Chapter Forty-Nine: The Deadly Symphony

When Li Mengyang entered the room, Chai An felt an inexplicable fear rise in him. The look in Li Mengyang’s eyes made Chai An feel as though his very soul was about to flee in terror. The man before him did not seem like a refined scholar, but rather like the embodiment of death itself, leaving Chai An utterly ill at ease.

Suppressing his fear, Chai An addressed Li Mengyang: “Who are you? I don’t want you questioning me. I want someone else. Bring back the female officer from earlier. If you’re the one asking, I won’t say a word.”

Li Mengyang cast Chai An a look of contempt, then slowly sat down, flipping through the documents in his hands. “You enjoy taking drugs, don’t you? Does it feel good?”

Chai An ignored him, making his stance clear through his silence: he would not utter a single word to Li Mengyang, he would not allow this interrogation to proceed.

Yet Li Mengyang seemed utterly unconcerned by Chai An’s defiance. He continued, “If you won’t talk, then let’s listen to some music.” Turning to the officer beside him, he asked, “There’s no problem with listening to music, is there?”

The officer looked puzzled by this unexpected question. “There’s no rule against it, but I’ve never seen anyone play music during an interrogation.”

“That’s settled, then. Let’s listen,” Li Mengyang interjected before the officer could finish.

He produced a small speaker and muttered to himself, “The surroundings are a bit rough, but this speaker’s sound quality is decent.” With that, he began to play music.

As the sound of flutes and the faint strains of violin drifted through the room, Li Mengyang settled into his seat, closed his eyes, and said, “This is Berlioz’s ‘Symphonie Fantastique,’ a pinnacle of Romanticism. I love it, because I believe it tells the story of life itself.”

Chai An could not fathom what Li Mengyang was up to—why was he playing music in an interrogation room? Unable to resist, he stole a glance at Li Mengyang, who sat there with eyes closed, showing no intention of continuing the questioning, deepening Chai An’s confusion.

What is he doing? Chai An thought to himself. Is he really such a weirdo? Does he think playing music will make me confess? What an idiot! Fine, let him have his music. So Chai An closed his eyes as well.

Li Mengyang continued, “The first movement is called ‘Dreams, Passions.’ It’s the first sensation everyone has upon entering this world—a sense of wonder and longing. Every person you meet, every experience, every sight can fill you with love for the world. This is where the dream begins, offering us endless possibilities.”

“In those moments, everything we see and hear is beautiful and desirable. It’s a paradise of hope, the happiest of memories.”

Chai An still had no idea what Li Mengyang was trying to do. In fact, neither did the officer beside Li Mengyang, nor Wen Yuxin and Zhang Mufeng in the monitoring room; everyone was baffled by Li Mengyang’s sudden inclination to appreciate a symphony in the midst of an interrogation.

But Li Mengyang seemed entirely absorbed in his own world, oblivious to all else. He went on, “Everyone has different dreams and passions. As we grow older, we each pursue our own ideals. The journey is tough and arduous, but when we look back, we are moved by our own efforts. Regardless of what we seek, achieving it brings happiness. We gradually forget those hazy childhood dreams, finding new ones—more alluring, more real.”

Chai An listened to the music, its tempo rising and falling, sometimes urgent, sometimes languid. He could not understand why Li Mengyang kept explaining, nor could he grasp his purpose. The elegant music, within these walls, only made Chai An restless. He could not comprehend why Li Mengyang said these things to him.

To Chai An, it seemed that Li Mengyang was simply trying to pour some kind of motivational soup into his soul, hoping to move him to confess. He found Li Mengyang, and these so-called scholars, laughable—so ignorant, yet so prone to useless gestures.

Li Mengyang kept on. “Life is a strange thing. Once, perhaps, you were nothing but a despised scoundrel, a wretch. But once you have money, none of that matters anymore. Your wicked deeds no longer seem so evil. You become one of the elite, savoring the joys of this world. The second movement is named ‘The Ball’—the splendid ball, symbol of the beautiful life everyone longs for.”

Chai An realized Li Mengyang was describing him. He opened his eyes and said to the officer beside Li Mengyang, “He’s insulting me! Officer, he called me scum—did you hear? I want to file a complaint. I want someone else to interrogate me!”

But the officer ignored Chai An’s outburst. He knew Li Mengyang was indeed chastising Chai An, but found it immensely satisfying. Chai An’s shameless words earlier had left him seething. Now, seeing Chai An upset, he felt a measure of relief and paid no heed to him.

