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墨書 Inktalez
Stepping out of the interrogation room, there was no time to exchange more than a few words with Captain Li and the exasperated members of the Second Unit. I hurried to the airport, relieved to catch the flight just in time, which eased everyone's tension. On the plane, we exchanged glances, each of us grappling with unspoken feelings.
The cases handled by the Special Investigation Team often involved serial killers—individuals who committed crimes indiscriminately, deliberately provoking both the police and society. The more chaos they created, the more satisfaction they derived from it. For such twisted criminals, once apprehended, we typically felt little emotional impact.
However, facing a case like Zhao Ke'er’s, intertwined with love and hatred, was profoundly moving. The other members of the Special Investigation Team had refrained from voicing their opinions on this matter until now. As we sat in first class on the plane, sleep eluded us as we discussed the specifics of the case.
Once the flight stabilized, Mary adjusted her seat and reclined back, then said to us, “I can’t believe Zhao Ke'er is a killer. While I don’t agree that Zhao Huanghe is a murderer either, I feel Zhao Ke'er shouldn’t be labeled as one. After all, they spent five years together. I can’t help but wonder what Zhao Kaifang was thinking when Zhao Ke'er had her hands around her neck.”
“Could she have felt despair over her inexplicable persistence all these years?” Mary mused, clutching a pillow provided by the flight attendants with a hint of melancholy. “I wonder if her last moments were filled with sorrow for the world—betrayed by someone she considered a good friend…”
Juan Juan sighed as she sipped her coffee and remarked, “Life is unpredictable. As the saying goes, it’s easy to paint a dragon or tiger but hard to capture its bones; you can know someone’s face but not their heart. The psychology we study about criminal behavior pales in comparison to understanding human nature. Each criminal has unique motives.”
“Motives driven by money or personal gain are the most common,” Juan Juan continued. “From a psychological standpoint, this is the primary and most straightforward motive for murder. Then there’s passion killing, which encompasses many emotions—love, friendship, family ties, and even vengeance against a victim or passionate rage. These motives are easier to analyze.”
Juan Juan elaborated further: “Next comes what we see in this case and most serial killer cases—the third level. Those murderous demons often have their own obsessions—perhaps religious or ideological beliefs. Their motives for killing are not simply rooted in those emotions mentioned earlier; they stem from complex feelings that are incomprehensible to normal people. In simple terms, their worldview is entirely different from that of an average person.”
“Zhao Ke'er might fit this description; her pride is unlike anyone else’s. It could be tied to her upbringing; after all, she was ridiculed for being parentless since childhood. Coupled with her stubbornness, she couldn’t tolerate even a hint of sympathy from others,” Juan Juan analyzed. “Thus, she became fiercely competitive—striving to be first in academics and relationships alike. To Zhao Ke'er, any kindness from Zhao Kaifang might have felt like pity.”
“Others could mock her because that only made her stronger,” Juan Juan continued. “But no one could show her sympathy; perhaps she had grown accustomed to others treating her poorly and hated anyone who showed her kindness…”
Listening to Juan Juan's analysis left us in silence. Human nature is indeed peculiar; Maslow proposed five ascending needs: physiological needs, safety needs, love and belongingness, esteem needs, and self-actualization. Yet for many people, this theory doesn’t apply. I often heard it said in my youth that someone wouldn’t do something until they were starving—yet when faced with hunger, they would take any job available.
In reality, many would rather die than compromise their principles. Some would forsake physiological and safety needs for respect and self-actualization. Throughout history, countless impoverished artists have exemplified this struggle. Perhaps Zhao Ke'er was one of those individuals—driven by her so-called pride.
Juan Juan, seeing our silence, continued, "That is the third level; in fact, there is a final level. However, it seems we have yet to encounter it. These individuals are born anti-humanists. They believe that humanity is filthy and deserves to die. The classification for these murderers is: deliberate killing or causing death to others through widespread or systematic attacks on civilian populations. At this level, intervention from the state is usually direct; we can only remain at the third level."
Yan Junde said, "Regardless of the level or the reason behind it, as long as someone kills, we must capture them and bring them to justice. No matter their justifications, they are criminals. I never concern myself with the demands of those offenders; some set fire on buses, while others kill for their own sense of justice just to gain attention."
