Chapter 16: The Beach Victim (2)

How exactly did he commit suicide?

Yes, Yuan Fu had already ruled out the possibility of homicide.

Two well-done steaks were brought to the table. She pressed her dining knife against one, slicing cleanly through the meat with no trace of blood inside.

Both the steaks and the chef’s skill were excellent. Though the meat wasn’t as tender as it would be at medium rare, it carried a fresh grassy fragrance that hinted at deeper flavors.

She seemed to envision a herd of cattle roaming across the prairie, wandering to the water’s edge to drink, then lowing softly.

“Moo—”

From some distant point, a cruise ship on the sea emitted a faint, mournful whistle. The heavy sound drifted intermittently across the waves into her ears.

In that instant, Yuan Fu suddenly pieced together the entire sequence of how the body had formed.

Yet, she was still puzzled because the deceased bore no marks resembling those left by a rope.

Neither the arm, nor the neck, nor the torso showed any sign of struggle. The body was clean, as if the person had surrendered completely in life, allowing themselves to be manipulated.

That was the eeriest aspect of all.

Her gaze shifted to the distance. On the beach, the corpse had been covered with a white cloth, and there were no chalk outlines drawn on the ground, unlike what she’d seen on television.

A woman who appeared to be a relative of the deceased clutched a child, pressing questions to the police. Through the sea breeze, Yuan Fu faintly heard the officer say, “The forensic examination confirms drowning as the cause of death. We reviewed surveillance footage; he walked alone into the sea, deliberately choosing a deserted spot.”

The woman replied, “That’s impossible. He only told me this morning that he was just stepping out for a moment...”

The officer tapped his notebook with a pen, locking eyes with her. “Then do you know what he went out to do? And why are you only coming out now?”

The woman averted her gaze, her expression strained. She said little but insisted, “He couldn’t have committed suicide. He could swim, and the waves weren’t high. Besides, we just got married the day before yesterday and were on our honeymoon. We were supposed to travel abroad in a few days...”

Just married?

Yuan Fu glanced at the child beside her—a girl of three or four whose features didn’t closely resemble the woman’s. The little girl stared curiously at the white cloth, her eyes clear.

She was too young to know that beneath that covering lay her own father.

A sudden weariness washed over Yuan Fu.

She closed her eyes briefly, pulled up her collar, and resolved not to dwell on these matters any longer.

As she left the restaurant, she glanced at the electronic bill and discovered the meal had cost over six hundred yuan.

She hadn’t noticed the prices when ordering; only at checkout did she realize how expensive it was.

Her mood grew more complicated as she turned to look back at the restaurant.

The entrance was framed by two large glass doors with golden handles. Above hung a blue sign bearing bold letters: “Seaside Play Restaurant,” underneath which was written, “Sincerely Welcoming Your Arrival,” accompanied by images of shells and crabs.

She felt as if the words read something like “Restaurant Assassin” on the left and “Misfortune, Come Quickly” on the right.

Whether an illusion or not, she vaguely saw the wrinkled face of her grandmother flash before her, followed by a rough hand clutching a rag pressing toward her.

Startled, she stepped back. Before she could observe further, the vision dissolved like a bubble, returning her to the present scene of the restaurant.

Recalling the moment, she remembered the background had been white tiles, but the rest was obscured, making it impossible to tell where it had been.

Her roommate’s carefree “Wuyou” series hadn’t reached this area yet, but it seemed the local businesses had made prior arrangements: the seaside restaurant was self-funded, but the seaside hotel provided free accommodation during lunch hours.

Sixth floor.

Yuan Fu still had a single room.

She lay on the bed, gazing into the distance at the deep blue sea stretching endlessly. A few small boats hurried across the surface; occasionally, a seagull perched on a deck, someone tearing bread to scatter toward them.

At some point, she had also dreamed of owning such a “river-view room,” believing that looking at the blue ocean could always soothe one’s heart.

She opened her phone’s banking app, checked the balance, and remained silent.

Yuan Fu lay sprawled on the bed in a star shape, her jacket wrinkled and uncomfortable. She took it off, tossed it onto the nearby light blue plaid sofa, then stretched her arms wide and fell heavily onto the bed.

After a moment, she flipped over, inhaled deeply, and buried her face into the pillow.

One minute and twenty seconds later.

She couldn’t help but lift her head, propping herself up. Her cheeks were flushed red; her body’s instincts compelled her to take deep breaths.

Due to lack of oxygen, her lips tinged slightly purple. Beyond the pounding of her heartbeat, a faint ringing filled her ears, and her vision darkened slightly.

Sitting on the bed, she lowered her eyes to the distant seaside restaurant, her expression calm.

Perhaps out of fear of mischief, or simply because there was more money than she knew what to do with, the place was heavily monitored. Aside from the restroom inside, two infrared surveillance cameras had been installed at the restaurant’s entrance.

She could not understand:

How could a normal person suppress their will to survive?

Suddenly, Yuan Fu recalled reading online that hotels sometimes installed pinhole cameras in rooms to secretly film illegal or improper activities.

Though she was merely resting briefly, she felt uneasy and couldn’t sleep. She found the “sleep mode” switch beside the bed.

She turned off all the lights in the room and tightly drew two layers of curtains.

Bloggers online said that pinhole camera lenses were often glass and would reflect when exposed to strong light.

Yuan Fu switched on her phone’s flashlight and pressed it against the walls, inching along carefully, searching for any unusual reflections.

She even checked the washroom but found no suspicious device.

Returning to the bed, she noticed an unusual red light on the ceiling, flashing approximately every ten seconds.

Yuan Fu frowned.

Her hand rested on the landline phone, hesitating before shifting to her mobile.

Her thumb swiped through the screen’s corner to reveal an orange app featuring a series of mental health books, each with prices listed.

She tapped the camera icon on the home page, activating the room’s “bright mode.” She aimed at the white object emitting intermittent red light, snapped a photo, and the page shifted to similar products.

All showed the same image, with prices ranging from 12.8 to 97 yuan.

The product name: Smoke Alarm.

Yuan Fu blinked in confusion.

She picked a store at random and opened the review section, which was filled with comments like “Great product, looks nice, will buy again.”

She then opened customer service chat.

Yuan Fu: “Hello, sorry to bother you. Does this smoke alarm emit a red light?”

Customer service: “Dear customer, normally the smoke alarm flashes red when working to indicate that the device is functioning properly.”

Yuan Fu: “...Okay, thank you.”