Chapter 997: Chapter 700: The Bell Tolling for One’s Life
The iron gate creaked open by a third, and dim, yellowish light spilled out from within, revealing an old and grotesque face in the gap between the door.
A frail old man stood before him, dressed in a thick fur vest. A menacing, long-healed scar coiled like a centipede across the left side of his face. A white film clouded his left eye—it was clearly blind.
Anyone suddenly confronted with such a face would be startled. Dou Jie’s heart raced, and before he could react, the iron gate was completely opened. The old man took a step back, making way, his voice low and hoarse, "Come in."
At this point, turning back was no longer an option. Dou Jie steeled himself and stepped into the room. The old man promptly slammed the iron gate shut with a heavy "clang."
The sound of the closing door sent a chill through Dou Jie, causing him to shiver involuntarily. When he turned around, he saw the old man facing away, securing a chain lock behind the door. The chain clanked loudly, and Dou Jie noticed there were not one, but three locks on the aged iron door.
"Sir, I... I’m the staff member from the real estate agency who contacted you earlier. We are confident we can sell your property." Dou Jie hurriedly introduced himself. In moments like these, he had to say something.
Only after locking all three locks did the old man slowly turn around. Under the dim, yellowish light, his face appeared even stranger, making Dou Jie regret ever coming here. A wave of cold dread swept through him from head to toe.
Yet, the old man merely nodded before heading towards the sofa. Dou Jie tactfully followed behind him, and the two sat down one after the other.
Dou Jie didn’t dare sit too close to the old man and selected the spot directly across from him. The apartment was small—less than sixty square meters, he estimated.
Stealing glances using his peripheral vision, Dou Jie quietly observed the surroundings. There were three doors flanking the living room, suggesting its layout: a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom.
From a plastic thermos flask on the table, the old man poured Dou Jie a cup of water and slid the cup across the glass coffee table with a piercing screech:
"The person who called me said no matter if the property sells or not, I would still receive my money. Is that true?" The old man lifted his heavy eyelids, fixing his gaze on Dou Jie.
"Absolutely true. This is your guarantee fee; please keep it." Dou Jie promptly retrieved several blue banknotes from his pocket and respectfully handed them to the old man. These bills were prepared in advance by Boss Sun.
At the sight of cold, hard cash, the old man’s previously stern demeanor softened considerably. After pocketing the money, Dou Jie began asking standard questions about the abandoned villa—its layout, area, age, lighting, and so forth. Once the atmosphere seemed right, he subtly steered the conversation toward the grisly murder that took place there.
Dou Jie had initially thought the old man would avoid the topic, but to his surprise, the old man readily admitted it. The couple who had died were his tenants—the husband had hacked his wife to death with a kitchen knife before taking his own life.
"Is this the couple?" Dou Jie took a framed photo from his bag and showed it to the old man.
"Yes, it’s them. But... where did you get this picture?" The old man stared at Dou Jie with a peculiar look.
Dou Jie had anticipated this question and replied calmly, "My boss gave it to me. At our company, we conduct background checks before handling any property, which is part of ensuring quality service for our clients."
Dou Jie pulled out a notebook and ballpoint pen from his bag. Opening the notebook, he began jotting notes in a professional manner, "Do you know the names of this couple?"
"The woman’s name was Zheng Churou, and the man’s was Yin Kun."
"Do you know what they did for a living?" Dou Jie asked while jotting down the old man’s response.
"The woman was a housewife. The man... the man was reportedly a writer," the old man recollected.
"When did they move into your property?"
"Ten years ago. The murders happened seven years ago. After the incident, I had to hire someone to clean the place up. I didn’t see the bodies myself, but the bedroom floorboards were completely destroyed, soaked through with blood. Later, I overheard the police mentioning something—the crime scene was brutal. The woman’s body was hacked to pieces, and the husband killed himself right beside her. They were lying there together."
"Were you familiar with the couple?" Dou Jie continued, "What were they like?"
"Not very. They were from out of town, had no friends nearby, and no relatives either. Even after the murders, the police couldn’t locate any of their family or acquaintances. I was the one left to handle the belongings they left behind."
"I visited the couple twice during their tenancy. Each time, the woman was the one who greeted me. She was a soft-spoken person. The man, however, rarely wanted to meet anyone. I only saw him once, during their move-in. He didn’t look well—his eyes were severely bloodshot. We never spoke. Later, I figured it might just be how writers are—introverted and reclusive—so I didn’t give it much thought."
"They were never late with rent, always paying upfront. They paid for three years at a time. Just a few months before the incident, the woman contacted me to pay another three years of rent."
"A writer?" Dou Jie latched onto this detail as if it were a breakthrough. "Do you know what kind of works he wrote? Did you find anything of note while clearing out their belongings?"
Hearing this, the old man shook his head, his expression turning odd, "Nothing. I didn’t find any manuscripts at all. There weren’t even any books among their belongings."
No books, coming from a writer—it struck Dou Jie as odd. Writers like that were a rarity in his experience. As if struck by a sudden thought, Dou Jie opened his bag and rifled through it, but he couldn’t find the bell. It was only then that he remembered—it was with Xiao Qinya.
