Diary Entry for the 29th

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When the dull thudding sounds came from the coffin beside me, my heart leapt into my throat. Damn—what on earth was inside? From the noise, it sounded as if someone was pounding on the coffin, trying to claw their way out. My first instinct was to turn and run for my life, but as soon as I took a step, I stopped myself. What if Jin Ze was inside that coffin? Could he have been ambushed by the killer when he entered the attic, knocked out, and then sealed inside?

With that thought, I turned around and knocked twice on the coffin lid, then whispered, “Jin Ze, Jin Ze, is that you?” There was still no answer, but the thumping echoed again from within the coffin walls—it had to be someone’s fist. I figured Jin Ze might be too weak to speak, so I immediately struck the lid with my fruit knife and then shoved it hard. The coffin lid slid open under my push.

As soon as the lid was off, a hand suddenly gripped the coffin’s edge, and in the next instant, a figure scrambled out in a blur. For a moment I froze, but quickly regained my senses, only to be struck dumb all over again when I saw who had emerged.

It wasn’t Jin Ze—it was Fang Lin!

Perhaps it was because I’d already heard of Fang Lin’s death, or maybe it was the memory of that eerie video of her from last night, but seeing her this close up left me momentarily stunned and I instinctively took a step back.

I quickly collected myself and forced myself to look at her. There was a distinct red mark around her neck, as if a rope had been tightly wound there, and her hair was disheveled, as though she’d just been through a violent struggle.

After all, she was my girlfriend, so I managed to steady my voice and asked, “Fang Lin, what’s going on? Who put you in the coffin? Why did you come to my place last night and watch me sleep?”

Fang Lin didn’t answer. Instead, she glanced toward the small attic window, then turned and bolted downstairs.

I didn’t know why she was running, but I knew I couldn’t let her get away, so I gave chase with all the strength I could muster.

But just as I reached the landing outside the door, Fang Lin suddenly leapt upward, caught the lintel with both hands, and swung her body like a prawn, launching herself straight at me.

I had no time to dodge; she used the momentum to kick me squarely in the chest with both feet, sending me sprawling face-first to the ground.

By the time I’d gotten up, wincing from the pain, Fang Lin was gone. This only confirmed Jin Ze’s suspicions—Fang Lin was no ordinary woman. She must have had some serious training. There had to be some ulterior motive for her dating me.

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I didn’t bother chasing after Fang Lin any further; it would have been pointless. Instead, clutching my aching chest, I returned to Fang Lin’s house and, after a moment’s thought, headed up to the attic once more.

Forcing myself to ignore the cured corpse, I made my way to the attic window. As I was about to look outside, a face suddenly appeared in the window.

I jumped in fright, but quickly realized it was Jin Ze. He gripped the window ledge and climbed into the attic.

Seeing Jin Ze, I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to ask, “Where did you go? You scared me just now—almost got me killed!”

Jin Ze glanced out the window and said, “I went after the killer, but he got away. He’d left himself a clear escape route, and I couldn’t catch up. What happened here? Was there more danger after I left? Did someone else come in?”

I replied at once, “It wasn’t someone from outside. Damn, how did you check? That person was in the house all along! When I hid under the bed, someone grabbed my foot—it was the same little girl who left us that sketch last time.”

Jin Ze froze for a moment, then hurried downstairs. I followed him.

He crawled under the bed, and I joined him. There weren’t any secret compartments or mechanisms under the bed; if there had been, Jin Ze would have found them earlier. That made it all the more curious: why hadn’t Jin Ze seen the little girl before?

But then I noticed a wooden block under the bed—a small cabinet, really, about the size of a nightstand. It could be opened. At first glance, it seemed too small—barely half a meter high—impossible for an adult to fit inside, and even a child would have trouble squeezing in. I figured Jin Ze hadn’t checked it before because it was so inconspicuous.

Jin Ze quickly opened the cabinet and said, “It looks like the little girl was hiding in here. I bet she’s incredibly flexible and could curl herself up completely inside. I overlooked it before.”

At that, a chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t help picturing that little girl twisted up inside the cramped cabinet like a snake—enough to send shivers through anyone.

Jin Ze continued, “Now it all makes sense. When the killer saw us arrive, he went straight to the attic. After he got in, the little girl locked the attic door from the outside, then hid herself in the cabinet under the bed.”

I agreed with Jin Ze’s deduction, but for such a plan to work, the timing and coordination between the killer and the girl had to be flawless. She must have been professionally trained by him.

I then asked Jin Ze, “So the little girl and the killer are a team. But what about Fang Lin? How did she end up in the coffin? By the way, did you get a good look at the killer while you were chasing him?”

Jin Ze shook his head. “No, I only saw his back—a man. As for Fang Lin in the coffin, I had no idea anyone was in there. My guess is the killer drugged her and stuffed her inside. You probably didn’t notice, but there were several dissection knives next to the coffin. I suspect the killer planned to murder Fang Lin and dismember her in the attic.”

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A shiver ran through me at his words, but I was also grateful we’d come here when we did. Even though Fang Lin had just kicked me, I still liked her a great deal; I certainly didn’t want to see her murdered and butchered.

Just then, Jin Ze’s eyes lit up as he peered into the cabinet under the bed, as if he’d found something. He reached into the tiny space and pulled out a notebook.

We crawled out from under the bed. Jin Ze was holding a pink-covered notebook, a bit worn at the edges, clearly several years old.

He opened it quickly, and I leaned in to read. The paper inside had yellowed with age, but it was well preserved—its owner must have cherished it.

From the format of the first page, it was obviously a diary. I used to keep a diary myself as a child, though I gave up the habit in middle school. Seeing this diary brought a wave of nostalgia over me.

I began to read, almost unconsciously: “September 8, 2000. Weather: clear. Today is a good day—I was adopted. I’m a little sad to leave my friends at the orphanage, but Aunt Liu from the orphanage said the uncle adopting me is a very good man. This pretty notebook is a gift from him. From now on, I must listen to Uncle. Uncle will be my dad now. Hao Hao has a family now. Hao Hao, keep it up!”

To my surprise, this was a diary entry from fifteen years ago, written by a child named Hao Hao from the orphanage. I wondered who this Hao Hao was, and how the diary ended up in this little cabinet under the bed.

Jin Ze turned to the next page, and I read on: “September 9, 2000. Weather: overcast. Today is Hao Hao’s first day at Uncle’s house. Uncle lives alone. He doesn’t seem to like me very much. I’m not sure why, but suddenly I feel scared. There’s something strange about Uncle.”

My curiosity was piqued. Jin Ze quickly flipped to the third page—a diary entry from a month later: “October 9, 2000. Weather: overcast. Hao Hao is a boy, but Uncle insists I’m a girl. I don’t dare talk back—if I do, Uncle hits me. Today Uncle took me to change my name. I’m not called Su Hao anymore. From now on, my name is Fang Lin. I don’t like this name, but I have to accept it, or Uncle will hit me.”

When I finished reading, I was utterly stunned. Damn—it was Fang Lin’s diary! She was an orphan, and she was actually a boy, originally named Su Hao!

Jin Ze was obviously shocked as well and kept turning the pages, while I continued reading with rapt attention.

As the entries went on, Fang Lin wrote less and less, and nearly every entry was filled with sorrow. It seemed that this seven- or eight-year-old child had lived under a constant shadow, without any real childhood.

One particular entry chilled me to the core: “July 15, 2001. Today is Linlin’s eighth birthday. Dad said he had a present for me. I was so excited. But then he used scissors to cut off my private parts. He said my birthday present was to make me a real girl.”