"You went to talk to everyone else first and left me for last—do you think I'm the most suspicious? I don't usually talk to Susan Wright, and it looks like we have a big conflict. So you think I wanted to poison her, right?"

　　Selena Adams took several deep drags of her cigarette, then flicked it into the rain, and asked aggressively.

　　"It's not like that." Fiona Bennett tried to defend herself, but her voice was weak, because she did, in fact, think Selena Adams was the most suspicious, which was why she subconsciously left her for last. In this pavilion of the dead, with the rain pouring down, she was cornered by Selena Adams's questioning.

　　She had made up her mind to help her best friend, even if Susan Wright herself had backed down in front of the police. She thought she was doing something remarkable, becoming a strong and responsible woman. So she mustered all her courage to talk to everyone, trying to figure out who was most likely to be the one.

　　But I'm really not cut out for this, Fiona Bennett thought. Because she actually started to feel guilty under Selena Adams's interrogation.

　　"It was me." Selena Adams's voice suddenly dropped, and she stepped forward.

　　Fiona Bennett stepped back, retreating all the way to the edge of the pavilion.

　　Selena Adams let out a cackling laugh, the sound swirling around the pavilion of the dead, eerie and manic.

　　"I might as well just tell you—the one who poisoned her was me. Do you know what will happen to Susan Wright in the end? Her hair will fall out strand by strand, until her scalp is completely bald; her face will swell up day by day, then fester, rotting in patches, with maggots crawling through the decaying flesh; in the end, her eyeballs will loosen, and one morning she'll wake up screaming, 'Why can't I see, why can't I see,' because her eyeballs have already fallen onto the bedding. Do you know how I poisoned her? Every night, I wait until she's asleep, then get up and spray poison gas into her mosquito net. You sleep below her, so it's inevitable you'll get a bit of it too. Haven't you felt your face itching, or like ants crawling on your body? I'm telling you, your turn is coming soon."

　　Fiona Bennett knew full well that Selena Adams was just trying to scare her, but she still felt numb all over. She really did start to feel her face itch.

　　Suddenly, she heard a rustling behind her. She whipped around, her neck cracking audibly. There was a dark figure moving in the rain-soaked woods, and Fiona Bennett screamed in fright, but Selena Adams just said, "You're really slow."

　　It was Frank Bishop who arrived. He closed his umbrella and entered the pavilion, recognized Fiona Bennett, and said, "Sorry, did I scare you?"

　　"Like you could scare me any more than I already am," Selena Adams said with disdain.

　　"Ahem, what are you two doing here?" Frank Bishop looked a bit surprised and awkward; he had thought this would be a private meeting with Selena Adams.

　　"We're having a heart-to-heart," Selena Adams said. "I was just describing to Fiona Bennett how I poisoned Susan Wright."

　　"What kind of joke is that? How can you say things like that so carelessly!" Frank Bishop was startled, his tone turning urgent and stern.

　　Selena Adams snorted, "So what if I say it? She can call the police for no reason, but I can't talk? She's treating me as a suspect, deliberately leaving me for last."

　　"It's not like that, don't misunderstand."

　　"Oh, I misunderstood? Well, you only left me for last among the girls. Are you going to go talk to the boys one by one too? That's why I called one over for you—two at once, more efficient. Later, when you talk to him alone, hey, I won't be at ease." As Selena Adams spoke, she shot a glance at Frank Bishop.

　　Selena Adams's words were sharp and barbed. After taking this barrage, Fiona Bennett suddenly found some backbone and said, "You've all been classmates with Susan for years, watching her get weaker and weaker, and none of you care? Saying someone poisoned her isn't baseless."

　　"If there's evidence, why didn't she go to the police herself? If there's evidence, why did the police ignore you and leave that day?"

　　Fiona Bennett swallowed her anger. She had wanted to bring up the mineral water and the torn photos, but Selena Adams's words shut her down again. That's right—if even the police don't care about the evidence, saying more would just make her a laughingstock. She clenched her fists. After tonight, things would be different. When it gets to nine o'clock... Yes, it was almost nine o'clock.

　　Selena Adams had silenced her, but Fiona Bennett wouldn't give up. "Go on, why aren't you talking? You want to ask me what I think of Susan Wright? My impression is terrible. You want to know why? I just can't stand her, so what? And let me tell you, there are plenty of people in this class who can't stand her. You think Crystal Nelson likes her? You think Lily Carter likes her? No matter what they say to you, I'll be honest—nobody likes her. So does that mean everyone has a motive to poison her? Please."

　　"Lingling, that's enough, stop it. We're all classmates."

