The night was like a heavy, damp cotton quilt soaked in water, smothering the sounds of insects, birds, and even muffling cries of pain.
A woman being strangled had her eyes bulging as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. She gasped for air, struggling violently.
Her face, on the brink of suffocation, was terrifying — like a fierce Zhong Kui pasted on the front door for New Year's. The hands around her neck began to tremble. Caught between panic and hatred, one hand broke free, grabbed a rock, and smashed it down onto that face.
Once.
Twice.
Blood splattered.
The attacker reflexively shut their eyes, shaking uncontrollably like a leaf — but still brought the stone down a third time, hitting directly on the red mole between the woman's brows.
Her thrashing slowed, then stiffened completely in death. The hands around her neck finally let go, trembling.
The stench of blood overwhelmed everything, and all that remained was the frantic beating of a heart. The attacker, still gripping the stone, furiously struck the mole again — the force so brutal it cracked the brow bone.
Sticky breathing sounds scattered across the open grassland. A few minutes passed before the person seemed to realize what they had done, scrambled to their feet, and stumbled away in panic.
…
Crisp birdsong signaled the start of a new day.
Tan Ming had finished breakfast and was about to head to the municipal police department. Seeing that he still had some time, he slipped on a jacket and went upstairs to knock on the only occupied room on the second floor.
"Tan Jia, get up. Time for breakfast."
The door didn't open, but the curtain on the hallway side was drawn, revealing a listless face. Even the green tips of her hair lacked their usual energy.
"Got it," she replied, continuing to mold a small human-shaped dough figurine on the desk.
Tan Ming raised an eyebrow at the strange-looking figure, somewhere between human and chicken.
After the major crash of Bus 129, Tan Jia was the lone survivor. Though she appeared normal, experts had determined she was at high risk of developing psychological issues. So during her stay in Jiujiang, following medical advice, she'd been learning traditional dough modeling from her aunt — Tan Ming's mother — to help distract and stabilize her mind.
But unlike the other patients her aunt treated, Tan Jia's cooperation had been minimal. Often, the dough would dry and harden without her kneading it even once.
This morning, though, she'd been at it since early.
The result was still... not great.
"Didn't sleep well? Nightmares?" Tan Ming tapped the window and asked.
Tan Jia shot him a glance, her mind flashing back to the terrifying dream from last night.
She'd always considered herself mentally tough — certainly not the type to dream about vengeful ghosts just from seeing a fatal accident scene. She didn't think she needed psychological counseling at all.
But the dream had been too vivid. Even the splattering blood had felt warm. When she jolted awake, her forehead was soaked in cold sweat.
She didn't dream of someone coming to take her life — she dreamt that she was the killer, stalking her victim on a rainy night.
Straight into serial-killer territory.
She wasn't sure how to process it. Maybe kneading dough did help relieve stress.
But looking at the sad excuse for a figurine she'd been working on for half an hour, her face stayed blank. She slapped it flat into a pancake, got up, and went to eat breakfast.
Tan Ming glanced at the flattened dough and followed her downstairs.
Breakfast was store-bought and already on the table. Their aunt bustled about tidying up while speaking:
"Jiajia, your brother and I both have to go to the county precinct today and won't be back until tomorrow morning. It's not good for you to stay home alone and let your thoughts run wild. Why don't you go out with your uncle?"
Tan Xuehui, their aunt, was one of the city's rare child psychologists. She was often called in to assist the criminal investigations unit when cases involved women or children.
Tan Jia took a bite of a pork bun and habitually refused.
"That's probably not a good idea. Uncle's got work."
Her aunt replied, "His work is resolving neighborhood disputes. It's mostly gossip. You could tag along, walk around, and meet new people."
Uncle He Jianming wasn't thrilled. "Don't make my job sound so trivial. It's not just gossip! And the stuff I deal with is all about older folks — what would Jiajia want with that? Even Tan Ming can't stand listening!"
Tan Ming: "…I'm heading out now."
