Chapter 996

Night.

Xu Juan couldn’t sleep either; she turned on every light in the house, knelt on the floor, and scrubbed the bedroom floor relentlessly, trying to wash out every trace of blood from the tile seams.

Splash…

The bucket used for rinsing was already full of crimson water flecked with white foam.

Xu Juan didn’t care; she tossed the rag into it, swished it around, squeezed it dry, then dipped it again into a nearby peach-colored bucket, squeezed it dry once more, took it out, poured cleaner onto it, and resumed scrubbing the floor.

She kept working, didn’t know what time it was, grew utterly exhausted, and naturally fell asleep.

She didn’t sleep on the bed—the mattress was soaked through with blood, and she still didn’t know how to deal with it.

Hum…

Humming…

The phone rang twice, jolting Xu Juan awake.

In an instant, sweat broke out all over her body; she curled up in the corner for a long while, then finally gasped for breath, picked up the phone, glanced at the number, hesitated for a few seconds, and called back: “Hello…”

"Xu Juan, aren't you coming to work today? The boss is going to be furious."

Xu Juan glanced dazedly at the date on her phone, then said: “I’m not feeling well. I don’t want to go yet.”

“Should you see a doctor? Or maybe I’ll come over at lunch to check on you?” the fake best friend quickly asked.

“No need,” Xu Juan replied lazily. “It’s just my own thing. Resting for two days will fix it.”

“Alright, take good care of yourself. Remember to call the boss and take leave. That guy’s always yelling about respect, like if you respect him, everything will magically work out…”

Xu Juan murmured “mm-hmm” a couple times, put down the phone, curled back into the corner, sniffed the thick stench of blood, stared at the bedroom redder than on her wedding day, and felt both fear and irritation.

She feared being arrested and shot, but she also hated doing housework. She never imagined killing someone would leave so much blood, nor that chopping a person up would make the room so filthy—even after two or three days of scrubbing, she still couldn’t clean it.

At this moment, Xu Juan even missed her useless husband. If he’d been the one cleaning this room, he’d have gotten it spotless in a weekend.

“Good thing I killed him first,” Xu Juan shuddered, thinking. If he’d found out, he might’ve chopped me up first.

Living is more comfortable.

Thinking of this, Xu Juan felt strength surge through her and resumed scrubbing with renewed effort.

Knock knock knock.

When the knocking came, Xu Juan assumed it was food delivery; only as she reached for the door did she remember to peek through the peephole. One glance sent sweat pouring down her body.

“Police!” The officer at the door wasn’t fooled; he saw the peephole light flicker once, then darken, knew someone was inside, and immediately pulled out his badge: “Please open the door. We have a few questions to ask.”

Xu Juan’s legs trembled. She didn’t know what happened to female prisoners in jail, nor whether she’d be sentenced to death. She feared opening the door would let the stench of blood rush out—and even if she didn’t open it, she feared the smell might reach the officers outside.

Most importantly: why were the police here? Had they found out something?

Xu Juan had lived in this apartment for three or four years—never once had police come knocking. Now, the moment her husband died, they showed up. What else could it mean?

Pressed against the other side of the door, she shook her head violently and refused to open it.

“Hello. We’re police. I know someone’s inside—you just looked through the peephole. Please open the door. We just have a few questions, then we’ll leave.”

Xu Juan shook her head again, her mind slowly clearing: “Ask your questions right here. I’m not opening the door.”

“We’re police!”

“Does being police give you the right to force me open the door?”

The officer outside hesitated. Technically, if they were certain the person inside was a criminal—especially a serious one—they had authority to force entry. But in routine patrols, if a non-suspect refused to open the door, officers rarely resorted to breaking in or picking locks.

That’s why, in many precincts, officers often encounter doors that won’t open—even court enforcement officers with bailiffs have been known to knock for hours.

Xu Juan absolutely refused to open the door. The smell inside was already overwhelming; even with the ventilation system and air conditioning running, she could still smell it. This security door was her last hope.

Xu Juan sensed the officer’s tone and said: “Just ask your questions. I won’t open the door. I’m scared.”

“We’re police. What are you afraid of?”

“What if you’re fake police?”

“Here’s our badge.”

“I don’t know what a real badge looks like. How am I supposed to tell if you’re faking it?” Xu Juan’s voice grew smoother, then firmer.

The officer outside had encountered this before: “Then call 110. They’ll verify our identity.”

“I won’t call. These days, there’s telecom fraud, AI impersonation…”

“You’re making this sound too fantastical.”

“Are you going to ask or not? If not, I’m going back to sleep.” Xu Juan took control.

The officer hesitated, then asked: “Who else lives in your home?”

Xu Juan paused, then said: “Just me.”

“What’s your name?”

“I won’t tell you.” Xu Juan had let go.

The officer outside frowned, thought for a moment, and made a note in his notebook.

Xu Juan didn’t care anymore—she only wanted to get through this moment.

The back-and-forth lasted about five or six minutes, then the officer pulled out a sketch and asked: “Do you recognize this person?”

Xu Juan recognized him at once—it was her husband.

Her heart seized; she gasped twice hard, then snarled: “Don’t know him.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“Never!”

Xu Juan stopped responding to anything else the officer said.

The officer called out a few more times, then fell silent. Unusual responses during door-to-door inquiries were common; Xu Juan’s behavior wasn’t rare, nor bizarre enough to justify forced entry.

They’d come to this neighborhood because the Qingshi Bureau had confirmed the body was dumped in the river just over two hundred meters away. The search radius covered all households within a thousand meters of the dumping site.

The number of households was enormous, and the demands on the officers were high. But more than finding the killer—an unrealistic goal—the main purpose of this door-to-door was to identify the victim.

Thus, this level of inquiry required neither excessive leniency nor excessive detail—it fell squarely within the experience of foot patrol officers.

Considering every neighborhood might contain the mentally ill (medically), the eccentric (socially), obsessive elders, socially anxious youths, menopausal couples, actual criminals, traditional antisocial types, chronic nitpickers, sudden nitpickers, lifelong cynics, and adults who collapse in an instant, identifying an outlier among them was no easy task.

Bearing immense psychological pressure, Xu Juan watched the officers leave her door, then asked the neighbor across the hall who’d opened it to watch.

Xu Juan watched nervously as the officer showed the sketch. To her relief, the neighbor across the way looked confused, then shook his head.

In that instant, Xu Juan exhaled deeply—thank goodness her husband worked long hours, even on weekends. Otherwise, she’d have been in serious danger.