Those Chinese medicines—I really have no way to deal with them. It’s not that I lack opportunities to act, but rather that the poison I’m using can’t be administered with these medicines. If they were already boiled into a decoction, then maybe, but I’ve watched her prepare the medicine several times and never had the chance. At least, that’s how it is for an inexperienced poisoner like me.

Should I switch to another kind of poison? The one I’ve chosen now is really inconvenient. I’m especially, especially curious about what kind of poison you use. From the way you talk about it, it seems very easy to administer. Writing this, I can’t suppress my strong desire to see you again. I haven’t mentioned it explicitly in previous letters, but I believe someone as perceptive as you must have sensed it. I think you’re an exceptionally outstanding person, in every way! Decisive, capable of action, and clearly far more knowledgeable than I am in your field. Saying this makes me sound a bit infatuated, but honestly, you’re exactly what I think a man should be. I’ve imagined you as any one of the five boys, but none of them seem quite right—maybe everyone has another side. The you I know now is the most dazzling.

I sincerely propose that we meet. After corresponding for so long, I believe we’ve built a foundation of trust and there’s no need for unnecessary worries. Let’s form a close alliance, so we can resolve Susan Wright’s matter as soon as possible.

May Susan Wright rest in peace soon.

A classmate

These past few days, I’ve checked the desk several times, but still haven’t received your reply. Am I being too impatient, or did my request to meet scare you? No, you definitely wouldn’t be scared—you’re not someone who has those kinds of emotions, right? If you don’t want to, if you want to keep your distance from me, or if my overly enthusiastic attitude annoys you, it’s all fine. Even if we just remain pen pals, it’s still quite wonderful. There’s a long road ahead—letting me observe and guess who you really are, bit by bit, is also a pleasure.

Let me tell you something interesting. These past two days, I’ve been looking for chances to check the desk, and suddenly noticed some “heavenly script” on the desktop, like a code. Maybe this desk, besides serving as our mailbox, has had other rich experiences in the past—maybe it even has its own secrets. I also feel that the marks on it aren’t that old. Have you noticed?

Alright, I admit, I’ve always felt uneasy about using this desk as a mailbox. So, actually, I still want to meet you. Please consider it seriously, okay? Have you guessed who I am? You’re so clever—maybe you’ve already figured it out.

May Susan Wright rest in peace soon.

A classmate

Over the next two weeks or so, they exchanged just these three letters. Once again, Susan Wright replied twice in a row. For some reason, the other person’s replies became much slower, while Susan Wright grew increasingly anxious.

She kept taking the medicine, but her health didn’t improve. Not even a little. The symptoms she’d told Dr. Quentin Hayes were “sort of there” became obvious. Sometimes Susan Wright wondered if she’d developed hypochondria. But every morning, seeing the hair on her pillow, she couldn’t keep lying to herself.

When she went to visit Fiona Bennett and saw her evasive gaze, Susan Wright understood everything. She couldn’t blame Fiona Bennett; it was her own fault. Their friendship ended there—from beginning to end, it lasted only a few months. There were moments when Susan Wright truly considered Fiona Bennett a friend, which was rare for her. Of course, she didn’t have much time to lament the loss of friendship.

On Monday, December 22, 1997, Susan Wright received the following reply.

Let’s meet, then. With two people working together, the pace of poisoning will be faster, and there will be more opportunities. Susan Wright suspects someone is poisoning her, but she’d never guess there are two people doing it. From now on, we’ll cover for each other—it’ll be much more convenient.

This Wednesday night at nine, outside the Dead Man’s Pavilion, fifty steps north. Be punctual—neither early nor late.

Another classmate

The moment of final decision had arrived. Clutching the letter, Susan Wright thought this.

9

Christmas Eve in Shanghai gets livelier every year, so the pine grove at this time was especially deep and secluded. There was almost no wind; it was a quiet, cold night. Yet the pines overhead still made faint sounds, as if whispering to each other. Susan Wright walked with her head half-lowered, step by step into the depths, careful and slow.

The moment of truth was near.

Susan Wright deliberately took a wide detour. She didn’t want to bump into him unexpectedly along the way. Taking these extra steps, she tried to steady herself and review what she needed to do next.