"For such criminals, I have always turned a blind eye. There are plenty of people in the world with various grievances, but most do not choose to express their demands through murder. Yet the media often exploits this sensationalism, promoting absurd narratives like 'the murderer was also a victim' to attract attention." Dezi said passionately, "If we allow the demands of murderers to be met, more people will imitate such actions. If that happens, they become accomplices in crime!"
Dezi's words resonated with me; there is no criminal who should not be captured. It’s like those comments you often see: 'If he wasn't forced into it, would he really steal a loaf of bread?' I scoff at such notions. Any language that excuses a criminal is complicit in their actions; who knows, next time they might break into your home. Most criminals start small and gradually descend into a path of murder.
Dezi continued, "Speaking of which, if Zhao Kaifang had fought back with all his might, he might have had a chance of survival."
I shook my head and said, "Let me tell you a story."
"In 44 BC, Caesar achieved great military success. He became the master of Rome, causing great unease among the senators who feared he would declare himself king and threaten the Roman Republic's structure. Thus, they plotted a conspiracy to assassinate Caesar."
The others were puzzled by my words but listened intently. "On March 15th of that year, Caesar was assassinated at the Theatre of Pompey. Dozens participated in this murder; Caesar fought back fiercely until he saw Brutus among his attackers. At that moment, he ceased to resist and uttered his final words."
"And you too, Brutus?" I said softly.
"Seeing Brutus—whom he regarded as a son—among those stabbing him made Caesar question what else in this world was worth clinging to," I looked around at everyone and continued, "And before Zhao Kaifang died, he must have felt something similar. Juan Juan, do you remember what we found under Zhao Kaifang's nails?"
Juan Juan nodded and replied, "I remember clearly; there was only a fragment of hard rope fibers. Aside from that, there was almost nothing else. That's why our investigation has been so difficult—there were hardly any traces left by the suspect on the deceased."
"Exactly," I sighed. "When Zhao Ke'er strangled Xiao Jingguang, we found numerous scratch marks on that tree where Xiao Jingguang couldn't catch Zhao Ke'er but could only grasp onto it. However, Zhao Kaifang could have easily grabbed Zhao Ke'er’s skin; if that were the case, we could have found DNA from skin fragments and quickly solved the case by comparing it with our suspects."
"But Zhao Kaifang didn't do that!" Juan Juan spoke up, seemingly understanding my point.
I nodded and said, "Just as you guessed. In Room 305, the moment Zhao Kaifang was strangled by the rope, she instinctively grabbed it with her hands, which is why there were fragments of the rope under her nails. But then, she quickly realized who wanted to kill her. There were only her and Zhao Ke'er in the room, so the only person who could want her dead was Zhao Ke'er."
"It was precisely because she knew this that Zhao Kaifang didn't resist at all." I sighed and continued, "Just like Caesar, she gave up the fight. Even if the whole world were against me, as long as I had you, I would dare to live bravely. But when even you want me dead, I truly can't find any reason to keep living."
Once I finished speaking, everyone fell silent. It was already two o'clock. I told them, "Let's rest; it will take some time to fly to the capital. We've all been running around for over a week and are tired. Once we return to the department, we still don't know what kind of punishment we will face..."
Mary tightly hugged the pillow, curling herself up and closing her eyes. Juan Juan nodded, put on her headphones, and also began to rest. Only Dezi remained staring blankly out the window. I knew that incident was still too much for him; he pretended to be indifferent on the surface, but who could truly let go in such circumstances?
I didn't disturb Dezi; instead, I slowly flipped through the only thing Zhao Kaifang had left behind: that thick diary. Initially, I focused on the entries from that period for the investigation and hadn't carefully read the rest of it. Since I couldn't sleep anyway, I might as well take this opportunity to finish reading it.
After all, once I finished reading it, I would have to burn it. The case was over, and I hadn't yet told Zhao Kaiyuan about the outcome. I wondered if he had already fallen into a deep sleep or if he was sleepless like Dezi and me in this quiet night.
When Zhao Kaifang was thirteen years old, she wrote: "I hope to find a husband who loves me in the future; we will have two children like my brother and me. We will have a big house in the countryside, raise a dog, and also have a cat."
A senior high school student was kidnapped along with a leggy school beauty and a busty third-tier celebrity trapped in an abandoned cabin after mistakenly eating unknown wild fruit, feeling feverish in the middle of the night.
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