Chapter 25: The Mysterious Family Massacre (9)

When the zipper of the body bag was pulled open, Meng Siqi’s tension nearly overwhelmed her. Chen Jierong unzipped it all the way to the bottom, fully exposing the remains of Zhu Xinting.

The body was stored in the cold chamber. A layer of frost had formed on her skin, which had lost all color and turned a dull gray.

What unsettled Meng Siqi the most was that several areas of Zhu Xinting’s body had been cut by a sharp blade, leaving wounds of various sizes.

The wounds had dark brownish edges. Due to the effects of freezing, the incisions appeared particularly rigid and distinct. The stark contrast between the colors created a jarring visual effect.

One particularly large wound on the outer side of her right leg was nearly ten centimeters in length and width. This meant the killer had removed a large section of her fatty tissue before ultimately throwing it into the pot.

Meng Siqi suddenly thought of the scar on the outer side of her own right leg, left from being scratched by thorns. That small wound had troubled her for a long time. How much more devastating must this have been for a young girl? Zhu Xinting must have cared deeply about her appearance while she was alive.

She had seen photos of the girl before. Zhu Xinting was a sweet and adorable girl. Yet now, she lay lifeless on a cold metal slab.

Despite her usual fear of corpses, Meng Siqi felt no fear at all this time. Perhaps it was because Chen Jierong was present.

With her hands in the pockets of her white coat, Chen Jierong gazed quietly at the body. Her expression remained calm and professional, as if she had long grown accustomed to such sights.

Yet, something was different. In her eyes, Meng Siqi could see the glimmer of unshed tears.

Meng Siqi stood there for a long time, unsure if she should keep searching or wait for something.

When her gaze returned to the largest wound on Zhu Xinting’s leg, a sudden wave of dizziness struck her.

A vivid image flashed through her mind.

A bright, sharp blade was carving something into pale skin. Blood streamed downward, resembling countless tiny leeches…

The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Meng Siqi gasped, taking in a deep breath. Her body suddenly felt weak.

“What’s wrong?” Chen Jierong reached out to steady her arm.

Meng Siqi took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “It’s nothing, just a bit exhausted lately,” she said quickly.

“Go home and get some proper rest. I know how hard you’ve all been working these past few days.”

“Alright, Sister Rong.” Though they had only met a few times, they were not strangers, so Meng Siqi naturally addressed her warmly.

On the way back, Meng Siqi kept thinking—what exactly did the killer carve onto Zhu Xinting’s leg? What was that shape?

She could only recall that it resembled outstretched wings or overlapping leaves, but she wasn’t certain.

If the killer had indeed carved this design onto Zhu Xinting’s thigh, then why did he later cut it off and destroy it in boiling oil? Was it because he feared someone might recognize it?

That didn’t seem logical. Why go through the trouble? What was his purpose?

These questions swirled in her mind, overwhelming her thoughts. To avoid distractions during the investigation, she forced herself not to dwell on them during the day. But at night, lying in her bed, she repeatedly sketched what she had seen in her notebook.

Yet no matter how many times she drew it, something always felt wrong.

What exactly was it?

*

By late November, the nights were already chilly. Wen Huizhi, a journalist for Jinyang Evening News, finished her day’s work and took a taxi back to her apartment. The place was rented, but since her salary was decent, she could afford a relatively nice place.

As part of her daily routine, she checked the mailbox downstairs before heading in. Among the usual junk mail, one envelope stood out. It had no sender, just her name written on it—Wen Huizhi.

Her instincts told her this wasn’t an ordinary letter. The slight bulge in the envelope suggested something inside—possibly a film roll.

Because of her job, she often received anonymous tips sent to the newspaper. These tips sometimes led to major headlines. She quickly slipped the envelope into her bag.

Back home, she kicked off her high heels. Normally, she would pour herself a glass of red wine to unwind, but tonight, she skipped the ritual. Instead, she tore open the envelope, took out the film roll, and headed straight to her darkroom.

It was a small, personal developing room she had set up for work.

Holding the roll up to the dim light, she saw vague shadows of figures but couldn’t make out any details. This only deepened her curiosity.

She proceeded with the development process skillfully, carefully extracting the film from the solution with tweezers. The moment the images became clear, her hands trembled, and she collapsed onto the floor in shock.

The “shadow” in the photograph was actually a person—no, more accurately, a corpse. A teenage girl’s lifeless body lay there, with horrifying knife wounds carved into her flesh.

A chilling realization struck her—this was Zhu Xinting. This was a photo taken after she had been murdered.

Her hands, still gripping the tweezers, wouldn’t stop shaking. Who had sent this to her? It couldn’t be the police.

Then it dawned on her.

The killer.

A violent shudder ran through her body as if someone had just plunged a knife into her. The tweezers slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floor.

She staggered into the living room, but a cold draft swept through the half-open window. She shivered violently, her spine turning ice-cold.

She lived on the fourth floor.

Usually, she liked standing by the window with a glass of wine, admiring the city lights. Though this wasn’t the city center, the view was still beautiful. Neon lights reflected off the Suo River, a narrow ribbon of gold weaving through Jinyang.

But tonight, she barely glanced outside before yanking the window shut, blocking out the neon glow.

For a moment, a terrifying thought flashed through her mind—what if the killer was right outside the window, staring at her?

Heart pounding, she locked all the doors and windows, even pushing a table against the front door for extra security.

