6 Videos

Next video, filmed in a corridor.

A man leaned half against the window, his medium-length hair tousled by the wind. He squinted, slightly retreating behind the glass, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He didn’t light one but held it in his hand.

Fang Qingzhao said, “You can smoke.”

“Forget it,” the man said, shaking the pack nervously. He smiled softly, saying, “I never thought anyone would still ask me this question nowadays.”

The microphone was likely clipped to Fang Qingzhao’s collar, making her voice clearer than in previous recordings.

“I was a bit curious, so I came to bother you, sorry.”

The man didn’t know where to start, his tongue pressing against his molars in thought. Finding no clear beginning, he randomly chose a point to enter the story:

“Liang Ming didn’t like studying. He was restless, couldn’t sit still for ten minutes. His father was a top university professor who couldn’t understand why his son couldn’t even pass, and he was extremely strict, never showing a kind face.

“A middle schooler is rebellious by nature. To defy his father, Liang Ming often skipped classes. To parents and teachers, grades often equate to character, so they saw Liang Ming as a troublemaker.”

“The student who jumped — I don’t even remember his name now, just that his surname was Yang, nicknamed ‘Lamb Chop’ because he was very skinny and always had a sour, unpleasant smell.

“At the time, everyone sensed he was being bullied. His roommates would say, ‘We’re just joking,’ yet they threw his clothes and shoes out of the dorm, beat him down in the classroom, made him run errands and do homework, even stripped him in front of girls — all sorts of nonsense. He never told anyone; others warned him multiple times but couldn’t help. Later, the roommates escalated to stealing his money.”

The man couldn’t help but pull out a cigarette, putting some distance between himself and Fang Qingzhao. He bit the cigarette and lit it.

He leaned out the window, took a deep breath of the vast wind, then exhaled slowly.

“Liang Ming was perfect in every way except for his dislike of studying. He was reckless, immature, sincere — qualities adults often see as flaws. He knew that student had a strong pride, so he never humiliated him. During breaks, he often took him along to the convenience store. Liang Ming was well-liked and came from a decent family; classmates gave him face and behaved better around him in class. But Liang Ming couldn’t watch over him forever, and with the pressure of the third year of middle school, he lost hope… Who could have predicted a classmate would jump? People start looking for reasons after death; only ghosts know.”

White smoke curled from the man’s mouth as he chuckled bitterly, his shoulders shaking.

“The school reviewed the surveillance footage, saw that Liang Ming and that student were close, and called him in for questioning. Lamb Chop’s parents came rushing over; seeing Liang Ming in the office, they immediately lunged at him and started hitting him without a word. The teachers, worried something worse would happen, quickly called Uncle Liang over. The roommates realized they were in trouble, fearing Liang Ming might testify against them. They coordinated their stories and decided to strike first—jumping together to accuse Liang Ming. Hmm… let me think.”

As he spoke, ash fell from the burnt cigarette onto the back of his hand resting on the windowsill, making him jerk.

He casually brushed it off on his clothes, holding the cigarette, and walked toward the trash can. Halfway there, his trembling hand shook off the remaining ash. The ashes drifted down in flakes.

“They said Liang Ming spent all his money at internet cafes, then made Lamb Chop buy him meals. When he didn’t want to do homework, he had Lamb Chop copy it for him. All these vivid accusations — Liang Ming hadn’t denied them yet, and Uncle Liang believed it, thinking his son was capable of such things.”

“The scene was chaotic — shouting, cursing, crying, pleading — the floor felt like it might collapse,” the man said, leaning against the white wall behind him, his voice rough and hoarse. “Have you ever seen your teacher angry?”

Fang Qingzhao shook her head. The Liang teacher she knew was always kind and gentle.

“It was terrifying. A man nearly six feet tall, red-faced and furious, shouting with a voice fierce enough to be called demonic. I was outside the door and even I was intimidated by his presence. I suspected he wanted to slap me away.”

“What kind of person was Liang Ming? Words flew, tempers flared. He blurted out, ‘So what if I did it? If you’ve got guts, hit me to death,’ or something like that. His father took it as a confession and immediately offered two million in compensation. Ha, two million. Once that was said, everything was over.”

Fang Qingzhao asked, “Didn’t Liang Ming deny it?”

The man smiled meaningfully at her. “Do you know what two million means to a farming family? It means his parents can ignore who actually drove their son to death.”

His throat dry, he shook his head tiredly. “I suspect at that moment, Lamb Chop’s mother might have guessed the real culprit wasn’t Liang Ming. She clung to Liang Ming, crying bitterly, hair disheveled, burying her face in his chest. She lamented she still had a younger son to raise, her husband was old, and wondered what they would do with the rest of their lives. Then she knelt down. You can see it as a mother’s most humble plea.”

He stood outside, watching Liang Ming’s tightly clenched fists, the blue veins on his neck and the backs of his hands like green tendrils, strangling the flesh of his body.

That twisted expression of despair — both tragic and absurd — still haunted him deeply.

“It was a moment’s lapse. He confessed.”

Even though at the time Liang Ming was so furious he nearly bit his teeth through.

The man’s Adam’s apple moved as he spoke hoarsely and unpleasantly, “It was too noisy.”

He didn’t know if it was the overwhelming cries and shouts at the scene, the unspoken grievances of close friends, or his own confused silence.

All these fragments pushed each other, stirring a long, unending storm that raged through every quiet night in the more than two decades since.

Fang Qingzhao asked, “Did Liang Ming have a good relationship with his sister?”

