Deep Well

Chapter 1

Deep well

On television, the announcer spoke expressionlessly about a distant war, with corpses appearing on the screen intermittently. In war, life is insignificant. He sat lazily on the sofa, took out a cigarette from his pocket, and subconsciously pulled one out, about to light it.

Why are you smoking again!

His wife suddenly shouted. The sudden noise startled him, and he dropped his cigarette. He picked it up and looked at his wife with a somewhat innocent expression.

His 31-year-old wife, having never given birth, still retained a youthful figure and could even be considered somewhat beautiful. However, her otherwise pretty face was now contorted with anger, her nostrils twitching. He put a cigarette in his mouth and mumbled, "What's wrong? Are we about to become strangers? Can't I even smoke in my own home?"

She walked over and looked at the still blank divorce agreement: "Why haven't you signed it yet? I don't want anything from you, is that not enough?"

He took out his lighter and deliberately lit his cigarette. Normally, his wife strictly forbade him to smoke at home, and he always strictly obeyed. But tonight, on this night of family breakdown, he suddenly felt a defiant, self-destructive urge.

The cigarette was lit. Through the smoke, the announcer continued to speak about what was happening in that faraway place. The war was about to end, but people would still die.

Yes, people still have to die.

He was watching the television intently, but his gaze was fixed on the wall behind the television.

The wedding photo still hangs on the wall. My wife in a white wedding dress, me in a black suit, both wearing somewhat affected smiles. That day seems so distant, so far away that I can barely remember it.

He flicked his cigarette, the ash falling onto the divorce agreement on the coffee table, and his vision became slightly blurred.

He blew away the cigarette ash, picked up his pen, and was about to write on the paper when he looked up again: "Is there any way to salvage this?"

His wife didn't answer him, as if she had suddenly gone deaf. A surge of anger welled up inside him, and his temples burned.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

In the deserted alley, on the path they had walked hand in hand countless times, the embraces and kisses of the past were now cruelly severed by this piece of paper. He wanted to continue writing, but his hand suddenly became so weak, trembling uncontrollably. Just then, a piercing scream suddenly erupted from outside.

It was a cat. Although it was already summer, this stray cat, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, still came to his door every now and then and made that meowing sound. His wife looked out the window and cursed, "That wretched cat, it'll poison you to death one day."

His hand trembled again, and he gritted his teeth, gripping the pen tightly and forcefully signing his name on the back. Before he could put the pen down, his wife snatched the paper away, looking at it with a sigh of relief, as if it were a priceless masterpiece.

She was with her back to him and didn't see his gaze.

The doorbell rang. Zhou Baoqiang excitedly walked out the door, crossed the yard to open the gate, his slippers making a long dragging sound on the ground as he called out, "Coming, coming!" as he opened the door.

When the door opened, he froze. The person standing outside wasn't the one he expected; he was standing in the doorway.

Zhou Baoqiang stood awkwardly at the door, but he smiled slightly and said, "What's wrong, Baoqiang? You won't let me in?"

"Come in and sit down, come in and sit down."

Zhou Baoqiang seemed to suddenly realize something, reaching out to invite him in, but a sense of unease lingered in his heart. This best friend, with whom he had grown up since elementary school, always made him uneasy. Although he had always been a step behind him in school, Zhou Baoqiang barely managed to get into a prestigious middle school after graduating from elementary school, while he himself entered second in his grade. After graduating from middle school, Zhou Baoqiang failed to get into university, while he successfully continued his studies. Yet today, Zhou Baoqiang was a well-known "young entrepreneur" in the city, while he remained a factory doctor in a precarious state-owned factory, filled with hope for this month's bonus.

The yard looked a bit messy, probably because there wasn't a professional gardener to tidy it up. He stood at the doorway, taking off his shoes as he looked around the yard. It had rained a lot this summer, and the weather wasn't hot. Insects chirped melodiously in the grass, giving the house the illusion of being in the mountains. He couldn't help but sigh, "Baoqiang, you've really struck it rich."

Zhou Baoqiang closed the door and walked up behind him. Hearing his sigh, Zhou Baoqiang smiled awkwardly and said, "This is nothing. Compared to the truly wealthy, we're still far behind."