As she tried to process everything, her gaze fell back on the envelope.

She snatched it up, tearing it apart completely.

On the back of the paper, a single sentence was scrawled—

Why did you stop reporting?

Her breath caught in her throat.

The killer had read her reports on the Zhu family massacre. In one of her articles, she had ended with a line: More details will be revealed tomorrow.

That report had included photos of Zhu Gongyou and You Meihua’s brutalized bodies, but not a single image of Zhu Xinting.

She had never even taken a picture of the girl.

Yet, somehow, the killer had sent her one.

Wen Huizhi instinctively reached for her landline to call the police but hesitated.

Instead, she rushed back into the darkroom, her hands trembling as she developed the remaining photos.

Apart from three photos of Zhu Xinting from different angles, the final image sent a wave of sheer terror crashing over her.

It was a photo of her parents.

The shot appeared to have been taken secretly, capturing them from a distance inside their home’s courtyard.

The message was clear—if she didn’t publish Zhu Xinting’s photos, her own family would be the next victims of the murder.

Suddenly, she recalled a warning given to her by a female police officer—

“Your reports might provoke the killer’s emotions. The next victim could be your loved ones, your friends, or even yourself.”

Wen Huizhi had always considered herself a strong person.

But that night, she curled up on her sofa, wrapping herself tightly in a blanket like a frightened hedgehog, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Tears of fear, regret, and helplessness streamed down her face.

She didn’t dare call for help.

She didn’t even dare step outside.

She stayed that way until dawn.

*

By the time evening arrived the next day, Meng Siqi had just finished work and boarded a bus home. Since the route between the station and her home had few scheduled buses, she often ended up standing for most of the ride.

The front of the bus was crowded. As she squeezed toward a more open space, something caught her eye—a man holding a newspaper.

The bold black characters leapt off the page:

ZHU XINTING.

It felt like three sharp arrows piercing straight into her pupils.

Beneath the headline, three photographs were printed.

She moved a little closer, trying to get a clearer look.

The man noticed her unusual reaction but didn’t put the newspaper away. Instead, he glanced at her briefly before deliberately spreading it open even wider.

Inside the swaying bus, the three photos clearly documented the gruesome state of Zhu Xinting’s body after her death. Although certain areas were pixelated, the deep cuts on her body were unmistakable.

The bus pulled over, and the doors clattered open. As Meng Siqi’s gaze lingered for a second on the name of the writer “Wen Huizhi”, she pushed her way toward the middle exit of the bus.

“Hey, slow down…”

“Take it easy…” The passengers she jostled began to complain.

Seeing the doors about to close, Meng Siqi shouted, “Driver, I need to get off!”

“If you want to get off, you should’ve been ready earlier!”

Amidst the grumbling of passengers, the doors opened again. Meng Siqi rushed out and ran to the roadside, searching for a public phone. Fortunately, there was a newsstand nearby with a telephone booth. To boost sales, the vendor had prominently displayed the newspaper featuring Zhu Xinting’s photos. As she glanced at it, an unsettling realization struck her.

With her heart pounding, she quickly dialed the station. The call was answered by Feng Shaomin. Without hesitation, Meng Siqi reported the situation with the newspaper. Feng Shaomin replied, “Calm down. I’ll inform Captain Han.”

“No, Master,” Meng Siqi’s voice trembled slightly. “These photos were taken by the killer.”

“What?”

“One of the photos… Zhu Xinting’s body doesn’t have any large wounds yet. This means the killer took it before mutilating her.”

“Hold on, wait…” Feng Shaomin’s voice grew tense.

On the other end of the line, the phone was set down but not hung up. In the background, Meng Siqi faintly heard Han Changlin’s voice—both furious and exhilarated.

Then came a thunderous roar: “That bastard is taunting us openly!”

The killer had revealed himself. But what did this mean?

“Xiao Meng…” Feng Shaomin picked up the phone again. “Go home first. Captain Han and I are heading to the newspaper office now.”

“Master, I’m close to the newspaper office. I’ll go ahead and meet you there.”

“Hey, Xiao Meng—”

Meng Siqi hung up, pulled out five yuan, and tossed it onto the newsstand. “I’ll take a paper!”

“Girl, here’s your change—”

She didn’t wait. Sprinting toward the roadside, she hailed a taxi, worried that if Wen Huizhi left the newspaper office, things would become even more unpredictable.

Inside the taxi, she urged the driver to hurry. It was rush hour, and traffic was heavy, but the newspaper office wasn’t far. In less than thirty minutes, she arrived.

Just as she stepped out, she spotted Wen Huizhi. She was dressed in a red trench coat, standing by the roadside, flagging down a cab.

“Wen Huizhi!” Meng Siqi shouted.

Wen Huizhi turned to look at her, hesitation flickering in her eyes. Then, without responding, she opened the car door and got in.

“Stop right there!”

Meng Siqi burst into a full sprint, running faster than she ever had. Like a gust of wind, she dashed toward the front of the taxi.

Just as the car began to move, she flung herself onto the front fender.

The driver stuck his head out in shock. “Are you crazy?!”

Panting, Meng Siqi pulled out her badge from her pocket. “I’m a police officer!”

The driver froze for a second. Then, the distant sound of sirens grew louder.

A police car screeched to a stop right in front of the taxi.

Han Changlin and his team had arrived.