Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
Once a matter can be discussed in terms of probability, it becomes clear that the situation is uncertain. Even if the accuracy reaches ninety-nine point nine percent, there remains a possibility for that zero point one percent to occur.
Jiang He had always believed that he was dealing with statistics, with science. Yet, how many events occurring in this society could truly be explained by science? What Jiang He considered science, when viewed from another angle, could just as easily be seen as a form of mysticism.
Jiang He was unsure how to respond; his imagination was not particularly vivid, and he could not envision what he would do if such a scenario were to arise.
Yuan Jun watched Xu Yiman, who was still seething with anger. Although Yuan Jun had not spent much time with them, he understood Xu Yiman's feelings but could not grasp why she was so enraged. No one knew how profoundly important life was to Xu Yiman; it was something that could not be compared to all the beauty in the world combined.
Old Shao cleared his throat lightly and said, "Alright, now is not the time for this. Jiang He, how can we be sure it was suicide?"
Jiang He glanced at Xu Yiman and noticed she had turned her head away from him.
He did not know what he had done wrong or why Xu Yiman was angry. He patted the backpack on his back and said, "The backpack and Paraquat were both found up there. The backpack is identical to the one Deng Xiangyu carried in the video; it can be confirmed as Deng Xiangyu's."
"And," Jiang He pulled out his phone and displayed the photos he had just taken. "Before I went up, there was only one set of footprints on the platform. I remember the pattern on Deng Xiangyu's shoes; it matches those prints. Even if someone could impersonate Deng Xiangyu, carrying his backpack and wearing his shoes, I have evidence that no one else could possibly fabricate."
"What is it?" Old Shao looked at Jiang He's phone.
Jiang He showed Old Shao the photos of the iron plate he had taken.
As he flipped through them, he explained to Elder Shao, "These photos were taken while I was crouching at the edge of the platform; the last few were captured as I fell. This iron plate is covered in bloodstains, but due to its height, after the blood coagulated, it resembled rust in color. If you don't look closely, it's easy to overlook this clue."
Old Shao looked closely and indeed saw spots of dried blood scattered across the rusted iron plate.
Soon enough, Old Shao understood what had happened that early morning.
"After leaving the hotel on Huanghua Street, Deng Xiangyu slowly made his way toward Fourth High School. He had a bottle of Paraquat in his backpack; he had actually been contemplating suicide for some time but had never mustered the resolve. When he reached South Bay Street and saw the water tower, he made up his mind at that moment."
Old Shao looked up at the weathered water tower that had stood there for decades; perhaps it would continue to exist for many more years. Yet Deng Xiangyu, who once stood atop that water tower, was no longer there.
"But why?" Xu Yiman's anger had subsided somewhat as she asked. "Why did he choose this place to commit suicide? While suicide explains why Paraquat wasn't spilled, it doesn't clarify why here specifically or how his arm ended up severed."
"Iron sheet," Jiang He interjected. "His arm was severed by that slanted iron plate. After drinking Paraquat, he experienced unbearable burning in his throat and couldn't stand properly, which caused him to fall from the water tower. During the fall, his arm just happened to slice against the iron sheet."
Xu Yiman let out a cold snort.
Jiang He, however, was unfazed and continued, "Under the force of gravity, that iron sheet became a sharp blade, cutting his arm off at an angle. But at the same time, it also acted as a cushion, preventing Deng Xiangyu from sustaining serious injuries when he hit the ground."
"Remember those bruises we saw on Deng Xiangyu's back? Those were left while he was alive, caused during the fall. So, all three of the wounds you mentioned can be explained," Jiang He said excitedly.
Yuan Jun chimed in, "Looks like I was right. Deng Xiangyu drinking Paraquat doesn't count; if he didn't die from that, he would have either died from the poison or from falling from such a height."
Old Shao sighed and said, "People are often like this; they fear everything. When alive, they fear not being able to survive, and when dead, they fear not dying cleanly. Looking at this mottled water tower and the marks left by time, one wonders if something as large as this goes unnoticed, perhaps no one would care if they died."
"What is the purpose of living?" Old Shao murmured as he walked into the courtyard.
Watching Old Shao's back, Xu Yiman suddenly felt like crying. She didn't know what kind of past Old Shao had, but she knew he had never married or had a girlfriend; he had lived his life alone.
