Lei Mi - Profiler

Blushing bright red, Fang Mu still said nothing.

"It might seem like you scored a huge victory with the Ma Kai case, but I can see it was all luck!"

Fang Mu looked up.

"Oh, so you disagree?" asked Professor Qiao, his eyes flashing with anger. "Well, first, Ma Kai was one of the most obvious cases of a Disorganized Serial Killer that I've ever seen, and I'll be amazed if he doesn't become a textbook example in the future. Second, what method did you use to determine where Tong Hui had been taken? Intuition? You were lucky enough to come across her eventually, but do you realize that the wrong judgment in a situation like that can lead to the victim's death? When you left the apartment to go searching for her, Tong Hui was probably still alive! And third, since you obviously realized that the kidnapping of Xu Jie was not the killer's style, why, instead of considering whether this might be a copycat crime, did you insistently believe that he was stockpiling blood reserves?"

Cold sweat ran down Fang Mu's forehead as the details of the Ma Kai case raced through his mind.

He's right , he thought. I was far too lucky .

And too self-confident as well. If any of my guesses had been wrong, things could easily have turned out very differently.

Tired from all the talking, Professor Qiao lifted his cup of Dragon Well tea and took a sip. It had long since gone cold. When he looked up and saw Fang Mu was still frozen in place, big drops of sweat rolling down his face, his heart softened and his tone became much less harsh.

"Your dedication to empirical research is worthy of approval," he said. "But, young man, you're a little impatient. If you really want to work effectively with the police to solve crimes, you'll need to study hard for another twenty-plus years."

Fang Mu forced himself to nod.

Just then Mrs. Qiao opened the door. "I made some dumplings," she said. "Fang Mu, why don't you stay for dinner?"

When he tried to decline, Professor Qiao gave him a look. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Can't take a little criticism?" Then he stood and pushed his student into the dining room.

When Fang Mu was about to leave later, Professor Qiao slipped him a pack of expensive Hibiscus King cigarettes. Then he stood on the balcony and watched him disappear into the night.

Professor Qiao sighed. What a good student, he thought. Although he had nitpicked the young man's work, he had to admit that what he felt most of all was admiration.

He just hoped the same mistake wouldn’t be made twice.

By the time Fang Mu reached campus he still didn't want to go back to his dorm. All those curious eyes staring at him-even the thought of it was uncomfortable. He hesitated for a moment, and then took the long way to the track and field stadium.

After baking in the sun all day, the bleachers surrounding the track were still warm. Fang Mu sat down and enjoyed the feeling.

Amid the darkness, he could see groups of people strolling leisurely around the track. Frequently the sound of cheerful laughter broke the night air, and Fang Mu couldn't help but smile.

Suddenly he wanted to smoke. Taking the Hibiscus King cigarettes from his pocket, he lit one and inhaled.

Actually, for a long time now Fang Mu had no idea what he was doing. It was as if he had been continuously chasing a particular kind of life, but when asked to describe what sort of life that was, he felt frequently at a loss. Ceaseless pondering. Snap judgments. Blood-soaked crime scenes. Terrifying pictures on the computer. And never-ending nightmares. All of this had followed him like a shadow for the past two years. And right now, it made him feel exhausted beyond reckoning.

What exactly do I want?

He looked up at the stars flickering in the night sky. It felt almost as if someone were winking down at him from the heavens.

All of you up there…what should I do?

Fang Mu made it back to the dorm just before it was locked for curfew. The moment he entered his room, Du Yu told him his mom had been calling all night.

Fang Mu called her back. She picked it up on the first ring.

She had probably been sitting beside the phone the whole time.

"What are you doing getting back so late?"

"Oh, I had to go out." Fang Mu didn't want to get into it. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong. It's just that the last time you were home you were much too thin. Your father and I were both worried, and we wanted to talk to you about it, but then you left before we had a chance."

"Oh, well, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me. How are you and Dad?"

"We're both doing very well." She paused. "Little Mu, can you tell me what exactly you've been doing lately?"

"Nothing really. Going to class, reading."

"Have you also been helping the police to catch criminals?"

"No." Nothing was harder than lying to one's family. Fang Mu could feel the difference in his voice as he said it.

His mother was silent for a moment, and then she sighed. "Fang Mu, I'm not so young anymore. Do you know how worried I get thinking of you doing these kinds of things all day, dealing with these kinds of people? Please don't make me worry like that again."

He said nothing.

"The last few days I've been having the same nightmare. In it that boy Wu Han murders you, and every time it scares me awake. Your father has asked me what's wrong, but I won't tell him."

"Mom, you don't need to worry about that stuff anymore. It's history."

"I know, but I can't help it." She sounded as if she were holding back tears. "Little Mu, promise me that you'll never do anything dangerous like that again, that you'll just be an ordinary person leading an ordinary life, okay?"

"…Okay."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

After hanging up the phone, Fang Mu remained seated for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. Then he grabbed his toiletries and went to the bathroom to wash up.

Once there, the bathroom mirror reflected a young man's skinny frame. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his skin was pale white and his chest sunken.

He moved closer to the mirror and looked at himself; short, spiky hair, broad forehead, pale, gaunt cheeks, blood-flecked eyes, black stubble on his chin, arched eyebrows, and deep crow's feet.

Was this face really only 24-year-old?

Fang Mu turned his head left and right, closely inspecting himself.

At the sink beside him, a commercial law grad student named Zou Tuanjie was thoroughly washing his face. He looked over at Fang Mu, his face white with acne cleanser.

"Are you breaking out?" he asked, squinting at Fang Mu, who was still gazing absently into the mirror. Offering his bottle of face wash, he asked, "Want to try using this?"

"What? Oh, no. I'm fine."

Zou Tuanjie continued scrubbing his face a little longer, and then used fresh water to wash away all the cleanser. Afterwards he dried off his face and looked in the mirror for a long time. At last he smiled at his reflection, and then walked away, satisfied.

After watching this detailed face-washing process, Fang Mu thought for a moment, and then smiled into the mirror like Zou Tuanjie had just done.

Jeez , he thought, I'd look less ugly if I cried.

Still, it was better to smile.

He filled his washbasin with cold water and then dunked his head.

After all, there's more to life than just serial killers.

It was the night of June 30th, 2002, and in Yokohama, Japan, Brazil was playing Germany in the World Cup finals.

From the start of the World Cup, all of the little restaurants outside the JiangbinCityUniversity campus gate had been showing the games. Since tonight was the finals, every single one was now overflowing with people.