"Now, to own a small house with a yard like this in the city center, it would cost several million."

“This was passed down from our ancestors.” Zhou Baoqiang seemed unwilling to continue the topic and led him inside, saying, “Come in and sit down.”

The living room was paved with dark red granite, and the furniture was all in somber, dark tones, giving it a simple yet luxurious feel. He sat down somewhat self-consciously on the leather sofa, carefully placing his bag on the floor. Zhou Baoquan turned on the television and asked, "Would you like something to drink?"

Modified on: 2003-09-02 14:07:45

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [4]: A special program about that war was being broadcast on TV. A military expert was asserting with certainty that the war had only just begun. Judging from his tone, he seemed to be eagerly anticipating a scene of bloodshed. He stared blankly at the TV screen and didn't hear what Zhou Baoqiang said for a moment. Zhou Baoqiang asked loudly again before he replied, "Whatever."

The casual result was two glasses of watermelon juice. Seeing the glass of dark red, frothy juice made him feel nauseous, but Zhou Baoqiang sipped it with relish, sat down opposite him, and smiled, "What's wrong? Did you two argue again?"

How did you know we had a fight?

Zhou Baoqiang laughed: "Every time you argue, you go out and drink alone. Most bars are probably closed today, and you look disheveled. Don't mind it, that's how women are, they get together if they get along, and go their separate ways if they don't."

He picked up the glass. The color didn't match the aroma, but the glass had a sweet fragrance. He closed his eyes, took a sip, and whispered, "Women, I guess they're always like this."

"Don't be too sad, it's fate."

He put the cup on the table and said, "Do you have any cookies or bread here? I haven't had dinner yet."

Zhou Baoqiang smiled again, a smile typical of the wealthy—reserved and elegant. He placed the cup on the coffee table, stood up, and said, "Let me see. There's probably another pizza left; I'll heat it up for you."

Zhou Baoqiang went to the refrigerator to get the Western-style pastry. He leaned back in his chair and dropped a white pill into Zhou Baoqiang's glass of watermelon juice. The pill made a soft "thump" as it hit the juice, but the sound was too faint and drowned out by the expert's impassioned voice on television; it was completely inaudible.

After finishing, he leaned back against the sofa and caught his breath. At that moment, Zhou Baoqiang walked over, sat down opposite him again, looked at him, and suddenly laughed, "You're not running away from home, are you? And you're even taking a bag."

He shuddered, looked at the bag, and suddenly felt a pang of sadness. He murmured, "Home? Where is there any home anymore?"

Zhou Baoqiang rested one foot on his lap, shook it lightly, and took another sip of watermelon juice: "Those destined to meet will find each other even from a thousand miles away, while those not destined will not recognize each other even face to face. Relax, you're still young, there's plenty of time ahead of you."

He looked up, his face already streaked with tears. He seemed to be muttering to himself, "Tomorrow? Where is my tomorrow?"

Zhou Baoqiang leaned forward with some concern: "Hey, don't do anything rash, what's the big deal?"

He wiped away his tears, forced a smile, and said, "Yeah, it's nothing. Come on, let's have a drink."

He picked up the glass of watermelon juice in front of him and clinked it against Zhou Baoqiang's. With a "ding," the sweet and refreshing watermelon juice poured into his parched throat, but it did nothing to relieve his thirst.

The dark red watermelon juice was covered in foam. When he drank it, the foam burst in his mouth, making it look like a big mouthful, but after bursting, there was nothing there. He swallowed the juice, but his vision was still completely red.

The dark red watermelon juice, so red, just like...

Just like blood.

Just then, the microwave oven beeped, and Zhou Baoquan said, "The pizza is ready." He stood up, but as soon as he stood, his body swayed. He pressed his head, seemingly confused, but his eyes were already glazed over, and his feet felt unsteady, as if he were standing on the deck of a ship that was constantly rocking.

He looked at Zhou Baoqiang with great interest, but felt a little empty inside.

