Chapter 4: Chapter Two — The Hungry Demon

Chapter Two — The Hungry Demon

At 8:30 p. M. On March 27, Zheng Shaode and his colleagues finished their shift and stepped out of the Sanmin Precinct. He stretched unconsciously — the search meeting had lasted more than two hours without a break, and he felt bone-tired.

Mounting his motorcycle, Shaode didn’t intend to go straight home to sleep. He and Wu had agreed that as soon as the search meeting ended he would ride to the hospital to see him.

The hospital where Wu was being observed sat on Zhonghua Road, not far from the precinct; Shaode could reach it in under twenty minutes.

Two days earlier, when Wu entered Zhong Sizao’s sealed apartment, he’d been attacked by a corpse-eating rat. By the time the other officers — summoned by the sounds of a fierce struggle — reached the master bedroom, the rat was a mangled, dying mass and Wu sat dazed nearby, clutching a baton smeared with blood and fur.

The giant rodent’s body lay twisted on the floor like an abandoned blanket, multiple fractures and bleeding visible beneath its skin; its dying posture was hideously striking.

Wu was probably in shock and exhausted from prolonged sleeplessness. His clothing was torn by the rat; his body bore numerous scratches and bite marks. On the inner side of his left forearm was a deep, long wound from which blood was still welling.

Colleagues moved quickly to carry him out of the bedroom while a veteran officer improvised a dressing with a clean cloth. They took him to the fourth-floor corridor and Captain Gao immediately summoned an ambulance so Wu could receive treatment as quickly as possible.

Even after arriving at the hospital, Wu remained semi-conscious. The emergency staff cleaned and dressed his wounds and administered serum.

Because the giant rat might be a carrier of infectious disease, the doctors decided to keep Wu under observation for further tests to ensure no infection had taken hold.

They also told him that since he had been awake for more than twenty continuous hours and had exerted himself during the long searches, his strength was depleted; it would be best for him to stay hospitalized for at least two days so he could recover.

During the two days Wu convalesced, the homicide squad at Sanmin Precinct pushed full steam into the Zhong Sizao investigation. Shaode knew that because Wu had deduced the corpse’s presence in 401, Wu would be keenly interested in follow-ups — so Shaode wanted to visit and report the case progress to his senior.

“You came, Shaode!”
Wu raised his uninjured right hand to greet him when the younger officer entered the room.

“You okay, senior?”
Shaode asked.

“I’m fine,”
Wu replied. “The doctor should clear me to leave tomorrow.”

“That’s great — then from tomorrow you can help us catch the killer.”
Shaode pulled a chair to the bedside and sat. Looking at the quiet ward, he judged Wu’s recovery was going well.

“Is it confirmed a homicide?”
Wu asked.

“Yes. The right hand wrapped in the sheet — though badly decomposed — was forensically matched to the body in the wardrobe.”

“Also, the joint’s fracture surface shows it had been severed with tremendous force by a bladed weapon. The kitchen knife found at the scene had many nicks along its edge, which matched the bone’s broken surface. Most importantly, the direction of the cut indicates the killer was left-handed, so the possibility that the victim severed his own right hand is extremely small.”

“However, regardless of the killer’s handedness, a fundamental logical contradiction remains: it was a sealed room. Besides the iron door of 401 being completely blocked by a cabinet, the external windows in each room had been heavily boarded — there was no possible escape route for a killer.”

“So… A locked-room murder?”
Wu said.

“Exactly.”
Shaode nodded.

“I never thought I’d face such a case in my life.”

“Neither did I,”
Shaode continued, “but the reconstruction by the search team showed that if you were outside the apartment, it would have been impossible to create the sealed condition we found. Besides, you checked the fourth-floor corridor surveillance — for six days before the body was found no one entered or left 401 with Zhong Sizao. No one.”

“Although I believe there must be a rational explanation, it’s terribly hard to see it. Senior, your deduction at Mrs. Ge’s was spectacular — solving why the rat appeared in her apartment. What do you think about the locked room here?”

“Well…”
Wu forced a weak smile. “I’m still in the hospital; you’re trying to make my head work so hard it won’t let me get out of here.”

“No, no — I actually came to report on the search progress, not to bother you.”
Shaode laughed sheepishly. “Oh, and the victim has been firmly identified as Zhong Sizao based on medical records.”

