Profiler (Fang Mu Eastern Crimes Series Book 1) (3 page)

CHAPTER
3
The Meaning of Fear

T
oday was the first day of Criminal Procedure class. Its professor, Song Yaoyang, had only just returned from an exchange trip to
Japan
, delaying the start of the class.

As usual, Fang Mu was sitting in the last row. Although class was supposed to begin over a month ago, Professor Song was hardly anxious to begin teaching; instead he kept going on and on about Japan's high level of economic development and comfortable lifestyle. Then he launched into several stories he "just had to tell" about his exploits with some Japanese criminal procedure specialists. As he continued to boast enthusiastically, a student knocked on the half-open classroom door. With a self-satisfied look on his face, Professor Yang beckoned the student inside with a magnanimous sweep of his arm.

The student walked briskly to the back row, sat heavily beside Fang Mu, and gave him a friendly nod.

Fang Mu recognized him. He was Meng Fanzhe, a Civil Law graduate student.

Arriving late to class was as common as could be, ,and professors were generally quick to forgive the offending students. What gave Fang Mu pause was the expression on Meng Fanzhe's face: he looked far more relieved than he should be, as if—

As if he had just escaped some terrible trial. 

Once Professor Song finally finished what seemed to be his"Reflections on Traveling in
Japan
" lecture, he grabbed the attendance sheet and, with a feigned show of affection, gave a wink and said, "Before beginning class, why don't we first get to know one another?"

All the students who, a moment before, were about to fall asleep immediately perked up. This was a required course and nobody wanted to lose credit points. As Professor Song went down the list, reading name after name, the word "Here" sounded again and again from every corner of the classroom. Inadvertently, Fang Mu's eyes fell on Meng Fanzhe. What he saw took him completely by surprise.

Only moments before Meng Fanzhe had appeared exceptionally relaxed; now he looked as nervous as if he were confronting a mortal enemy. His hands tightly gripped the corners of his desk, knuckles white, and his eyes were wide and fixed on Professor Song. He gnawed tensely on his upper lip. It was as if Professor Song, rather than speaking students' names, was actually shooting bullets from his open mouth.

What was up with him? Fang Mu wondered.

"Meng Fanzhe."

Big drops of sweat streamed down Meng Fanzhe's face; his lips fluttered open and closed. But he made not the slightest sound. Professor Song scanned the classroom. Then he read the name once more: "Meng Fanzhe."

Several of Meng Fanzhe's acquaintances called softly to him, but he seemed not to hear. He continued to stare rigidly at Professor Song, leaning forward, his mouth half open, as if he were anxious to speak but powerless to actually do so.

"Absent? Cutting class on the first day?" An angry look on his face, Professor Song withdrew a fountain pen and prepared to make a note on the attendance sheet.

At that moment, Meng Fanzhe leaped to his feet. Although still unable to speak, he raised his arm high in the air.

"Oh, are you Meng Fanzhe?"

At last two words tumbled out of the student's mouth: "I am."

"Then please sit down. Next time try to pay a little bit more attention."

Meng Fanzhe flopped exhaustedly into his seat, as if speaking those two words had used up every ounce of his strength. Several students covered their mouths and stole a laugh. Even more shot looks of astonishment in Meng Fanzhe's direction.

For the rest of class Meng Fanzhe seemed to hide from his classmates' eyes—head down, diligently taking notes. However, he was clearly no longer as anxious as before.

But what exactly was he afraid of?

Professor Song turned out to be a merely average lecturer. During the break, several students sneaked off while the professor was out smoking a cigarette (of course, none of his own graduate students dared move an inch). When Professor Song returned to find that the class had shrunk by several students, he grew enraged, grabbed the attendance sheet, and once more began to take roll.

Fang Mu noticed that Meng Fanzhe, who moments before had been calm, now seemed to drop once more into an abyss. A mixture of despair, nervousness, and hatred played across his face. And as his name drew closer and closer, Meng Fanzhe actually began to shake.

Fang Mu continued to quietly observe Meng Fanzhe, all the while taking note of the names being read.

"Wang Degang."

"Here."

"Chen Liang."

"Here."

"
Chu
Xiaoxu."

"Here."

Fang Mu knew who was next.

"Meng Fanzhe."

Just as the word "Meng" left Professor Song's mouth, Fang Mu suddenly clapped Meng Fanzhe on the back.

"Hey!"

Surprised, Meng Fanzhe involuntarily turned toward Fang Mu; just then, the word "Fanzhe" filled the air.

Without thinking, Meng Fanzhe said, "Here."

This time Professor Song did not pause, but continued down the list.

Meng Fanzhe was stunned for an instant, but then his expression quickly returned to normal. After wiping the sweat from his forehead, he turned to Fang Mu and, somewhat awkwardly, asked, "What's the matter?"

Fang Mu thought for a moment. "What time is it?"

Meng Fanzhe glanced at his watch. "It's nine-o-five. Oh," he hastened to add, "nine-o-five and thirty-eight seconds."

Fang Mu laughed, and for a split second Meng Fanzhe's face went red, as if someone had just seen right through him.

Fang Mu stuffed himself at lunch, to the point where he felt a bit drowsy. Checking his watch, he saw that there was less than an hour before his afternoon class, so he hustled upstairs to the rooftop balcony, hoping to catch a breeze.

By the time he reached it, Fang Mu found someone already there.