　　"Why can't I say it? Why can't I? She can treat me as a suspect, but I can't say a word? And don't just look at me—maybe she suspects you too. She suspects everyone and wants to interrogate us one by one. Whose side are you on? I called you here, and now you're helping her? You want to be interrogated by her? You want to be a suspect?"

　　Frank Bishop spread his hands and sighed. Fiona Bennett stayed silent; she had never been able to stand up to such fierce arguments. Selena Adams's emotions only grew more intense, almost hysterical, completely disregarding any sense of camaraderie.

　　"Fiona Bennett, what are you thinking? I really don't know how you got into this class. You should see a doctor—maybe you have hydrocephalus, brain atrophy, a minor stroke, or a sagittal sulcus transection. If you're sick, get treated early and don't drag others down. Who would bother poisoning Susan Wright? If you're having a fit, go play in the corner by yourself and stop spreading rumors here."

　　Fiona Bennett endured the tirade, her face burning, heart pounding, blood roaring as if boiling. She took a deep breath and said, "I'm leaving." These three words were drowned out by the shouting and probably went unheard. After speaking, Fiona Bennett turned and strode out of the pavilion of the dead.

　　I'm not running away, she thought, it's just almost nine o'clock.

　　Frank Bishop called after her from the pavilion, Selena Adams kept going, but Fiona Bennett just kept walking out of the woods, pine needles constantly falling onto her hair. She remembered her umbrella was left in the pavilion, but she had no desire to go back for it. She could vaguely hear Frank Bishop and Selena Adams starting to argue. With a restless heart, Fiona Bennett ran through the rain toward the anatomy building.

　　So cold, she thought, so cold. Everyone thinks the idea of poisoning is too absurd, and no one wants to be suspected, but Susan Wright's health is getting worse every day—it's right there in front of them, so why hasn't anyone truly worried about her?

　　She had gained almost nothing from these past few days of conversations. The roommates just wanted to avoid her. When she asked if anyone had conflicts with Susan Wright, the answer was always no, not even Selena Adams, her obvious adversary, was ever mentioned.

　　In fact, none of them cared. They only cared about themselves. How could they ever become good doctors like this?

　　Fiona Bennett rushed into the anatomy building.

　　The lights in the anatomy building's hallway stayed on all night; it was the only building in the whole school like that. People said it was to ward off the building's yin energy.

　　In reality, no one usually entered the anatomy building at night. After all, on the dissection tables behind each door lay corpses with exposed bones and spilling intestines.

　　The hallway was only two meters wide, a white expanse stretching out before her, yet it felt empty and vast. Fiona Bennett glanced at the door numbers—101. She was headed for 117.

　　The smell of formalin lingered year-round, as if the fumes had seeped into the plaster walls, soaked into the thin elm doors and red paint of the classrooms, even the sickly green steel windows weren't spared. Sometimes it felt like the whole building was a corpse soaked in formalin.

　　Why were the steel windows a sickly green? Fiona Bennett shivered and looked closely—the windows beside her were clearly black, just coated with a layer of fluorescent light.

　　She walked on, wondering who would be waiting for her in 117.

　　So it wasn't fair to say these days of conversations had yielded nothing. Earlier that evening, her pager had received a message: "Meet at anatomy building room 117 at 9 p.m. tonight. It's about Susan Wright." The sender: Mr. Franklin.

　　None of her classmates had the surname Fang, and Fiona Bennett couldn't recall knowing anyone with that surname. But that didn't matter—it was obviously a fake name. Even the gender could be fake; the paging operator didn't care if the caller was male or female. Whatever name you told her, she'd type it into your pager exactly as given.

　　Could it be that person?

　　A trail of wet, muddy footprints stretched down the corridor. Walking alone, Fiona Bennett kept wanting to look back over her shoulder. With every step, she felt more alone and helpless, more aware of her own weakness. She hadn't discussed this with Susan Wright, because Susan Wright had taken the afternoon off to see a famous old Chinese doctor in Songjiang and hadn't returned yet.

　　If only she had a pager, Fiona Bennett thought.

　　She had just passed room 109; it looked like 117 was at the far end of the hallway.

　　The smell of formalin was getting stronger.

　　Except for the hallway, all the classroom lights were off, and the doors were closed. Each door had a glass window to look inside, and Fiona Bennett always felt like someone was watching her from behind every door, but she didn't dare look back—she just kept walking, her steps growing quicker.

　　What if it was that person? Would they kill her? Even though she knew the idea was ridiculous, Fiona Bennett couldn't help but think it.

　　More likely, it was someone who knew something, a whistleblower, which was why they chose this time and place.

　　The end of the corridor.

　　116. Fiona Bennett checked again—yes, it was 116.

　　Why wasn't it 117? Was it written wrong?