Jiang Yan actually preferred to talk face-to-face so she could judge the truth in each of Cheng Yue’s words, but Cheng Yue refused her suggestion.
“I left Changxia City after graduation. My mother’s health isn’t good, and she needs me at home.”
She explained to Jiang Yan, “Ask whatever you want by phone, it’s the same anywhere. I’ll tell you whatever I know.”
Since she wasn’t even in Changxia City, meeting in person was naturally impossible, and Jiang Yan had to give up the idea.
She started with the most urgent question: “Why do you think Su Zhiyu’s death was suspicious?”
Cheng Yue’s first sentence cast the entire fall case into deep doubt.
“Because Zhiyu was afraid of heights.”
She said.
“Everyone in our dorm knows this, so even if Zhiyu had something to do at the factory, she would never have gone to the top floor on her own, much less near the edge.”
“Even if she accidentally fell, there must’ve been a compelling reason for her to go to the top floor. But this was overlooked, and the police never gave me a reasonable explanation.”
Jiang Yan asked, “Is there any possibility it was suicide?”
“Absolutely not!” Cheng Yue was very averse to that notion. “Almost everyone says she killed herself, and yes, people desperate to die can overcome fears, but Zhiyu absolutely loved life. She would never do something like that.”
“I’ve never met anyone who loved our major more than her. I’ve seen her study endlessly, collecting newspapers big and small just to learn how great reporters wrote their stories. Every year, she was the only one in our major to win the national award—you really can’t imagine how outstanding she was.”
“She was truly exceptional.”
Cheng Yue seemed to recall something and spoke softly, “On New Year’s Eve of our first year of grad school, we ate barbecue together at a street stall. We’d all had some drinks and started talking about the future.”
“I asked what she wanted to do after graduation. She said she wanted to be the best reporter in the country, and her life’s dream was to write about every injustice around her, to seek justice and happiness for the people. At the time, I was shocked, but also thought it was naïve—I’d already left behind dreams like that in junior high school.”
“But after that dinner, looking into her eyes, I actually felt like it was just like Zhiyu; maybe she really could do it.”
“She was just that outstanding to me.”
After saying all this, Cheng Yue’s throat grew dry and tight; she poured herself a glass of water, and suddenly said, “Do you know about the famous corpse-hiding case at February Bridge in Changxia City?”
Jiang Yan shook her head: “Never heard of it, I just got here.”
Cheng Yue: “Oh, right, you mentioned that in your message.”
She explained, “February Bridge is a famous bridge in Changxia City. Five years ago, in the summer—when Zhiyu and I were second-year grad students at C University—three female bodies turned up under the bridge, one after another. Everyone became terrified of going out, more so of passing that bridge.”
“By coincidence, our newspaper—where we were both interns—was assigned to interview the victims’ families. But since the suspect hadn’t been caught yet, everyone was too scared to take it on, worried they’d end up the killer’s fourth victim. In the end, Zhiyu volunteered.”
“Back then, Zhiyu was just a second-year intern; it was totally inappropriate for an intern to handle such a big case, so the paper assigned a staff reporter alongside her as cover.”
“That case, though it was supposedly two reporters working together, was actually handled entirely by Zhiyu. She’s the one who appeared on TV, too.”
Jiang Yan frowned: “Do you think her death was connected to that case?”
“She was killed by the February Bridge murderer?”
Cheng Yue quickly replied, “That’s not what I mean. The suspect in that case was already caught and soon executed. Zhiyu told me about the case— the killer was a pervert who, after his divorce, decided all women were bad and started attacking women walking home alone at night. The first three girls, he strangled under the bridge. But he made a mistake choosing his fourth victim; that girl knew sanda, fought back, and escaped.”
Jiang Yan didn’t understand why Cheng Yue started talking about that case, but didn’t interrupt; she kept listening.
Cheng Yue continued, “Later, Zhiyu interviewed the surviving girl and became good friends with her. But…”
Suddenly, the sound of a baby crying came from the phone. Cheng Yue apologized, disappeared for a while, then came back:
“Sorry, my daughter was hungry again; she’s little and cries a lot.”
“No problem.”
Jiang Yan prompted, “You were talking about Su Zhiyu and the fourth victim becoming friends.”
“Yes. Zhiyu really cared about the girl’s mental health, so she’d check in with her every few months.”
