Chapter 283: The Hidden Suicide Note

I don’t know who this letter should be sent to, or rather, who I even could send it to. No one wants to receive a suicide note out of the blue. At least, that is what I think.

Logically, something like a suicide note should be sent to blood relatives, but the south is too far away. I’m afraid it would be intercepted before it even got there. If it were intercepted, matters would only become more complicated. So, after thinking it over, I plan to leave it in a special place instead.

Initially, I had no desire to write a suicide note. But as the saying goes, once you have existed, you always want to leave something behind. If someone were to shed a few tears for me, I suppose it would bring me some small comfort.

Let me think. What should I write next? I don’t have much of an estate, so there seems to be little to settle in that regard.

Over the past few years, I’ve traveled to many places and met many different people. Ever since I touched upon the essence of those matters back in ’04, I haven’t been able to return to my former easygoing self. I stopped chasing answers and instead began making plans that bordered on malicious. Later, I stayed in an ancient village in western Hunan^[1] for a long time. At first, I couldn’t adapt to the living conditions in the mountains, but eventually, I even came to enjoy it. It was only when I returned to the city that I felt as if a lifetime had passed.

I used to be terrified of death. I remember describing to a friend many times just how precious life is. But now, I’ve witnessed too much life and death. So, when I am actually about to face it myself, I’m not as afraid as I used to be. In other words, it brings a sense of relief.

I tried to escape. I fled desperately, running from the northern skies all the way to the South China Sea^[2], attempting to forget everything that had happened. I once rented an apartment and hoarded a full month’s worth of dry rations, then blocked the door and sealed every window with black tape, all just to find a tiny shred of security. Looking back now, my mental state must have been unstable back then. That state lasted for about half a year before I realized that doing so was completely useless.

So, I changed my mind. Rather than being forced to act as an ignorant pawn, it was better to step onto the chessboard voluntarily. That way, at the very least, I could retain some degree of initiative.

I don’t have much time. Once I finish writing this letter, I will send out a special signal. This signal means my operation is about to commence in full. It is extremely dangerous. I’ve calculated it many times; my chances of survival are only between 10% and 12%. The hope of me coming out alive is slim to none.

Right now, my greatest wish is that my body is never found by anyone. Whether it’s buried in the sand, carried off and eaten by animals, or simply left to rot, it doesn’t matter. Leaving behind a few mythical legends to be passed down through generations—that actually sounds quite romantic.

Under normal circumstances, I should die quietly after enduring torture. This is the safest way I can think of to preserve the lives of those around me. But during these past few nights of insomnia, I always find myself staring at the ceiling and asking myself: Is there really no other way?

Is there really no backup plan, no way for me to survive?

I know there is, but it requires relying on a helper. However, I currently have no candidate to rely on. I’ve already harmed too many people over the years.

I hope everyone can forget me.

I am leaving this letter out of my own selfishness. It likely won’t be found by anyone, because in all probability, no one is going to go to a graveyard and do something as wicked as digging up a grave.

The roosters are crowing outside. I’ll stop writing here for now.

Good morning, and Happy New Year.

Signed: Gan Ji

Written on New Year’s Eve, 2008