With the school and home visits concluded, the next focus was on supervising Qian Darong.
He had participated obediently in the weekly community service for two months.
The school’s supervision team reported that he had not troubled Liang Jiushan again, nor had he harassed Liang Qiqiao on her way home from school.
Wei Changfeng and the others soon shifted their attention to a major sweep targeting special populations.
The jurisdiction of Jinwu Road Police Station included many large state-owned factories. In recent years, due to the restructuring of state-owned enterprises, many workers had been laid off. As the number of idle individuals increased, so did cases involving prostitution, gambling, and drugs. To maintain public order, the case unit launched an “October Operation,” conducting a cleanup of individuals and venues previously involved in such activities.
The busyness continued into November.
November 12, 1993. Friday. 6:15 p.m.
The weather had turned cooler. The large locust tree in the back courtyard of the police station had shed its yellowing leaves, revealing the black thorns along its branches, which lent it a stark, weathered look.
Jiang Ling sat at the small desk in the archives room.
Although she had moved to the case unit office at the east end of the second floor, she would always return to sit in the archives room after work.
In her previous life, she had worked in archives management for thirty years. She had grown accustomed to the scent of ink in the archives room. The neatly numbered file folders lined up in rows felt like old friends, giving her a particular sense of comfort.
After being reborn, Jiang Ling discovered that although her memory had not weakened, retrieving information from the files of her previous life required a trigger: only when a related event or piece of evidence appeared could the relevant memories surface.
For example, it was only the moment she saw Liang Jiushan that the materials related to him emerged in her mind.
Jiang Ling took out a fountain pen and drew a circle above the date “November 12,” which had already been circled in red on her desk calendar.
November 12 was the day Liang Qiqiao had been assaulted in her previous life.
After being reborn, Jiang Ling had activated a “family-school-community” joint mechanism to reform Qian Darong from all sides. But whether it would work, whether the tragedy of her previous life could be avoided, she had no certainty.
Had Qian Darong truly changed?
Or had he merely buried his desires deep inside, waiting for the right moment to act?
Could suppression only make the eventual eruption more violent?
As the saying goes, there may be thieves for a thousand years, but no one can guard against them forever.
Rather than waiting quietly, it was better to take the initiative.
Jiang Ling looked up toward the windowsill.
There sat a pot of jasmine. Amid the green leaves bloomed a small snow-white flower, delicate and lovely. The autumn wind brushed past, and though the blossom swayed, it continued to bloom stubbornly.
It would rain tonight.
Sensing the moisture in the air, she glanced at the hygrometer. It read 60 percent—already exceeding preservation requirements. Jiang Ling rose to close the window and hung quicklime moisture-absorbing bags indoors.
The bait had been set. Now it was a matter of observing Qian Darong’s behavior.
At that moment, Qian Darong was walking home from school.
A gust of wind made him shiver. He lifted his left hand to pull his open collar closer.
His right hand remained in his trouser pocket, tightly gripping a key.
It was the front-door key to Liang Jiushan’s home.
At the thought of Liang Jiushan catching a cold in the rain that turned into pneumonia, hospitalized at the factory clinic for injections, the demon that had been locked inside Qian Darong’s heart for two months began to howl with laughter.
He had endured for two months, playing the part of a polite and well-mannered good student. It was driving him nearly insane.
Tonight—tonight was a perfect opportunity.
The plump, beautiful, and gentle Liang Qiqiao was home alone. All he had to do was open the door, go in, and take her; afterward, she definitely wouldn’t dare report him.
Qian Darong had even prepared his excuse: she was older than him, had opened the door willingly, and was the one seducing him.
At the thought of holding the beauty in his arms tonight, a restless stirring began in his groin.
Glancing at his watch, Qian Darong finally found a dark blue ink stain on his fingertips and the cuff of his sweater.
“Damn it!” he cursed.
He must have gotten it while stealing the key.
Liang Jiushan had left the key in his desk, and Qian Darong had seen it clearly. The key had been pressed beneath an ink bottle. When he took it, he hadn’t noticed that both the cap and the bottle were leaking ink.
“Damn it, that bastard Liang Jiushan is asking for a beating!”
Qian Darong cursed again, shaking his hand irritably.
Once he got Liang Qiqiao, he would deal with Liang Jiushan afterward. So what if there were police? The heat had already died down. They couldn’t possibly watch him every single day, could they?
He went home cursing under his breath. The house was cold and empty—Zhao Yanhong and Qian Jianshe weren’t there.
Qian Darong walked into the dining room. On the table were three dishes and a soup prepared by the nanny, already somewhat cold.
He was used to it by now. He went to the kitchen to scoop himself a bowl of rice, sat down, and began to eat.
Halfway through the meal, he suddenly choked. He stood up to take a sip of water, and without warning flew into a rage, jumping up and smashing the cup onto the floor.
Bang!
With a sharp crack, the glass shattered into pieces.
“Damn it! You said you’d pick me up and drop me off every day—what a load of crap!”
“Fine. If you don’t care about me, then don’t blame me for causing trouble!”
“Liang Qiqiao, you just wait!”
A string of curses spilled from Qian Darong’s mouth, echoing through the empty house.
Meanwhile, Liang Qiqiao—the one he was fixated on—was staring blankly at a coal hook.
A heavy cast-iron coal hook gleaming with a cold light. It was something her father had left behind.
Liang Qiqiao slowly reached out her hand, Jiang Ling’s words flashing through her mind.