Cheng Yue’s voice slowed, as if sinking into memory: “But in the last two months before Zhiyu died, she started mentioning the girl more often, and she seemed anxious—anxious with a hint of anger. Once I even heard her on the phone with the girl, saying she’d never tolerate what was happening, and she would definitely help her.”
“I couldn’t hear the details, and don’t know what ‘that thing’ was. All I remember is Zhiyu kept promising she’d help her.”
Jiang Yan asked, “And then?”
“There was no then.”
Cheng Yue’s voice was full of suppression: “Zhiyu died soon after. That’s it. There was no then.”
Jiang Yan pondered: “You think Su Zhiyu’s trip to the factory was because of that girl?”
“That must be it! Otherwise, why go there?!” Cheng Yue finally voiced the doubt she’d carried for years: “I’d never even heard her talk about the abandoned factory. Usually, she was either interning or studying in the dorm, and never went far without a reason. If someone didn’t ask her to go, why would she go to a place like that??”
Cheng Yue’s voice grew sharp: “Every time I recall those words, I keep feeling Zhiyu was tricked, tricked by that girl—she repaid kindness with betrayal! Zhiyu cared so much for her, but she just played the victim and duped Zhiyu!”
“Zhiyu was forced up to the rooftop. She was so afraid of heights; she only went because she had nowhere else to turn!”
Cheng Yue’s voice got louder, tangled in hate and anger, as though she wanted to shout and curse through time: “Haven’t there been enough stories like this? Girls lured into buildings while working out of town, threatened that if they didn’t want to get beaten, they must lure every relative, friend, and any girl their age to the building. The victim becomes the perpetrator, who finds more victims—are there not enough of these stories by now?!”
Cheng Yue was agitated, exhaled deeply, and after a long while, her voice was back to weary, hoarse and stifled:
“After Zhiyu’s death, her mother came to school several times, but was always persuaded to leave.”
“Zhiyu’s family was poor; she had no father, her mother was blind, and their life was hard. Not long ago, I heard in our classmates’ group chat that her mother died of an illness. I keep thinking, how can the world be like this? It shouldn’t be like this.”
Jiang Yan asked, “Did you ever tell the Changxia police about this?”
“I called and wrote, but never got a reply. I didn’t know who else to tell, so I’ve just been reposting that news over and over.” Cheng Yue pleaded softly, “If you really are a police officer, please, please help her. She was a wonderful person.”
“Whenever I ran into trouble, I would always go to her for help. But when she needed it, I couldn’t do anything. She would never die for nothing, and as a fellow woman, you must have seen all those hateful comments online. She didn’t deserve any of that.”
Jiang Yan lowered her eyes: “What’s the fourth victim’s name?”
“Meng Henshui.”
“How do you write it?”
“Same as in Li Yu’s poem ‘Song of Everlasting Regret’—‘the willow blossoms have faded, spring’s rosy bloom is gone… Life is full of parting, like the river of sorrow running east.’”
Cheng Yue: “I guess she lives a good life now, and without shame, she’s already in her twenties.”
*
Jiang Yan couldn’t find this name online. After closing her phone, she rested for a long time, until the sunlight outside was no longer dazzling. Then she called Yu Renwan to go out with her.
Passing the third and a half floor, Jiang Yan caught the couplet pasted on the white wall from the corner of her eye.
Earlier, when Sun Niu led them upstairs, she tapped the wall between the two scrolls. From the sound, Jiang Yan had deduced it was solid—and now she went closer and knocked herself: thump, thump, a dull noise.
It definitely was solid.
Jiang Yan looked up at the banner reading “Welcome In,” but said nothing, turning to go downstairs.
Yu Renwan whispered, “It’s solid.”
“I know,” said Jiang Yan. “I just don’t get why that banner is up.”
Yu Renwan thought about it, puzzled: “Why bother about that?”
Jiang Yan: “There’s always a reason for posting something.”
“But this isn’t… um, a Chinese horror game?”
Yu Renwan glanced quickly at Jiang Yan, then lowered her head. She said softly, “Because it’s not a game, not every detail is a clue, not every pattern hides a secret. Maybe people just slapped that banner and couplet up, right?”
Just after saying that, Yu Renwan quickly pulled her oversized hat lower, as if she were worried Jiang Yan would mock her.
