After thinking for a moment, Shao Lan looked at Jiang Mingran.
"You're in the School of Competitive Sports?"
Caught off guard, Jiang Mingran nodded blankly. "Uh, yeah."
"Can you run fast?"
"Eleven seconds flat for the hundred meters, I think..." He scratched his head. "Man, why don't you just tell me what you need me to do?"
Shao Lan glanced at him, surprised he'd caught on so quickly.
"I'm used to it," Jiang Mingran said, rubbing his head. "People have been using me as a pack mule my whole life."
"..."
Shao Lan asked him to quickly check whether the old landline in the living room worked.
Generally, faced with a serial killer, there were only a few options: one, escape; two, call the police; three, fight.
Shao Lan had no desire to fight, and escaping had already proven impossible. Calling the police was the obvious thing to try next.
Especially since the newspaper had given them the task force's phone number. That couldn't be a useless clue.
And the only way to make a call from this apartment was that old dial phone.
"Okay." Jiang Mingran nodded.
Shao Lan raised an eyebrow. He'd agreed rather readily.
The task sounded simple, but it was extremely dangerous. Only a door separated the kitchen from the living room. If the woman emerged, Jiang Mingran would have nowhere to hide. He was a whole size larger than Shao Lan and wouldn't fit beneath the couch.
Jiang Mingran scratched his head. "It's fine. I've trained in kickboxing. If the killer comes out, maybe I can take her down myself."
Shao Lan considered that.
He wasn't nearly so optimistic.
"Even if I really die, I've still got two lives left, right?" Jiang Mingran pointed at the goldfish. "Brother Lan, you're way better at figuring things out than I am. I'll buy you some more time. That'll make clearing this easier later."
Shao Lan glanced at the kitchen and patted his shoulder.
"Don't make any noise," he wrote. "If the landline is fine, bring me the trash can from the living room."
Jiang Mingran raised his eyebrows in confusion but didn't ask why.
He removed his shoes, silently opened the bedroom door, and approached the phone.
The living room was silent. Shao Lan cautiously poked his head out and glanced toward the other bedroom.
Uncle Pancake's room. The door was closed, and everything was quiet.
Then a creak came from farther away.
The kitchen door had opened.
Shao Lan jolted. In the living room, Jiang Mingran froze in place.
Cold sweat broke out across both their backs.
Had they been discovered?
One second passed. Then two.
Water splashed in the kitchen, followed by the sound of the stove being lit.
The woman didn't come out. Apparently, she was boiling something and had only opened the door to let out the heat.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Shao Lan beckoned to Jiang Mingran.
Jiang Mingran had finished checking the phone line. He picked up the trash can and hurried back into the bedroom.
They shut the door and sat against it, waiting for their racing hearts to settle.
"I checked. It's connected. It should work," Jiang Mingran wrote. "But we can't move it in here. This room doesn't have a jack."
All he'd been able to bring was the trash can, though he still had no idea why Shao Lan wanted it.
"I looked around the living room last time. No clues. This was the only thing I didn't search." Shao Lan pointed at it. "We've got the number and a working phone. We're missing just one thing."
"What?" Jiang Mingran anxiously wiped sweat from his brow. He couldn't think what else they needed.
Shao Lan looked at him. "Do you know where we are?"
Jiang Mingran froze.
No. He didn't.
Both of them had been moved here while unconscious. They'd woken up already inside.
The last thing they needed was an address.
Shao Lan was already searching the trash.
Soon, the faintest smile touched his lips.
"Found it."
He held several scraps of paper. Piecing them together, he reconstructed half an electricity bill.
"Current charges: XX yuan. Payment due: XX/XX/XXXX. Mailing address: Building No. 7 of Happiness Residential Complex."
Whatever followed Building No. 7 was missing.
He searched the trash again but couldn't find the other half.
At the window, he leaned out to look down.
The rain veiled everything in white mist. Visibility was less than five meters. He couldn't see another building or anything below and had no way to judge how high up they were.
