Chapter 36: Projection

As I watched Liu Qinglong’s severed head stuck in my window, every single hair on my body stood on end. My first instinct was to run, but I forced myself to stay put. Since it was already here, if it meant me harm, I wouldn’t be able to escape anyway. Given that, I might as well figure out what was going on.

Summoning my courage, I leaned in and looked closely at Liu Qinglong’s head. It was clear his head hadn’t been sliced off by a sharp blade, but rather by something blunt; his neck was a mangled mess of flesh, as if the head had been smashed or hacked off with a hatchet. There was also a faint sheen of moisture on his face, so subtle you’d miss it without looking closely—almost as if someone had just washed his face. I guessed the head had been submerged in water, then wiped dry after being taken from wherever it was stored. Of course, it could also have been taken from a freezer, the moisture being thawed frost.

This puzzled me. That afternoon, Liu Qinglong had been locked up safe and sound at the police station. Even if he’d been killed, why refrigerate the body? The weather wasn’t hot enough for rapid decomposition.

As I was mulling this over, I suddenly noticed his lips were slightly parted, almost as if he wanted to speak, or as if someone had pried his mouth open. Driven by curiosity, I shone my phone’s flashlight into his mouth and saw that his jaws were clenched tightly around what seemed to be a slip of paper.

The sight of that barely visible note threw me into turmoil. I desperately wanted to pull it out and see what was written, but I was too afraid.

Then I remembered Jin Ze’s text message—he’d said he left a police officer in 303. Maybe I could go downstairs and get the officer to help me. Although I didn’t trust most officers except Fang Qinghe and Jin Ze, I figured anyone they left behind must be reliable. So I dashed down the stairs.

When I reached the door of 303, however, the sight before me paralyzed me with terror. I didn’t even have the courage to knock—my scalp tingled and my legs trembled uncontrollably.

There, on the door, was a corpse—a headless corpse, fully spread out and stuck to the door with some unknown adhesive or material. Its arms were stretched out horizontally, plastered to the wall, but only one hand remained; the other had been severed. Immediately, I thought of the severed hand in my own apartment, the one that had caressed my face—this must be the body it belonged to.

It was a woman’s body, curvaceous and voluptuous, her full, round chest still alluring even in death. Yet this seductive, headless corpse had been doused in fresh blood, which splattered down the door and dripped onto the floor in a gruesome, shocking display.

I nearly vomited. Then I spun around and bolted back upstairs, slamming my door behind me and collapsing against it, gasping for breath.

Gradually, I calmed down and tried calling Jin Ze again, but his phone was still off. I had no choice but to give up, telling myself he’d contact me as soon as he returned.

Suddenly, a thought struck me: Jin Ze had said the officer left in 303 was Miao Miao, the police forensic doctor I’d grown fond of these past days. Could the headless woman at the door be her? Miao Miao was almost always at crime scenes, so the possibility was real.

This realization made me anxious. Maybe it was just personal interest, or maybe it was because I’d only interacted with Miao Miao among all the female forensic specialists, but I didn’t want anything to happen to her.

Oddly, my fear began to subside. With Jin Ze and the others gone, I felt I had to do something myself. So I returned to the window and, steeling myself, pried Liu Qinglong’s head from the frame.

I pressed his jaws, trying to force his mouth open to retrieve the note. He’d clenched it tightly, but I eventually managed to pull it free.

Unfolding the note, I stared in shock at what it said: Take me to 29 Libao Village, South Suburb.

Take who to 29 Libao Village? Presumably, Liu Qinglong’s head. But who wanted me to bring the faceless man’s head there?

The only one I could think of was Liu Qinglong himself—he’d mentioned earlier that he’d come to find me tonight. But I never expected only his head to arrive... And how could a severed head write a note? He must have bitten down on the note before he died, anticipating his own decapitation.

As I pondered this, my phone buzzed. My heart leapt—I thought it was Jin Ze, but when I glanced at the screen, dread overwhelmed me. Once again, the killer was texting me from Zhang Wentong’s phone.

He wrote: Chen Mu, do as the note says. Don’t ignore my instructions again.

The text filled me with terror. So the note had actually been left by that twisted voyeur! Did that mean he’d killed Liu Qinglong as well?

I was so afraid of this killer that even the most ordinary text from him made me tremble. His next message arrived quickly: Chen Mu, hurry up. Don’t make me kill more people because of your disobedience. Think of Jin Ze and the others—if you don’t do as I say, you might be responsible for all their deaths. Exciting, isn’t it?

Reading this, I was utterly terrified. Although I didn’t believe elite detectives like Fang Qinghe and Jin Ze would fall into the hands of a madman, they were unreachable, and I dared not take chances. Besides, the killer clearly had the means to murder more people.

So I fetched a roll of plastic wrap from the fridge and meticulously wrapped Liu Qinglong’s head. Only after I’d finished did it strike me as odd—why was I instinctively preserving his head as if it were food? I should have just tossed it in a bag and gone.

This subconscious behavior felt strange, maybe even frightened, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I didn’t want to anger that maniac. I shoved the plastic-wrapped head into a backpack and hurried out the door.

On my way down to the third floor, I glanced at the headless female corpse again. Her hips were indeed full and round, which only increased my anxiety—could this really be Miao Miao?

I rushed outside and flagged down a taxi, asking the driver to take me to 29 Libao Village. He knew the place, and half an hour later, we arrived.

The address was an old two-story villa, similar to the one Liu Yang used to render corpse oil in Chen Mengying’s case. That house’s basement was filled with human remains and fat, so these suburban villas inspired a primal fear in me.

Still, I forced myself to approach the front door, determined to complete the voyeur’s task. I pushed on the door—it swung open.

I stepped inside, not bothering with the lights. By the faint glow from outside, I saw a table, hurried over, pulled Liu Qinglong’s head from my backpack, and set it down.

Mission accomplished, I turned to leave. I had no intention of staying a moment longer in this sinister place.

Just then, a beam of light shot out from the back of the house, and a massive screen appeared before me. Only then did I notice a large projector screen mounted on the far wall, now illuminated by a projector.

I instinctively looked at the screen, where a video began to play. On it was a man of about forty, exuding a sharp, competent aura. I felt certain I’d seen him before, but couldn’t place him—a sense of déjà vu.

The man sat at a table with a mirror, a tray of scalpels beside it, and several bottles and jars of chemicals—clearly preparing for surgery.

Suddenly, he seized a scalpel and stabbed it into his own cheek.

Blood spattered instantly, and I remembered what Liu Qinglong had said to me in the interrogation room: he had cut off his own face in front of a mirror.

So, the man on the screen must have been Liu Qinglong before he lost his face!

But something felt wrong—Liu Qinglong had already been faceless ten years ago, according to Fang Lin’s diary. Was this video filmed a decade ago?

As I pondered this, a faint plastic-crunching sound reached my ears—like someone gnawing on a plastic bag.

A chill shot down my spine, leaving me frozen with terror.

Dear god, was Liu Qinglong’s severed head chewing through the plastic wrap I’d used to bind it?