The bookstore the criminal spoke of was not what one would call a formally operating bookstore, but rather one privately selling pirated books. It had neither an obvious storefront, nor was it a street stall; the shop owner rented a bicycle room of a house here, doing business right in that narrow space no more than one point five meters in length and width. Of course, the sign was also inconspicuous.
Although people like him selling pirated books were actually quite numerous, this shop owner seemed not to have thought about doing business openly and brazenly. There were no reminders for customers, the shop's promotion was done very casually—no, that degree of casualness, of secrecy, even made Ma En feel it wasn't a form of promotion, but rather a kind of repulsion towards customers.
However, Ma En, in his search for materials, had visited all sorts of pirated book stalls, and sometimes could indeed find books that were not collected in either formal bookstores or libraries. These books, lacking even formal publication numbers, sometimes contained the content of several potential books gathered together, with small lead type, unproofread, riddled with errors, but occasionally, surprising things would be hidden within them. If they were used books bought from others and then resold, the notes occasionally left by others in the books were also well worth reading.
Basically, both the printing and selling of these pirated books were illegal, and indeed harmed the interests of authors and compilers, but Ma En held no particular prejudice against the entire ecosystem and demand for pirated books. Rather, just for himself, he was happy to see it happen, even willing, from a "resource sharing" perspective, to make some excuses for pirated books, so that this trade would not just disappear.
Ma En also never denied that he had benefited from it, and still benefited even now – not in terms of money, but the various channels extending from pirated books, which brought content containing both dross and essence. Precisely because authors cannot directly profit from pirated books, to some extent, content written purely for commercial purposes could be further excluded. All those things that lacked commercial viability, but also hadn't reached the level of professionalism in others' eyes, would circulate through this channel.
Some secret, personalized, individualistic, niche ideas, inspirations, and legends, regardless of whether they were true or false, good or bad, delusional ramblings or actual events... things that absolutely could not appear in content complying with legal and national regulations, could be accessed through this channel.
Of course, Ma En would absolutely not spread this channel to respectable people, strangers, or even his own relatives and friends, because the content within required individuals to possess extremely strong critical judgment, so as not to get lost in that spiritual food that simultaneously emitted stench and deliciousness. Judged from any angle, content screened through formal publishing channels and official review mechanisms was indeed, in more senses, safer.
Ma En had also seen many people's lives collapse amidst the content of these pirated books, due to a lack of critical judgment, thinking ability, and resistance – strictly speaking, looking at this opportunity from a narrow perspective, that criminal actually had a bit of the flavor of collapsing here.
Writing and reading often penetrate deeper into a person's spiritual world, so, in Ma En's view, the significance brought by the medium of "books" was actually more sinister than its positive appearance suggested, and also more dangerous than ordinary people thought. Even to the point that, after reading some unscrupulous content, it could make one feel that "books" were the most effective way for demonic power to spread. More dangerous than so-called games and entertainment, more deeply causing people to degenerate in the depths of their self-awareness. And as long as a person thinks while reading, and continuously deepens their thought, the probability of this person encountering such dangers becomes greater.
From this perspective, "books" are very scary. Ma En stood before the narrow and crude storefront, unable to help thinking this.
This "bookstore" hidden in the bicycle room had no windows; perhaps the person renting the space had deliberately sealed the ventilation holes with wooden boards, attempting to prevent the intrusion of rats in this way, but as far as Ma En knew, this method was actually not very useful. The door was half-open, making one somewhat concerned about the air circulation inside, immediately imagining a stuffy, turbid wave of hot air, even on such a cold, rainy day.
On the outer wall, the four characters "Xiao Xiao Shu Wu" (Little Little Book House) were handwritten on ordinary printing paper, perhaps this was the sign, but as mentioned above, it was excessively crude.
Ma En stood outside the door sizing up the shop for quite a while. As a stranger in a residential area, he was stared at by quite a few gazes, but these gazes, after staring for a while, were the first to leave. No one intended to greet him, nor did anyone walk towards him at all. He could feel these gazes, yet couldn't see the figures, nor did he have the slightest intention of turning his head to look around, just seriously examining this bookstore, as if trying to discern some trick from the scene before his eyes. He was not distracted; that serious and solemn expression would probably startle some people.
The bookstore owner was startled. He initially only saw a figure, but hadn't thought it was a customer arriving, until the other party stopped outside the door. He hadn't deliberately intended to entertain them, and usually wouldn't, but unexpectedly, this customer actually stood outside the door for quite a while on such a rainy day, holding an umbrella. This scene was definitely rare, making one unable to help but care. He couldn't resist turning his head to confirm just who had come from outside – and thus received a shock.
Neat dark suit, black briefcase held in the left hand, black umbrella held in the right hand; that deep, pale, and drab disposition was hard to ignore, because ordinary people rarely exuded such a unique aura that could be felt just from their silhouette. The umbrella obscured the upper part of the figure, making the face unclear, but the bookstore owner could still sketch the outline of a young man in his mind. However, this imagining brought him no reassurance, instead making him more restless.
