Butterfly's Love in the Dust

Yesterday, my husband received an impromptu business trip assignment from the company and lamented incessantly. Originally, we had planned to celebrate our wedding anniversary with a candlelit dinner this weekend, but now, all our plans have gone down the drain.

Before his departure, I comforted him, urging him to endure it for the sake of his salary. After all, we have plans to welcome a new addition to the family next year, so this business trip can be seen as an opportunity to save for our child's future education.

In reality, I have ulterior motives. His week-long business trip implies that the entire household will be under my sole command for the next week. Years ago, I read news about some middle-aged men who, after work, wouldn't return home but would sit in their cars, smoke, and reflect. I can truly empathize with that sentiment because the time spent with that cigarette is entirely one's own.

In these years of marriage, despite our enduring affection, recognized by all as an exemplary couple, even the most devoted relationship requires moments of personal space.

Being alone at home means I can undertake household chores at my leisure, order takeout at will, and finally detach myself from the role of a wife and enjoy a few days of rest.

At 6 p.m., after finishing my work, I happily clocked out and headed home. On the way home, I even stopped by the convenience store to buy a heap of snacks and beverages, carrying two large bags filled to the brim.

Upon reaching the doorstep, I set down the plastic bags, pulled out the key, and inserted it into the lock. Excitement surged through me at the thought of having the entire room to myself. Oblivious to the fact that normally, the key requires two turns to unlock the door, today, I turned it only once, and the door swung open.

Once inside, I kicked off my shoes, barefoot, rushed to the sofa, tossed the two large bags of snacks onto the coffee table, and collapsed onto the couch.

"Ah, being alone at home is truly delightful!"

I joyfully exclaimed, cross-legged on the sofa, starting to unpack the snacks and relishing them with sheer delight. It wasn't until an unusual sensation in my buttocks made me realize that something wasn't quite right that I gradually snapped back to reality.

Subconsciously, I shifted into a different sitting position, reclining on the sofa. The unique coolness of the sofa cushion gradually revived my memory.

The place I had just been sitting, the surface of the sofa cushion was unexpectedly warm.

My husband had left for a business trip early in the morning, and with no one at home the entire day, how could the sofa surface be warm? In an instant, a thought raced into my mind and lingered.

Someone was in the house.

The moment this idea surfaced, I involuntarily shuddered. I lifted my head slightly, and my peripheral vision caught sight of the vase on the dining table.

In the morning, I had just changed the water and tidied up the table, but now, there were numerous petals scattered around the vase. If it were natural shedding, at most one or two petals would fall in a day. With so many petals, was it natural or... had someone accidentally touched them?

The window was closed, there was no wind inside, yet I felt a cool breeze at my back. A drop of cold sweat trickled down my forehead. My mind went blank, and I casually wiped away the bead of sweat, muttering to myself, "It's so hot today; let's open a window for some fresh air."

I stood up, trying not to look around, and walked to the window. With a swift motion, I pushed it open. Fresh air rushed into my lungs, people were strolling, walking dogs, and vendors were calling out downstairs – everything seemed normal.

My inner turmoil eased slightly. Turning around, I surveyed the empty living room; everything appeared as usual.

Perhaps, I was overthinking.

Feeling relieved, I turned away from the empty living room, mocking myself for early onset menopausal delusions. Wondering if my husband had arrived at the hotel for his business trip, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number.

The call was quickly answered, "Hello, darling?"

A smile graced my face, finding it amusing that at my age, I still engaged in such sentimental exchanges. Clearing my throat, preparing to offer some sweet words of consolation, my gaze suddenly fell on the gap behind the shoe cabinet.

There, a knife.

A blood-stained knife.

In an instant, my heart turned half-cold, understanding that my earlier speculation wasn't mere imagination but rather a woman's precise sixth sense.

Someone was indeed in the house, and this person might very well be a murderer!