Li Mengyang pressed on, “With wealth, with the means to do as you please, you may remain a beast, but adorned in finery, it’s not the same. This is the reward for achieving one’s ambitions—the kind of reward that lets a man forget his former lowliness and cruelty, that lets a villain see himself as a nobleman.”

Chai An realized that Li Mengyang had been insulting him in ever more creative ways. Was that all he wanted—to vent his anger? Had he never intended to interrogate him, but only to hurl abuse? Suddenly, Chai An felt unwell; perhaps his craving for drugs was returning. The music swirling incessantly around him only made his agitation worse.

Li Mengyang swayed his head in time with the lovely melody. “The waltz is the purest expression of the world’s beauty. But beneath the surface, how much evil is hidden? A man who treats others as slaves, who uses women as playthings, can, with enough wealth, appear at the grandest banquets and enjoy the world’s pleasures. What a bitter irony!”

Chai An could not tell if it was his craving, Li Mengyang’s words, or the music, but he began to hallucinate. He saw himself running wild in the brothel syndicate, lavishing money in Annam, squandering it all at the Little Prince’s establishment.

Grapes and fine wine in luminous cups—scenes that should have delighted him. But now, Chai An felt no joy. Suddenly, the merry music faded, replaced by somber, gentle notes.

Li Mengyang continued, “The third movement, ‘Scene in the Country.’ Looking back, all that revelry and achievement is but fleeting smoke. People inevitably seek peace; no matter how restless life is, it is short, and most of the time, it is quiet as still water. Unfortunately, those who are enslaved, those girls who sold their bodies and souls, can never enjoy this tranquility. The girls forced to their deaths will never know this peace.”

“All they wanted was a little happiness worth remembering. For that, they struggled on. Who would have thought their pursuit of beauty would drag them into the abyss?”

As the music grew more melancholic, Chai An’s discomfort intensified. The gentle melody, meant to evoke idyllic country scenes, now made him feel as though he stood among the graves of the girls he had destroyed, surrounded by silence.

He seemed to see their faces: calm, serene—the faces of girls who could have had happy lives and bright futures, now forever lingering in this graveyard.

A weight pressed on Chai An’s chest, making it hard to breathe. His body felt worse and worse. He seemed to hear the girls’ soft laments, hear them speak of their hopes for a better future.

He had once listened to those girls speak of their dreams, but back then, he dismissed them as the laughable fantasies of vain women and never cared. Now, however, their soft murmurs turned into cries of accusation, revealing that these girls could have lived ordinary, happy lives—had he not dragged them into hopeless darkness.

Li Mengyang remained lost in his own world. The music shifted again, growing louder and heavier. “The fourth movement: ‘The March to the Scaffold.’”

At the mention of the scaffold, a chill seized Chai An’s heart. He felt as if Li Mengyang was sending him to the guillotine. He trembled, seeing before him the towering blade.

Li Mengyang went on, “Heaven is just. Good and evil have their consequences. No wickedness endures forever. Justice will ultimately prevail, and no matter how ferocious the criminal, none can escape its judgment.”

With the blaring trumpet, Chai An felt as though he were already on trial before the angel of justice, his crimes paraded before him, his evil made manifest. He was surrounded by a crowd, all chanting softly, “Guilty, guilty.”

His breathing grew ever more labored; cold sweat drenched him. He knew how heinous his crimes were, and now, facing this final judgment, he saw no escape. It was as if the weight of his sins had become heavy chains, tightening around his throat.

Li Mengyang spoke on, “When judgment comes, every evil deed will be seen. No matter how you hide or run, the consequences will cling to you, marking you indelibly. The evil that wounds kindness, that destroys youth, that ravages this beautiful world—all will be seen, and all will lead to one end: death.”

At the word “death,” Chai An felt utterly unable to breathe. There was no escape now. The wild brass resounded as though declaring his execution. The music deepened, and he felt himself upon the scaffold, awaiting the fall of the cold blade. He could remember nothing, see nothing, forgetting even that he was in an interrogation room—only aware he was on the guillotine.

Suddenly, the great blade fell with a crash, and Chai An’s head slumped forward.

Li Mengyang, eyes still closed, continued, “This world is so beautiful, filled with so many good people, and yet, some choose to walk with demons, to become evil incarnate. For money, for power, for their own gain, they trample goodness without restraint.”

