Volume 1 Chapter 3: Malevolence (02)

On my own, I answered in my head:

“That makes sense. She resents the husband who died and abandoned her and the children; anyone who has just lost a close loved one would feel that way.”

It made sense on the surface, but when the hatred outweighed the grief, was that still normal?

My intuition rose up, swelling until it overflowed and then sank again—a feeling that belonged to me and yet did not.

By the time we finished the questioning here, it was noon.

We found a place to eat, rested for a while in the car, and then headed to the next stop: the Dayang Technology Company where Jiang Daliang worked.

At two in the afternoon, after making an appointment in advance for two-thirty, I and Old Cui went straight to the fifth floor of the company, where the boss and the vice president who was Jiang Daliang’s superior were waiting for us.

“There’s already been a case of an employee working himself to death at this company before. I told you to keep a close watch, and yet this still happened. Tell me, who’s going to shoulder the company’s reputation and this huge payout? When this is over, pack your things and get the hell out.”

“Mr. Wang, I told Daliang several days ago to watch his health and rest if he couldn’t take it anymore. But he was desperate to get the thirty-thousand-yuan project bonus as soon as possible, so he insisted on working overtime. I couldn’t stop him no matter what I said.”

“You couldn’t stop him? So on one hand you tell them to rest, and on the other you keep pushing the project forward, is that it?”

“This…”

“Yes, the company needs profit and efficiency; that’s a fact. I do put pressure on you, but you’re paid such high salaries precisely to bear the boss’s anger and release. Your position and your salary are there so you can take this suffering. To put it plainly: I’ve already paid you to swallow your indignation, and you, you useless fool, still can’t do the job. You shove the pressure onto your subordinates like a pig-brained idiot, ignore all basic science, and make employees work beyond capacity. And now, to top it all off, someone is dead. Tell me, how is this company supposed to keep going?”

For a long time, no sound came from the other side.

“Think you can stay quiet and be done with it? Wait until you’re in court, you idiot.”

By the end, one side had clearly raised the white flag, while the other was still pouring out a crushing, one-sided barrage at full strength.

Old Cui and I exchanged a look, each silently weighing the best moment to go in.

“And you are?” A passing employee asked, and at once the room fell utterly silent.

I smiled at the employee and entered with Old Cui.

The two people inside, upon seeing us, wore strained, ingratiating smiles.

Then one took the lead in speaking while the other filled in the details, and together they conveyed the same message:

Comrade Zhou Daliang had always been conscientious and devoted in his work, laboring with all his heart and soul. The company upheld a corporate culture of caring for employees and often urged them to put health first and work second—in other words, that health is the capital of revolution. But Comrade Zhou Daliang was simply too devoted to his post, determined not to rest until the project was complete. The company, deeply moved by his contributions, would not only provide the compensation covered by the insurance policy taken out for employees, but would also offer additional consolation money to his wife and children. In addition, at the end of the year the company would award Comrade Zhou Daliang the Outstanding Employee Award, forever remembering the extraordinary contributions he had made to the company.

For reasons I could not explain, by the time I walked out of that company, what I felt was emptiness and anger—a kind of anger at waste and at the disregard of life.

By the end of the day I felt a little wilted. Questioning people was truly exhausting work.

Old Cui, however, seemed entirely composed. When he dropped me off at my building, he suddenly turned to me as I prepared to get out of the back seat and asked:

“If this were a murder case, who do you think would be the most likely person to have killed Zhou Daliang?”

I was blank for a moment, but the next second I blurted out, “He Hui.”

“Any evidence? And the motive for murder?” Old Cui’s eyes widened in surprise as he asked seriously.

When I got out of the car and walked through the neighborhood, the shadows cast by the streetlamps were so black and so tall that a wave of fear suddenly rose in my heart.

So I quickened my pace.

I had kept my nerves taut all day while investigating the case, and it had been a long time since I’d had this kind of mental strain. Back home, I collapsed onto the sofa like a mollusk.

My body was limp, but my mind refused to rest. The information gathered during the day replayed in my head in a whirl, and I felt as though I were watching a suspense film.

When I saw the scene of Zhou Daliang collapsing, Xu Zhibin’s mangled, bloodied form suddenly crashed into my thoughts. My stomach turned at once, and I rushed to the bathroom and threw up violently. Looking at the pale, sweat-damp face in the mirror, I began to back away from the whole thing. So I immediately took out my phone, typed up a sick leave message, and sent it to my department supervisor.

The next day, when a shaft of sunlight slipped through the curtain gap and flickered across my eyes, I rolled over. I opened my eyes, picked up the phone by my pillow, and saw that it was already nine.

Thinking that I had the day off, I decided I would stay in bed until the end of time, and maybe meet my best friend Lao Liao in the afternoon. It would have been the perfect day.

But then the doorbell rang nonstop. I pulled the blanket over my head and tried to ignore it. Yet it kept on ringing without pause, for a full ten or twenty minutes. Afraid of disturbing the neighbors, I hastily threw on some clothes and, half dazed, opened the door.

I had been ready to unleash a string of curses at whoever was ringing the bell, but the moment I saw Old Cui, I swallowed them back down. I even felt a little awkward, like a student caught red-handed skipping school by a teacher. I gave a strained smile and said, “Old Cui, I’m not feeling well.”

“The car’s downstairs. Do you want me to take you to the hospital and have you checked out?” He did not come in, merely sizing me up from head to toe with those sharp eyes.

