The school and family visits were over, so the next focus was to keep a close watch on Qian Darong.
He obediently participated in the weekly community labor for two months.
The school’s supervision group reported that Qian Darong had not bothered Liang Jiushan again, nor had he harassed Liang Qiqiao on her way home from school.
Wei Changfeng and the others quickly threw themselves into the special personnel sweep.
There were many State-Owned Factories in the jurisdiction of Jinwu Road Police Station. In recent years, due to the restructuring of state-owned enterprises, many workers had been laid off. With more idle people around, cases involving prostitution, gambling, and drugs had increased. To maintain public security, the Case Investigation Team launched the October Operation, cleaning up people and places previously involved in prostitution, gambling, and drugs.
They were so busy that it was already November by the time things settled.
November 12, 1993, Friday, 6:15 p.m.
The weather had turned chilly. The leaves of the big locust tree in the backyard of the police station had turned yellow and fallen, exposing the black thorns on its branches, which looked rather rugged.
Jiang Ling sat at the little table in the Archive Room.
Although she’d been transferred to the Case Investigation Team’s office at the east end of the second floor, Jiang Ling always came to sit in the Archive Room after work.
In her previous life, she’d worked in archives management for thirty years. She was used to the smell of ink in the Archive Room. The neatly numbered rows of file folders were like old friends, making her feel especially at ease.
After her rebirth, Jiang Ling found that her memory hadn’t weakened, but there was a certain obstacle in retrieving information from her past life’s records: some related event or evidence had to trigger it before she could recall.
For example, only when she saw Liang Jiushan would the information related to him surface in her mind.
Jiang Ling picked up her fountain pen and drew a circle above the date “November 12” marked in red on her desk calendar.
November 12 was the day Liang Qiqiao had been assaulted in her previous life.
Now that she was back, Jiang Ling had activated the “family-school-community” joint mechanism to comprehensively reform Qian Darong, but she wasn’t confident about the results—would it be enough to avoid the tragedy of her last life?
Had Qian Darong really changed for the better?
Or was he just hiding his desires deep inside, waiting for the right moment to emerge?
Would the more he suppressed them, the more violently they’d erupt?
As the saying goes, “There are a thousand days for a thief, but not a thousand days to guard against one.”
Instead of sitting and waiting, it was better to take the initiative.
Jiang Ling looked up at the windowsill.
There, a pot of jasmine nestled among green leaves, a single snow-white flower blooming, delicate and lovely. The autumn wind made the jasmine sway, but it still bloomed stubbornly.
It would rain tonight.
She felt the dampness in the air, checked the hygrometer—it read 60%, already above the required preservation level. Jiang Ling got up, closed the window, and hung up a bag of quicklime to absorb moisture.
The bait had been set. Now it was up to Qian Darong to show his true colors.
At that moment, Qian Darong was walking home from school.
A gust of wind made him shiver. He pulled his collar tighter with his left hand.
His right hand was still in his trouser pocket, tightly gripping a key.
It was the front door key to Liang Jiushan’s house.
Just thinking about how Liang Jiushan had caught a cold in the rain and developed pneumonia, ending up in the Factory hospital for injections, made the demon Qian Darong had kept locked up for two months laugh wildly inside him.
He’d endured for two months, acting like a civilized, polite good student—it was driving him crazy.
Tonight, tonight was the perfect opportunity.
The plump, beautiful, docile, and obedient Liang Qiqiao would be home alone. All he had to do was unlock the door and take her—afterward, she’d never dare say a word.
Qian Darong had even prepared his excuse: she was older and had opened the door for him herself—she seduced him.
Thinking of the beauty he’d soon have in his arms, Qian Darong felt an itch between his legs.
He glanced at his watch, and only then noticed blue-black ink stains on his fingertips and sweater cuffs.
“Damn!” Qian Darong cursed.
He must’ve gotten it when stealing the key.
Liang Jiushan had forgotten his key in the desk. Qian Darong saw it clearly. The key was under an ink bottle, and when he took it, he hadn’t noticed the bottle was leaking.
“Shit, that bastard Liang Jiushan needs a beating!”
Qian Darong cursed again and shook his hand impatiently. Once he had Liang Qiqiao, he’d go after Liang Jiushan next. So what if the police were watching? The storm had passed; they couldn’t keep an eye on him forever.
Cursing, he got home to find the house cold and empty. Zhao Yanhong and Qian Jianshe weren’t home.
Qian Darong went to the dining room. On the table, the housekeeper had left three dishes and a soup, already a bit cold.
He was used to it by now. He went to the kitchen, got himself a bowl of rice, and sat down to eat.
Halfway through, he suddenly choked, got up to drink water, then flew into a rage and smashed his cup on the floor.
Bang!
With a crisp sound, the glass shattered.
“Damn! Always saying you’ll pick me up from school—bullshit!”
“Fine, if you don’t care about me, don’t blame me for causing trouble!”
