Regarding hatred, Harold Rogers analyzed that after William Williams's incident, it’s quite possible that someone really does hate Susan Wright. For example, William Williams's two closest friends, Marcus Hamilton and Christopher Brooks. The three of them formed a small basketball team, often going out to play three-on-three games, always walking with their arms around each other’s shoulders, inseparable like glue and paper. Now that one of their brothers has fallen—he didn’t die, but his life is basically ruined—it’s perfectly normal for the other two to harbor deep resentment. Gabriel Adams asked, what about among the female classmates, is there anyone who hates Susan Wright? Harold Rogers said maybe. William Williams was a handsome guy, and although he openly pursued Susan Wright, it’s possible someone secretly liked him too. After saying all this, Harold Rogers emphasized once again that he didn’t think anyone would actually harm Susan Wright; all the students in the class were good kids, and now they’re good doctors—they wouldn’t do such a thing.

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Fiona Bennett asked Gabriel Adams. “I feel like he’s not being particularly cooperative. What he said is mostly just speculation—anyone could guess as much. Do you think he’s hiding something?”

“That’s not necessarily the case. It’s normal for him not to cooperate. He’s currently vying for a leadership position in your student affairs office, so of course he doesn’t want to get entangled in this mess right now. Besides, he’s not close to the students. If a student has something on their mind, they wouldn’t confide in a teacher like him.”

“Mm, anyway, I’m sure you’ll get to the truth. There are more and more clues now.”

Gabriel Adams smiled. He was quite pleased with Fiona Bennett’s reaction. It wasn’t because of progress in the case—truth be told, they were still far from the truth, and there hadn’t been any decisive breakthroughs—but he was investigating this case not to find the real culprit, but to help Fiona Bennett let go of her burdens and live a normal life.

Dongchangzhi Road runs to its end and connects with Changyang Road. As a child, it seemed like a long, endless road, but now, without realizing it, they had walked the whole way. At the Haimen Road intersection, Gabriel Adams suggested turning left, and only then did Fiona Bennett realize that was the way to the Xianghai Temple. Remembering the lie she had just told, she suddenly felt uncomfortable all over.

“Are we really going to pay our respects?” Gabriel Adams asked.

Fiona Bennett’s ears grew a little hot. She thought, you must know I was just saying that casually, so why bring it up again now—are you deliberately trying to embarrass me?

She forced herself to nod. The two of them crossed the street and walked a short distance, and soon the temple wall of Xianghai Temple came into view.

“Actually, your father’s health isn’t very good. Why don’t you pray for him too?” Gabriel Adams suddenly said.

Fiona Bennett fell silent.

“I don’t know if your mother told you, but your father has hyperthyroidism. He’s gotten very thin.”

Of course Fiona Bennett knew. Hyperthyroidism isn’t a terminal illness. Her father used to be full of endless energy, but now, maybe he’d finally settle down a bit. That would be good for her mother too, she thought.

Gabriel Adams kept talking, and Fiona Bennett couldn’t help but interrupt, saying, enough, you know I don’t want to hear about him. Gabriel Adams said, but he’s still your father. Are you really planning to go on like this for the rest of your life? Then he said something that completely set Fiona Bennett off: Actually, you’re not happy.

I know whether I’m happy or not. I’ve been doing just fine these past few years since I left. Did my dad ask you to say this? Did he pay you or something? Can you please stay out of my personal business? The issues between me and him aren’t something you can mediate. Do you think just because you’re helping me investigate, you’re qualified to lecture me? If that’s the case, then please stop investigating and stay away from me.

Fiona Bennett blurted all this out in a trembling, angry rush, like firecrackers going off. Gabriel Adams looked a bit hurt. Fiona Bennett didn’t know how to fix the situation, so she flagged down a taxi and jumped in.

Home, home, she told the driver. The driver started the car slowly and asked, “Miss, where do you live?” Fiona Bennett gave the address. Her mind was a complete mess. She wondered what was wrong with herself—how could she have lost her temper at Gabriel Adams? How many years had it been since she last got angry? The last time… was at Frederick Bennett. Shame welled up, mixing with the anger that hadn’t yet faded.

After three or four blocks, she received a text message from Gabriel Adams.

It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said those things. Don’t be mad, okay? Also, don’t forget to buy groceries for your husband.

Fiona Bennett clutched her phone and started to cry.

6

The man unlocked the classrooms along the corridor one by one.