It was Meng Fanzhe.

He was sitting on the low cement barrier at the edge of the roof, his legs dangling casually over the side. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance and he seemed to be deep in thought.

Not wanting to be seen, Fang Mu was about to quietly leave when Meng Fanzhe suddenly stood up.

The barrier was no more than eight inches wide. Meng Fanzhe stood carefully atop it, his heels and toes hanging off either side. Teetering, he spread his arms wide, took a deep breath, and, using what seemed to be all of his determination, looked down.

Fang Mu held his breath. It was a seven-story building! What could he see down there?

Button-sized people milling about? Cars like a child's toys? Or the earth that he seemed prepared to fling himself toward at any moment?

But no—Fang Mu could not call out to him. The sound of his voice would surely surprise Meng Fanzhe, who could easily fall as a result. 

Fang Mu carefully stepped forward. In that moment, the sound of his shoe sole rubbing against the sandy roof seemed as loud as thunder.

Meng Fanzhe's body began to sway even more violently. He was about to lose his balance!

There was no time to think. Fang Mu rushed forward, grabbed Meng Fanzhe around the waist as tight as he could and hauled him backwards.

Meng Fanzhe gave a short cry of surprise, and then he and Fang Mu fell back onto the balcony.

"What are you doing? You wanna die?" Fang Mu yelled, looking angrily at where the skin had scraped off his elbow from the impact.

"I—I'm sorry," Meng Fanzhe mumbled as he sat on the ground. He was still badly shaken.

Seeing Meng Fanzhe's ashen face, Fang Mu extended his arm and helped him up.

Meng Fanzhe's legs remained fairly limp, and it was only with effort that, shaking, he managed to stand upright and wipe the dust off his clothing. Still, his body continued to tremble, as if at any time he might topple to the ground.

Fang Mu sighed and then helped him over to a nearby stone bench. There Fang Mu withdrew his
thermos
from his backpack and handed it over.

Meng Fanzhe took several deep gulps of water. Gradually his breathing became calm.

"Thank you," said Meng Fanzhe. Then he took out a tissue, carefully cleaned the rim of the thermos, and handed it back to Fang Mu.

Sitting down beside him, Fang Mu grabbed a pack of cigarettes, removed one and put it in his mouth and lit it. Then, after thinking about it, he took a second, lit it, and offered it to Meng Fanzhe. Following a moment's hesitation, Meng Fanzhe accepted, though when he took a puff he immediately began to cough.

"You don't smoke?"

"No."

"Waste of tobacco."
he said with a chuckle.

How familiar their words sounded, reminding Fang Mu of something that had happened long ago.

For some reason, his spirits suddenly fell.

The two of them sat in silence, Fang Mu taking drag after deep drag of smoke, Meng Fanzhe staring at his gradually shortening cigarette as if in a daze.

After a long time, Meng Fanzhe finally spoke. "You must think I'm crazy."

"Beg your pardon?"

Meng Fanzhe flung his cigarette away. "You must think something's wrong with me."

"Why would you think that?"

"Why else would you not ask me what I was just doing?"

"Um, all right then. What were you just doing?" Fang Mu found this mildly ridiculous.

"Man!" Meng Fanzhe laughed. "I really wasn't doing anything. I guess I just wanted to experience the feeling of fear for a moment." He looked over at Fang Mu, feigning a laid-back smile, as if he hoped Fang Mu would think he was cool.

Fang Mu laughed and lit another cigarette.

Meng Fanzhe continued to look expectantly at Fang Mu for a while, as if waiting for him to say something like, "So that's what was going on?" or "Man, you really must have been bored."
But after sitting in silence for a time, Fang Mu suddenly looked up and asked:

"What are you afraid of?"

Meng Fanzhe's eyes went wide as he stared at Fang Mu. The look on his face seemed to say, 'How did you know?'

Of course I know
, thought Fang Mu.
Why else would I have pushed you while the professor was taking roll?

If a person is terrified of something, and when confronted with this thing, displays extraordinary fixation and sensitivity towards it, a sudden disruption of his attention will cause his fear to be instantly eliminated. But of course, this lasts only for the instant.

Meng Fanzhe was probably afraid of roll call, so when it was taken, his fear would manifest as total absorption. The more afraid he became, the less capable he was of responding. So when Fang Mu pushed him just as his name was being read, his attention was diverted from the roll call to Fang Mu, and naturally he was able to answer.

Meng Fanzhe's expression changed from surprise to dejection. Hanging his head, he said nothing. 

"What are you afraid of?" Fang Mu asked.

When Meng Fanzhe looked up, Fang Mu could see the weakness in his eyes. He stared at Fang Mu for a long while. Smiling softly, Fang Mu casually returned his gaze.

Slowly, the look in Meng Fanzhe's eyes became friendlier, more trusting.

"I'm..." he began, scratching his head, "a little afraid of the roll call." He laughed. "It's pretty weird."

"You know where it comes from?"

"Not a clue." Meng Fanzhe gazed off into the distance. "I also don't know when it started—only that it scares me. As soon as someone begins taking roll, I get nervous, and the more nervous I become, the less I'm able to say ‘
Here
’
.
Often I'll jump to my feet, flush with agitation, but unable to say a word, while the whole class stares at me." He dropped his head and his voice abruptly fell. "A lot of people make fun of me."