“Liang Qiqiao, just you wait!”
A string of curses spilled from Qian Darong’s mouth, echoing in the empty house.
Meanwhile, Liang Qiqiao, the one on his mind, was staring blankly at a coal hook.
A heavy, cold, iron coal hook—her father’s keepsake.
Liang Qiqiao slowly reached out, Jiang Ling’s words flashing through her mind.
“Qiqiao, remember this move.” Jiang Ling gripped Qiqiao’s wrist, pressing the iron coal hook against her knee joint. “This is the common peroneal nerve. A heavy blow will cause temporary paralysis.”
The coal stove was burning brightly, glowing red.
Liang Qiqiao picked up the coal hook.
Jiang Ling had taught her self-defense, just in case danger ever came.
And today, maybe she’d need it.
Time passed. It was eleven at night.
The night was deep.
The rain grew heavier, drumming against the glass.
Jiang Ling turned the calendar page, quietly left the Archive Room, returned to her dorm, put on her raincoat, and took her flashlight.
The police hall on the first floor of the office building was brightly lit, somehow making people feel at ease.
Qian Darong also got up from bed, his body tense, hands clenched tight. He left his bedroom, turned on the light, and opened all the doors.
The house was still empty—not a soul inside.
“Heh heh…”
A strange laugh came from Qian Darong’s throat. Wearing slippers, he stepped over the broken glass, went to the entrance, changed shoes, and picked up a black umbrella.
The rain poured harder.
Big drops drummed on the Liang family’s plastic awning, making a rapid, crackling sound.
The Liang siblings lived in a tube-shaped apartment assigned by the Textile Factory, a corner unit with two bedrooms and a living room—compact and close.
Liang Qiqiao felt thirsty. She picked up an enamel mug with a chipped rim to drink.
The mug was a souvenir her mother received for Women’s Day in 1985. The big peony on it was still bright, but her mother was gone.
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 didn’t steal the key, if he didn’t come, then he’d passed the test, and they could ease the supervision.
But if he came—what then?
Liang Qiqiao slowly stood up, picked up the coal hook again, and a determined look 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 have to learn to protect it.
On the windowsill of the Archive Room, the snow-white jasmine swayed in the storm, the raindrops on its petals reflecting a cold light.
Jiang Ling entered the duty room, wearing a police raincoat and boots, flashlight in hand, baton at her waist.
Li Zhenliang, sitting by the phone, saw she was fully equipped and stood up at once: “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 was like a needle piercing Liang Qiqiao’s eardrum.
She closed her eyes tightly, held her breath, and listened intently to the sounds outside.
The sound of wet rubber soles grew closer on the brick floor, and a dark figure slowly approached the bedroom.
Ragged breathing sounded, and the bedroom door was pushed open.
Just as the shadow lunged, Liang Qiqiao suddenly threw off her floral quilt, swung the coal hook through the air, and smashed it hard into the shadow’s knee joint.
“Ah!”
Qian Darong fell to his knees, groaning in pain.
Qiqiao swung the coal hook again and struck down hard!
In the pouring rain, Liang Jiushan was running.
He stumbled, his only thought: get home, protect his sister.
When he rushed through the door, he saw Qian Darong’s twisted face.
“Let me go!” Qian Darong screamed.
Jiang Ling and Li Zhenliang, both in police uniforms, held Qian Darong’s arms left and right, quickly cuffing him.
With his hands cuffed and both arms in excruciating pain, Qian Darong collapsed to his knees, blood streaming from his forehead, soon blurring his vision.
As his world turned red, all his viciousness vanished, and he shrieked, “I can’t see! I can’t see! She brought me here, she hit me!”
Qian Darong’s screams were so piercing that the neighbors in the tube building, who’d been asleep, all came out and gathered at the Liang family’s door, whispering.
“What happened? Why did Director Qian’s son come to the Liang house in the middle of the night?”
“The police have cuffed him—he must’ve done something bad.”
“Hurry and tell Director Qian, his son’s head is all bloody and he’s been arrested.”
Liang Jiushan rushed to his sister’s side, looking her up and down. “Sis, are you okay?”
Liang Qiqiao clutched the coal hook, her heart pounding, hands trembling slightly with excitement, her eyes shining brightly, her whole being radiant: “I’m not afraid of him!”
At the police station in the early morning.
Zhao Yanhong sat slumped on a bench.
She’d run so fast, she had no idea where her brand-new Shanghai wristwatch had gotten smashed—the glass was cracked like a spiderweb.
Qian Jianshe had a cigarette in his mouth, but no matter how he tried, the lighter wouldn’t spark. His hands shook, and he muttered, “He, he’s still just a child.”
When Jiang Ling and Li Zhenliang escorted Qian Darong out of the interrogation room, the couple rushed forward at once.
Qian Darong’s head was already bandaged. He looked at his parents with pure resentment in his eyes: “It’s your fault! All your fault!”