indeed the murderer.
I asked, "Did Chen Bo mention the location over the phone just now?"
Gu Chen nodded and said, "Yes, Chen Bo found a neighbor who knew about the situation back then and suggested we go check it out."
Gu Chen glanced at his watch and added, "There's still some time before dark; we can investigate this matter first and then monitor Zhang Zijun afterward."
I snapped my fingers. "Is someone already watching Zhang Zijun?"
Mary nodded and said, "Yes, arrangements were made right after parting ways with Chen Bo."
"Let's go."
An eight-year-old child died six months ago, and this incident has been suppressed without any records from the police. Zhang Zuocheng must have died under very suspicious circumstances; what exactly happened? When I posed this question to those who were informed back then, their responses were rather vague as well.
Sitting in front of me was a woman in her fifties, casually cracking sunflower seeds while recounting stories from her past. Her brows furrowed and her eyes sparkled as she spoke animatedly. Surrounding her were about ten other women in their forties and fifties, nodding along and adding their own comments.
One of the women leaned to the side and spat on the ground before continuing to share her memories.
These women knew Zhang Zuocheng because they had been gathering under the wire pole for poker games for the past four or five years, undeterred by rain or shine. They had watched the children in the neighborhood grow from toddlers into students.
Zhang Zuocheng was no exception; every day after school, he would pass by this group of old ladies playing cards.
Half a year ago, it was an unusual day. The weather was warmer than usual, with the sun hanging high in the sky. The ladies gathered under the wire pole were making a loud "clap" sound as they slapped their cards down on a makeshift table.
Amidst the clapping sounds, Zhang Zuocheng walked home with a backpack that seemed almost taller than him, holding a broken yo-yo in his hand, lost in thought.
No one knew what Zhang Zuocheng had been through.
One of the women slammed a "three of a kind" onto the table and spat on the ground. As she turned her head, she noticed Zhang Zuocheng passing by. With a click of her tongue, she called out to him, "Oh, look who's back from university! Your parents must be coming home late again, right?"
Zhang Zuocheng heard her but, being shy, didn't know how to respond. He forced a smile and waved at the ladies before hurriedly walking away.
The woman felt slightly snubbed and muttered to herself, "That kid is just shy."
The other women didn’t think much of it and continued their poker game.
At that moment, no one could have imagined it would be their last conversation with Zhang Zuocheng. His parents were busy and rarely had time to cook for him. So every day, they would give him some money to buy meals at a restaurant on his own.
When Zhang Zuocheng returned home and passed under the wire pole for the second time, the old lady he had encountered earlier spotted him again. She remarked, "Another person going out to eat. Having money doesn’t necessarily mean it’s good."
"Three bring one," another old lady chimed in. "Having money is great; you can eat at restaurants."
"Right, right." Another spit followed.
As the old lady spat for the forty-second time, she was suddenly jolted by someone shouting "bomb," causing her to question her life choices. At that moment, she said, "Zhang Zuocheng is back quite late today; he hasn’t returned for such a long time."
"That’s true," another old lady replied. "He usually comes back by this time."
"Never mind, maybe he went out to have some fun." The last old lady slapped her cards on the table. "Let’s continue."
"Indeed." The first old lady stood up after sitting for a while, wanting to stretch her legs.
As she moved around, she turned to spit out what she thought would be her most powerful phlegm. However, when she turned her head, she ended up swallowing it instead.
This was because she witnessed something she would never forget in her life.
Not far from her, on the wire pole, a child swayed gently with the breeze. He was dressed in all black, and in the sunlight, his shadow stretched long. A jump rope was wrapped around his neck, and the handle of that jump rope had a smiley face drawn on it.
Meanwhile, Zhang Zuocheng wore an expression that drooped under the weight of gravity.
The wire pole was made of wood and was much thinner than a regular one. Over time, it had begun to lean to one side. For a child, climbing such a wire pole seemed effortless.
The aunt knocked over the table and staggered a few steps to the base of the Wire pole. Three of them looked up, and Zhang Zuocheng was already motionless. While the aunts were playing cards, Zhang Zuocheng had slowly climbed up the Wire pole by himself. He listened to the sounds of their card game, silently wrapping himself around the pole again and again.
Then, Zhang Zuocheng gently placed his head inside, making not a sound.
One aunt remarked, "Introverted people don't even make a sound when they die."
And just like that, Zhang Zuocheng was gone.
The aunts notified Zhang Zuocheng's parents, feeling it was more appropriate for them to handle the situation. They thought it would be inappropriate to casually call the police or ask for help.
Night soon fell. Beneath the body, the three aunts stood like sentinels, completely still. The Wire pole had no streetlights, and their dark clothing blended perfectly into the night. Passersby on their way home were completely unaware that above them on the Wire pole lay the body of a child.
Having lived to this age, the three aunts seemed to have grown indifferent to life and death.
One aunt spat on the ground and said, "Why would an eight-year-old kid think so negatively?"
Another aunt replied, "Who knows? Ask the village chief."
They remained there quietly, occasionally one of them would spit again.
Finally, Zhang Zuocheng's parents rushed back. At that time, they didn't own a car; Zhang Zijun rode a bicycle with Ha Li Min sitting behind him. Zhang Zijun pedaled quickly, making a clattering noise as he hurried home to see what had happened to his son, Zhang Zuocheng.
At that moment, a hand grabbed his arm with such force that it nearly pulled Zhang Zijun off his bicycle.
Following the sturdy arm, there was a middle-aged woman weighing around two hundred pounds. She spat and then pointed upward with her finger, indicating the body of Zhang Zuocheng. Zhang Zijun climbed up the pole and brought down Zhang Zuocheng's corpse.
What the aunties knew ended there.
As for how Zhang Zijun handled the body afterward or whether she notified the police, they had no idea.
From the aunts' descriptions, we only heard that there were three women playing cards in the story, but now sitting in this room were at least ten people. I could easily tell that the one who was telling the story while spitting several times was indeed the aunt from the tale.
I asked, "How do you all know about this? The story only mentioned three people."
One of the aunts replied, "Oh, where in this world is there a wall that doesn't let anything through? With everyone talking, we all know. We neighbors are aware of everything. What’s wrong? Is there something suspicious about that incident from years ago? I knew something was off; how could an eight-year-old child possibly hang themselves? What kind of worries could a child have?"
"Could it be homicide?" another aunt leaned closer to me and said, "Is there another murderer?"
The Spitting Aunt shook her head and said, "Impossible. Who would kill someone right in front of us? Besides, even if Zhang Zuocheng was shy, he wouldn't just hang there without struggling or crying out. It must have been suicide."
"Doesn't anyone know why?" I frowned and asked, "Doesn't anyone know why Zhang Zuocheng would commit suicide?"
Hearing my question, everyone shook their heads.
Not a single person knew.
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