The Vampire Case
A torrential rainstorm, and several people were stranded in a dumpling shop. To pass the time, they each told a story: The Vampire Case, The Mysterious Regenerator, The Dream Marriage, Fortuna's Eye, Vengeful Spirit's Curse, Avici Hell, Skin Trouble, Ghost Co-habitant, The Magic Cinema, Human-Face Sore, Parasitic Spirit, Doppelgänger, Horror Doll, The Double, Puppet.
Fifteen tales, fifteen bizarre experiences that left people gasping in amazement while also imparting profound life lessons.
The rain stopped, and the people gradually left, but the most eerie and fantastical plot was only just beginning...
"I have dumplings. Do you have a story?"
"Boss, are you serious? As long as we tell a story, you'll treat us to free dumplings?"
"On one condition—it has to be a good story."
"What counts as good?"
"It has to move me."
Shandong Kitchen—a hand-made dumpling shop. The storefront wasn't large, just six or seven tables.
When I walked in, the place was already full. From the look of them, they were mostly travelers taking shelter. The rain was coming down in sheets, visibility so low that no one could safely drive.
The waitress, enthusiastic, squeezed me into a corner seat. I couldn't just sit there empty-handed, so I ordered a portion of dumplings.
"Just a moment, your dumplings will be ready soon." The waitress was a young woman in her early twenties with a round, cute face. "I'm Cindy. Just call me if you need anything."
While waiting, I looked around. The shop wasn't big, but it was clean. In the semi-open kitchen, a young man was hard at work.
He was making dumplings. Kneading the dough, rolling it into strips, cutting portions, pressing wrappers, scooping filling, pleating the edges—the whole process flowed seamlessly. He moved with practiced ease.
I loved dumplings, but this was the first time I'd seen a man making them.
Soon, the dumplings were done. Twice through the rolling boil, then served steaming hot in front of me.
"Ma'am, your dumplings are ready," Cindy said. "Mackerel dumplings—best eaten while hot."
I picked one up and examined it. Thin skin, generous filling, mouthwatering aroma. I dipped it in the vinegar sauce and couldn't wait to pop it in.
Oof, so hot...
But the taste was truly excellent—springy and savory!
"Good, right? Our dumplings are famous far and wide. People drive for miles just to eat here!" Cindy said proudly. "The mackerel dumplings especially are the most popular!"
"That's right," a chatty fat man leaned over. "My cabbie buddies and I all love this place. Sometimes we go miles out of our way just for a taste."
"Luke, you're doing such a great job promoting for me, how should I thank you?" The young man came out of the kitchen, smiling as he glanced at me. "Good evening, everyone. I'm the owner of this little shop. I'm grateful for this rain that's brought us all together. Since everyone seems bored, how about we play a game?"
"A game? What kind of game?"
"Each person here tells a story. If the story is good enough, I'll treat everyone to free dumplings."
Ha, this boss had a sense of humor!
Everyone was already restless from being stuck inside, so his suggestion immediately livened things up.
Dumplings didn't cost much, but this proposal was entertaining enough.
Even for those who didn't have stories to tell, listening to others' stories was fun. With chatting and laughing, the time would pass more quickly.
But who would go first?
Strangers to one another, everyone was a bit hesitant.
Cindy thought for a moment, then produced an empty bottle: "Let's spin it. Whoever the mouth points to has to go."
She cleared a table and placed the bottle on it.
On the first spin, the mouth pointed to a man with stubble. He was in his thirties, looked a bit haggard, and was drinking alone with a troubled expression.
Prompted by the others, he finally came to: "Fine, I'll go. I'll go."
He thought for a moment, then drained his glass: "My name is Mark. I used to be a cop. I'll tell you about a case I worked on."
Story 1: The Vampire Case
Every man likes beautiful women.
But do you know how a beauty is made?
1
Two years ago, in the city where I worked, a string of bizarre murders occurred.
In just half a year, eight innocent citizens had been killed. Their deaths shared strikingly similar characteristics: each victim had been struck unconscious from behind, then had their throat crushed and blood drained entirely.
The victims' belongings were all intact. Clearly, the killer wasn't after money. And from the wounds, it looked more like an animal attack than anything human.
For a while, rumors flew.
Many said it was the work of a "vampire."
As a police officer, I naturally didn't believe such talk. I was convinced the killer was deliberately creating a smokescreen to throw off the investigation.
From the first murder, the police had taken the case seriously, establishing a dedicated task force. But after investigating for so long, they still had no leads.
The difficulty lay in the fact that the killer was engaging in "indiscriminate murder"—the victims had no connection to the killer, who chose targets completely at random. There was no pattern to follow, making it impossible to predict the next strike.
The longer the case went unsolved, the more the rumors spread. My task force was repeatedly thrust into the crosshairs of public criticism...
2
That morning, a woman came in to file a report.
Sylvie—a food streamer with over a million followers. Her daily job was teaching fans how to cook.