His gaze made me feel a little guilty, and I hurriedly waved my hands. “No need, no need. I just need some rest.”

“In that case, today we’re only going to He Daliang’s home to ask a few questions. We won’t be walking much. If you’re unwell, you can assist from the side and let me handle the questioning.” He arranged things on his own.

“Old Cui, I’m from the administrative office, not the criminal investigation unit. My main job isn’t casework.” His words inexplicably irritated me, and I thought I might as well say it plainly.

“Xiao Hao, the squad leaders have already assigned the He Daliang case to the two of us.” He ignored my irritation and spoke to me in a calm, even tone.

“Old Cui, don’t you think I’m not cut out for criminal investigation? I throw up now when I see the contents of the case files, and…” I paused for a moment, looked at him, and went on. “Old Cui, my original partner died, but I was left unharmed.”

His expression showed confusion, and he signaled for me to continue.

“So I couldn’t protect my partner, and I can never again accept seeing my partner die in front of me.” I was drifting, as though those words were being grownlled out from the depths of my heart.

“So you think I’m weak?” Old Cui sounded both speechless and shocked. Then he changed course and said, “Comrade Xu Zhibin was really unlucky to be paired with someone like you. He was supposed to be a hero, and in the end you didn’t even let him rest in peace after death.”

After saying that, he shoved a bag into my hands, shot me a look full of frustration, and said, “I’ll wait downstairs,” before turning and leaving.

Having been scolded from head to toe like that, I had no way to defend myself. I lowered my head in a daze and discovered that it was breakfast—bread and milk. At once, something strange stirred in my chest.

I changed clothes, quickly finished breakfast, and when I got downstairs I spotted the company car at once. In the car, Old Cui had the same dark circles under his eyes as I did. As soon as I got in, he began chatting with me about the case in a scattered, freewheeling way.

“Xiao Hao, if we analyze this from the standpoint that the suspect is guilty, I spent last night looking into He Hui’s possible motive for murder. In cases of husbands being killed, most are domestic violence or crimes of passion. After reviewing our conversation with He Hui, although she did seem somewhat dead inside after her husband’s death, according to her own account the couple had been deeply in love. So isn’t it a little strange that her thinking is so clear and her emotions so calm?”

All the way there and back, he analyzed and reanalyzed it, and I found that it was all subjective speculation, with not a single link in the evidentiary chain.

Of course, even I did not believe my own answer from yesterday at all. I only thought it must have been nonsense caused by some kind of brain cramp.

After all, the hospital’s final diagnosis and the Dayang company’s own proof both confirmed that Zhou Daliang had died a natural death, the cause being overwork.

Next, we visited nearby villagers and learned the following:

Zhou Daliang’s parents lived in a self-built house in the village. Their family were local villagers. After Zhou Daliang married, he and He Hui lived in a house purchased with money from his parents. The couple got along well with the old pair and would often return home to visit them.

After He Hui became pregnant, the old couple were overjoyed and sold the original house directly. With the proceeds from the sale, the couple’s savings, and additional money from the old pair, the young couple exchanged it for a larger three-bedroom apartment.

Zhou Daliang also had a younger brother, Zhou Xiaoliang, only two years his junior. But he had no proper occupation, idled away his days, and caused his parents endless worry.

By following the trail and asking around, Old Cui and I eventually arrived at Zhou Daliang’s parents’ home.

All three members of the Zhou family were waiting for us there. After we met, we could immediately sense the tension on both sides.

After we sat down, no one spoke, and the air seemed to congeal.

As the moments passed, it looked as though Old Cui was about to break the silence first.

Then Zhou Xiaoliang, who had been cowering the whole time, raised his neck and shouted, “That bitch He Hui cheated our family out of money. We exposed her online only to get the money back. My brother’s compensation and that house originally belonged to our family.”

“That house?” I saw the same confusion in Old Cui’s eyes.

According to the Zhou family, after He Hui became pregnant, she pestered her in-laws day after day to change houses. Her excuse was that she feared the child would not be born well if the living conditions were poor, and that after the baby was born there might not be enough room. She also said she wanted some security for herself.

In the end, together with the proceeds from selling the old house, the parents of the Zhou family contributed again, and with the couple’s savings the house was bought outright. All the money for the purchase was transferred to He Hui’s account as a “voluntary gift,” and the title to the new home was in He Hui’s name alone.

As for Zhou Daliang’s compensation payment, it had also all been transferred to He Hui’s account.

Urged on by relatives and friends, the Zhou family, thinking that after Zhou Daliang’s death the child had not yet been born and that they might end up losing both money and nothing else, came up with the idea of ruining He Hui’s reputation so that, under the pressure of public opinion, she might cough up some of the money.

Old Cui gave the Zhou family a stern education, popularized the relevant laws and regulations, and advised that if they had doubts about Zhou Daliang’s estate, they should pursue the matter through legal channels.

After all that, the result was obvious. It seemed we were merely carrying out useless labor around a predetermined fact.

Old Cui and I fell silent, both heavy with a sense of helplessness.

By the time the questioning was over, the sky had darkened again. Old Cui was driving, and I was drowsy in the car; before long I drifted off.

“We’re here. Get out,” came Old Cui’s unquestionable voice by my ear.

I thought we had arrived home, so I rubbed my sleepy eyes and got out of the car. Only then did I realize the car was parked in front of the Northern Country Hotel.

Old Cui, what is this?