They'd made it into the stairwell on the first loop, but despite thinking hard, neither of them remembered seeing any numbers on the walls.
"Forget it. Building No. 7 of Happiness Residential Complex should be enough," Shao Lan wrote. "Once the police know the complex and building, they can check the apartments one by one. They'll find the killer soon enough."
Now they just had to make the call.
That was the hardest part.
They couldn't move the phone. Whoever called would have to go into the living room.
But if they spoke there, [she] might hear.
Especially now that she was making soup with the kitchen door open.
Shao Lan cracked the bedroom door and looked toward the kitchen.
A large number of dark yellow paper bags were piled outside it, forming a little mountain. He couldn't quite tell what they held.
That didn't matter. What mattered was that the space between the pile and the corner could just conceal a grown man.
"I have a plan." He turned back and picked up the pen and paper.
"We'll leave the bedroom together. I'll make the call in the living room. You hide behind that pile beside the kitchen door."
"Best-case scenario, [she] doesn't hear me and stays in the kitchen. Once I've called, we both retreat here."
"But if [she] leaves the kitchen..."
Jiang Mingran's eyes sharpened. He mimed a clawing strike. "I ambush [her]!"
Shao Lan shook his head. "No. You signal me. That's all."
"[She] can't see. As long as I get your signal, stop talking, and move away from the phone, [she] won't be able to pinpoint me right away."
"You leave your hiding place immediately after signaling, too. Then it's hide-and-seek. If we stay quiet, we've got a good chance of holding out until the police arrive."
"Even if we have to fight, put it off until there's absolutely no choice," Shao Lan said. "Remember, our goal is survival."
Jiang Mingran nodded, thoroughly won over.
But Shao Lan wouldn't be able to see the kitchen door while using the phone. The signal had to be a sound.
One that wouldn't arouse [her] suspicion.
"Got it!" Jiang Mingran's eyes lit up. "I can squeak like a mouse."
Before Shao Lan could stop him, he let out two squeaks. The imitation was remarkably convincing.
Shao Lan glanced toward the kitchen. Nothing changed. The woman didn't come to investigate.
Apparently, mouse noises didn't attract [her] attention.
"Good. Then that's the plan." He nodded.
It was the best they could manage.
The night was silent except for the bubbling of soup in the kitchen.
Jiang Mingran successfully slipped behind the pile. He gave Shao Lan an okay sign, then sucked in his cheeks to imitate a little mouse again.
Shao Lan signaled that he understood and headed into the living room.
The old landline stood on the coffee table beside the couch.
He lifted the receiver and quickly pressed in the number.
Whether because the mechanism was worn or because he was imagining things, every button made a distinct clack that sounded terribly loud in the dark.
The call connected after a single tone.
"Hello, city police task force."
Shao Lan exhaled and spoke urgently. "Building No. 7 of Happiness Residential Complex."
Though he'd lowered his voice as much as possible, it sounded as clear in the darkness as the buttons had.
The person on the other end seemed unable to hear. "Hello? Could you repeat what you said?"
Fortunately, there had been no mouse squeaks or sounds of a struggle. Nobody had left the kitchen.
He raised his voice slightly. "Building No. 7 of Happiness Residential Complex. Right now. Someone threatening us with a knife."
As he spoke, he remained alert to his surroundings.
Jiang Mingran's side was quiet. No signal came.
The voice on the line responded immediately. "Understood. We'll—"
Shao Lan hung up.
That was enough. The most important parts of a police call were time, location, and the nature of the incident. An active knife threat would be classified as an emergency requiring immediate dispatch.
Now he needed to return to the bedroom and bring Jiang Mingran back from his lookout position.
Suddenly, something felt wrong.
A cold draft slid across the back of his head, like night air blowing through a window.
But the window was in front of him, and firmly shut.
So it wasn't the window.
Someone stood soundlessly behind him, breathing icy air onto his body.