A Literary Life Starting from the First Year of High School

Chapter 109 Astrology (Seeking first subscription)

Sunday, April 7th.

After the Qingming Festival, April in Shanghai finally brought a sense of spring. Lin Shubai sat at his desk with a new notebook in front of him. He picked up a pen and wrote a title on the first line: "The Astrological Murder Magic".

"Of all the cases I know, this is the most terrifying and bizarre. I think this almost impossible crime may be the first of its kind in the world. In 1936, a series of murders occurred in Shanghai, but none of the people involved in the case had the ability to kill the victims. So, this can be considered a case where the perpetrator could not be found (this may sound strange, but it is not an exaggeration at all)."

He changed the place name, from Japan to China, and the painter Umezawa Heikichi to Ume Heiji. He lived in an old villa in the French Concession of Shanghai. He had six daughters, each corresponding to one of the six zodiac signs: Aries, Taurus, Gemini, and...

Cancer, Leo, Virgo, he wrote in his journal: to use the body parts of these six daughters corresponding to their zodiac signs to piece together the perfect woman "Asode".

As Lin Shubai wrote this, he suddenly remembered the phone call from London yesterday. Alan Carter's voice was still echoing in his mind. The Englishman, speaking Chinese with a heavy accent, said, "You only need to focus on writing your work, and you can leave everything else to me." At the time, he only said, "I need to think about it," but in fact, he already knew the answer in his heart.

He shook his head, banishing Allen's voice from his mind. Now was not the time to think about that. He continued writing.

"This murder case is like a maze with no exit. For many years, countless people in the country have racked their brains trying to find the murderer."

But when I got involved in the case in the spring of 1979, I was still lost in a maze, completely clueless. In fact, the case had detailed records, and all the clues had been made public. Why couldn't anyone solve the mystery? Perhaps it was simply because the case was too inexplicable.

Lin Shubai wrote very quickly. This story had been living in his mind for half a month, ever since he encountered Su Wan's notebook cover in biology class. Those constellations, like a silent movie, played repeatedly in his mind.

He hadn't started writing, not because he didn't want to, but because he was waiting for the right time—after the matter of "Four Generations Under One Roof" was settled, and after he finished writing the text of "Hugo".

When he wrote about Mei Pingzhi's notes, he slowed down. This part is the soul of the whole story and the biggest mystery. The notes describe in detail how "Asod" is made.

Lin Shubai put down his pen, stretched his wrists, glanced at the clock on the wall—he had been writing for almost two hours—stood up, went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, returned to his desk, and instead of continuing to write, flipped to the front and read it through.

"The beauty she possesses is beyond the ability of my worn-out pen to describe. In addition to her illusory beauty, she also has a real spirit, strength, and a beautiful physique. Therefore, I can no longer suppress my strong desire to see her in reality. If I can see her with my own eyes, I feel that I can die without regrets."

"This woman is 'Asodes,' the philosopher Asander. I call her Assodes, and she is the ideal woman I have been pursuing on canvas for over thirty years—my dream."

Lin Shubai didn't know how Shimada Soji came up with this idea, but he knew that the reason this idea became a classic in the history of mystery was not because the trick was so complicated, but because it touched on something deeper—human beings' obsession with perfection, and how this obsession can turn people into monsters.

The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window. Lin Shubai closed his notebook, stood up, and finished writing the first few chapters. Although the story was in his mind, the progress was slow because he needed to adapt it for the local audience. After all, it was a mystery novel, and any small mistake could become a flaw in the story.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a group of people are having a headache over something else.

In an inconspicuous office building in Chaoyang District, Beijing, the office of the "Years of Mystery" magazine was lit up. It was Sunday, but the editor-in-chief, Lao Song, still came. Not because he was particularly dedicated, but because he had been having insomnia last night, tossing and turning over one thing—what's wrong with detective novels these days?

Old Song's full name is Song Zhiping. He is fifty-two years old, wears thick black-rimmed glasses, and most of his hair has turned white. He started working as an editor at the age of thirty and has been the editor-in-chief of "Years of Deduction" for four years since its inception.

He sat at his desk with a stack of rejected manuscripts in front of him. These were twenty-three submissions he had received in the past week, and he had rejected twenty-one of them.

The remaining two articles were about "locked room murders," a trope he had seen before in the 1990s: the murderer climbing into the ventilation duct. The other was about "alibi," where the murderer used a tape recorder to create a fake alibi—a trope he had seen more times than dumplings he had eaten.

He leaned back in his chair, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was thinking about a question: Why are detective novels these days becoming more and more similar? It's not that the themes are similar—the themes can be very diverse—it's that the ways of thinking are similar.

Every author is repeating what others have written, only changing the names, locations, and murder weapons. Locked rooms, alibis, twin tricks, and disguises are all the same old tricks. Occasionally, an author tries to innovate with the tricks, but what they write is either so far-fetched that it's impossible to realize, or so logically flawed that it's unreadable.

He had hoped for it. Three years ago, a newcomer wrote a story about a trick involving "time difference." The premise was ingenious. He was so excited after reading it that he paced around his office several times. However, the manuscript was revised six times, but the logical flaws could not be fixed, and it was eventually rejected. The newcomer never submitted any more manuscripts after that, probably because he gave up.

Old Song sometimes thinks of that person, and of the opening of that article—"No one would believe that the murderer entered the room three minutes after the victim died." What a great opening, but unfortunately, it didn't hold up.

He picked up the latest issue of "Years of Mystery" on the table and flipped through it. This issue mainly featured original domestic mystery stories. He selected four stories, all of which were of above-average quality, but far from being "amazing".

After serving as editor-in-chief for so many years, his biggest regret is that Chinese mystery fiction still lacks works that leave readers amazed and wanting to throw the book on the ground, shouting, "How come I didn't think of that?"

Founded in 2006, "Years of Mystery" is China's first professional mystery magazine and currently the mystery publication with the largest circulation in China.

Its readership is quite stable—mystery fans, suspense enthusiasts, and young people who enjoy intellectual challenges. The magazine is published monthly, with each issue containing about 120 pages, including six to eight original mystery novels, as well as translations of classic overseas works, mystery reviews, reader letters, and other columns.

Before Lao Song took over this magazine, it was almost a translation platform, with most of the articles being translations of classic Japanese, American, and European mystery novels. After he took over, he managed to increase the original content ratio from 20% to 60%. This was his proudest achievement, but also his deepest anxiety. The original content ratio was increased, but what about the quality?

He recalled a conversation he had with a colleague last month, who said, "Your readers of mystery magazines are the most loyal and also the most discerning. They are not afraid of being deceived, but only of being insulted." Deception refers to the unexpectedness of a trick, while insult refers to illogical statements.

Mystery novels are different from other genres—their readers are not there to be moved, but to be challenged. They want to guess the truth before the last page, and then find out they were wrong on the last page. This kind of "defeated" pleasure can only be given by mystery novels.