“Qiqiao, remember this move.” Jiang Ling had gripped her wrist and pressed the cast-iron hook against the hollow behind her own knee. “This is where the common peroneal nerve runs. A hard strike can cause temporary paralysis.”
The coal stove burned fiercely, glowing red.
Liang Qiqiao picked up the coal hook.
Jiang Ling had taught her self-defense for moments of possible danger.
And tonight, it might finally come into use.
The time crept toward eleven o’clock at night.
The night was deep.
The rain poured harder and harder, raindrops pelting the glass with sharp, rattling taps.
Jiang Ling flipped the desk calendar to the next page, quietly left the archives room, returned to her dormitory, put on a raincoat, and took a flashlight.
The police service hall on the first floor of the office building was lit, providing an inexplicable sense of reassurance.
Qian Darong rolled out of bed. His body was tense, his fists clenched tight. He stepped out of his bedroom, turned on the lights, and pushed open every door.
The house was still cold and empty. Not a soul in sight.
“Heh heh…”
A strange chuckle rose from his throat. Wearing slippers, he stepped over the shattered glass, went to the entryway to change his shoes, and picked up a black umbrella.
The rain fell harder still.
Raindrops as big as beans hammered against the Liang family’s plastic awning with loud, rapid clatters.
The Liang siblings lived in a tube-style apartment building allocated by the textile factory—a corner unit on a floor with four households sharing one staircase. Two bedrooms and a living room, compactly arranged.
Feeling a little thirsty, Liang Qiqiao picked up an enamel mug chipped at the rim and took a sip of water.
It was a commemorative gift her mother had received on International Women’s Day in 1985. The large peony printed on it was still bright and vivid—but her mother was no longer there.
Would Qian Darong come?
Liang Qiqiao didn’t know.
Officer Jiang had said that from the moment Jiushan deliberately left the key behind, the test for Qian Darong had already begun.
If Qian Darong hadn’t stolen the key, if he didn’t come tonight, then he would have passed the test, and the supervision on him could be relaxed.
But if he did come—what then?
Liang Qiqiao slowly stood up and once again picked up the coal hook. A flicker of determination flashed in her eyes. She silently encouraged herself: Don’t be afraid, Liang Qiqiao, don’t be afraid! Officer Jiang said beauty isn’t your fault—but you must learn to protect that beauty.
On the windowsill of the archives room, the white jasmine swayed in the torrential rain, droplets on its petals refracting a cold, piercing light.
Jiang Ling walked into the duty room, dressed in a police raincoat and rain boots, a flashlight in her hand and a baton at her waist.
Li Zhenliang, seated upright beside the telephone, saw her fully geared up and immediately stood. “Tonight—will he go?”
Jiang Ling looked at the rain outside and said softly, “I don’t know.”
At 11:20 p.m., the click of a turning lock pierced Liang Qiqiao’s eardrum like a fine needle.
She squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath, and listened quietly to the sounds outside.
The wet scrape of rubber shoes dragging across brick flooring drew closer and closer. A dark shadow slowly approached the bedroom.
Ragged breathing sounded. The bedroom door was pushed open.
At the instant the shadow lunged forward, Liang Qiqiao suddenly flung off the floral quilt covering her, the coal hook in her hand slicing through the air as she swung it hard at the hollow behind the shadow’s knee.
“Ah!”
Qian Darong collapsed to his knees, groaning in pain.
Qiqiao raised the coal hook again and brought it down viciously!
In the storm, Liang Jiushan was running.
His steps staggered. There was only one thought in his mind: go home—protect his sister.
When he burst through the door, he saw Qian Darong’s twisted, ferocious face.
“Let go of me!” Qian Darong howled.
Wearing their police uniform, Jiang Ling and Li Zhenliang each seized one of his arms from either side, wrenching them behind his back and swiftly cuffing him.
With his hands restrained and both arms in excruciating pain, Qian Darong dropped to his knees with a thud. Blood streamed from his forehead, quickly covering his eyes.
Seeing nothing but red before him, the viciousness from moments ago drained away. He began shrieking, “I can’t see! I can’t see! She made me come! She hit me!”
His shrill cries were so piercing that residents of the tube building, who had already gone to bed, rushed out and gathered at the Liang family’s door, murmuring among themselves.
“What’s going on? Why did the factory director’s son come here in the middle of the night?”
“The police have him in cuffs. He must’ve done something bad.”
“Quick, go tell Director Qian—his son’s covered in blood and’s been arrested!”
Liang Jiushan rushed to his sister and looked her up and down. “Sister, are you okay?”
Clutching the coal hook, Liang Qiqiao’s heart pounded wildly. Her hands trembled slightly with adrenaline, her eyes shone brightly, and her whole being seemed to glow.
“I’m not afraid of him!”
At the police station in the early hours of the morning—
Zhao Yanhong slumped on a bench.
She had run in such a hurry that her newly bought Shanghai-brand watch had struck something; its glass face was cracked like a spiderweb.
Qian Jianshe had a cigarette clenched between his lips, but his lighter wouldn’t spark no matter how many times he flicked it. His hands trembled as he muttered, “He… he’s just a child.”
When Jiang Ling and Li Zhenliang escorted Qian Darong out of the interrogation room, the couple rushed forward at the same time.
Qian Darong’s head had already been bandaged to stop the bleeding. The look he gave his parents was filled with loathing.
“It’s your fault! It’s all your fault!”
…
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