“If such people go unpunished, how can anyone believe in this world? How can anyone choose to be good? If evil is not punished, how can anyone have faith in the future?”

“The rampaging of monsters and demons makes people doubt the world’s goodness. Perhaps these demons can run wild for a time, but we cannot let them rage forever. Such people must be sent to hell, so that the good can keep their faith and hold onto their dreams.”

“If someone must bear the burden of wiping out this evil, then let it be me! I am willing to be the blade that destroys evil, to toll the death knell for these monsters!”

The music ceased. Li Mengyang opened his eyes at last. The officer beside him glanced from Li Mengyang to Chai An, whose head hung low, and barked sternly, “Raise your head! Are you sleeping? Do you think this is your home?”

But there was no response. The officer called again, but still Chai An did not answer. Li Mengyang stood and prepared to leave. The officer, sensing something was wrong, quickly summoned the guards.

The interrogation room erupted into chaos. Two guards rushed in, released Chai An from the interrogation chair, and carried him to the infirmary. Li Mengyang paid the commotion no mind, walking out alone.

A voice called after him—it was Zhang Mufeng. “Did you do this because you knew his drug use made him susceptible to hallucinations? How did you know when his cravings would strike? How did you know how to trigger his visions?”

Zhang Mufeng smiled, “Your methods are terrifying. You weren’t here to interrogate him at all—you set out to kill him from the start, didn’t you? Wouldn’t that count as premeditated murder?”

Li Mengyang turned back, regarding Zhang Mufeng with a blank expression. “I did nothing. I simply listened to music. If you think I killed him, arrest me.”

Zhang Mufeng shivered at Li Mengyang’s deathly composure. In that moment, Li Mengyang seemed indistinguishable from the Reaper himself. He knew Li Mengyang wanted Chai An, this irredeemable villain, to pay the price he deserved, and that the law’s punishment would never satisfy Li Mengyang.

Zhang Mufeng understood Li Mengyang’s motives but did not approve of his methods. In his view, Chai An’s fate should not be decided by Li Mengyang, no matter how evil he was—it was for the law to judge him. Still, Zhang Mufeng did not voice his thoughts. On some level, he felt a certain relief that evil had met its end.

He shrugged and flashed his trademark smile. “You were just listening to music—what has that to do with murder? His death was nothing but an accident. Pity the officers, though. I doubt anyone will be allowed to listen to music in the interrogation room ever again.”

Li Mengyang continued to look at him in silence. Zhang Mufeng walked over, patted his shoulder, and said, “Let’s go, Seraph. Good thing I’m a decent guy—otherwise, that look of yours would scare me to death!”

Li Mengyang managed a faint smile, regaining his composure. “All right, let’s go.”

Zhang Mufeng, Li Mengyang, and Wen Yuxin left the detention center together. The sky was darkening; the blazing sun had vanished, leaving only a blush of crimson in the clouds.

Wen Yuxin glanced at her two silent companions and said, “Let’s not dwell on unhappy things. The past is past. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

Thus, Chai An died in the interrogation room. The authorities and inspectors conducted a thorough investigation, but concluded that Chai An had died of a heart attack, triggered by a drug craving—none of which was related to Li Mengyang. As Chai An had not disclosed his condition before his death and had merely sat listening to music, no one was held accountable.

Zhang Mufeng’s words proved prophetic. Although no one was found responsible, the City Public Security Bureau issued orders for the detention center to rectify its procedures, and transferred the personnel involved. Furthermore, a directive was released prohibiting officers from listening to music while on duty, and forbidding the bringing of speakers or similar devices into the detention center during interrogations.

After leaving the detention center, Wen Yuxin took leave and returned to Jinghua. Both Zhang Mufeng and Li Mengyang knew why she left, but neither spoke of it.

The pornographic empire built by Chai An collapsed. Wu Jing, Qian Ning, and others received their due punishment. Li Tangmei’s parents came to the city once more, expressing their gratitude to Yang Shen and Hai Feng for ensuring that their daughter did not die in vain, for righting the wrongs, and for bringing the guilty to justice.

A single obscene platform had entangled many—some grew rich, some gained, some lost their dignity, and some even lost their lives. In the end, all of it vanished with Chai An’s death. Only those who had lived through it would ever know what had truly transpired.