Lei Mi - Profiler

It seemed that the clue wasn't going to be found in the passage itself, but rather in its source.

The direct source of the passage was the sixth edition summer reading textbook for fourth-graders published by the People's Education Press. It also rested levelly on the desk, looking completely innocent. Fang Mu had read every passage inside, completed every exercise, and still he hadn't found a single clue.

The indirect source was Legends of the Hulan River itself. Resplendent Sunset came from the first chapter. Legends of the Hulan River was far from a long book, but finding a single clue hidden inside would be more troublesome than any of the other possibilities, so Fang Mu had left it until the end. Now it seemed this was his only hope.

Legends of the Hulan River was written by Xiao Hong, a modern Chinese author. She had been born into a landholding family on June 2, 1911, in Hulan County, Heilongjiang, and died of an illness on January 22, 1942, in Hong Kong. Legends of the Hulan River was less a novel than a long prose collection of Hong Xian's cherished childhood memories.

Twirling his fountain pen — a gift from Professor Qiao — Fang Mu patiently read through, page after page.

As he searched for clues, he discovered that the word troublesome didn't even begin to describe the difficulty of the task before him.

Based on the previous crimes, the killer should once more be copying the methods of a famous serial killer from history.

But searching through this book — about the lives and customs of people in a small town in northeastern China — for clues to a serial killer's murders was like trying to find secret kung fu techniques in a cookbook. As Fang Mu flipped through the pages, he paid special attention to words like "kill," "hit", and "death", hoping to find some trace of the killer's intentions.

"Another horse drowned in the small lake." He felt this one was unrelated; after all, it was just a horse.

"Horribly embarrassed, the mother grabbed the fire poker from beside the door and struck the child on the shoulder. The child immediately began to cry and ran back into the house." Fire poker? thought Fang Mu. Had something like that ever been used as a murder weapon?

"She stood inside of an enormous vat, screaming and trying to jump out, as if her life were in danger. Three or four people stood around her, scooping hot water from the vat and dumping it on her head. Before long, her face was red from the water; she couldn't struggle anymore and just stood calmly in the vat. She didn't try to jump out again, as if she no longer thought it possible. The vat itself was huge, so that when she stood up only her head poked out." Was the next murder going to take place in a boiler room, or some other place like that?

"Several ghosts of people who had died wrongful deaths lived under that bridge. Whenever it rained, those who crossed the bridge could hear them crying."

Suddenly Fang Mu swept everything in front of him onto the floor.

The papers and books all fell and fluttered to the ground. A bottle of ink was knocked onto his bed, blackening the sheets. A glass cup flew against the wall, shattering with a piercing sound.

Fang Mu tore at his hair, feeling as if his temples were thumping violently.

He couldn't keep doing this.

Professor Qiao's fate was still unknown and the next victim was in great danger. Yet here I am , he thought, guessing at words.

His chest felt painfully constricted, his every organ on fire. All he wanted to do was tear off his clothes, stick his hands into his chest and squeeze, pinch, and twist.

He suddenly stood up and looked out the window. A heavy snow was already beginning to fall.

It was almost midnight and the rooftop was completely empty. This was what Fang Mu wanted.

Already covered with a thick layer of snow, it shined with a bright, cold light. It was a beautiful sight. After hesitating for a long time, he could wait no longer and finally stepped out.

The sound of his feet crunching against the snow was so familiar it made his heart ache.

A slight breeze was blowing and frequently great quantities of snowflakes would float onto his burning face, melting instantly. The water would then drip down his cheeks, turning from cold to warm.

Looking up, he saw a faint light in the formerly pitch-black sky. The snow fell all around him, as far as the eye could see, making only the slightest sound as it floated gracefully into every corner of the world. Was it sighing with sadness at leaving the sky, or rather rejoicing at returning to earth?

The snow gradually covered Fang Mu's body, so lightly that he neither felt its weight nor its cold. He looked back. His footsteps were deep, clearly showing the way he had come.

He looked ahead. Everything was obscured by a boundless curtain of snow. He couldn't make out a thing.

Midnight. Heavy snow. Faint wind.

It swirled around Fang Mu like a spirit, caressing his skin and whispering faintly. The feeling was warm and sincere.

Like his old friends were surrounding him, speaking to him.

All of you, wherever you are, I know that you're looking out for me…

Fang Mu slowly knelt in the snow.

Please give me a little more time.

Please give me a little more help.

Please give me a little more courage.

The dining hall.

Fang Mu was stuffing food in his mouth as he closely read Legends of the Hulan River . He frequently used his pen to mark various parts of the book and now the pages were covered with all kinds of lines and notes. He knew that he would get yelled at when he returned it to the library, but by now he no longer cared.

Someone placed a tray on the table in front of the seat opposite him. Looking up, his eyes met those of Zhao Yonggui's haggard face.

"You're a hardworking guy, huh?" he said mockingly. Still, there was a trace of friendliness in his voice.

Having no desire to talk to him, Fang Mu was about to stand up and leave, but when he thought of how Zhao Yonggui was leading the case, he asked, "Any progress recently?"

Scooping some rice into his mouth, Zhao Yonggui shook his head tiredly.

Fang Mu said nothing, just buried his face in his food and ate, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

Zhao Yonggui, on the other hand, wasn't hurried at all, and he watched Fang Mu as he slowly chewed his food. After a while, he spoke. "Tai Wei came to talk to me a few days ago. He said you have a different opinion about this case."

Fang Mu looked up at him. Zhao Yonggui was frowning and closely watching him, sizing him up.

Fang Mu didn't see a hint of trust in his eyes. Annoyed, he dropped his head and continued wolfing down his food.

Seeing that Fang Mu wasn't going to say a thing, Zhao Yonggui continued. "Do you still think we handled that last case incorrectly?"

Fang Mu said nothing.

"Do you still believe we treated that homicidal maniac unjustly?"

Fang Mu threw his spoon onto his tray with a sharp clatter, causing food to splatter across the table. Several grains of rice stuck Zhao Yonggui's shirt.

Suppressing his anger, Fang Mu did his best to speak in an even tone. "Officer Zhao, if you don't believe me, then there's nothing I can do about that. However, my opinion will not change; Meng Fanzhe was innocent, and the killer is someone else. You have your ideas, and I have my methods — "

"Your methods?" Zhao Yonggui said, breaking in. "Still those same old tricks? Baseless criminal profiles?" He lifted up Legends of the Hulan River with his thumb and forefinger like it was a dirty object. "This is what you're relying on? You think you can catch a killer by reading a novel?"