In the vast darkness of night, at last a ray of light appeared—no more running around like a headless fly. Although the content of this letter seemed cold and distant, arrogant in tone, and revealed not a shred of information, the very act of replying was an attitude in itself. Susan Wright had killed before; she knew that kind of loneliness and fear, all emotions had to be digested alone, with no one to share the burden. It was an immense, almost unbearable pressure. The longer the process of killing, the longer the torment. Susan Wright was certain she had been poisoned more than once; to murder without attracting attention, only a gradual method could be used. For the victim slowly approaching death, this was terrifying, but for the poisoner, it was also a huge test of psychological endurance. Nothing comes without a price—Susan Wright knew this all too well. When a co-conspirator appears, someone you can talk to from a safe distance, would you really refuse? If you would, then this reply would never have existed.

Because of this reply, all of a sudden, Susan Wright no longer felt so afraid. On the contrary, she began to look forward to it; for her, this had become a game, with her own life as the stake.

At this moment, both sides held their own cards. Susan Wright didn’t know the other person’s identity, didn’t know their method of poisoning, didn’t know what poison she had been given; while the other party didn’t know that the person corresponding with them was not another poisoner, but the victim herself. As this correspondence continued, the other party would inevitably reveal more and more information, and the situation would tilt increasingly in Susan Wright’s favor. What Susan Wright needed to do was to control everything she consumed, never let food out of her sight, and avoid being poisoned again. Susan Wright waited a whole day before putting her reply into the tree hollow. This way, she wouldn’t seem too eager. She had to make sure that every piece of information passed to the poisoner was flawless.

Thank you for replying to me. I’m very glad, truly.

I accept your criticism, but in fact, I already have the outline of a plan, though it still needs improvement. Until I’ve thought it through, I won’t act again. You must have used some nearly perfect method. I’ve looked up a lot of information based on the symptoms shown by Susan Wright, but I still can’t determine your method.

It makes me admire you a little.

I want to share some thoughts with you, I hope you don’t find me too long-winded. Some things can’t be said to anyone else.

Every time I see Susan Wright, I find her more and more unbearable. Many times I can hardly hide my emotions, and in those moments, I wonder if I’m being too extreme. But honestly, I can hardly imagine that there’s someone who hates her even more than I do. When talking about her with classmates, it’s clear that no one likes her, but I’ve never sensed any real, deep hatred. Sorry, I don’t mean to pry into your identity, I’m just curious about your reason for hating her. As for myself, I should say that when I first met her during military training, my impression was actually pretty good, but after that incident, I found her cruel and despicable. If someone like her became a doctor, it would be a disaster for patients. After that, every time I saw her act in that fake, pretentious way, it made me sick. By the end of last semester, when William Williams was singled out because of her, that was the first time I thought, “Someone like this shouldn’t exist in the world.” And then that thought grew stronger and stronger, circling in my mind, becoming my nightmare. Gradually, I even started to imagine a strong, rotten stench coming from her, a smell from the depths of her soul. I thought, since her soul is already rotten, it’s better to let her body follow her soul. So what about you, do you feel the same as I do?

May Susan Wright rest in peace soon.

A classmate

Susan Wright wrote this letter while shut away in her own bunk. When she wrote about her soul already being rotten, she couldn’t help but pause and think how hypocritical she was. If souls had colors, perhaps hers would be brown—the color of mud, the color of earth, the color of this turbid world.

4

This time, the reply came rather late. Susan Wright wasn’t too worried; there had been a weekend in between, and students from Shanghai always went home. No matter what, he wouldn’t reply during the two days of the weekend, whether or not he was from Shanghai. Sure enough, Susan Wright got the reply on Monday.

She picked it up while everyone else was at lunch in the cafeteria. Everything was on track, and Susan Wright wasn’t in a hurry to open the letter—Fiona Bennett was still saving her a seat in the cafeteria. By the time the two of them finished eating, the cafeteria was almost empty. On the way back to the dorm, passing by the Second Teaching Building, Susan Wright remembered the favor she’d asked over the weekend, and figured she should get some results today. She found an excuse to ask Fiona Bennett to take her lunchbox back first, and went up to the third floor of the Second Teaching Building herself.