After her stream ended the night before, she'd gone out for some fresh air. While passing down a certain street, she noticed she was being followed.
The man was tall and thin, wearing a black hooded raincoat, his face hidden behind a mask. But his eyes were unusually bright in the darkness.
He followed her silently, like a phantom. Sylvie had spotted him by chance in the reflective glass of a shop window. There was something deeply unsettling about this man's presence.
She quickened her pace, and he quickened his. This terrified her even more, and she broke into a full run.
In her high heels, she couldn't move fast. The man was gaining on her. Fortunately, a passerby happened by. Seeing this, the stalker stopped and quickly melted into the shadows...
Sylvie made it home, growing more frightened the more she thought about it. First thing the next morning, she came to file a report.
"Do you think he could be the vampire they've been talking about?" She hugged her slender arms, trembling as she asked me.
3
This woman had striking features. She was beautiful, especially her misty, liquid eyes that seemed to shimmer. Even a straightforward guy like me couldn't help but be captivated.
I made a considerable effort to tear my gaze from her face. "There's no such thing as vampires. Don't listen to rumors."
"If there isn't, then why haven't they caught the killer?" She looked at me with admiring eyes. "Officer Mark, I've heard about you. You're known as a 'super detective.'"
"Super detective—just a joke." I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. I did used to have that reputation, but bringing it up now felt painfully ironic.
I changed the subject, embarrassed. "The man who followed you—it's possible he's the serial killer. But there's also a chance he's someone you've offended."
"I don't think I've offended anyone," she tilted her head, thinking. "I'm pretty much a homebody. Aside from streaming, I barely socialize."
"Could it be one of your fans?"
"A fan? Who would be that crazy?"
"Hard to say. Some people can be really extreme."
After taking her statement, I had her take me to the scene. But the street had no surveillance cameras, and we found nothing. It had been late at night, and all the nearby shops were closed, so there were no useful witnesses.
Finally, I gave her my card and told her to give it some thought at home and call me if anything came to mind.
4
A few days later, one evening, Sylvie called. I assumed she'd remembered something, so I hurried over.
Sylvie lived in a beautiful large house—clearly a high standard of living. A food streamer with a million followers had to be earning well.
Unexpectedly, what awaited me was a table full of delicious food. Meat and vegetables, a lavish spread.
Sylvie said this was to thank me. Because of her case, I'd been put to trouble.
I quickly explained that it was just my job!
I tried to leave, but she insisted on keeping me. Hard to refuse such hospitality, I stayed.
After all, who could say no to a beautiful woman?
So I called my wife and told her I had business tonight, to eat without me.
As a cop, I had plenty of unexpected situations to deal with. Molly was used to it.
Hanging up, I felt a twinge of guilt.
This was the first time since getting married that I was having dinner with another woman.
But soon, that feeling was swept away...
5
Sylvie was not only beautiful, but she also cooked wonderfully. No wonder she was a food streamer—dining with a woman like this was truly a feast for the eyes.
We ate and chatted, eventually getting onto the topic of the serial killings.
"There isn't really such a thing as vampires, is there?" she asked again.
"Of course not." I shook my head firmly. "The test results showed that the saliva found in the victims' wounds was human. From this we can infer that the killer wore some kind of fang-like dental appliance."
"Then why drain all the blood?" she asked, blinking her large, luminous eyes.
"It's very likely the killer suffers from some condition," I told her. "Porphyria, also called 'vampire disease.' People with this condition are afraid of sunlight, so they can only be active at night. Over time, they develop psychological problems, even coming to believe that drinking human blood can cure their condition."
"Vampire disease? There's such a thing? God, that's terrifying!" She clasped her hands over her chest. That fragile, vulnerable look was enough to make anyone's heart ache. "Do you have any leads on the killer yet?"
At this, I deflated. Eight people were dead, and we had very little to go on—we didn't even know the killer's gender...
I had to admit, this person was cunning. The crimes were always committed in very secluded times and places, making investigation and evidence collection extremely difficult. And the scenes were always clean, without leaving the slightest trace.
Of course, I couldn't say any of this.
"Don't worry, the killer won't get away forever." That was all I could offer.
She didn't press further. Instead, she started talking about herself, saying that living alone in such a big house sometimes felt lonely and frightening, especially with everything that had been happening lately.
Finally, she asked timidly, "Officer Mark, can I call you from time to time?"
"Of course, whenever you need me," I said readily.
"So we're friends now?" She brightened, jumping up. "Having a police friend makes me feel so much safer!"
Her brilliant smile was dazzling.
6
By the time I left, it was already late at night. I checked my watch and found it hard to believe. This woman seemed to have some kind of magic that made time slip away unnoticed.
When I got home, Molly was still waiting up. She'd saved my dinner and went to heat it up. I told her I'd already eaten.
Molly took my jacket to hang it up and seemed to catch a scent. She turned her head suspiciously. "Who were you with just now?"
I hesitated. "A female colleague. Discussing a case."
