Volume One, Chapter Four: Dark Thoughts (03)

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Seeing that I was just staring blankly at the restaurant sign without moving, Old Cui closed the car door and walked past me, casually saying, “Let’s split the bill today,” then headed inside.

To be honest, I was a bit annoyed, but I still followed along obediently.

Once inside, the hostess greeted us, and we followed her footsteps one after another. From her introduction, I learned this was a Northeastern Chinese cuisine restaurant. There were no dining tables on the first floor; it was all opened up into a lobby. On the right, along the wall, fresh vegetables and fruits were displayed, and a decorative rockery with flowing water was set up, complete with a misting device that created a cloud-like effect. Watching the mist swirling up, I became dazed, feeling as if my heart was also enveloped in a layer of haze.

We were finally led to a private room. From the exchange between Old Cui and the waiter, I gathered that he had reserved the room in advance. Seeing the room and table, which seemed rather spacious for just two people, I became even more puzzled.

After sitting down, Old Cui ordered some dishes by himself. I quietly sipped my tea, planning not to speak first. The next moment, Old Cui pushed the menu toward me, signaling I could order more. I took a small sip of tea and waved my hand.

“I’ve eaten at several places downtown before and found this restaurant’s flavors the most authentic. Xiao Hao, you’re from the south, but I believe you’ll like this place too,” he said, lowering his head to take a sip of tea as he held the cup.

“Old Cui, honestly, I want to go home and rest early, but it seems you never asked me about that,” I expressed my displeasure, secretly clenching my fist.

“We’re partners now, so I think there are some things we need to discuss,” he said calmly and formally, taking another sip of tea.

I didn’t reply but conveyed my surprise.

“We can talk about Comrade Xu Zhibin,” he said, folding his arms and looking at me seriously.

Hearing that name from someone else unexpectedly stirred a wave of sadness within me. Tears threatened to burst forth, but I forced them back with all my strength. Then, a discomfort rose in my throat, and I hurriedly rushed out to the restroom.

After emptying myself, an overwhelming weariness took hold of me. I didn’t want to face Old Cui in the private room, so I sent him a message on WeChat and took a taxi straight home.

Back home, I collapsed onto the bed as if falling apart, pulling the covers over me to create a small, enclosed world, and soon I went from sobbing softly to crying uncontrollably under the blankets. I didn’t know when I wore myself out or when I fell asleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night, grabbed my phone, and the light hurt my eyes as I adjusted. It was 2 a.m. Then I saw a new WeChat message from Old Cui:

“Xiao Hao, I packed some food for you. It’s hanging on your door. Remember to take it.”

“Xiao Hao, I’m sorry.”

I got out of bed, opened the living room door, and sure enough, two takeout boxes were hung on the door.

Opening the containers, there was sweet and sour pork, cold noodles, and dumplings. The weather wasn’t cold, and I was hungry, so I didn’t reheat the food and devoured it ravenously.

The next day, Old Cui avoided me completely.

I thought about the farewell ceremony for Zhou Daliang’s body in a few days. Almost on a whim, I decided to go see it once—to bid farewell to the deceased and to gather more information from those attending the memorial.

For some unknown reason, I seemed to regain interest in investigating the case.

Zhou Daliang was about 1.7 meters tall, and his weight was quite substantial—probably around one to two hundred jin (approximately 110-220 pounds).

He lay in the coffin, making it look swollen and bulging.

I thought to myself that with his body type, he probably had high blood pressure, high blood sugar, and high cholesterol; combined with continuous overtime work, dying from overwork seemed only natural.

He Hui looked as tired and lifeless as ever, as if she would collapse with the slightest touch.

Beside her, Li Pingping watched her anxiously, keeping her left hand on He Hui’s shoulder as if transferring energy.

Zhou Daliang’s parents and younger brother showed obvious grief. His mother was wailing loudly by the coffin, crying out, “The young bury the old,” over and over.

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Her cries moved many to tears, though some appeared indifferent, as if it didn’t concern them.

I handed a tissue to a sentimental-looking gentleman standing nearby.

He accepted it with thanks and wiped his tears. We exchanged a few words.

I asked first, “Hey, are you a friend or colleague of Zhou Daliang?”

He answered without suspicion, “I’m a colleague from the same department.”

I pressed further.