Tan Xuehui ignored her son and kept firing back at her husband: "The small issues don't need mediating, and the serious ones go straight to the police. I don't know how you find any joy in it. Last time you mediated a freeloading youth, he kicked you and nearly sent you to the hospital. The time before that, you got doused in crap mediating an elderly couple's fight—"
"Alright, alright," He Jianming cut her off, unable to stand having his embarrassment aired. He packed two buns and called out to Tan Jia, "Let's go. It'll do you good to get some fresh air."
Tan Jia had no choice but to grab her soy milk and follow, hopping onto the back of his little electric scooter.
Jiujiang was a city rich in culture, not especially developed, but peaceful and law-abiding. A great place to live.
And speaking of public safety, the Tan family was fully invested in it.
Tan Ming worked in the city's criminal investigations unit, Tan Xuehui was a psychologist for women and children, and He Jianming was a retired police officer turned neighborhood mediator. His job was to reduce conflict and increase family harmony for everyone from newborns to centenarians.
Today's mediation involved a middle-aged couple. The applicant was a 47-year-old woman named Luo Meixin, living in an old glass factory housing complex.
The apartment was a small two-bedroom, too cramped for many people. Tan Jia stayed by the doorway with her soy milk, kneading a lump of dough.
A crowd of onlookers had gathered, slurping noodles and gossiping while sneaking glances at the stylish, out-of-place girl nearby.
"Luo Meixin is brave, airing her dirty laundry in public like this."
"It's Wang Yong who's shameless! Word of it even got to their youngest kid's school. Luo Meixin probably wants a divorce and to take the children."
"She should've brought her sister-in-law too. Two shameless peas in a pod!"
"They ran off — what's the point of dragging them back just to stir things up?"
Tan Jia wasn't interested in the love-hate dramas of middle-aged couples. Halfway through, she went to toss her soy milk cup and was just coming back when shouting erupted from inside the apartment.
"He's disgusting! When he was young, he liked them young — now, at fifty, he says he likes older women. Like who you want, but why my sister-in-law?! He sent her voice messages in the middle of the night saying he missed her so much his chest and ass hurt!"
The spectators outside burst into laughter.
"Sounds like only the ass part hurts—"
Tan Jia: "…"
She peered inside. The middle-aged woman next to her uncle was seething, face red, her finger with a gold ring nearly poking into the man's forehead.
The old man, on the other hand, showed little reaction — head down, silent.
He Jianming turned to the man. "Is it true? You and your wife's sister got something going on?"
The man mumbled a denial.
That set the woman off again. She jabbed his forehead and shouted louder, "Bullshit! Ask anyone here — who doesn't know about your little fling?! She's got old flames everywhere. You drop by my brother's place every other day. Even when he's not home, you hang around. What the hell are you doing there? And my brother's such a coward, he doesn't dare say anything…"
"She ran off already — what's the point of this now? You just like making noise!"
"You did the nastiest thing — you're the one with no shame!"
Things got heated. The man's face flushed red. He stood up and started physically fighting his wife — hair-pulling, slapping, the works. Neither backed down.
A public brawl couldn't be ignored. The mediation staff tried to break it up.
"Let go! No fighting!"
But with one being stocky and the other hefty, no one could separate them. Seeing He Jianming about to get caught in the crossfire, Tan Jia finally stepped in. She pocketed her dough, looked around, grabbed a clothes-drying rod, and jabbed it under Wang Yong's cheap belt with force.
Wang Yong howled in pain and had to let go to protect himself.
But Luo Meixin wasn't finished. Her legs lashed out, and three people couldn't hold her back. She was dead set on airing every dirty secret about her husband and sister-in-law, saliva flying in her rage.
"…She's got a red mole between her brows. After getting drunk, he said in front of his kids that she was as beautiful as the Goddess of Mercy! Like she cast a damn spell on him! He bought red underwear and said it was for me, but it was for him — a fifty-year-old man wearing red briefs… Pah! You're just shameless!"
Red mole?
Tan Jia's eyelid twitched. Her grip on the clothes rod tightened instinctively.
The middle-aged woman in last night's dream — the one she killed — also had a red mole between her brows.
Was that just a coincidence?