When he saw her, he might not immediately realize she was the one writing the letters. He might turn and leave, or pretend to pass by. Her first words had to pin him down—to let him know he had lost, completely and utterly, with no chance to escape or retaliate, and could only be at her mercy.

No matter how many times she’d been poisoned before, nearly driven to the brink, since he’d agreed to meet tonight, the meeting of two murderers would mark her victory—she’d win back everything she’d lost. As she passed through the dark woods, Susan Wright suddenly thought, that day with Fiona Bennett was also at nine o’clock.

Susan Wright hid behind a large tree, leaning against the trunk and taking deep breaths. She waited until three minutes past nine before stepping out from behind the tree. In front of her was the Dead Man’s Pavilion. Passing the pavilion, she walked fifty steps north—by her stride, just over thirty meters. She was near the edge of the woods now; ahead was the wall separating the campus from the outside. The trees were sparse, and the streetlights from outside shone in, along with the starlight and moonlight, making it much brighter here than in the depths of the woods.

But there was no one.

Susan Wright felt a jolt of alarm. The letter had told her to be on time—neither early nor late. She’d deliberately arrived a few minutes late, not wanting to be the first and risk scaring the other person off. Or maybe that person was hiding behind a tree, watching her? She looked around, paying attention to the shadows on the ground, but in the darkness everything was vague—she couldn’t make anything out unless she got closer.

No one darted out from behind the trees. But Susan Wright felt a vague unease. In any case, she didn’t want to stand exposed like this—she needed to find a tree to hide behind. At that moment, she heard a sound. Looking in that direction, she saw someone walking over from the Dead Man’s Pavilion. Susan Wright ducked behind the nearest tree, resisting the urge to peek out, listening as the footsteps drew closer and closer. She counted the joints of her fingers, then suddenly stepped out, facing the newcomer.

It was Frank Bishop.

He had always seemed an unlikely suspect, and now he was getting along famously with Fiona Bennett—how could it be him? But then, a sudden realization struck Susan Wright. No wonder he was the one who saved Fiona Bennett; it wasn’t for the reasons he’d told everyone. He was the one who paged her, he set the location, he orchestrated everything. He was there just to make sure Fiona Bennett didn’t die!

Frank Bishop was startled, stepping back half a pace when a figure suddenly appeared from behind the tree.

“Surprised, aren’t you? I’m the one you’ve been corresponding with. Don’t even think about doing anything stupid. If I dared to come here and meet you, I’m fully prepared. I won’t call the police, but from now on, your life belongs to me. I’ve staked my life on this game—unless you’d rather spend your life in prison for attempted murder. Everything you have—your money, your connections, your fate, your entire future—will be at my command. But don’t worry, I’m not like you. I won’t drive you to a dead end.”

Susan Wright rattled off this speech, and Frank Bishop’s expression was strange. It wasn’t fear, nor was there any sign of panic. He stared at Susan Wright as if she were some kind of monster.

“You must be mistaken,” he said.

“Don’t tell me you just happened to be here on Christmas Eve!”

At that moment, Susan Wright suddenly heard more footsteps—someone else was coming this way. Her heart tightened. Had she really picked the wrong person?

“It’s not a coincidence. Our class is having a gathering here tonight.”

“What gathering? How come I didn’t know our class was having a gathering here tonight?” Susan Wright demanded, her voice rising to near hysteria. She felt everything slipping out of control, like a wild horse breaking free. Just then, more people emerged from the dark woods—but they couldn’t be her correspondent, because it was two people—Crystal Nelson and Lily Carter. Then, Matthew Mitchell appeared in the distance. He didn’t notice Susan Wright, but went straight to the wall and set up a ladder. At some point, a ladder had also been set up outside the wall, and someone appeared at the top—not just one, but two people, one carrying the other on their back.

“You should go,” Frank Bishop said. “Tonight we’re having a special Christmas for William Williams. We didn’t tell you.”

So, the one being carried over the wall was the paralyzed William Williams? Tonight, everyone in the special training class, except for herself—maybe also except for Fiona Bennett—would be here, at the spot fifty steps north of the Dead Man’s Pavilion?

She’d been too impatient, sending several letters asking to meet, making him suspicious, and now he was testing her with this? Using an event that everyone except her—maybe plus Fiona Bennett—would know about, to test her? I’ve been tricked!