She carefully grabbed the banister and walked downstairs.
Out of sight, Jiang Yan’s pleasant laugh sounded.
“True.”
…
They went to the market to buy vegetables. It wasn’t rush hour, so there weren’t many shoppers. Yu Renwan could mostly control the distance from strangers, so at first, there were no mishaps.
But sometimes, she still couldn’t avoid trouble.
First, while Jiang Yan was paying, an old lady enthusiastically came running over to introduce her to a potential boyfriend.
Yu Renwan couldn’t dodge in time; the moment the old lady hurried past, she tripped over several dead fish, gagging in disgust till she was retching.
Then a mischievous kid, attracted to Yu Renwan’s odd outfit, ran over wanting to lift her robes. The moment the kid touched her hem, his toy car slipped from his hand and dropped into the stinking ditch. He broke down, rolling on the ground, bawling.
Yu Renwan’s clothes were tugged—she was stuck, unable to leave or stay, so she squatted down to comfort him: “It’s fate.”
“If you don’t let go, you’ll lose your fate too. That’s just fate.”
The boy’s cry froze on his face.
Yu Renwan quickly freed her hem and hurried away.
Jiang Yan, hearing the crying from afar, asked when Yu Renwan approached, “What happened over there?”
“It was just a kid who didn’t like the truth,” Yu Renwan pinched her dirty sleeve, “and got my clothes all dirty…”
Yu Renwan’s clothes were never clean anyway, so Jiang Yan just nodded and let it go.
She wanted to ask about Meng Henshui, but wasn’t sure if anyone in the market knew her. Looking around, she decided to ask the old lady who reeked of fish and kept trying to get close to her.
The old lady was sitting on the roadside resting. As soon as she spotted Jiang Yan, her eyes lit up: “Girl—”
Jiang Yan stopped three meters away, careful not to hurt the old lady’s pride.
“Hello, I wanted to ask about someone.”
The old lady was eager: “Ask away! I’ve lived here thirty years!”
“I’m looking for Meng Henshui.” Remembering Cheng Yue’s words, Jiang Yan made up a story. “I’m from out of town. A friend in my village said she knew Meng Henshui, told me to find her and ask for help finding a job.”
The old lady smacked her lips in thought: “The Meng family girl, Meng Henshui?”
Jiang Yan was surprised by how easy this was and nodded at once.
The old lady clapped her hands: “Your friend knows Meng Henshui? Then that’s no problem! She’ll surely arrange a good job for you!”
Jiang Yan looked delighted: “Really?”
The old lady nodded: “Absolutely. You asked the right person. Not many here know Meng Henshui. She was always withdrawn as a girl; I saw her in childhood, rarely went out, not as lively as her little sister. But everyone knows her dad! He was Deputy Director of the Public Security Bureau, you know, quite impressive.”
“Don’t worry, she’ll definitely find you a job!”
Excited now, the old lady became even more eager to matchmake for Jiang Yan, jumping up and trying to come closer—only to trip and fall right back down.
“……….”
Jiang Yan smiled politely; seeing the old lady jump up and come closer again, she quickly called out to Yu Renwan and hurried away.
Once they’d left the market, Jiang Yan walked and mulled over what she’d learned.
Cheng Yue left Changxia after graduating, so she had no idea about Meng Henshui’s background. This undermined Cheng Yue’s theory: that Meng Henshui was once imprisoned, turned from victim to perpetrator, and tricked Su Zhiyu by playing the victim.
Because Meng Henshui’s family was rich.
Even without seeing such news stories, Jiang Yan knew things like that rarely happened to girls with high social status and connections.
But this also raised a new puzzle—
If Meng Henshui was in trouble, why did she seek out Su Zhiyu?
From Cheng Yue’s account, Meng Henshui was definitely in trouble at the time, but didn’t seek help from her own father, and instead went to Su Zhiyu.
That was just odd.
As the deputy director’s daughter, Meng Henshui surely knew plenty of police—she could have asked any of them. Why, specifically, Su Zhiyu?
What could the deputy director of the Public Security Bureau not solve, but a poor intern reporter could?
Thinking this over, Jiang Yan walked to the mouth of an alley outside the market.
Here, apart from birdsong, it was utterly quiet.
Remembering something, she glanced behind her.
Nothing there.
The mattress vendor wasn’t out today.