“The landlord’s copy of the lease carried an ID number. From the registered address we tracked his family in Fengshan. Both parents are deceased; his only next of kin is an aunt who cooperated with us. She dug up Zhong’s dental records from around age eighteen. Those records show the lower-left first premolar had a palladium crown — the skeletal remains match that. Coupled with sex and height, we’re confident the remains are Zhong’s.”

“Can the time of death be narrowed?”
Wu asked.

“Under pressure from Captain Gao, the coroner concluded the time window is between March 19 and 22 — within three days of Zhong’s last appearance on the building’s surveillance.”

“Because the major organs had been eaten by the two disgusting rats, the coroner couldn’t use stomach contents to determine time of death. He had to rely on the right hand wrapped in the sheet. But since that hand was wrapped, the heat from decomposition accelerated the arm’s decay and widened the margin of error for timing.”

“In Zhong’s kitchen we found a large number of canned meats and several big trash bags full of empty cans and discarded ready-meal packaging. Judging by the amount, Zhong likely holed up in 401 for around three weeks. We also found a stack of postal withdrawal slips and receipts; during that period he used his remaining postal savings to buy food and carpentry materials and tools to construct the completely sealed space — for what purpose, we don’t know.”

“Furthermore, the audiovisual shop where he supposedly worked — we found the shop’s address on a DV camera box in the living room — but when we visited the shop, the owner claimed Zhong only worked there for one week back in October before disappearing with an expensive camera. The owner reported the theft, but the personal information Zhong had given the shop was fake.”

“So he wasn’t actually working there?”
Shaode said.

“Right. When Zhong moved into 401, he lied about having found work, probably because the landlord or caretaker asked. Neighbors are tight-lipped about his friends.”

“I suppose his aunt couldn’t tell you much either?”

“Correct. Zhong has been a difficult subject to trace. If not for a rare honest slip on the landlord’s lease, we might never have found his registered address.”

“Did you find an address book or phone list?”
Wu asked.

“No.”

“Figures.”

“In the living-room cabinet, besides an expensive DV camera, we found a VCR and a box of over twenty unlabelled tapes. Liwei and I inspected them, but they were all noise — static. Liwei thinks they aren’t new blank tapes; someone likely erased the recorded content.”

“Zhong’s behavior is intentionally secretive. He destroyed his address book and probably wiped the tapes himself. For us that feels like a deliberate attempt to manufacture a headless mystery.”

“Very strange.”
Wu thought for a moment. “Shaode, the caretaker mentioned Zhong had an occasional girlfriend who sometimes visited. Can we find her?”

“That’s one of two lines Captain Gao wants to follow tonight. We searched 401 and found no photos, but some residents helped piece together a rough sketch. The witnesses’ descriptions differ, likely due to fuzzy memories. The consensus: a woman in her twenties, long hair, large eyes, slim, about 155–160 cm tall, often dressed in white.”

“And the other line?”

“Where Zhong got his money.”

“Sharp as ever, Captain!”
Wu said. “Where was Zhong getting funds to live while not working? That’s a valuable lead.”

“I agree,”
Shaode said. Captain Gao was a mentor figure for both him and Wu. Nearing retirement but rich in case experience, Gao lacked the impulsive strokes of youth, but his investigative insights were keen. Gao suggested checking all receipts and postal withdrawals to map Zhong’s spending patterns and identify the shops he frequented.”

“Once I’m out, I’ll join the team immediately.”

“But…”
Shaode lowered his voice. “After the search meeting, the captain privately told me there’s a third investigative direction — an odd one.”

Wu raised his eyebrows.

“A convicted serial killer — the ‘bone-gnawing hungry demon,’ Hong Zechen.”

Shaode recounted the infamous case: in the summer of 1988 the Whitechapel murders in London had terrified the city — the Jack the Ripper letters, the mutilations, the hysteria. Serial killers kept appearing globally in the 20th century’s industrial cities, often hidden behind ordinary façades. Taiwan had its own notorious serial killer: Hong Zechen, executed by firing squad in 1995 and nicknamed the “Bone-Gnawing Hungry Demon.”

In the summer of 1994, across Kaohsiung, twelve brutal, similar murders of elderly victims occurred within three months. The victims were all solitary seniors, over seventy, financially comfortable and educated, living off pensions and remittances — and each fell prey to horrific midnight slaughters. The killer dismembered bodies, scraped flesh from bones, and left bite marks on exposed bone. He painted obscene words and taunting messages in blood at the scenes.

The police were baffled until a Taiwanese psychiatrist returning from the U. S., Dr. Li Gandang, wrote a long letter profiling the murderer as a psychiatric patient with severe antisocial traits, aged mid-twenties to thirty, abused in childhood, educated but socially inept, living alone, often working with elderly people and planning murders in detail.

