Chapter Nine: The Woman in Red

“Sorry, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s just that I can’t remember anything right now. Do you believe me? Besides, have we met before?”

The woman in red raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press the issue. She reached out and helped Zhou Yi to his feet.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs. This basement is too damp.”

Zhou Yi was unwilling to let it go. “Have we met before?”

The woman smiled, her face brimming with allure. “That line is a bit out of date. You say you don’t remember anything, so where does this sense of familiarity come from?”

Zhou Yi looked a little embarrassed, but she was right. With no memory at all, perhaps this feeling of familiarity was only because she had saved him. Neither of them pressed the point further.

With that, the woman supported Zhou Yi as they climbed the stairs. Zhou Yi’s mind was in turmoil. A strange environment, a strange woman, he’d fallen into someone else’s house, and there were police after him—a cop had said he was a murderer, an escaped convict. Why wasn’t this woman afraid?

Everything was too bizarre.

Before he could dwell on it, they reached the steps. They emerged from below the stairwell, where the woman closed the basement hatch and covered it with a rug. The hidden door was now completely invisible; no wonder the police hadn’t found it. Clearly, they didn’t know it existed.

Zhou Yi felt the softness of her arm against his and instinctively drew his away, but his stomach growled loudly, making him flush with embarrassment and confusion.

The woman merely waved her hand, unfazed by his reaction. “I’ve already saved you, a meal won’t hurt. Besides, I’m hungry too. How about some fried rice?”

Zhou Yi nodded and followed her into the kitchen. There was a breakfast bar with two tall stools. She opened the fridge, took out some ingredients, and swiftly chopped and cooked. Before long, two plates of fried rice were set on the bar.

“Supplies are limited, so let’s eat something simple.”

Zhou Yi took the spoon, gazing absently at his food. The woman turned to fetch two wine glasses and brought out half a bottle of red wine, pouring him a glass.

“Not to your taste?”

He shook his head, then tentatively asked in Chinese, “Are you from China?”

She nodded, not touching her food, but swirling her wine and sipping. When she spoke again, it was in Chinese.

“Yes, I came to America in high school and settled here. When I was dressing your wounds, I caught the scent of a hospital on you. Are you a doctor, or were you just at a hospital recently?”

Hearing his native tongue relaxed Zhou Yi a bit more, but he couldn’t answer her question. He shook his head and let the subject drop, quickly finishing his meal.

The woman smiled and slid the other plate over to him. Zhou Yi didn’t refuse; his stomach seemed bottomless. He thanked her and devoured the second plate as well.

After wiping his mouth, he glanced at the clock—it was nearly one in the morning.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

She handed him the wine, her voice drifting. “I could eat or not, doesn’t matter. I’m not really hungry. So you remember nothing at all?”

He shook his head. His mind was truly blank; he hadn’t given it much thought while starving, but now he realized he couldn’t even recall where he’d come from. He downed the wine in one gulp.

“Nothing at all—my mind is empty. But the police are after me. Aren’t you afraid I might be dangerous?”

This question seemed to pique her interest. She leaned on the table, her dress barely containing her curves, a sight that made his heartbeat race.

Zhou Yi hurriedly looked away, and she laughed softly.

“Well, when I found you collapsed in the basement, I was startled. But when I rolled you over and saw your face, I thought you couldn’t be a bad person. After all, we both have black hair and black eyes. That sense of kinship made me feel you weren’t a threat.

As for the police warrant, I did a double take at the photo. But what does it matter if you don’t remember anything?”

Zhou Yi said nothing. Her answer mirrored the familiarity he’d felt when first seeing her—unexplained, but undeniable.

She tidied her hair, picked up a small box from the table, and opened it—a lipstick and a compact mirror. She applied the lipstick carefully, then went to put it away.

Her hand slipped, and the lipstick rolled to a stop in front of Zhou Yi.

He stared at it, pressing his hand down on the tube, his fingers tracing the engraved pattern. A wave of dizziness struck him; he clutched his head, frowning.

He collapsed onto the table, a suffocating sensation like drowning overtaking him. He couldn’t breathe, and the pain in his head was so intense he couldn’t even cry out. Then, all at once, memories surged into his mind like a tidal wave.

He remembered—how he was imprisoned, how he escaped, how he went on the run.

He remembered those missing eight hours, and even older, buried memories. The suffocation made him gasp for air, but he couldn’t move.

A flash of white light appeared before his eyes. On the operating table, when he saw Jennifer, he recognized her at once—she was one of the two murderers who’d killed his girlfriend.

Years ago, Zhou Yi, an orphan with excellent grades, had been sent to America as an exchange student. His girlfriend, Azhu, who came from a wealthy background, followed him. Her family had opposed their relationship, but seeing Zhou Yi’s academic achievements, they eventually accepted it.

After the internship party, as they were leaving the bar, a blue van appeared.

Several men dragged Azhu and another girl into the van. Zhou Yi tried to stop them, but in the scuffle, one of the men fired a gun.

The other girl was shot and fell. The kidnappers threw her from the van. Her boyfriend, terrified, ran off without a backward glance, leaving her under the wheels. Zhou Yi kept fighting the men.

Before the van door could close, it sped away. They fired two shots at Zhou Yi but missed. Sensing danger, Azhu threw herself in front of the gunman and shoved Zhou Yi out of the vehicle.

He hit the ground and blacked out. When he came to, he was in the hospital. He went straight to the police, but the case vanished without a trace.

He searched for clues on his own, and in a supermarket across from the bar, he found security footage capturing the van’s license plate and the faces of the two ringleaders.

Days went by—no progress from the police, and his girlfriend was listed as missing.

He knew she must be dead. Her parents came to America; back home, they were prominent businesspeople. After learning some details, Azhu’s father told Zhou Yi to stop investigating.

From the photos, Zhou Yi had identified one man as the son of a Wisconsin state senator, and the other as the son of a Supreme Court justice, Gore Roger.

With such status in America, they were untouchable—no match for a Chinese student.

A fortnight later, Azhu’s father left the country.

On the operating table, Zhou Yi saw Jennifer and recognized her instantly. He wanted to stop the surgery, but as a doctor, he hesitated. He removed the shattered spleen, sutured the inferior vena cava—but left the suture thread unusually long, tucking it inside the abdominal incision.

After the surgery, he tried twice to enter the ICU and pull the thread, but each time he was interrupted. Helpless, he returned home. As soon as he opened his door, someone covered his mouth and nose. He lost consciousness immediately.

When he woke, that segment of memory was gone. Who had pulled the suture? Who had smothered him? Who had set him up?

He had no answers.

The woman in red seemed to be trying to shake him, her voice distant, the whole room warping and twisting.

Her evening gown melted away, replaced by a form-fitting red uniform—like a futuristic warrior, armored at shoulders, elbows, and knees. A voice, echoing with static, called out:

“Number Twenty-Eight, can you hear me…”