Detective Shaw's words were like bombs going off inside my skull.
My head hurt even more.
The images I'd just described raced through my mind, then shattered.
I babbled to myself—impossible, no, I wouldn't misremember, they were the ones hurting me!
Dalton, Vance, the gossiping villagers, and that boy-crazy Hazel!
But Detective Shaw just exhaled and dialed a number.
He said, "Come in."
Before I could wonder, the door opened and Hazel stepped into the room.
She was dressed simply, her face pale, her steps timid.
Detective Shaw said, "The night it happened, she was at a gathering with classmates. She was never at Dalton's house."
I started to object, but something felt wrong.
I stared at Hazel's young face, my heart skipping a beat.
Her skin was completely smooth. No scar.
Then Detective Shaw held up his phone, opened the camera, and pointed it at me.
On the screen, my own face—and the still-healing knife scars across my cheek.
The images in my head kept collapsing, rebuilding.
Strange yet familiar memories surfaced.
I clutched my head and let out an agonized wail.
After a long time, I looked up. Hazel was gone.
"Your eyes... they finally look normal." Detective Shaw stared at me, sounding relieved.
He even looked a little shaken.
"You know what? Just now, your eyes couldn't focus—your pupils were dilated."
I came back to myself and realized why he'd stepped back when I was ranting.
He'd actually been afraid of me.
"Do you remember now?" Detective Shaw asked cautiously.
"I remember."
I spoke softly and looked out the window, suddenly noticing how stark the bars were.
This was the ground floor. Why would a ground-floor window need bars?
As the memories resurfaced, I swallowed hard, looked at Detective Shaw, and carefully offered my guess: "Is this... really a hospital?"
Sure enough, Detective Shaw shook his head. "You're in a psychiatric hospital."
I deflated, lifting my hand weakly to point at my own head.
"That's right," Detective Shaw said. "Your brain... seems to have some problems."
"Yes." I rested my forehead on my knees and murmured, "I remember now."
22
The problems with my brain must have started after I arrived in the village.
The longer I stayed, the more unsafe I felt.
Whether it was the isolated, primal environment or the horror stories I'd seen about volunteer teaching accidents—I just felt unsafe. As if everyone was out to get me.
I'd see crude drawings and insults on students' work. But when I checked again later, they'd be gone.
I'd notice villagers pointing and staring. But when I approached, they'd put on smiles.
The spiders in my room rarely spun webs—they always seemed like "new roommates" someone had deliberately tossed in.
I was so scared.
I became convinced someone was sneaking into my office, stealing homework. That the villagers only pretended to be nice when I got close.
And Dalton—he was my only safety net.
He was rich and powerful, the village's notorious bully. But being associated with him meant nobody would dare hurt me.
That was my reasoning at the time.
The only thing that troubled me was that Dalton never let me tell anyone about our relationship.
I didn't understand why he wanted to keep it secret.
That single doubt bred an endless stream of malicious suspicions.
23
Malicious—is what they probably were.
There was something I wasn't even sure was true.
I only remembered—the village gossiped that Dalton had a prior record of rape.
A girl from the county who worked as a factory hand. Dalton had assaulted her, and she went to the police. He settled for forty thousand.
Some people even said it was actually Vance who'd raped the girl, and the settlement had covered that up.
Either way, once I heard those rumors, I became consumed with worry. Was Dalton planning to rape me too—and then discard me?
In that environment, I was terrified of losing Dalton.
Even though he swore to me, over and over, that he'd marry me, bring me into his family, make me his wife.
Gradually, I began watching every woman who might steal Dalton away—with hostility.
And Hazel—just out of high school, volunteering at the school—was the most dangerous of all.
24
Fawn was my favorite student.
But she was Hazel's sister.
When Fawn came home alone, I assumed Hazel was on a date with Dalton.
When Fawn and Hazel walked home together, I was sure they were heading toward Dalton's house.
If Fawn and Hazel were walking with Dalton—even a few meters apart—I saw a "family" dynamic.
I'm sure the look in my eyes as I watched their retreating backs from the school gate was pure jealousy.
Until I heard that Hazel had been drunk and Dalton had carried her home.
The village buzzed with gossip.
And I... I was nearly out of my mind with rage.
25
That day, it was raining lightly. I went to Dalton's house to confront him.
When I demanded answers, Dalton looked at me with utter disbelief.
He said I was crazy, that I was always imagining things.
But the more he accused me, the more I was convinced he was gaslighting me.
Blinded by fury and humiliation, I grabbed the cleaver from the stove.
I said, Dalton, if you don't give me an answer today, I'll kill myself!
Then Hazel burst in.
She was terrified, standing between us, trying to calm us down.
But that only convinced me further—they had to be having an affair!
Rage and bitterness swelled in my chest, and I swung the cleaver.
Once? Twice? I don't know how many times.
I don't remember anything except the metallic smell of blood filling the room.
When I came to, Hazel was nowhere in the house.
On the floor lay Dalton and his father, Vance.
26
Outside, the rain was coming down harder.
I had no idea what to do.
In that instant, my soul seemed to detach from my body.
It was as if I were watching from a third-person perspective as I took off my clothes, draped them over the two bodies, then fetched dry firewood from outside, lit the stove, and used burning brands to set the house ablaze.