He had originally intended to use ether, but he didn't want Zhou Baoqiang to be completely unconscious, so he opted for this anesthetic extracted from painkillers. His medical knowledge allowed him to extract a single pill capable of incapacitating a cow from a bottle of painkillers. After two experiments on the cat, he confirmed that one pill could render a person immobile while remaining conscious. He had initially worried that one pill might not be enough for Zhou Baoqiang's physique, but now it seemed that although Zhou Baoqiang was tall, his body was weak. His only concern now was whether the pill would render him completely unconscious. If Zhou Baoqiang was utterly unaware, it would lose much of its dramatic effect.

Zhou Baoqiang tried to move, but as soon as he took a step, he lost his balance and collapsed, almost falling into the sofa. He went over, helped Zhou Baoqiang up, and whispered in his ear, "Baoqiang, what happened?"

Zhou Baoqiang twitched his hand, as if he wanted to rub his temples, but he was now under general anesthesia, so he only moved his fingers slightly. He made a hissing sound, which could be vaguely discerned as him speaking, but the sound was very soft, indistinct, and sounded rather ridiculous.

"What happened?"

Zhou Baoqiang said this, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes.

Modified on: 2003-09-02 14:08:17

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [5]: Oops, OP, didn't you already post this?

---johncorn

Reply [6]: /showtopic.aspx?topic_id=604366---johncorn Reply [7]: Sorry, I didn't have time to read that post. I posted two posts before I realized I had already posted them.

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [8]: Okay, continue

Roar

---johncorn

Reply [9]: He must have figured it out by now. He thought to himself, and couldn't help but rub his temples with satisfaction. It was getting late, and he was feeling a bit tired, but he had to stay calm. He leaned close to Zhou Baoqiang's ear and whispered, "I did it."

This childish trick was completely unnecessary, but Zhou Baoqiang's eyes widened immediately. He pulled a Walkman from his pocket and whispered, "You don't understand? Maybe this recording will make it clear to you."

He put one earphone into Zhou Baoqiang's ear, pressed play, and the tape started spinning. It began with a hissing sound, then panting, a man and a woman's breaths, interspersed with the woman's moans, the creaking of the bed, and finally a low, ecstatic "ah-ah!" As soon as the sound reached Zhou Baoqiang's ears, his already wide eyes widened even more, his gaze now filled only with astonishment, devoid of guilt.

After the woman let out two soft "ahs," there was another gasp. Although he wasn't wearing headphones, he could still hear it through the empty ones. That familiar moaning sound couldn't be masked even by the pronouncements of military experts on television. He could practically recite what followed.

"Why won't he get a divorce?" This was a male voice.

Female voice: "She just won't. There's nothing I can do."

"Well, then we'll have to do it your way."

Then came another tremor of the bed and a woman's moans. Each time he heard the cries of "Fuck me, fuck me hard," his heart bled. He suddenly turned off the stereo and whispered, "That's enough."

“It wasn’t me,” Zhou Baoqiang’s voice was almost a groan, “it was her who did it.”

He couldn't help but yawn and gave a cold laugh.

Zhou Baoqiang has always been like this since he was a child. Even when he did something wrong, he always blamed it on himself, and he hasn't changed even now. He put the cassette player away and put it back in his pocket, then suddenly smiled and said, "Baoqiang, don't you love her very much? Now I'll give you a gift."

Zhou Baoqiang looked at him, somewhat bewildered. Zhou Baoqiang's limbs were now immobile; only his eyes could move, and his tongue could twitch slightly. When he placed the bag on the coffee table and unzipped it, a look of despair suddenly filled Zhou Baoqiang's eyes.

He took her head out of the bag.

Her face still held the expression he had when he cut her off, but her lips were pale, her complexion was bluish, and a few drops of blood remained on her cheek. Because she had been wrapped in a plastic bag like a fine cabbage, the blood from the cut had still stained places he didn't want to get it on. These bloodstains marred her beauty, adding a touch of grotesqueness to her death.

He lifted the head, holding it level with his eyes. Now, she faced him again, and in her lifeless eyes, a trace of fear and horror still lingered. Yet, at the corner of her bloodied mouth, he could still vaguely see the innocent charm she once possessed.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

In the drizzle, a kiss in that dark alley, timid yet impulsive, the first time. Her lips were soft and sweet—how long had it been?