The Second Teaching Building belonged to the School of Pharmacy, and the toxicology lab was on the third floor. As Susan Wright walked up the stairs, she felt footsteps behind her, not too fast or slow, and somewhat familiar. In fact, when leaving the cafeteria, she’d already felt as if someone was following her. Ever since she learned someone was poisoning her, this feeling had become frequent—undoubtedly a hypersensitivity caused by too much stress. Earlier, with Fiona Bennett by her side, she didn’t want to show it, so she resisted the urge to look back. But now, in this hallway, could it still be just her nerves? After reaching the third floor and walking a bit, Susan Wright finally couldn’t help but look back, and saw Matthew Mitchell coming out of the stairwell. In class, Matthew Mitchell wasn’t among those who disliked her the most; when they met, he would at least greet her. But Susan Wright didn’t want her classmates to know the purpose of her visit, so after a polite nod and smile, she said nothing more and walked straight to the toxicology lab door. Yet Matthew Mitchell was still following her. Susan Wright stopped, and Matthew Mitchell stopped too, so she had to ask, “You’re here for something?” Matthew Mitchell said, “Yeah, I’m an intern here.” Susan Wright’s heart skipped a beat. Matthew Mitchell walked past her into the lab, and Susan Wright stood there stunned for a moment, until she saw her Leonard Adams come out to greet her.

“These past couple of days have been really busy, but I’ve done part of it. Mercury, bismuth, manganese, uranium, vanadium—all done, nothing special. There’s still two-thirds left on your list, and some of the reagents are really hard to find.”

Leonard Adams was a third-year student in the School of Pharmacy and played the violin. The two had met during a music performance organized by the student union. Leonard Adams didn’t know about the rumors surrounding Susan Wright in the special training class, and had a pretty good impression of this pretty junior. So when Susan Wright brought a small bag of fingernails and hair, asking him to test them in the lab, he agreed right away. Of course, Susan Wright didn’t say they were hers—she pretended a good friend needed data for a thesis on whether the levels of various heavy metals in urban residents exceeded the norm. The list of metals to be tested was long, and each required a specific reagent, which was actually quite a hassle. Normally, help between seniors and juniors wouldn’t go this far, so Leonard Adams’s willingness clearly showed he had an interest in Susan Wright. With her life at stake, Susan Wright accepted this interest without complaint.

“When did Matthew Mitchell start interning here?”

“It’s been a while, why?”

“Did you ask him to help, to help with this test?”

Leonard Adams froze for a moment, then started to stammer. He had promised Susan Wright he’d do it himself, but with such a handy intern around, why not let him help? He hadn’t expected Susan Wright to care so much about this detail.

A sudden surge of emotion completely overwhelmed Susan Wright’s mind, and for the next two minutes she lost all control, complaining and even shouting—she couldn’t remember exactly what she said afterward, only that Leonard Adams’s face turned white, then green, and finally he threw out, “You’re being unreasonable, really ridiculous,” and left her to return to the lab.

Susan Wright’s face flushed red, she panted, staring at the tightly closed toxicology lab door for a long time, regret slowly rising within her. Although Matthew Mitchell couldn’t be ruled out as a suspect, he wasn’t among the most likely. Of course, he might spread word of her tests, and it could reach the poisoner’s ears, but at this point, her hysterical outburst was of no help at all. Not only would Leonard Adams refuse to help her with further tests, but Matthew Mitchell would surely spread this “anecdote” far and wide. Matthew Mitchell came from the countryside and was someone who sought a sense of presence among city classmates. But reason is one thing, emotion another—when it was time to explode, Susan Wright couldn’t help herself. She finally understood: she wasn’t as fearless as she thought. She was afraid of dying—terrified.

Was there any way to keep Matthew Mitchell from talking? As Susan Wright pressed her lips together and turned to head for the stairs, she saw Adrian Wright standing just a few steps away, watching her.

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

Adrian Wright looked at her as if she were a stranger.

For so many years, Susan Wright had never lost control like this in front of others. No, this was the second time—the first was the honey incident.

“It’s nothing, I just… wanted to see you.”

“You came from the cafeteria? Why didn’t you call me? Did something happen at home?”

“Nothing happened. Earlier, you were with your classmate.”

Adrian Wright’s gaze made Susan Wright feel uncomfortable all over, then he said:

“All right, I’m heading out for a job. Take care of yourself.” With that, he turned and disappeared at the stairwell.