Murder Memories: The Killer Who Doesn't Exist
I
2009. I took the adult college entrance exam — the test that would decide whether I'd ever make it to university.
It was the first time I cheated.
An invisible earpiece, the size of a grain of rice, hidden in my glasses frame. Bone conduction fed me answers through my skull.
Paired with it was a signal relay device, concealed inside an eraser. A tiny component — unless you pulled the eraser apart, nearly impossible to detect.
But that day, I saw a police car pull up outside the exam hall.
My whole body began to shake.
I thought I'd been caught.
The police car was just giving a late applicant a ride.
But I was terrified. The trembles wouldn't stop.
The proctor noticed my strange behavior. She came over and whispered, "Are you feeling unwell?"
I hadn't realized she was beside me. Startled, I instinctively pressed my hand over the eraser.
Her eyes narrowed. She stared at my hand.
A cold sweat broke out across my entire body.
Still trembling, I slowly opened my palm. The eraser was slick with sweat.
"It's... it's my period," I whispered.
It was the only excuse I could think of.
The proctor said nothing. She picked up the eraser, weighed it in her hand, and examined it closely.
I kept my head down the entire time, barely breathing.
Finally, she patted my shoulder and gestured for me to continue.
I let out a long breath.
Inside the invisible earpiece, the answers to the multiple-choice section had already begun playing.
I picked up my pen, but then realized the audio was cutting in and out. I looked up in confusion. The proctor had taken my eraser out of the room.
What was she going to do with it?
I started trembling again, because I soon saw her call over the other proctors and show them that eraser.
Minutes later, I was escorted out of the exam hall.
In the harsh daylight, the eraser was pried apart.
Revealing the electronic components inside.
I was surrounded and led away. After that, I only remember a buzzing in my head that lasted a very long time.
II
I once thought I'd go to prison. The final penalty: exam results nullified, exam qualifications revoked.
And banned from taking the exam for three years.
That was the full story of my cheating — and what I told the reporter when he came.
In early November, late autumn. My future looking dim, I needed money for living expenses, so I accepted a paid interview from a journalist named Colt.
He wore a white shirt, messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn't slept. Young, too — like he'd just started the job.
I'd prepared myself for the usual questions: Do you regret it? What are your plans? The kind of thing that ends up in some forgettable column.
But when he sat in my apartment, he didn't say a word. Just studied me, up and down, making me deeply uncomfortable.
"You cheated on purpose, didn't you?" Those were his first words. "You used cheating to cover up a murder."
We sat in my apartment. My parents weren't home — I'd scheduled it that way. They wouldn't have been able to handle something like this going public.
Autumn, in a small county on the southern edge of the province.
My home had few decorations. Just an old television, muted, playing silent images.
The water I poured him had overflowed the cup.
"If your interview is going to be about these absurd accusations... I think we're done here."
I wiped the coffee table, still keeping a smile.
He wasn't in a hurry. Unhurriedly, he pulled a newspaper from his bag.
A local paper. On it, a news item.
Five months ago — June of this year — a boy had gone swimming alone in the river.
He'd cramped up and drowned.
He and I were in the same class. The story had been picked up by the local TV station, warning people not to swim in unauthorized areas.
"I heard you were his girlfriend. After his death, you were questioned as a suspect..."
"Yes, and the police concluded his death had nothing to do with me. So what else do you want? Go interview the police!"
"I'm sorry, but do I look like someone who's easy to deal with?" he said, out of nowhere.
I froze.
"If you refuse this interview, I'll publish the story anyway."
"I don't have much else going for me."
"I could portray you as a loose woman, with all the details. Or I could paint your parents as murderers — psychotic, backwater criminals..."
"If you don't want your family's reputation destroyed, you'd better cooperate."
I'll admit, I felt a flash of panic.
He smiled. "Now then, shall we talk?"
"What do you want to know?" I asked after a long silence.
"How did your boyfriend die?"
"I've already told the police everything."
"Tell me."
III
— Memory of an Accident —
1
My name is Mia Yu.
I wanted to get into the provincial key university, but I dropped out.
The doctor said I had a mild emotional disorder. They didn't recommend I continue studying, in case it got worse.
I'd heard that the adult entrance exam was less competitive. So I stayed home and prepared for the autumn exam.
The boy who drowned...
Before I dropped out, we were already together.
I loved watching him play basketball. Tall and lean, his dunks always drew the attention of girls across campus.
You could say he was a playboy.
After I dropped out, I still went to see him. I wanted to stay by his side.
But he was already tired of me. There were too many other women waiting for him to choose.
He said: "Your goal is the provincial key university. But my grades will barely get me into a community college. Since we're heading in different directions, let's just end it."
I refused. I just wanted to be with him, always.
So I came up with a plan.
"Let's both cheat on the exam."
But I didn't realize that this decision would ultimately cause his death.
2
His exam was in June — the ferociously competitive national exam.
Mine was the adult entrance exam in October.
Both of us cheating — that was the safest plan.
Only that way could we guarantee we'd end up at the same school, maybe even the same major.
It was late May, around the Dragon Boat Festival. I contacted someone online with the ID "Gun Rose."