“Man, now that he’s gone, leaving behind a widow and an orphan, how will their lives go on?”

He replied, “Exactly. I kept warning him to take care of his health, but he never took it seriously, just threw himself into chasing money.”

Curious, I asked, “Was he really that short on money?”

He explained, “Not really. His family just bought a new house this year. I’d overhear his wife occasionally nagging him to earn more money, so I could tell he was under a lot of pressure.”

I followed up, “Oh, so that’s why he worked overtime day and night so often.”

He nodded, “Yes, this last project was a big one. After finishing, he could get a 30,000 yuan bonus. But with Daliang’s sudden death, the money issue is obviously settled.”

I asked again, “I heard your company had another sudden death case before?”

He said, “Yeah, just a year ago. A colleague collapsed at his post after working overtime for several days. After that, the company somewhat toned down the overtime culture.”

He then casually added, “Daliang really ballooned up over the past six months. That definitely increased his risk of sudden death.”

I narrowed my eyes, sensing I had found a crucial clue.

I continued collecting information from a few others. The consensus was:

Zhou Daliang was an honest man. His marriage was loving since they wed. He was a henpecked husband, very obedient to his wife.

They rarely argued. However, on the eve of their marriage registration, Zhou Daliang called a friend for comfort, saying that then-girlfriend Zhou Hui expressed she didn’t want to marry him. But soon after, they reconciled and successfully registered their marriage.

Though Zhou Daliang’s parents were villagers, the whole family was kind-hearted. Childhood friends attending the funeral said they were often warmly welcomed when visiting his home.

After gathering some information, two doubts arose in my mind. I planned to find a chance to ask He Hui what had happened before the wedding that made her hesitate to marry.

Since I had business with He Hui, I kept a close watch on her movements.

After about two hours, the funeral proceedings ended.

He Hui sat dazed on a bench outside the funeral home, holding an urn.

I approached slowly, wanting to confirm some things.

Seeing me, Li Pingping glared coldly.

“Are you ever going to stop? Don’t you see others are grieving? Are public officials really this heartless?”

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I braced myself and faced her cold shoulder. “I want to understand your relationship with Zhou Daliang.”

He Hui remained motionless like a puppet, frozen. After a quarter of an hour without looking at me, she squeezed out a few words: “Wait a moment.”

She leaned against Li Pingping’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

Hearing her, I thought better of disturbing her further and stepped back to watch from a distance.

I don’t know how long passed before Li Pingping gently patted He Hui’s head like soothing a child, saying with pity:

“Huihui, I know you’re very sad, but the dead cannot come back to life.”

She gazed far away, murmuring: “Though he’s gone, his wholehearted love for you won’t disappear. Even now, I still envy you for having someone like Daliang who loved you so deeply.”

He Hui slowly raised her head. “Love? Didn’t you tell me you saw him hugging another woman on the street?”

Li Pingping looked puzzled. “Did I say that?”

He Hui looked confused at first, then after a moment’s gaze into Li Pingping’s eyes, she understood everything. A mix of guilt and hatred swelled in her heart, and she suddenly broke down, crying as if her heart was being torn apart. Her gaze toward Li Pingping was murderous, filled with hate and cruelty.

Li Pingping shivered and asked, “Huihui, why are you looking at me like that?”

From a distance, I only caught fragments of their conversation.

Afterward, I went to the insurance claims center to address some other doubts.

I was told that Zhou Daliang had a history of hypertension, so when buying insurance, the risk of sudden death was considered high and had been excluded from coverage.

Therefore, Zhou Daliang’s death did not qualify for insurance compensation.

At the real estate center, I found that the new house Zhou Daliang had purchased was co-owned by the couple. The claim by the Zhou family that the property was being monopolized by the daughter-in-law was unfounded.

Hence, the motives of killing the husband for insurance money or to seize property were weak.

Just as I was doubting my increasingly uneasy premonitions and planning to visit Li Pingping again, Old Cui called. He said He Hui was now involved in another murder case.

Filled with questions, I turned the car around and headed back to the precinct.

Back at the precinct, Old Cui calmly explained:

Earlier at He Hui’s home, he had casually picked up some hair she dropped on the sofa, thinking to test the DNA just in case.

When the fingerprint was entered into the system, it matched a set collected at the scene of a homeless man’s murder two years ago.

In other words, He Hui might very well have killed someone.