Chapter 4
Edward Quan ·
He gazed greedily at her back, keeping even his breathing quiet.
The recording reached 9:20 p.m.
The woman got up and went to the bathroom.
The door softly closed.
Almost that same instant, the short man sprang from behind the sofa.
Quick as a ghost, he kept close to the wall and rushed to the front door.
He grabbed the handle and twisted hard.
It wouldn't budge.
After coming home, she'd locked it from the inside with her key.
He froze.
For a few seconds, his short, stocky body remained rigid.
He pressed an ear to the door, listening for sounds from the bathroom.
His panicked gaze darted around, then drew back.
No time to hesitate.
He opened the shoe cabinet beside the door and folded himself inside.
The cabinet door closed silently.
Only the narrowest crack remained.
The room went still again.
As though nothing had happened.
Soon, the woman came out of the bathroom.
Returned to the living room to watch her film and scroll through her phone.
Completely unaware that someone was hiding just a few steps away in the shoe cabinet.
Then the timeline reached 9:38.
Apparently, she'd heard knocking.
She hurried to the door, leaned forward, and looked through the peephole.
A moment later, she stepped back and quickly messaged A-Zhe.
Then buried herself in the camera recordings.
Fast-forwarding. Pausing. Dragging back and forth.
Until she'd watched the short man's entire journey—
his break-in, his hiding place, his move into the shoe cabinet.
Finally, one tap of her finger stopped the footage.
On the camera, she slowly turned.
And calmly looked toward the closed shoe cabinet by the door.
…
I stared at my monitoring screen, frozen.
A crawling dread swallowed every trace of excitement.
Then her phone abruptly went black.
It didn't light up again for half an hour.
10:00 p.m.
Her screen lit up again.
She opened her music app.
The Late-Night Healing Playlist was still playing.
Only the progress bar had stopped halfway through a song.
She pressed pause, then swiped into her short-video app.
The home page was still offering cute pets.
She didn't seem interested now.
Two swipes, and she left.
Back to WeChat.
Back to A-Zhe.
[Are you still at work?]
His reply was quick.
[Yes. Nearly done!]
She hesitated, then typed:
[Are you really working overtime? You're not lying to me, are you?]
She hovered over the message.
Didn't send it.
Three seconds later, she deleted the whole line at once.
Another took its place.
[Don't come over tonight. Just go straight home.]
He replied immediately.
[What's wrong? Did that knocking scare you?]
[No. I'm sleepy and want an early night. Come tomorrow instead.]
As soon as she'd sent it, she left WeChat.
On the home screen, she opened a folder called “Entertainment.”
Games and video apps filled it.
She swiped left twice.
At the bottom was a hidden app with a gloomy gray icon.
Its name was The Watcher.
The instant it opened, a live view of another phone filled her screen.
Another screen-monitoring interface.
She was spying on somebody's phone too.
At that moment, the other phone showed WeChat.
Its owner was messaging a contact saved as “Silly Girlfriend.”
The text box read:
[All right. I'll come see you earlier tomorrow night!]
He pressed send.
At that exact moment, A-Zhe's message appeared on the woman's phone.
Word for word:
[All right. I'll come see you earlier tomorrow night!]
She was monitoring A-Zhe.
My heart tightened.
I stared at the monitoring interface on my own screen.
The woman replied:
[Okay. See you tomorrow night.]
The moment she'd sent it, she switched back to A-Zhe's phone.
Still on WeChat.
He received her message.
Sent a smiling sticker.
Then left WeChat and opened his gallery.
It was packed with photographs.
All taken three days ago.
Arranged by the time they'd been shot.
He opened them one by one.
The first: outside Building 4, Chrysanthemum Gardens.
The woman in a long dress, her slender back toward the lens as she bent to get her access card.
The camera was hidden in the shadows of a planter.
At the edge, half the tip of a shoe betrayed its owner's attempt to stay concealed.
…
The second: a corridor in Building 4.
Sickly yellow light.
The woman climbing the stairs, long hair falling down her back.
Step by step.
The camera was held low, as though someone were crouching behind a fire extinguisher.
Even the peeling advertisements on the wall felt oppressive.
…
The third: the turn in the stairs.
Darker still.
Only the green light of the emergency exit washed over her indistinct back.
She'd stopped on a step and tilted her head.
As though listening.
Her back was tense.
A faint, easily missed wariness.
…
My heart sank.
A-Zhe had been secretly following her.
This wasn't how a normal couple behaved.
He'd been stalking her.
He kept scrolling.
More pictures appeared.
The next frame was tighter.
The corner of the staircase.
Half the woman's body was hidden behind a wall.
She had only her head out, watching the dark corridor.
And at its far end stood a short figure.
That same man.
He was using a key, smoothly opening Apartment 504.
The woman's body was taut in the photograph.
Her eyes were fixed on him.
Clearly watching him. Following him.
Apartment 604…
Apartment 504…
She lived upstairs.
The short man lived directly beneath her.
…
Every hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Three days earlier, A-Zhe had been following the woman.
And the woman had been following the short man.
Link after link.
An invisible net, quietly spreading.
I kept watching the monitoring screen.
My fingertips were ice-cold.
I barely dared breathe.
The woman's phone was still mirroring A-Zhe's gallery.
He kept swiping upward.
New videos and photographs appeared.
First, a selfie video.
Timestamp: 9:17 last night.
The lens shook slightly in A-Zhe's hand.
Warm yellow light filled a small room.
The woman leaned on his shoulder.
Facing the camera, they softly sang “Happy Birthday.”
Both were smiling.
Sweet. Intimate.
Candlelight softened her face like warm water.
Anyone would have taken them for a perfectly ordinary couple in love.
…
The next video followed immediately.
9:20 last night.
The woman suddenly laughed and snatched his phone.
The lens turned on him.
A-Zhe was eating cake, head lowered, cream at the corner of his mouth.
…
A buzzing filled my head.
I knew this A-Zhe!
The video continued.
He noticed the camera and looked up.
His eyes curved with a gentle, harmless smile.
The frame brimmed with playful warmth.
The complete opposite of everything that had come before.
…
Further down, the video's colors suddenly turned cold.
10:02 last night.
The shaking lens lowered.
A-Zhe lay on the floor.
Motionless.
As though all his strength had gone.
The camera passed slowly over his pale, rigid face.
Finally stopped on the nearly finished cake.
The cream had dried at the edges, like clotted blood.
…
A photograph followed.
10:24 last night.
The setting was a bathroom.
Cold tiles reflected a faint light.
A-Zhe lay on the floor, a sharp butcher's cleaver pressed against his neck.
Its edge gleamed coldly.
His eyes were wide, his face still startled.
…
The next picture: one this morning.
A black suitcase.
Several dark-red bloodstains marked its corners.
The zipper was only half closed.
A scrap of fabric showed through the gap.
Something suffocating about it.
…
Next: four this morning.
A pit in an isolated patch of ground.
Tangled weeds and crooked saplings surrounded it.
Night still lingered.
The bloodstained suitcase stood quietly by the edge.
As though waiting for a silent burial.
…
More pictures.
Dawn breaking.
6:13 this morning.
A dark corridor, the camera aimed straight at Apartment 504.
The door was shut.
Deathly still.
…
7:27 this morning.
The door to 504 was cracked open.
The short man stepped out.
Head lowered. Collar pulled high over half his face.
Furtive as a rat crossing the street.
…
6:30 this evening.
A shattered phone screen filled the frame.
Cracks spread like a spiderweb.
The display was completely black.
The very phone she'd brought to my shop that evening.