Finally, I walked like a zombie toward the pigpen.
Like a swaying, hollow shell.
The images of my persecution—both real and imagined—the rumors I'd heard, all flooded into my mind during those steps.
They tangled and merged, forging a "truth" of my own making.
A cocoon. A cocoon built to protect myself.
I told myself I hadn't killed anyone.
They were the ones trying to hurt me.
27
As the memories settled, every moment from my time teaching in the village became razor-sharp.
Simple. And insane.
I didn't know how to face Detective Shaw. I could only manage a bitter laugh.
I said, "So I killed the person who was trying to protect me. Didn't I?"
I slumped against the pillow, the electric fan still turning beside me.
Detective Shaw closed his notebook. After a silence, he spoke with hesitation. "Actually... not entirely."
I perked up. "What do you mean?"
"Do you remember those mountain flowers Dalton gave you?"
"Yes."
"They were datura. Also called angel's trumpet. The petals are toxic."
28
In the hospital room, I sat frozen for a long time.
"Originally, villagers in these mountains used to accidentally poison themselves with datura. It's nearly gone from the village now."
"But in the wild, there's still plenty."
"In small doses, it causes hallucinations and alters your mental state. Abroad, some people use it as a cheap drug."
"In large doses, you'd need intensive care to survive."
"You're lucky to be alive."
Detective Shaw sounded shaken.
I opened my mouth, but my voice was barely a rasp.
"Why... would he do that?"
Detective Shaw hesitated, then moved his chair closer.
"The rape charges against Dalton were real."
"And from his behavior, he was likely trying to drive you insane—so you'd be trapped in the village forever."
I remembered something and forced myself to speak. "So he told me to keep our relationship secret... was that part of the plan to rape me?"
"Not that simple." Detective Shaw shook his head. "Think about it—if he wanted to assault you, he'd want everyone to know you were close. That way, even if you reported him, nobody would believe you."
"So?"
"So..." Detective Shaw seemed reluctant, but finally continued. "Based on Dalton's prior cases, we believe he intended to make you disappear after you went mad. Whether locking you up somewhere or selling you."
"That's why he didn't want anyone to know how close you were."
Something bitter rose in my chest.
"Is that so?" I said flatly. "Then his whole family deserved to die."
Detective Shaw didn't confirm or deny. He just said, "What follows is still an interrogation. Pay attention."
I said: All right.
"Then at least—do you now admit that no one was locked in a pigpen?"
"Yes."
"That Village Chief Vance and Dalton did not assault you."
"Yes."
"Even without suffering such extreme persecution, you still killed them."
"Yes."
I nodded repeatedly, without any argument.
"Good. I'll record that."
Detective Shaw stood to leave.
I couldn't help calling after him.
"Then... how long will I be sentenced to?"
Detective Shaw paused, then turned back and scratched his head.
"Where do you think you are?"
I glanced around, confused. "A psychiatric hospital."
"Exactly." Detective Shaw shook his head. "Since toxins were found in your blood, you were treated at the county hospital first, then transferred here to the city. Do you remember being questioned by a doctor?"
I searched my memory. The doctor's questions surfaced one by one.
I'd thought it was a therapist counseling me.
I nodded, looking at Detective Shaw for clarity.
"You won't be sentenced. You've been diagnosed with severe persecutory delusion—a psychiatric disorder. You lack criminal responsibility. You'll only be committed to a psychiatric hospital for treatment."
"Really?" I said absently. "Why isn't it ruled self-defense?"
Detective Shaw gave a dry laugh. "It hasn't been ruled on yet. Wait for the verdict, Teacher Sable."
I murmured acknowledgment and lay back down.
29
A week later, the verdict came.
I was found to have a psychiatric disorder and committed to a psychiatric hospital for treatment.
The doctor said my case was on the milder side—drug-induced psychosis—and I'd recover before long.
I asked Detective Shaw to keep this from my parents, to pretend I was still teaching in the village.
About a month into treatment, I was judged well enough to use a phone in the open ward, making it easier to sound natural when I called home.
In fragments, I heard what happened to the Zhao family.
They'd been rich because Vance had embezzled large sums of village subsidies—years of stolen state funds.
He'd even been responsible for several villagers' deaths during a land compensation scandal.
As the house collapsed, all the blood debts beneath it came to light.
When villagers learned how the case began, they all said Dalton had brought this on himself.
But none of that mattered to me anymore.
What did matter were the letters from my students, which filled me with warmth.
30
Nearly a year later, I was deemed mentally recovered and discharged.
Detective Shaw came to pick me up and drove me to the train station.
In the car, he hesitated several times before finally speaking.
"Probably not my place to say this, but... try to forget this past year."
"Those scenes you imagined were horrible enough that even a police officer found them disturbing."
"No need to carry them with you."
I just smiled and watched the scenery out the window.
"At least they weren't real," Detective Shaw said to himself. "If something like that actually happened—killing someone and still going to prison or a hospital—well... I'm a cop, I have to follow the court's ruling."
I laughed softly. "Even if something like that really happened, even if the court ruled it self-defense—what would the villagers think?"
For a moment, Detective Shaw fell silent.
He simply said, "Be glad you're an outsider. At least you can leave."