“The whole floor?” Gabriel Adams asked.

“Yes, all of them. Hurry up, there’ll be students coming for extra classes at six thirty.”

“Over the years, have any been worn out and discarded?”

“Probably.” The man shrugged. He didn’t know what this guy was here for, and didn’t care. Someone had put in a word, and he’d pocketed a few red bills—what did it matter if the guy wanted to look at some desks?

The odd request actually made him less curious. The second mailbox should be in this row of classrooms, Gabriel Adams thought—surely his luck wasn’t that bad.

The first few “murder letters” had been left in tree hollows, but later the drop-off point changed to the underside of a certain desk. That desk, however, had long since left the medical school. Five years ago, the school had gotten rid of a batch of old desks, which were bought up cheap by a private school. Gabriel Adams had spent quite some effort tracking them down.

Gabriel Adams only looked at individual desks. Every desktop was covered in carvings—“Zhao Hongxia, I love you,” “Idiot Fang Qiang, go to hell.” There were also carvings of turtles, dogs, and girls with braided hair. Gabriel Adams spent half an hour walking through all the classrooms, then closed his eyes to recall, and finally returned to the third classroom, stopping at the desk in the second row, third seat. Unlike the random, crisscrossed carvings on the other desks, the marks on this one were quite orderly. The little symbols were densely arranged; at first glance, they looked like cheat codes for exams, but in fact, they were neither Chinese characters nor numbers—very strange. In the murder letters, the perpetrator A had once mentioned the mailbox desk’s feature: the desktop was covered in “cipher-like gibberish.” So this must be the one. As for the “limp leg” mentioned in the letter, he couldn’t see it—maybe it had been repaired.

Gabriel Adams began to analyze the symbols professionally. There were seven recurring marks: the first looked like a C, the second a vertical line, the third a sideways S, the fourth a horizontal line, the fifth like a sycee (ancient ingot), the sixth an upright S, and the seventh a circle. These seven symbols were arranged vertically, repeating in sequence. There were four such columns, each with twenty-five symbols. After each of these symbols, there were often a few other, more random symbols, but Gabriel Adams couldn’t discern any pattern for now. It was like a table, he thought—the seven symbols represented seven categories, and the more scattered symbols filled in the table’s content.

Gabriel Adams thought these seven symbols shouldn’t be too hard to decipher. In fact, he already had some ideas—if he just thought a bit harder… He shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. There was no need to focus on this for now, he thought. Judging from the murder letters, this desk wasn’t really connected to the poisoning case.

Still, it was all a bit odd. Coincidence? Gabriel Adams shook his head, pushing away these unsupported thoughts.

Gabriel Adams moved the desk into the corridor. The man leaned against the railing, smoking. Gabriel Adams counted out five one-hundred-yuan bills for him. The man grumbled a bit, looking reluctant, but took the money and told Gabriel Adams to hurry up and not let anyone see.

Gabriel Adams carried the desk to the stairwell and turned it over.

It seemed easier to carry it downstairs by the chair legs. Then, all his movements stopped.

Is this possible? he asked himself.

On the underside of the desk, a piece of yellowed letter paper was stuck, folded in half, held in place by transparent tape in a cross.

Gabriel Adams crouched down to examine the letter and the tape.

Could this really have been left here nine years ago? No one had discovered it in all that time, so it remained until now?

Is that possible? Had no one ever turned the desk over like this? Not very likely, but not impossible either. The key was—it was right here!

Gabriel Adams reached out and peeled off the letter paper along with the tape. When reading those dozen or so murder letters, Gabriel Adams had only regarded them as evidence. When he saw the first mailbox—the tree hollow—he hadn’t felt anything special. But now, holding this letter, it felt like a key. Suddenly, he felt he could smell the scent of the case.

Whenever he caught that scent, he would truly enter the case and begin to see the threads of that world.

He unfolded the letter.

The time remains the same, the place changes to blue.

Gabriel Adams checked that there was no other information on the letter, carefully folded it, and put it in his jacket pocket.

He glanced again at the marks left by the tape on the underside of the desk. The area covered by the tape was noticeably lighter than the rest—traces of time. It seemed the letter really had been preserved here for nine years.

Gabriel Adams stood up and carried the desk downstairs. Gather as many items related to the case as possible—this was something an old detective had taught him. You never know when you might need them. Even if you don’t, you can still catch the scent of the culprit from them.