Chapter 4 — Listening to the Rain to Read Hearts

The intervals between the deaths of the four victims followed a rigid pattern: exactly twenty-two days from the first to the second, twenty-two days from the second to the third, and twenty-two days again from the third to the fourth. Twenty-two. This number could not possibly be a mere coincidence. The very next day, when Shen Zheng arrived to replace the door locks, I spread my reference materials out across the table.

Take a look at this.

He leaned closer, his eyes scanning the pages.

This twenty-two-day interval is a rule we noticed long ago, but we could never find any underlying connection. They shared no common social circles, no overlapping daily routines, and did not even ride the same bus lines.

You were investigating their personal connections?

What else were we supposed to investigate?

You should have been investigating what the number itself represents.

He frowned, furrowing his brow.

What is that supposed to mean?

The number twenty-two holds a special significance for the killer. It is not a random pause, but a deliberate date chosen with intent.

For example?

A birthday, an anniversary, or perhaps a day of mourning.

His finger tapped twice against the tabletop before he looked up at me.

On what grounds are you making this judgment?

On intuition.

The corners of his twitching mouth tightened.

Do you expect me to walk back to the precinct and file a report based on the three words ‘on intuition’?

Then add this to your report: investigate all records concerning people and events related to the number twenty-two. The suspect's birthday, the death anniversary of a family member, the date of some significant past event, and narrow the search down to the overlapping living areas of the four deceased victims.

Shen Zheng stared at me for a long, unblinking moment.

Are you certain of this?

No. But as you yourself said, we must exhaust every single possibility.

He said nothing further, packed up his tools, and left. He really did replace the lock on the door. At that exact moment, a faint, inexplicable feeling stirred within my heart. This man was different from anyone I had ever encountered. He did not believe in the divination I practiced, yet he was willing to listen. That alone was exceedingly rare. Seven days later, Shen Zheng returned. This time, his expression was visibly strained.

We found something.

About what?

The four deceased victims shared one crucial detail that we had completely overlooked. Last autumn, all of them attended a free calligraphy class organized by the county cultural center.

I froze in place.

A calligraphy class?

Yes. Their instructor was a forty-two-year-old man named Sun Weiping. And the anniversary of his mother's death falls on the twenty-second day of every month.

Cold sweat instantly broke out all across my back.

Where is he?

He fled. He resigned from his post at the cultural center three days ago, and we have already issued a nationwide bulletin for assistance in the investigation.

I walked over to the window. The summer wind blowing inside was stiflingly hot, yet a deep chill settled into my bones.

He hasn't run far. He hasn't finished what he started. Calculate the timeline. What date will it be twenty-two days since the fourth victim died?

Shen Zheng’s face instantly drained of color. He began counting on his fingers.

The day after tomorrow.

Over those two days, the entire public security bureau of Nanha County was stretched taut like a bowstring. Shen Zheng had reported the twenty-two-day rule to his superiors, prompting the municipal bureau to dispatch reinforcements. For two whole days and nights, endless meetings were held within the county headquarters. Every available police officer was mobilized and deployed on surveillance across the entire county. Yet Sun Weiping seemed to have vanished completely from the face of the earth. By the evening of the twenty-first day, Shen Zheng made a brief appearance. He stood outside the doorway, declining to step inside, and handed me a small paper parcel. Inside were two still-warm steamed meat buns.

Do not open your stall tomorrow. Stay inside your room and keep the door securely locked.

You still haven't found him?

He shook his head, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion.

Based on his past travel routes, we have cordoned off several areas where he might strike again, but the search radius is still far too broad.

What kind of target will he choose?

He will likely target students from that same calligraphy class. We are currently providing twenty-four-hour protection for all the female students, but if he decides to change his target...

He left the sentence unfinished. That night, sleep eluded me entirely. It was not out of fear for the murderer, but rather the terrifying possibility that my deduction might be wrong. What if the rule of the twenty-2nd was merely a coincidence after all? I pulled out the personal belongings left behind by the four victims, examining each item one by one. When I reached Zhao Xiulan’s diary, I paused at a familiar page.

He told me I was the best person he had ever met. But what good is being a good person? He does not belong to me.

I had read these lines before, but this time, my eyes caught a very faint, embossed seal stamped at the bottom corner of the diary page: the Nanha County Cultural Center. I sprang to my feet. Perhaps the crucial clue did not lie with the victims themselves, but within the calligraphy class itself. I retrieved the television station phone number that Gao Yuanzheng had given me earlier and dialed. The line connected, and I lowered my voice.

Gao, I need your help looking into something. I need all the archives and records regarding last year's calligraphy class at the county cultural center, and I need them as quickly as possible.

As dawn broke, Gao Yuanzheng arrived on a motorcycle, shoving a thick stack of photocopied documents through the crack in my door—rosters of students, teacher biographies, and even a few group photographs taken at the conclusion of the course.