The man, cigarette between his lips, froze as if petrified, sinking into another sorrowful memory. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes. At that time, his sister was still in elementary school. She seemed obedient, had a blind admiration for Liang Ming, thinking he was good at everything except studying. She followed him around noisily like glue that couldn’t be shaken off. Whenever she got some pocket money, she flaunted it in his face.”

Fang Qingzhao murmured, “I see…”

“I never thought Liang Ming would kill someone. I thought, with his personality, he could start over…” The man pressed his fingers against his forehead. “I heard his sister died.”

“Yes.”

“Is his father still working on that memory-erasing research?”

“Yes.”

After his son went to prison, the “Abnormality Assessment” project almost became his obsession. He traveled around trying to save others in similar situations. Even if he couldn’t bring them back from the wrong path, at least he could block the road to hell.

He depended on this fabricated hope to survive the rest of his life, even though the dream of the future was far from beautiful.

The man’s anger showed through as he said, “It’s ridiculous. What does he think he’s making up for?”

The cigarette was finished.

The man stubbed it out, pushing all his emotions back into the busy routine. “I have to get back to work now.”

“All right, thank you.”

·

Fang Qingzhao rewound the last few seconds, listened twice more, and muttered, “The voice sounds a bit strange.”

Ji He asked, “Really?”

Fang Qingzhao spoke to herself, “It’s not quite like mine.”

Clearer, crisper, with a bit more piercing quality.

Though everyone hears their own voice quite differently from recordings, Fang Qingzhao still felt something was off.

She clicked to play the next video.

Another interview.

The background was a neat row of workstations.

“Oh… Liang Ming,” the man looked up from his computer screen, pushing up his glasses. “Really unlucky, got tangled up with a lunatic.”

Fang Qingzhao sat at the workstation opposite him. “What do you mean?”

“He’s just scum. The offer Liang Ming got was one he didn’t get. The girl he liked said she liked Liang Ming, so he thought Liang Ming stole her from him. What nonsense. Don’t they see the difference between themselves and Liang Ming? Liang Ming’s got many friends. That guy was mostly quiet, lurking behind like a ghost. Then he somehow heard that Liang Ming had driven someone to death in middle school and started spreading rumors like he had a death grip on Liang Ming’s life. Liang Ming ignored it, and that guy accused Liang Ming of plagiarism. Pure madness.”

The man turned on the tap, took two big gulps of water, scrolling through some documents while telling her:

“We had the same advisor. The advisor knew his father and looked after him closely, guiding him through his papers. I watched him revise drafts again and again — plagiarism was a complete fabrication.”

A colleague sitting nearby kicked his chair and smoothly appeared in the frame, leaning on the desk to listen.

The young man still found the old events baffling. He paused his work to discuss with them:

“What I don’t get is his father. He came to the school but didn’t look for his son first. He went straight to that scum and apologized, messing up a simple matter. But I really admire Liang Ming. If it were me, there’d be a family war. He accepted it with calm like still water.”

The colleague, more supportive than Fang Qingzhao, let out an impressed “Wow.”

“But his relationship with his father was always bad. When he went to college, he said he wouldn’t use family money and would work part-time. His hands were always rough, either frostbitten or with eczema. If he hadn’t gone to jail, with his willpower, what couldn’t he have done?”

The young man grew indignant, slapping the desk and spitting curses.

“That bastard was truly despicable. I thought he was just petty, but he actually threw a little girl into the wild in the middle of the night. She died, and he kept saying it wasn’t on purpose. Is that something a human would do?”

The colleague cursed in shock, “Damn! What a beast!”

“Liang Ming’s sister even ran over to argue with their father. You could tell they really cared for each other. She was caught up in the disaster because of Liang Ming. How could he not take responsibility?”

The young man grew emotional, taking off his glasses and wiping them with his shirt, sighing deeply.

“Honestly, when I saw his eyes that day, I knew it wouldn’t end well. My classmates and I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t say a word. His father was still blaming and yelling at him. What right did his father have to do that? After more than a week with no news from the police, he took matters into his own hands. That night, he called us, gave us his bank card password, and asked us to donate his stuff from the dorm. He turned himself in at the police station the next morning. Our school even gathered signatures to plead for him.”

The colleague sighed, feeling a mix of emotions and regret.

“Not worth it. Absolutely not worth it. No matter what, you don’t kill someone and ruin your whole life.”

The young man lamented, “It’s too late for regrets now. We can’t truly understand.”

He turned to Fang Qingzhao. “By the way, are you coming to work at our company? I can recommend you. We split fifty-fifty.”

Fang Qingzhao replied, “…No, thanks.”

·

The video ended and automatically played the next.

This time, a surveillance video. The setting looked like Liang teacher’s study.

“You’re here,” the teacher put down his papers, smiling kindly. “It’s been a while. Busy with work lately?”

Compared to the first video, the old man looked entirely changed. Thin to just a skeleton, hair grayed at the temples, sparse white strands.

If not for Fang Qingzhao’s barely changed appearance in the frame, it would be hard to believe time had been so merciless on him.

After inviting her to sit, he handed her a file.

“You might have seen this child in the news. She was called Sun Qingqing as an alias, but her real name is Shen Zhiyang.”

Fang Qingzhao didn’t take it, only gazing at him with clear eyes.

The teacher’s hand trembled stubbornly in midair, gradually losing strength and shaking violently.

Fang Qingzhao, moved, took the file anyway.

“I know what you want to say. I know it all,” the old man’s cloudy eyes reflected bitter desolation. He pretended to tidy his desk. “This child is different.”