8.
Trần Nguyên told his story with unnerving calm. He spoke of hatred, yet his tone was gentle.
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted him. “Earlier, you said you and Chu Hồng Hưng ran into each other on the street and argued, and that you followed him and killed him to get revenge. But now you’re saying you didn’t just happen to meet him—you’d been planning to kill him for a long time?”
“There were witnesses when I killed someone and dumped the body, but where did I supposedly argue with Chu Hồng Hưng? Were there any witnesses? No.”
Trần Nguyên smiled. “So I’m the only one who gets to say what happened. The dead can’t testify, and Chu Hồng Hưng doesn’t get a chance to speak.”
“So your real motive for killing Chu Hồng Hưng was revenge for the sexual abuse you suffered as a child, right?”
I spelled it out: “So you had a reason for killing Mã Minh, too. It wasn’t because you argued—it was because he abused a child, which brought back your own painful childhood memories, so you beat him to death.”
Trần Nguyên said, “Yes.”
I also thought about how Trần Nguyên had been in contact with only one male friend since he was detained. That had made us suspect he might be homosexual, and now the idea seemed entirely plausible.
After all, many gay people have been sexually abused as children by someone of the same sex, which then forced them to change their sexual orientation.
But setting his story aside and thinking it through—in this situation, there was the Taishan Execution Ground, male friends, the same motive for murder, two victims, and a condemned man.
It all connected, and it seemed far too plausible. It was as plausible as a novel based on real events, perfectly consistent with every bit of logic, with him as its martyred protagonist.
“The stories you’ve told are truly heartbreaking. But don’t make up any more.”
I was getting impatient. “Let me ask you this: there’s no evidence for your argument with Chu Hồng Hưng. So is there any evidence that he sexually abused you when you were a child? Chu Hồng Hưng’s son hates you to the bone. But according to your story, you and he were classmates in elementary school, and yet he didn’t recognize you at all. Of course, you could explain that your appearance changed a lot as you grew up—but you’d still remember a friend’s name, wouldn’t you?”
Trần Nguyên disagreed. “I honestly don’t remember the names of my elementary school classmates…”
I cut him off. “I understand your psychology. Some prisoners are just like you. With nothing else to do, they make up stories and twist the facts to smear their victims and justify the crimes they’ve committed, as if the whole world had betrayed them.”
“So why do we strip you of your political rights for life? To stop you from making up nonsense like this. If you’re so innocent and have been so wronged, why didn’t you take proper action before? And why are you trying to ‘settle old scores’ now?”
Trần Viễn said nothing. After thinking for a moment, he stubbornly insisted, “Everything I said is true. If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Suppose what you’re saying is true. Then why did you previously explain the motives for the two murders as ‘an argument’? And why are you telling me this so-called truth now?”
I asked, “Why didn’t we talk about this in court, instead of here at the execution ground?”
“I can’t answer that right now.”
Trần Nguyên said, “It’s not over yet.”
“Then tell me.”
But suddenly I felt as if I’d overlooked some important details.
9.
Trần Nguyên’s Account (4)
Killing Chu Hồng Hưng and Mã Minh happened later. Let’s go back ten years. When I was a child, Chu Hồng Hưng sexually abused me, and I developed an antisocial personality.
My parents were very worried about me. In the end, my father gave up, but my mother kept trying. She moved us near the Taishan Execution Ground so I could watch the executions every day.
She also took me to Dr. Giang for treatment, but he couldn’t cure me. Instead, after learning about psychology from Dr. Giang, I found a path to redemption.
Before, when I did bad things, I might feel happy for a while, but something still weighed on my mind. I could never feel satisfied. Later, I understood that only by killing Chu Hồng Hưng could I truly be free.
I stopped causing trouble and kept my thoughts to myself. I resolved to study hard and live quietly. My grades became the best in my class. My teachers often praised me and hoped I’d get into a top high school.
My classmates and neighbors never noticed anything strange about me. They all thought I was a smart, well-behaved child. I studied psychology books and often came up with original interpretations.
Dr. Giang was like a confidant, always willing to answer my questions and even taking me along to explain psychology. It was as though he was passing on the insights he’d gained over the years.
Everyday life was like a still lake, suppressing all the currents beneath its surface. At sixteen, I was admitted to a top high school. The day I received my acceptance letter was my birthday.
My mother was very happy that evening. She bought a cake, cooked a huge dinner, and drank a lot of wine. At the table that night, I told her plainly that I didn’t want to go to high school. I had something to do, and I wanted to leave.
But my mother was so drunk she seemed not to hear me.
I ran away that night. Within three days of my leaving, my mother called the police, found me, and brought me home.
She cried as she scolded me. “How could you do this to me? Why couldn’t you think of me…? It wasn’t easy for me to give birth to you and raise you. I’m just an ordinary mother with very ordinary hopes for her son.”
But I wasn’t an ordinary child. That was the problem between my mother and me.
My mother thought she loved me, but she had only become a burden to me. She held me so tightly and wouldn’t let go that I could barely breathe.
I truly couldn’t bear the weight of life. My nerves were stretched taut, tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.
Here, I was still going to high school. I wasn’t sure whether my mother had heard what I said that night, but I kept studying, she kept working, and everything went on as usual.
Every day before school, I watched the Taishan Execution Ground. The scenes of death-row inmates being shot were as boring as the same commercials playing over and over.
One day, my mother opened the window and bent down to water an orchid in a pot.
I suddenly said, “Mom, look. Someone’s about to be shot. His head’s about to explode.”
We’d always had an unspoken understanding about it. This time, I called her out. My mother was terribly embarrassed, angry, and disappointed, but she never dared look up.
When the gunshot rang out, I let myself fall heavily onto the bed, as if playing a prank.
My mother slammed the door shut and left.
During that time, my mother and I had a very strained relationship. At home, we ignored each other, but in public we still played the parts of a loving mother and a dutiful son. My mother tried to keep up appearances, so I went along with her.
Days like these were painful because my mother’s presence made me miserable.
Once, Dr. Giang went to give a lecture at an orphanage in town, and I went along.
At the orphanage, I met a child named A Nguyên.
That same year, when we were sixteen, the orphanage encouraged A Nguyên to go out, find a job, and become self-sufficient as soon as possible, but my mother had me tied down, and I couldn’t leave.
A Nguyên was interested in psychology, and we shared the same passion. We often discussed all kinds of things, and we became friends as soon as we started spending time together.
During my first year of high school, I went straight to the orphanage as soon as classes ended and spent the whole day with A Nguyên.
I’d rather stay at the orphanage than go home. People even joked that I considered the orphanage my home.