Anti-gang campaign: Female bureau chief

The air in the interrogation room felt as if it had been deprived of its warmth.

Jiang Ruolan put down her pen and looked at Ding Hai: "You were watching from the side?"

"I'll be watching from the side."

"Didn't you stop it?"

Ding Hai raised his head, his bloodshot eyes staring straight at Jiang Ruolan, his voice still calm:

"Director Jiang, you asked me why I didn't stop it. I'll tell you the truth—because I wanted her dead too. She knew too much."

Not only did she know Zhou Haipeng's recordings, she also knew about my role in transporting goods. She knew my license plate number, my transport routes, and the several hiding places I frequented.

If she really handed over the recording, Zhou Haipeng wouldn't be able to escape, and neither would I. So I didn't stop Zhou Haipeng.

Not only did I not stop him, but I also helped him move the body onto Zhu Minghai's handcart afterward, pushed it into the unfinished building, and staged a robbery and murder scene.

"Where's the lipstick mark?"

Ding Hai's lips twitched; it was the first time he had shown any emotional fluctuation since entering the interrogation room.

His eyes flickered for a moment, then lowered to stare at the handcuffs on the table.

That's me.

His voice lowered, "After Zhou Haipeng and Wei Xiaojun carried the body upstairs, they came down and asked me to keep watch downstairs."

But I... I went upstairs. I walked up to her, looked at her face, and suddenly... I felt she was too clean. She came clean and left clean, as if she owed nothing.

I took out the lipstick from my pocket—it was a gift from Zhou Haipeng that she hadn't wanted, and he'd thrown it in our dorm's trash can. I'd picked it up and kept it. I don't know why I kept it. I put it on my lips and then kissed her.

The interrogation room remained quiet for a long time.

The clock on the wall ticked away, each tick exceptionally clear.

Jiang Ruolan looked at the man in front of her. His expression remained calm, but his hands on the table were trembling slightly—not because of fear, but because some emotion that had been suppressed for too long was surging within him.

"What do you think that kiss represents?" Jiang Ruolan asked.

Ding Hai remained silent for so long that the air in the interrogation room seemed to freeze.

Then he said:

"It means I have the right. Zhou Haipeng abandoned her; she doesn't deserve to live. I kissed her to tell her that she's under my care until she dies."

Jiang Ruolan's pupils contracted slightly.

She had seen many killer confessions; some were cold-blooded and driven by self-interest, some were impulsive killings fueled by rage, and some were even random acts of violence without any reason.

But she had only seen a handful of people like Ding Hai who treated murder as a kind of "possession ritual".

The psychological distortion of such a person has exceeded the conventional model of criminal psychology—he is not making excuses for himself, but sincerely believing that his behavior has some kind of legitimacy.

He hated Fang Zhiqing's "cleanliness," her "arrogance," and her disdain for him and his brothers.

He took that kiss as a declaration of power—you ignored me while you were alive, but after you die I will make sure you always carry my mark.

"What about Su Nian?" Jiang Ruolan asked, her voice very low.

Ding Hai's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

This time he remained silent for even longer, so long that Jiang Ruolan thought he wasn't going to answer.

Then he suddenly spoke, his voice even hoarser and lower than before, as if something was stuck in his throat:

"Su Nian is different. Su Nian is the best girl I've ever met, better than anyone I know, so good that I don't deserve to talk to her."

So I made up an identity—I told her my name was Ahai, that I ran a small business, and that I had just come to Yi'an from another place to develop my career.

I wore my cleanest clothes to see her, and when I took her out to eat, I only went to the cheapest restaurants because I didn't have much money in my pocket.

She never looked down on me; she was always smiling, and when she smiled, I felt like I had some value. Those two months I spent with her were the most human months of my life.

"Then why kill her?"

Ding Hai clenched his fists tightly, the handcuffs slamming against the iron table with a dull thud.

His breathing became rapid, and something flickered in his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and suppressed it.

"Because she found out I was a liar."

He almost said it through gritted teeth: "She went through my phone and found that I was still contacting Zhou Haipeng and Wei Xiaojun with another number, and discovered drug transaction records hidden in my logistics tracking number."

She questioned me, saying she was going to the police station to ask me if I was actually trafficking drugs.

I told her I was doomed if she went, and she said, "Then go and turn yourself in. Turning yourself in will get you a lighter sentence. You can start a new life after you get out. I'll wait for you." She was still crying when she said the last sentence.

She wasn't crying for herself; she was crying for me. She said she would wait for me.

His voice broke completely with the last sentence.

He lowered his head, his forehead pressed against the cold iron tabletop, and his shoulders trembled violently once, then again.

His suppressed breathing echoed in the interrogation room. The sound was not like that of a murderer confessing, but more like the last struggles of a drowning person underwater.

Jiang Ruolan didn't urge him, but waited quietly.

About two minutes later, Ding Hai raised his head again. There were no tears on his face, but his face looked as if all the color had been drained from it, turning pale and bluish.

I wrapped her head in plastic wrap.

He spoke slowly and deliberately, his voice mechanical and hollow, as if his soul had left his body, leaving only an empty shell answering the question: "Wrap her up layer by layer, and I kiss her with each layer."

I wanted her to leave this world cleanly. The last time I kissed her, she wasn't dead yet; her lips were cold, and she was trembling.

I held her in my arms and sat in that empty room, looking at the moon outside the window. I only let go when she was completely still. Then I stood by the window, looking at the window of her house across the street, where the light was still on.

Her parents were waiting for her to come home. That night, her mother sent her a WeChat message, and my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I took it out and glanced at it—"Niannian, it's raining. Bring an umbrella when you come back, don't catch a cold."

...................