Chapter 2: Filthy Evidence
1170 Words
Three hours prior.
Zhang Chi archived the final patient record, kneading the stiffness from his neck. The office lay deserted, illuminated solely by the harsh fluorescent glare above his desk. Damn. Working this late again. He rose, extinguished the light, secured the door. His legs, heavy as leaden weights, carried him homeward.
The early summer breeze clung to his skin, thick with the city’s exhaust and grit.
His key hovered in the lock of the familiar, chipped security door—then froze.
In his morning haste, he’d forgotten… the original Physician Qualification Certificate required for his impending assignment! Where was it? The bedside drawer? Yes! Damn it!
Zhang Chi twisted the key with irritation. Stale, stagnant air rushed out, laced with a cloying trace of… her perfume. Zhou Yating’s signature scent.
He dismissed it. Homecomings were battles; seconds mattered.
Shoes exchanged, he strode directly to the master bedroom.
He yanked open the bedside drawer, rummaging. There it lay—the blue booklet bearing his stoic photo and official seal, nestled forgotten in the corner.
Target acquired. Zhang Chi exhaled.
He turned to leave.
Tap.
A faint sound. Not his own. Like something small striking the floor.
Zhang Chi glanced back instinctively.
His gaze snagged on the narrow gap beneath the wardrobe.
A scrap of fabric? Tiny.
Black. Lace-trimmed? Absurdly sheer.
He frowned. Zhou Yating’s lingerie? How had it snagged here?
He bent, hooking a finger under the delicate edge, pulling gently.
Rrrrip—
A tangled clump emerged.
Not one piece. Several.
Black, wine-red, sheer lace… all scandalously minimal thongs! Crumpled, entwined—hurled into hiding in panic!
Zhang Chi’s mind roared!
When had he last bought her underwear? Six months ago, at least! Simple cotton briefs! These… things? When? He hadn’t a clue!
Ice slithered up his spine.
Just then—
Crash!
A sharp noise from the living room! Like glass shattering!
His heart plummeted! Holding his breath, he stuffed the flimsy, incriminating scraps back into the drawer’s depths! Movements furtive as a thief!
He slipped silently from the room, closed the door, leaned against the cold wall. His heart hammered against his ribs. Mouth parched.
Crouching low, a territorial leopard sensing intrusion, he inched toward the kitchen doorway.
Darkness within. Faint streetlight revealed wet streaks on the counter, cabinet handles… everywhere! Shards of glass glinted sharply on the floor amidst a spreading puddle!
Not a glass. A… thermal mug. Steeped with goji berries! Zhou Yating loathed such things—called them “old man’s brew”!
The mug lay in jagged pieces. Water splattered like tears.
Beside it! The kitchen bin lid sat askew. Inside… Zhang Chi’s pupils constricted!
Several… violated wrappers! Familiar English branding. Condoms! Used! Knotted tightly! Crumpled beneath instant noodle packets! Edges protruding! Five or six! A revolting tangle!
Fuck! f**k! f**k!
Nausea surged violently up Zhang Chi’s throat! He clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling the urge to retch!
They didn’t keep these! He and Zhou Yating… hadn’t used them in ages! Not since her disdain grew… Whose were these?! Used so many?! Like f*****g candy?!
SNAP—!
The final taut nerve shattered!
One thought screamed through his mind—Document! Document it all! Capture this depravity! Every filthy detail!
A wolf possessed, he hunched, minimizing every sound, creeping back to the master bedroom door.
The cursed door! Still ajar! A crack! A gateway to damnation!
The scene within, illuminated by the bedside lamp’s deliberately dimmed, sultry amber glow, seared into Zhang Chi’s bloodshot eyes!
The bed! The large bed!
Two pallid forms!
Serpentine! Locked in a desperate, writhing embrace!
Above—Wang Pengfei! Balding scalp gleaming with sweat, flabby flesh quivering obscenely! His porcine face dripped, etched with rapacious hunger!
Below!
Zhou Yating!
The face he once adored! Now grotesquely contorted! Eyes half-lidded, glazed with abandon! Lips parted in a moan! A rapture Zhang Chi had never witnessed!
Wang Pengfei’s obscene buttocks pumped rhythmically before him!
Slap! Slap! Slap! The nauseating percussion echoed like war drums!
The bed convulsed violently! Wood groaned in protest!
The nightstand! Strewn with torn wrappers! And that bottle! Half-empty! Clear lubricant!
The room! Thick with a suffocating miasma! Sweat! Perfume! Salty musk! And the lamp’s sickly, artificial, sinful fragrance!
Revolting! Utterly vile!
Humiliation! A tidal wave!
Every image! A white-hot brand dipped in venom! Scorching his retinas! Searing his soul! Threatening to incinerate him!
Blood froze in his veins—then ignited into molten fury!
Zhang Chi’s hand, clutching his phone, trembled violently! But he clenched his jaw, muscles straining, forcing it steady!
The camera lens! Silent!
Aimed!
At the undulating, fleshy mass!
At Zhou Yating’s ecstasy-slack face!
At the pile of desecrated wrappers!
At the lubricant bottle!
No flash! Silent mode!
The shutter clicked relentlessly in the gloom! Once! Twice! Burst mode!
Click! Click! Click! Click!
Faint sounds drowned by the bed’s creaks and the lovers’ ragged gasps!
Like Death silently counting down!
Zhang Chi felt like an automaton—a machine fueled solely by hatred! Body quaking, mind preternaturally clear! He would record it all! Every shred of dignity’s annihilation!
“Ahhh!!” Zhou Yating shrieked—a sound mingling pain and ecstasy! Her body arched violently!
Wang Pengfei grunted! A final, brutal thrust!
Then… stillness. Absolute.
Only the ragged, wheezing breaths of spent desire.
In that instant!
On Wang Pengfei’s sweaty, doughy back! Near the shoulder! A distinct, dark red, coin-sized birthmark! Captured with chilling precision by Zhang Chi’s phone in the sultry light!
Damning!
An irrefutable identifier!
Click! Click! Click!
Zhang Chi fired off several more shots! Ensuring the mark—and Wang Pengfei’s repulsive face—were captured in crystalline detail!
Done.
All the shame. All the filth. All the irrefutable proof.
Trapped within the tiny device.
An immense, annihilating weariness and numbness engulfed Zhang Chi.
Hate? Enough to kill!
But deeper… a hollow, glacial void! And a sliver… of pre-destruction, morbid calm!
A phantom, he withdrew the phone. Didn’t glance back.
One more look would pollute his soul.
He turned, soundless.
Step by step.
To the entryway.
His face—a mask of stone.
Changed shoes.
Opened the door.
Stepped out.
Closed it softly.
Click.
The lock engaged, a whisper of finality.
The corridor sensor light flickered on. Sterile white.
Zhang Chi leaned against the cold wall.
He didn’t leave immediately.
From his pocket, he drew a cigarette pack. A lighter. His hand shook fiercely; several attempts before the flame caught.
He inhaled deeply. Smoke seared his lungs, offering a fleeting, jagged clarity.
He pulled out his phone.
The screen lit up.
The photo gallery.
The filthy tableau he’d just captured.
The top image.
Wang Pengfei’s corpulent back dominated the frame! That coin-shaped birthmark on his shoulder!
Clear!
Grotesque!
Revolting!
Zhang Chi stared, impassive.
Took another savage drag.
Dropped the cigarette, ground it beneath his heel until the cinder died.
His eyes turned arctic, sharp as honed steel.
Wang Pengfei… Zhou Yating…
Evidence?
I have it.
Keep it.
For me.
You will pay.
- Writer