A dull thud emanated from somewhere in the house, like a body colliding with a wooden board. This sound brought my rationality back, and I immediately realized that to survive, I must act as if I knew nothing, find an opportunity to slip away, and call for help.

With a plan in mind, I took a deep breath, adjusted my facial expression, and smiled, "Honey, have you reached the hotel?"

"Just arrived! I was about to call you. It's like we have telepathy."

My husband's voice was cheerful, in stark contrast to my current state. Perhaps emboldened by his voice, my legs, previously as heavy as lead, finally moved. I feigned a casual tone, "Aya will come over later to keep me company. If I'm slow to reply on WeChat, don't mind, okay?"

I deliberately spoke loudly, making sure the person inside the house could hear. Letting them know that someone would be arriving soon, and if they laid a hand on me, there would be dire consequences.

My husband on the other end immediately exclaimed, "You're making plans with someone as soon as I leave! You truly don't miss me!"

"What nonsense." I chuckled, trying to sound natural as I changed into a pair of blood-stained slippers, "Alright, dear, I haven't had dinner yet. I'm going downstairs to buy something to eat."

"Darling hasn't had dinner yet? That's tough. Go and eat then."

"Mm, okay." I placed my hand on the doorknob. As long as I turned it and left, putting distance between myself and this place, I could consider this nightmare over.

Feeling a slight excitement in my heart, just as I was about to turn the doorknob, a chilling sensation touched my neck.

I glanced downward, discovering a sharp little knife pressed against my throat. The blade emitted a strong scent of blood.

Similar to the one I had seen behind the shoe cabinet.

My husband sensed something was amiss, repeatedly asking what was wrong. I opened my mouth to respond, but the blade against my neck tightened. I felt the edge cutting into my skin, and fresh blood oozed from the wound.

"Hey? Wife?"

The piercing pain in my neck brought me back to my senses. Hearing my husband's voice, I smiled faintly.

"It's nothing, dear. Take care outside, I'll be waiting for you to come back."

Having spoken these words, I felt the pressure on my neck lessen considerably. I hung up the phone, slowly turning around.

A man with a knife stood

before me. Clad in a white shirt, his body stained with blood, the scent of blood wafting through the air, he appeared both alarming and horrifying.

"You're a clever one." He smiled at me, his eyes holding a hint of murderous intent.

In that instant, I don't know why, without thinking, I blurted out, "Let's talk."

"Talk?" He squinted at me.

I gazed at the blood blossoming on his chest, the intense smell of blood filling my nostrils. Surprisingly, my mind calmed down.

"First, change your clothes. If you plan to escape later, wearing bloody clothes is too conspicuous."

He tilted his head, seemingly pondering the credibility of my words. I forced myself to stare at him calmly, not revealing any trace of fear.

"Fine." He sheathed the knife, offering me a polite smile. "I appreciate your cooperation."

I breathed a sigh of relief, but looking into his smile, an unsettling feeling crept over me.

I handed him a short-sleeved shirt that my husband had abandoned. After changing, he discarded his previous attire into the waste bin, then adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and seated himself on the sofa.

Gazing at me still standing beside the coffee table, he gestured sideways with his eyes, "Why don't you have a seat? We're here to have a conversation, aren't we?"

I took a deep breath and cautiously settled into a position farther away from him. Observing my actions, he chuckled, "You seem quite apprehensive of me."

Well, wouldn't I be? After all, he is the first murderer I've encountered in my lifetime. Of course, I hope he's the last.

"Your glasses are broken," I remarked. He looked up at me, and I pointed to the lower right corner of his glasses. Taking them off, he inspected and confirmed a small crack at the bottom of the right lens. "Oh, it's nothing. Probably happened when I fell just now," he said, putting the glasses back on, elegantly adjusting them with a graceful touch.

"What made you realize there was someone in the house?" He inquired, his tone filled with interest.

"Just a moment ago, I noticed dust on the doormat," I lied. Unexpectedly, he saw through my deception.