Sometimes Xu Yiman thought being alone was quite nice, but more often than not, she felt loneliness—a deep-seated solitude that seemed capable of consuming a person.
At that moment, Old Shao had already knocked on the door of a family, and a man answered.
"Sir, what can I do for you?" the man asked.
Old Shao looked at him; the man appeared to be in his thirties. His hair was neatly combed, and although it was summer, he dressed meticulously in long sleeves and trousers that were tidy and clean—just as Old Shao had seen in the photo on his phone.
"You are a language teacher at a private school; Teacher Wei, right?" Old Shao asked.
"That's correct," the man nodded and inquired, "What is it…"
Old Shao didn't engage in small talk but got straight to the point: "So you have seen this person?"
With that, Old Shao showed Teacher Wei a photo of Deng Xiangyu.
Teacher Wei glanced over and hurriedly said, "No, I don't know him."
Old Shao smiled and directly pushed past Teacher Wei, walking into the courtyard. Teacher Wei wanted to stop him, but seeing several people following Old Shao, he realized he was no match for them and refrained from intervening, merely protesting verbally.
"I!" Teacher Wei exclaimed. "What are you all doing? How can you just enter someone else's home?"
Old Shao continued walking forward, saying, "If a person wants to tell others that they don't know someone, they need to carefully observe the photo and compare it with their memory of that person. But you only took a glance and concluded you've never seen him before. This clearly indicates that you do know this person and absolutely won't forget him."
Teacher Wei was at a loss for words.
Old Shao looked around the courtyard at the arrangements, noting a patch of land he had cultivated for growing seasonal vegetables.
"It seems you only teach classes and are not the homeroom teacher. In fact, I’m similar to you; those with free time often have some leisure pursuits, like gardening or writing."
Old Shao walked straight toward the second floor. "So the first floor is for receiving guests and cooking, while the second floor is for self-cultivation, writing, and reading. However, if a scholar lacks even a bit of scholarly spirit, then perhaps it's better for that scholar not to pursue it at all."
He pushed open the door to the second floor and walked straight in, heading directly for the study.
"What are you doing?" Teacher Wei asked.
Old Shao picked up several sheets of stationery that had some words written by Teacher Wei on them.
"A child died in a dry well; come quickly to South Bay's dry well." Old Shao continued, "I've seen these words before; I've also seen that note. A seven or eight-year-old kid—he must be your student, right? Teacher Wei? Are you coming out on your own, or do you want us to help you?"
Hearing Old Shao's words, Teacher Wei knew he could not argue anymore. He spoke up, "I really didn't kill him; I don’t know what happened..."
Then Old Shao listened to Teacher Wei's story.
It was one morning around seven o'clock—the first day of school. Teacher Wei was in the water room organizing books in preparation for class. But when he opened the door to the second-floor room, he was startled by what he saw. He found a boy lying in his courtyard.
It was a boy missing an arm; there wasn't much blood in the courtyard, but it still pooled beneath the boy.
Teacher Wei looked around, sensing no movement; even the gate of his yard was locked from the inside. How had this boy gotten in? He hurried downstairs and found the boy motionless, fearing he might already be dead. He pinched the boy's nose with two fingers, but there was no sign of breath.
In that instant, Teacher Wei felt as if the ground had collapsed beneath him. A boy missing an arm had inexplicably died in his home. If he reported it to the police, he would never be able to clear his name. It was still early; perhaps if he dealt with the body quickly, there might still be a chance.
With that thought, Teacher Wei quickly placed the boy's body in his car's trunk and drove to an abandoned well, where he disposed of the body. Afterward, he returned home to wash away the bloodstains from the floor and hurried off to school.
Teacher Wei felt that simply running away was not a solution. He decided to report it but didn't want to bring trouble upon himself. After thinking for an entire morning, he devised what he believed was a clever plan: he could have his students stick notes on the door of the police station, which led to the scene captured in the video.
"But I really didn't kill him," Teacher Wei insisted. "I have no idea how that boy got into my yard. I didn’t hear anything; as soon as I opened the door, there he was. I truly didn’t know what to do and resorted to this desperate measure."
"You definitely didn't kill him," Old Shao replied. "Everything can be explained now."
"Now, as long as we determine the source of Paraquat, this case can be closed," Elder Shao added.
At that moment, Old Shao's phone rang again.
"Quick, check the news! The entrance of the police station is almost being trampled by reporters."
Comment 0 Comment Count