Chapter 6

Zhang Jianjun frowned and stammered, “W-what do you mean? What are we playing?”

I waved the knife and said, “Rock, scissors, paper. You go first.”

This time, Zhang Jianjun froze.

Zhang Lingzhi began screaming and crying again.

I wasn’t done tormenting them yet.

So I put the knife down and emptied my backpack onto the ground.

Three things fell out.

A rock.

A pair of scissors.

A roll of burlap.

“Choose. Rock, scissors, paper. Which one do you want?”

The desperate screams in the ruined temple gradually became whimpers, then broken groans.

After a long, exhausting struggle, they finally stopped breathing.

I sank to the ground, and only then did I begin to feel empty.

Fortunately, my old candy-bar phone finally rang.

The name on the screen was Hoang Viet.

The fool.

But I knew it wasn’t him calling. It was Officer Li.

Before coming here, I’d sent a message to this phone of his.

He had kept watch here all night. He was the one who had beaten the Zhangs until they were bleeding and then tied them up.

He wasn’t truly a fool. His intelligence was that of a five- or six-year-old.

He simply had no way to communicate with other people—except me.

Because when we were kids…

It hadn’t only been Niem Niem and me playing together.

There had been three of us.

The three of us had been the best friends in the world.

The first thing I did after returning to the village was take him to the ruined temple.

I gave him a candy-bar phone with a SIM card inside. It had only one contact: my number.

I pointed to the temple door and awkwardly drew the character for “temple” in the dirt.

“Ah Viet, when you see this character, go inside. Feel your way around in the dark, knock out whoever’s in there, and tie them up… Use the rock. Understand?”

He grinned and pointed at a rock on the ground nearby.

“Rock… rock, scissors, paper… rock!”

I smiled and nodded.

“And here’s another character. This one means ‘orchard.’ When you see it, go to the orchard where Niem Niem’s father used to take us. Understand?”

He crouched on the ground and stared at the two characters for a long time. Then he traced them stroke by stroke with his finger.

After tracing them over and over, he grinned again. He’d learned them.

“All right. Let’s practice once, starting with the rock.”

I patiently taught him how to look at the phone’s screen, how to hit someone with a rock, and how to tie them up.

I even taught him how to knot the rope. He paid close attention. His hands were clumsy, but he tied every knot three times to make sure it would hold.

He really was a good kid.

I answered the phone. Sure enough, Officer Li’s voice came through.

“Where are you? Where are Zhang Jianjun and Zhang Lingzhi?”

I told him the truth. They were gone. All of them were gone.

It was simple. I’d first taken care of Zhang Lingwei by using the image of a perfect Prince Charming—the kind unmarried older women loved.

Then I killed her and dumped her at the old house that Niem Niem’s family had abandoned years ago.

The only purpose was to lure Zhang Jianjun and Zhang Lingzhi—the two who would be harder to kill—back here.

Before they arrived, I had deliberately stayed close to Officer Li, doing everything I could to clear myself of suspicion.

I’d placed that note myself. It didn’t even have to appear in my room.

It could have been left anywhere, at any time that made sense. The point was to connect the case to what happened sixteen years ago—

and get the Zhangs to come back as soon as possible.

I’d deliberately moved into the police station, too. That way, I could leave no room for suspicion to fall on me.

I had used the fool, but he had agreed to help me.

Officer Li angrily hung up.

He was probably flooring the accelerator on his way to arrest me.

I walked out of the ruined temple and sat on the threshold.

I looked at the neighboring mountain, at the leaves that felt both familiar and strange.

I remembered when we were children.

It must have been summer. We were sitting on a threshold just like this one.

All three of us together.

We were waiting for a little watermelon to cool in the well.

We didn’t have refrigerators back then. We submerged the watermelon in a basin of freshly drawn well water.

The water was icy cold.

Sometimes Niem Niem couldn’t sit still. She’d run over and touch the watermelon’s rind.

The water was so cold that she’d jerk her hand back and laugh.

Hoang Viet would crouch beside her, laughing along.

Then I picked up the little watermelon and set it on a flat stone.

I cut it open with a knife.

Red flesh, black seeds. Juice ran along the grooves in the stone.

I was too little to know how to cut it properly.

So I made three uneven pieces.

One big, one medium, one small.

Niem Niem stared at the biggest piece, lips pressed together, without saying a word.