Chapter 58: Herbal Medicine

When they saw Zhuang Fukai again, it was still at K University. This time, neither Kang Ge nor Yan Xue slipped into the classroom. For one thing, checking Zhuang Fukai’s class schedule, this session was a small seminar—fewer students, a smaller classroom; their presence would have been glaringly obvious. For another, there was simply no need.

They timed their arrival so that they reached K University just before the end of class, waiting outside the classroom where Zhuang Fukai was teaching. When the bell finally rang and students began to file out, Zhuang Fukai, just as composed as before, came out unhurriedly, eyes fixed straight ahead as he headed for the stairs.

“Zhuang Fukai!” Yan Xue called after him.

He seemed surprised to hear his name, then, upon seeing Kang Ge and Yan Xue, his expression shifted—though he did his best to maintain composure.

“Do you need something?” he asked, face impassive.

“There’s something we’d like to check with you,” Kang Ge stepped closer. “You have a problem with diarrhea, don’t you?”

Zhuang Fukai’s eyes flickered. “That has nothing to do with you. Since when do the police concern themselves with that?”

“If it’s just a sensitive stomach, of course we don’t care!” Kang Ge replied. “But what we’re curious about is this: as someone with a delicate gut, who often buys anti-diarrheal medicine, why are you also buying so many herbal medicines known to cause diarrhea? What’s the purpose?”

Zhuang Fukai had been managing to maintain a calm facade, but upon hearing Kang Ge’s words, he stood rooted to the spot, eyelids drooping as though determined to ignore him.

Yan Xue considered pressing him further, but before she could speak, Zhuang Fukai’s face suddenly drained of all color. He stared at Kang Ge, yet it was as if he were looking through him, as if Kang Ge were made of transparent glass and Zhuang Fukai’s gaze passed beyond, unfocused and empty.

Yan Xue found this state odd and was about to say something to pull him back when he suddenly swayed stiffly, like a lifeless log.

Then, without warning, Zhuang Fukai toppled backward. If Kang Ge hadn’t reacted in a flash, catching him just in time, Zhuang Fukai’s head would have struck the floor hard.

Though caught, he showed no sign of improvement—on the contrary, he grew worse. His body began to convulse violently, hands curling into claws, legs rigid, teeth clenched, eyes rolling back, and a froth soon gathered at the corners of his mouth.

“This isn’t right, call an ambulance—quickly!” Kang Ge ordered, pulling out his phone and signaling Yan Xue to call for help and manage the crowd gathering around.

Yan Xue rushed to contact emergency services. By the time she returned, Kang Ge had already taken off his jacket to cushion Zhuang Fukai’s head and turned him on his side to prevent choking in case of vomiting.

Zhuang Fukai’s sudden seizure attracted a crowd. Yan Xue did her best to disperse the onlookers, worried that the commotion would worsen his condition.

Soon, paramedics arrived. After preliminary treatment, they placed Zhuang Fukai on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. Kang Ge and Yan Xue followed by car, waiting at the hospital for him to recover.

The hospital examination found nothing seriously wrong; the doctor concluded that Zhuang Fukai had a congenital condition that could be triggered by severe psychological stress or tension.

When Zhuang Fukai finally awoke and saw Kang Ge and Yan Xue sitting at his bedside, his already pale face turned even more ashen, and his breathing quickened.

“If I were you, I’d calm down as quickly as possible,” Yan Xue said, sighing as she watched him seem on the verge of fainting again. “You’re in a hospital now, so your life isn’t in danger. But if you keep convulsing and losing consciousness, your body won’t thank you for it. We can wait as long as it takes.”

Perhaps it was this show of patience that steadied him. After a few breaths, he did seem to regain some composure, though his eyes still brimmed with near despair.

“I’m sorry… I was wrong!” he said, voice trembling as if someone had dumped a bag of ice down the front of his shirt. “I regret it so much now. I know I was wrong, but I never meant for it to be like this. I never thought it could turn out this way. If I’d known, even if you gave me the courage of a hundred men, I wouldn’t have dared—my grudge against him wasn’t nearly so deep!”

“Don’t rush to confess—just explain things clearly first,” Kang Ge gestured for him to stay calm.

“You’ve already found me; what’s left for me to say?” Zhuang Fukai lay there, gray-faced, like the living dead. “I truly regret it. Ever since Xu Wenrui went home, I’ve felt nothing but regret. But by then it was too late—there’s no medicine for regret, and I can’t turn back time.”