He'd posted in a forum that he sold cheating equipment. He had connections for both types of exams.
We agreed on a price.
A few days later, this man called Gun Rose arrived in our county.
He drove himself. A private car.
He was thin, wore glasses, had slightly long hair. Looked like a musician.
But what I didn't know then was that this man called Gun Rose was a demon.
He showed us the equipment: earpiece, eraser. Taught us how to use it.
One set was mine, one was my boyfriend's.
He said the answers would only play once, so we needed to listen carefully.
He also warned us not to answer everything correctly, to avoid drawing suspicion.
My boyfriend and I were both happy — he had a future, and I had secured my love.
That evening, the sunset set the whole sky ablaze.
My boyfriend and I celebrated with some drinks.
Late May in a southern county was already hot.
He suggested we go swimming at a river outside town to cool off.
The river was remote. Few people passed by.
He suggested it because he wanted to do that kind of thing with me.
3
At the riverside, I used my period as an excuse. Disappointed, he went swimming alone.
Meanwhile, I got a call from Gun Rose.
He'd driven over. He was here to collect payment.
His car was parked far away. I went alone to settle the bill and picked up both sets of cheating equipment.
But when I got back to the river, I saw my boyfriend's body floating on the surface... No one could have predicted that a simple cramp would take his life...
If I hadn't left, if I'd been there, he wouldn't have...
IV
Recounting this accident, I still showed visible grief.
I stopped telling the story and began to cry softly in my own home.
Colt seemed unimpressed. "Your crying is very convincing."
I clenched my jaw, my eyes red. "Can you leave my home now?"
"You didn't tell the truth." Colt cut me off. "The story you told has too many holes."
V
"Why would the cheating equipment need to be delivered in person instead of mailed?" Colt said.
"Why would your boyfriend let you go alone to settle the payment? Let you go to a stranger's car?"
"Little girl, lying to me does you no good."
I stayed silent, clenching my fists, my eyes burning with anger.
"Look at my home."
Colt hesitated.
An old residential building. In 2009, barely any appliances. Even the kitchen still used honeycomb coal for cooking.
"I don't have that kind of money," I said.
"The price I paid... was myself."
VI
That evening, I got into Gun Rose's car.
The thin man put his hand on my waist.
It was the outskirts. No one around. Only the clear river.
Darkness fell. Music from the car covered the sounds of the man's breathing.
After it was done, he got out and smoked.
"Where's your boyfriend?" Gun Rose asked me.
"Swimming."
Actually, my boyfriend had wanted to come along. But I'd intentionally knocked his clothes and shoes into the river. He was too proud to be seen naked, so he let me go pay alone.
I later often wondered if that was the action that caused his death.
VII
Colt listened with interest. It seemed the story was finally starting to convince him.
"After you and Gun Rose were done, what happened?"
My fingers unconsciously gripped the hem of my shirt.
What happened next could only be described as a nightmare.
VIII
— Memory of a Murder —
1
That evening, I left Gun Rose's car and returned to the river.
It was getting darker.
When I finally made out what was on the surface of the water, I began to scream.
It was my boyfriend's body. He'd drowned, cramping up, floating lifelessly.
Gun Rose heard my cries and came running.
He was a strong swimmer. He dove in and dragged my boyfriend toward shore.
"Is he okay?! Do you know CPR?! You have a car, we need to get him to the hospital!" I screamed frantically.
Gun Rose reached the bank and was about to pull him up.
But then, he stopped.
My boyfriend's body bobbed in the water.
"What are you doing?" I asked, stunned.
I saw a hint of viciousness on Gun Rose's face.
"Your boyfriend is already dead," he said. "No pulse."
He jerked his head up. "If we take him to the hospital, everything will be exposed! If the police find out about my cheating business, I'll go to prison!"
He looked down at my boyfriend's body.
I knew what he was about to do.
I lunged forward, trying to grab my boyfriend back.
He was too strong. One arm held me back effortlessly.
"You bitch, do you really think you'll be fine?!" he cursed. "Your family's situation — can you afford compensation? Wrongful death money?!"
I couldn't think about anything. I only knew I had to get my boyfriend to the hospital.
We were practically wrestling. I bit his arm like a madwoman. He yelped and let go.
Just then, from across the bank, a shout rang out like thunder.
"Is everything okay? What's wrong—"
It was a farm woman passing by who'd heard the commotion at the riverside.
Gun Rose looked back in alarm. Startled birds took flight.
In the darkness, beneath that canopy of trees, no one could be seen.
But I knew someone was there!
I wanted to scream for help, but Gun Rose grabbed my arm hard.
He stared me down and lowered his voice:
"Think about your parents."
"This money could cost them their lives."
2
I admit it. I was despicable.
In that moment, what flooded my mind was the image of my family's old, crumbling house.
And my parents' exhausted, haggard faces.
"I'm fine! I was just scared by a bug!" I shouted back.
Those words I shouted — they sounded like my soul shattering.
"It's getting late, dear. Head home early."
"I will. Thank you, ma'am."
In the darkness, only dead silence remained.