Chapter 12 The Shocking Massacre
Liu Ge's words hit us like a freight train—hard, fast, and deadly.
We knew now. Li Xiumei was the woman in the wall. The skeleton in the black dress and red heels. But we'd never guessed she'd been a murderer. A cold-blooded killer. The kind that made headlines. The kind that kept cops up at night.
"That case was a big deal fifteen years ago," Liu Ge said, swirling his whiskey around in his glass, his eyes dark. "Front-page news. The Qingdao Massacre. You boys ever hear of it?"
Meng Yifan and I exchanged a look, both shaking our heads. We'd been eleven back then—kids. Too busy chasing frogs and playing video games to care about the news. And the internet back then? Barely a thing. Nothing like the firehose of information we had now.
Liu Ge leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly murmur, like he was sharing a secret he shouldn't. "That case was fucked up. Even by homicide standards. It started with a landlord-tenant dispute. Stupid, petty shit. Rent money."
He took a sip of his drink, wincing like the alcohol burned his throat. "The tenants were a young couple—hillbillies, fresh off the farm. They told the landlord they couldn't pay rent 'cause they hadn't gotten their first paychecks yet. Said they'd pay him as soon as the money came in."
He snorted. "Any sane person would've told 'em to get lost. But this landlord? He was a saint. Soft-hearted. Felt bad for 'em. Let 'em move in anyway. No deposit. No upfront cash. Just a promise."
"A month goes by. Landlord goes to collect rent. Couple says they sent all their money back home—their old man was sick, needed surgery. Landlord buys it. Gives 'em another month. Then another. Then another."
"Six months. Six fucking months they lived there rent-free. Making excuse after excuse. The landlord finally wises up. Realizes he's being played. He marches over to their place, chews 'em out, tells 'em to pay up by tomorrow or he's calling the cops. No more extensions. No more bullshit."
Liu Ge paused, staring into his glass like he could see the whole thing play out in the amber liquid. "The couple says okay. Sure, boss. We'll have the money for you tomorrow. No problem."
He leaned back in his seat, his face grim. "But they weren't planning on paying. They were planning on killing him."
The restaurant went quiet around us. The clink of plates, the murmur of other diners, the soft jazz playing over the speakers—none of it mattered anymore. All I could hear was Liu Ge's voice, cold and sharp, cutting through the noise.
"Landlord has shit to do the next day. Can't make it to collect rent. Sends his wife instead."
He closed his eyes for a second, like he couldn't bear to say the next part. "She never comes home."
"Landlord waits an hour. Two hours. Calls her phone—goes straight to voicemail. He sends his oldest son to check on her. Nineteen years old. Kid goes over to the couple's place. Never comes home either."
Meng Yifan let out a low whistle, his face pale. "Jesus Christ. It's like that fairy tale. The one with the kids going into the woods. One by one."
"Exactly," Liu Ge said, nodding. "Fucking Hansel and Gretel shit. Landlord gets worried. Marches over to the couple's place himself. Walks right into a trap."
"Three people. All tied up. Gagged. Locked in a closet. But the couple wasn't done. Oh no. They wanted to make sure there were no witnesses."
He took another sip of his drink, his hand steady now. "They went back to the landlord's house. Tricked his five-year-old daughter into coming with 'em. Said her mom was sick. Said they'd take her to see her."
"The couple ransacked the landlord's house. Took every penny of cash they could find. Every piece of jewelry. Every valuable they could carry. Then they killed 'em. All three of 'em. The landlord. His wife. His son. Brutal. Messy. Stabbed to death."
He paused, his voice heavy. "When the cops found the bodies? The little girl was gone. Vanished. No trace. No ransom note. No nothing. Just… gone."
"To this day, no one knows what happened to her. Some say the couple killed her too, dumped her body somewhere no one would ever find it. Some say they sold her. Trafficked her. Sent her halfway across the country. We chased every lead. Checked every morgue, every missing persons report, every orphanage in three provinces. Nada. Zip. Zilch."
He set his glass down with a clink. "You can still find articles about it online. The Qingdao Massacre. Unsolved. Cold case. Until now."
Meng Yifan and I sat there, stunned, our mouths hanging open. The food on our plates had gone cold. The wine in our glasses tasted like vinegar. All I could think about was that family—dead because they'd been too kind. Too trusting. It made my blood run cold.
"So the woman in the wall—Li Xiumei—she was one of the couple?" Meng Yifan asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Liu Ge nodded. "Her real name was Li Yujiao. After the murders, her and her husband vanished off the face of the earth. Changed their names. Changed their faces, probably. We chased 'em for fifteen years. Ran their prints through every database. Checked every border crossing, every jail cell, every homeless shelter in the country. We thought they'd skipped town. Started new lives somewhere else. Got away with it."
He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Turns out she'd been dead the whole time. Buried behind a wall in a house that changed hands three times. Fucking ironic."
I sat there, my mind racing, putting the pieces together. Li Xiumei—Li Yujiao—was a killer. A monster. She'd helped butcher a family of four, then vanished. Then someone had killed her and hidden her body. My first thought? Her husband. He'd probably offed her to tie up loose ends. To make sure she never ratted him out.
But one question still nagged at me. A big one. "The house," I said, leaning forward, my voice tight. "The one where we found her body. Who was the first owner? The guy who built that wall? Did he know there was a corpse behind it? Could he be the one who killed her?"
Liu Ge sighed, rubbing his temples like the question gave him a headache. "We're looking into it. We've interviewed all three owners. The current one—Hu? You know him. He's clean. No connection to Li Xiumei at all. The second owner? A businessman from out of town. Sold the house five years ago. Alibi checks out. No motive. No opportunity."
He leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing. "The first owner, though? That's where things get interesting. We brought him in for questioning a few hours ago. No hard evidence yet, but he's got history. His name's Chen Guowen."
The world stopped.
For a split second, I didn't hear anything. Not the jazz music, not the clink of plates, not Meng Yifan's sharp intake of breath. All I heard was the blood rushing in my ears, loud and fast, like a freight train.
Chen Guowen.
I knew that name.
We both did.
Meng Yifan's wine glass slipped from his hand, crashing onto the table, red liquid splattering everywhere. His face was white as a sheet. His eyes were wide, staring at me, full of horror.
Because Chen Guowen wasn't just some random guy.
He was my dad.