She'd probably smelled the perfume. Women were sensitive like that. Not wanting her to overthink it, I fabricated a lie.
At the same time, another wave of guilt crept in.
I had to admit, I was attracted to Sylvie. Her lovely face, her curvaceous figure—this woman was truly stunning, an absolute beauty...
Then I looked at my wife beside me, so ordinary. Flat chest, thick legs, love handles around her waist... She couldn't compare.
Along with the disappointment came a warning bell. From now on, unless absolutely necessary, I should stay away from that woman! I couldn't do anything to betray my wife—not even emotionally!
7
After that, I deliberately avoided Sylvie. Every time she reached out, I made excuses to decline. I even transferred her case to a colleague. Perhaps she sensed something, because gradually she stopped calling.
I breathed a sigh of relief, though I also felt a sense of loss.
Honestly, what man doesn't like beautiful women? Thank goodness I'd pulled back in time before sliding into an abyss of no return...
What I never expected was that I would encounter her again—and in a very awkward way.
That weekend, Molly had a high school reunion. At her insistence, I took time off to accompany her.
Every reunion featured the same old faces, but this time there was a new one—
"Sylvie, is that really you? My God, how did you get so beautiful?"
"Did you guys not know? Sylvie's a big influencer now!"
"A food streamer! She makes amazing dishes."
"A food streamer? And she still keeps that figure?"
"Exactly! How do you do it?"
"..."
I was stunned.
She was actually Molly's high school classmate!
8
Sylvie's appearance lit up the room. Especially the male classmates clustered around her like satellites, competing to flatter and exchange contact info.
She slipped through the crowd and smiled at me. "Officer Mark, we meet again."
I could only nod back.
"How do you two know each other?" Molly frowned.
"She filed a police report," I quickly explained.
Molly's gaze shifted back and forth between Sylvie and me. Clearly, she was jealous.
More precisely, Sylvie's arrival had planted a thorn of jealousy in every woman's eyes.
After we got home, Molly told me some things.
She said that in high school, Sylvie had been dark-skinned, overweight, and buck-toothed—a genuine ugly duckling. All her classmates had shunned her.
She knew she was unwanted and always kept her head down, avoiding people. They'd given her a nickname: "Fat Rat."
To prove she wasn't lying, Molly dug out their old yearbook photo.
The girl in the photo had greasy bangs covering her face, clunky black-framed glasses—completely unrecognizable from the Sylvie I knew.
"See? That's what she looked like back then," Molly said dismissively. "She's definitely had plastic surgery! And those men, knowing full well she's got a fake face, still hover around her like flies. Don't they feel gross?"
With that, she shot me a resentful glare. "Speaking of which, was that 'female colleague' you were with really a colleague? I couldn't help noticing her perfume smelled an awful lot like yours that night."
"Ridiculous!" I didn't want to get into it. I left her and went to take a shower.
9
After the reunion, Molly started acting strange—often leaving early and coming home late, not saying what she was up to, acting secretive.
She was a light sleeper, and my schedule was irregular, so we'd always slept in separate rooms, worried my comings and goings would disturb her.
One day while she was out, I quietly went into her room. I wanted to see what she was up to.
The room was neat, with a faint unfamiliar fragrance. She'd never been one for self-care, always a bit careless about her appearance. But now, the desk was covered with bottles and jars—all sorts of cosmetics. The drawers held a stack of membership cards: gym, yoga, beauty treatments, you name it...
What shocked me most were several receipts from a cosmetic surgery clinic! No wonder she'd seemed younger lately, looking a bit better than before—she'd gone behind my back for minor procedures!
Undoubtedly, this was all because of Sylvie. Sylvie's appearance had made Molly feel the pressure, so she started obsessing over her looks, resorting to extreme measures to become beautiful...
She used to despise Sylvie.
And now she was turning into the very kind of person she used to look down on!
Looking at those receipts, I was both angry and heartbroken.
That night, I cooked a table full of dishes—all of Molly's favorites—and even lit candles for a romantic candlelit dinner.
I held her hands and told her earnestly, "I love the you from the beginning, and I love the you now. Even if your face were covered in wrinkles, even if your hair turned gray, you'd always be the one I love most... Promise me, don't put yourself through this anymore, okay?"
She nodded, in tears.
We had a romantic evening, just like when we were dating.
Right at the peak of intimacy, she suddenly stopped, pinching the extra flesh at her waist, and sighed: "Mark, do you think I should lose weight?"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
This woman was truly obsessed!
10
The ninth murder occurred, and the investigation was still making no progress.
One day while out on business, passing through an intersection, I spotted two familiar figures in a café by the street.
It was Molly and Sylvie. They were chatting and laughing, looking quite intimate.
I froze. How did they end up together?
Then, something even stranger happened. Sylvie took out a small red pill and handed it to Molly. Molly accepted it eagerly and swallowed it with water.
What was going on? Was she sick? But she should be going to a doctor for that, not to Sylvie!
I stared at these two women, completely mystified.
That evening, I asked Molly what was going on.