Using behavioral profiling and hospital psychiatric records, police ultimately identified and arrested Hong Zechen — a long, clean-cut young man who had been a volunteer at nursing homes and sometimes employed as short-term caregiver for rich elderly clients. Dental and forensic evidence matched him to the crimes; he confessed in multiple interviews, citing childhood trauma and a pathological hatred of the elderly. He claimed the mutilations relieved his disgust and also offered twisted “fame” as motivation. Hong received the death penalty and was executed before the Lunar New Year, but Kaohsiung never fully recovered from the fear.

Wu woke with a start in the hospital bed — he had been dreaming.

The nightmare had been vivid: he chased a long-haired woman in white down a long road; she never looked back until she reached a red door. Her face was hidden by black hair; when she opened the door, the knob was soaked with blood. He fumbled with the crank, his hands bleeding as the knob dripped. The lock suddenly opened and he rushed in. The woman squatted at the hallway’s far end; when she turned, her face was a rat — a rat feasting on a corpse, its forepaws sticky with rotting flesh. The giant rat lunged at him. He raised his baton; after a scuffle he watched a human face beaten and despoiled — a mouth twisted into a seductive, cold laugh. He woke sweating.

Wu remembered the last thing he and Shaode had discussed before visiting hours ended.

“You know the coroner and Captain Gao are close. After the autopsy the coroner privately told the captain he’d found many fine scrape marks on the dead man’s bones, consistent with flesh being sliced off — not just rat gnawing. He didn’t include that in the team’s reference report to avoid unnecessary public alarm.”

“First we must rule out Hong Zechen. One: Hong is dead. Two: his victims were elderly. But besides that, the method is strikingly similar to the ‘bone-gnawing demon.’”

“To be honest, I don’t believe anyone’s psyche would be disturbed enough to learn Hong’s exact method and replicate it perfectly. Besides, the police withheld many scene details to protect the victim’s dignity — the killer couldn’t have known specifics. Captain Gao wants you to take this lead.”

“No — he wants you, senior, to take it.”

“Oh?”

Perhaps Captain Gao had already sensed Wu’s obsession with the case — that whoever unearthed the key direction should lead the investigation. Gao thought starting from the Hong Zechen angle offered the best chance.

So why did Gao have Shaode convey this rather than say it himself? Wu realized: the captain was worried about him. That had always been the case. Unlike the easygoing Liwei, both Wu and Shaode were relentless investigators — but Shaode was calmer, less emotional. He was proud of his reasoning skill and protected that pride, and so he cared about Wu’s deduction.

In truth, one fact had remained unsaid by Wu: when he immediately deduced Mrs. Ge’s somnambulism, it was not pure reasoning — it was recognition. He himself had once suffered from sleepwalking as a child. That’s why he could say, “The clinical term is somnambulism” and recall it being more common in children and women — he had experienced it for over a year in elementary school.

It wasn’t deduction; it was memory.

Wu was troubled by another memory he couldn’t shake since breaking into 401: it was as if he had a preordained destination in that apartment — as if he already knew where Zhong’s bedroom was. More disquieting, before photographs or documentation were taken, he had instinctively pulled the sheet from under the bed — an act that destroys a scene, a forbidden move — and he’d done it without hesitation.

Then he remembered the fight with the corpse-eating rat — or rather, he remembered that he had a fierce confrontation but not the details. It was like sleepwalking.

He also realized that the tape he now held in his jacket pocket — a small DV tape, easily hidden — must have come from that moment. The DV cassette, only 6. 35 cm wide, could be concealed in an inside jacket pocket.

Wu sat up and took the tape from his jacket pocket. He pinched the black cube between thumb and forefinger and examined it. He did not know when he had put the tape into his pocket; the only plausible gap was the blank interval between the rat’s death and the arrival of colleagues.

He had lost consciousness between the rat’s collapse and his colleagues’ arrival — he now understood he’d taken the tape from Zhong’s bedroom. But why had he done it?

Was this DV tape different from the box of tapes Shaode had mentioned from the living-room cabinet, perhaps containing a clue? When Shaode was in the room, Wu hadn’t mentioned the tape; maybe he hadn’t yet realized he’d pocketed it. The nightmares and waking reality blurred.

Suddenly Wu couldn’t tell whether the nightmare had come before Shaode’s visit or after; he even lost track of how many nightmares he’d had.