He cradled her head in one hand. The blood on the cut surface had dried somewhat, giving it a sticky feel. He slowly withdrew his hand, vaguely recalling how she had timidly approached him back then.

Lips. Soft, sweet lips. Even though she had lost her life, her lips remained soft and somewhat sweet. But this was clearly the smell of blood.

He stuck out his tongue and licked the blood from the corner of her mouth. The blood was licked away, but it only made her face look like it had been stained with tears, which made his heart ache even more. He laid the head flat on the coffee table, next to the glass of watermelon juice. The dark red watermelon juice was the same color as the bloodstain left by the cut on her neck.

"What do you intend to do to me?"

His voice, sharp as a knife, carried a metallic edge, and he reverted to his cold-blooded demeanor.

Zhou Baoqiang's eyes were glazed over, and hissed sounds emanated from deep within his throat. He must have been screaming, but he himself didn't realize it. After the anesthetic took effect, his lung capacity had shrunk considerably; he wanted to scream, but at most, his vocal cords would vibrate slightly. He coldly placed his left hand on Zhou Baoqiang's neck and whispered, "I don't want to know how you're going to deal with me, but I'll tell you how I want to deal with you."

He glanced at the severed head on the table. A reflection shone on the glass surface of the coffee table; her head, placed there, resembled a monster with two heads joined together. He chuckled softly and said in as gentle a voice as possible, "I want you to be reunited forever."

Zhou Baoqiang looked as if he had suddenly encountered a ghost; his pupils contracted instantly. He spoke very gently, but behind those gentle words lay an unbearable sinister intent. He pulled a small knife from his pocket, wiped it in his hand, and smiled, "Let's begin. Don't be afraid of the pain."

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [10]: Zhou Baoqiang suddenly opened his mouth. It seems that even though the anesthetic has taken full effect, when a person is extremely fearful, the rapid secretion of adrenaline will still produce incredible phenomena. However, after Zhou Baoqiang opened his mouth wide, he made an "ah-a" sound from his throat, which sounded more like a fish being pulled ashore. Mixed with the voice of the military expert on the TV, it sounded more like the noise from the TV.

He rubbed the knife in his palm. It was a fruit knife, but very sharp; he'd tried it, cutting frozen meat like soap. When the tip pierced Zhou Baoqiang's left neck, it did indeed feel a bit like cutting soap. He gently rotated his hand, feeling some resistance from the blade. That was the carotid artery in the neck; as the knife cut through, the artery was severed, and blood gushed out, staining his right arm bright red.

Like a broken water tap.

The knife spun beneath Zhou Baoqiang's skin. Zhou Baoqiang opened his mouth, but blood began to gush from his throat. After severing the major artery, the trachea nearby was likely also cut. Blood flowed in through the wound, and Zhou Baoqiang's lungs felt like a squeezed rubber ball, air desperately trying to escape, filling his mouth with blood. Bubbles rose intermittently from the incision. Zhou Baoqiang's entire body trembled, as if electrocuted; every muscle twitched, yet not a sound was uttered.

The knife had circled once, and Zhou Baoqiang's head was now completely severed, with only his spine remaining connected. His mouth was still twitching, perhaps indicating he was still thinking, and his chest was still rising and falling, but because his trachea had been severed, the movement of his lungs only caused blood to flow from the wound, and perhaps some blood had even entered his lungs. If he were normal, he would definitely cough, but now Zhou Baoqiang could only move like a broken puppet. The muscles in his neck had also been severed, and his head could no longer stand upright; if he hadn't been leaning against the sofa, the weight of his head would have caused his spine to break.

He wiped the knife on Zhou Baoqiang's body, then glanced at that familiar face again. This face, which he'd known since childhood, once considered handsome, now looked like a wax model if it weren't for the occasional twitching of the facial muscles. The head and body were detached, perhaps due to the elongation of the spine after the neck muscles and tendons were severed. The fact that both parts could still move after the head and body were separated filled him with a sudden, visceral disgust. He grabbed Zhou Baoqiang's head, stomped hard on his body, and Zhou Baoqiang's body was forced into the springy sofa, embedded deeply inside. With a soft "crack," the spine broke.