The bookstore owner thought seriously, feeling that this person before him, this scene, was like the entrance of a mysterious character in a movie. Perhaps, this sense of mystery was the source of his unease, as if some trouble would follow.
"Here to buy books?" he decided to ask first, seeming that doing so could give himself some sense of stability.
"Yes," Ma En replied very naturally. He didn't think much about what kind of first impression he had given this bookstore owner, but his opening words did let the bookstore owner breathe a sigh of relief.
"Come in, the rain is so heavy outside," the bookstore owner greeted.
Ma En walked into the shop. His height almost reached the top of the doorframe, so he bent down slightly. After entering the door, the space didn't feel much wider; the ceiling of the bicycle room was much lower than standard room height. Some dirty things, peeling paper scraps, gave one an uncomfortable sense of oppression.
However, Ma En didn't mind; he was long accustomed to such environments. Using a bicycle room for business was not this bookstore owner's original idea, but something many small vendors did.
The tall figure instantly blocked the view outside. The bookstore owner had seen plenty of tall people, but he was certain that this young man before him—just as he had imagined, a young man under thirty—was definitely the most peculiar one he had ever seen.
Ma En closed the black umbrella, forcefully shook off the water stains on it, and placed it by the door. He carried the briefcase to the counter and met the bookstore owner's gaze. That direct, undisguised stare deepened the bookstore owner's impression of him: a monotonous, pale, utterly unromantic impression; it was a living being, yet couldn't be described as lively. He also felt somewhat nervous meeting the gaze of such an unusual customer. He tried hard not to show it on his face.
"What book do you want to buy? Renting is also possible, but requires a deposit and ID card." As the bookstore owner said this, he felt his mouth go dry, so he picked up a green army canteen with chipped paint and took a sip.
"Does the boss know about the serial killer case recently solved by the city police?" Ma En's question made the bookstore owner freeze involuntarily. Of course, he knew, because the news had spread like wildfire; a vicious serial killer case, previously only seen in movies, had appeared in this ordinary small city. Basically, anyone with a bit of curiosity would follow the case's progress. The bookstore owner had also noticed the criminal's photo released by the police. At first, he only found it somewhat familiar, but soon recognized that this murderer had actually visited his little shop. This was, up until now, the most hair-raising, fear-inducing thing he had ever encountered.
What if the murderer had committed violence back then? He couldn't help but think this. Fortunately, the criminal had been caught. The day he learned about it, he drank heavily in celebration. He originally thought the matter was over, never expecting there would be a postscript on this day. No, he hoped it was just a postscript, not a sequel.
The bookstore owner wanted to feign ignorance and brush it off, but the gaze of this exceptionally impressive young man had a pressure that made one want to tell the truth, as if something bad would happen if he wasn't honest. Of course, it wasn't about getting beaten up; this young man didn't give off a violent vibe, but that gaze made one feel that bad things were not just limited to simple violence.
"What do you want?" The bookstore owner forcefully averted his gaze and raised his voice.
"Are you afraid?" The young man was actually so blunt, making the bookstore owner somewhat shocked and angry, but before he could retort or curse, he heard the young man say: "Don't be afraid, I'm just an ordinary civil servant."
Saying this, the young man placed the briefcase on the counter, making the bookstore owner involuntarily shrink back, feeling as though the other party would pull out something terrifying from within. But, Ma En merely took out his work unit's employee ID card from the briefcase and showed it to him.
The young man's actions were very practiced, very formal. In such a setting, if it were anyone else, the bookstore owner would definitely consider it strange, eccentric, pretentious, making a fuss. However, this incongruous behavior, when performed by this young man, only made the bookstore owner feel his throat tighten even more. A reporter? Or a police officer? He thought this, but then saw the unit on the ID was: Post Office. The heart that had been lifted suddenly dropped.
He was somewhat stunned, feeling perhaps he was the one who was most out of sorts. Was his reaction too excessive? But, why show a post office ID? Why would a civil servant from the post office ask him about the serial killer? What did this young man really want?
"A mailman?" As he asked this, the bookstore owner knew he was wrong; mailmen weren't civil servants. Civil servants working at the post office sat in offices, holding much more prestigious positions.
"Civil servant." Ma En smiled, but this smile also seemed emotionless in the bookstore owner's eyes.
The bookstore owner took a deep breath and said: "Young man, I haven't heard anything about any serial killer case."
"You're lying." Ma En said flatly: "You know, and, that murderer bought a book from you here, he said, it was that book that prompted him to kill..."
"He didn't buy a book!" The bookstore owner sternly interrupted Ma En's words.
"Oh, he didn't buy a book, but he definitely read one." Ma En remained very calm, speaking in that flat, tasteless, gentle voice: "I want to know, what book did he read."