"You're lying," he declared, a sly glint in his eyes. "The moment you entered the house and sat on the sofa, your expression changed." He crossed his hands on his knees, adding, "So, what did you discover on the sofa?"

I reluctantly confessed, "Temperature."

"Hmm?" He looked at me.

"I placed a cool mat on the sofa. With no one at home, the mat should be cool, but it was warm, indicating that someone had been sitting on the sofa."

"Ah, I see," he nodded gently. "You're quite clever."

Observing his composed demeanor, I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Did you kill someone?" Despite my efforts to appear calm, my voice trembled slightly.

"Yes," he smiled and lifted his head to look directly at me. Each word carried a chilling breeze. "Right here in this house."

"What?" I widened my eyes. "The body is here..."

Seeing my panic, he smiled triumphantly.

"Yes, the body is here. Originally, I didn't intend to scare you, but you came back too early, catching me off guard. Of course, murder wasn't part of my plan either. After all, who wants to be a murderer?"

I looked at him with suspicion. He laughed but offered no explanation. Despite the recent murder, he seemed utterly composed, even picking up the bag of chips I hadn't finished, taking one, and leisurely placing it in his mouth.

"The night is still young," he glanced out the window and casually said, "Would you be interested in hearing my story?"

Fang Hongshen met Xu Min at the cinema.

To be precise, Xu Min met Fang Hongshen at the cinema, and Fang Hongshen had already seen Xu Min. One day on Line 10 of the subway, he coincidentally saw Xu Min and exchanged a glance with her. After Xu Min got off, Fang Hongshen couldn't forget her.

Perhaps, it was love at first sight.

So, he calculated the time to appear at the subway station every day, taking the train from Qiaohong Station to Wuxing Square Station, just to meet her. Once he encountered her, Fang Hongshen followed her off the subway and walked with her to Xu Min's workplace.

Repeatedly, he learned that she was Xu Min, 28 years old, single, working as an accountant in an accounting firm. Knowing her preferences, Fang Hongshen eventually bought a neighboring seat for the same movie she was watching, and that's how they first met.

"Don't look at me with such a perverted expression," Fang Hongshen saw my expression and smiled faintly. "Swap the genders, and you'll find that the stalker's story turns into a subplot of a teenage crush, making it much more romantic."

I didn't fully agree with his words, unable to come up with a counterargument at the moment, so I let him continue.

Once Fang Hongshen grasped Xu Min's interests, he quickly built a connection with her. The two swiftly fell in love and started planning their wedding.

Xu Min's parents also praised Fang Hongshen as an excellent man. Silent but meticulous, he treated his in-laws like his own parents, and his affection for Xu Min left everyone speechless.

After four years of marriage, Fang Hongshen never let Xu Min do any cooking or housework, showering her with care. Everyone hoped the model couple would soon have a cute child, but Xu Min's belly remained silent.

"We never used any contraceptive measures, thinking of letting nature take its course, but she couldn't conceive. Honestly, I suspected it was my problem," Fang Hongshen admitted, suddenly patting his pocket, looking apologetic, "Sorry, do you have cigarettes?"

I shook my head.

Fang Hongshen appeared somewhat disappointed.

"Okay, I'll continue. Where did I stop?" he said, tapping his knee gently and resuming the story.

"Later, I went to the hospital for a check-up, and guess what? It was indeed my issue," Fang Hongshen lowered his head.

That day, holding the hospital report, he hesitated for a long time, then decided to go home and have a heart-to-heart with Xu Min. However, before he could, Xu Min excitedly called him, informing him that she was pregnant.

"My first reaction was that the child wasn't mine. But I couldn't believe it; I couldn't believe Xu Min would betray me," he nervously tugged at the corner of his mouth, pain evident on his face.

"So, I clung to a glimmer of hope, hoping for a misdiagnosis or a miracle. I even planned how to persuade Xu Min to undergo a paternity test. But then, I saw her chat history."