“We came to you for a reason, but whether you say it yourself or we say it makes a big difference. You’re hoping for graduate school recommendation, aren’t you? You know what that means, right?” Kang Ge prompted. “Think about your future, your prospects—don’t you want to fight for them?”

“I understand! I’ll be proactive!” At Kang Ge’s words, a spark reignited in Zhuang Fukai’s eyes—his desire for that recommendation was clear. He struggled to sit up, hands clutching the bedsheet. “But… can I request we talk somewhere else? There are too many people here.”

The emergency observation area was indeed noisy. Yan Xue and Kang Ge had no objections to moving, but one concern remained—

“You’re not going to have another fit and foam at the mouth as soon as we leave, are you?” Yan Xue asked.

“I shouldn’t,” Zhuang Fukai replied dejectedly. “I’ve had this problem before, but it hadn’t happened in years. I thought I was fine, but today I just panicked too much.”

“Alright, let’s go. Worst case, we’ll bring you back again!” Kang Ge said lightly.

After leaving the hospital, they drove Zhuang Fukai to the police station. They’d expected another outburst, but as they reached the station, apart from his ashen complexion, he seemed relatively steady.

“See? Not so bad,” Kang Ge said, pouring him a glass of water after they went upstairs. “Sit down.”

Zhuang Fukai took the cup somewhat nervously, glanced around the office, hesitated, and finally sat.

“I thought… you’d put me in one of those little rooms with a chair, asking questions and taking notes, like they do on TV,” he muttered.

“Not necessarily,” Kang Ge replied. “We can talk right here. If you’d feel more comfortable in an interrogation room, we don’t mind.”

“No, no, I don’t want to go there!” Zhuang Fukai objected at once, gripping the chair as if afraid Kang Ge would drag him away. “Here in the office is fine.”

“Good. Drink your water, catch your breath, and then we’ll talk,” Kang Ge said, handing Yan Xue a cup and downing his own. “It’s been quite a day—finding you, dealing with your fit, taking you to the hospital. Let’s all take a moment to recover, so we can have a proper conversation.”

Zhuang Fukai drank silently, at first clearly trying to compose himself. After a while, the effort became less obvious, and he appeared genuinely calm.

“Are you ready?” Yan Xue asked, noting that although he was still tense, he was clearly in a different state from before.

Zhuang Fukai pursed his lips, hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I don’t know if I’m right, but I think my earlier panic was from a guilty conscience. After you came to see me last time, I was on edge, and today when I saw you, my mind just went blank—I lost all reason.

On the way here, I thought about it: there are only two possibilities. One, I can explain everything, and it has nothing to do with me—my life goes on as usual. The other, I can’t explain, and I have to take the blame. Either way, I’m at fault, and even if I have another fit, you’ll still handle things as you should.

So since it’s come to this, I may as well pull myself together and explain everything clearly, to try for the best possible outcome.”

“Changing your tune, I see? You’re pretty good at adjusting your mindset!” Kang Ge laughed, unfazed by the shift in attitude. “Alright, tell us—what exactly did you do to Xu Wenrui?”

Zhuang Fukai twisted the paper cup in his hands until it was deformed. “I did buy the herbs. They’re common where I’m from, and not poisonous. Back home, people use them to treat constipation—maybe not scientific, but it’s a folk remedy with a long history. There’s nothing in it that could kill, just that it’s very potent, so elders don’t let you use much, and you only need a little boiled in water.

I admit, I had someone bring me the herbs because you can’t get them at pharmacies here.

I also admit I used too much. I boiled it down extremely strong, not just as a tea but as a decoction, so it wasn’t just a mild effect—you’d have to run to the bathroom a lot, but it shouldn’t have been anything worse.

I was worried, so I tried it on myself first. I spent the night running to the toilet, and apart from my legs feeling weak, nothing else happened. Only then did I use it on Xu Wenrui. How could it have turned deadly for him?”

“You tried it on yourself?” Yan Xue sounded skeptical. “Just to make sure nothing would happen to Xu Wenrui? When did you try it—before you secretly put it in his water dispenser?”

At this, Zhuang Fukai’s expression grew awkward. He steadied his breathing, licked his lips, and after a brief struggle, admitted, “You even know I put it in his little water dispenser? Yes, I tried it on myself before that.

Because… I was afraid the concentration was too high, yes, but also, I thought if I got sick first, then when it happened to him—even if it took longer—he’d just blame the cafeteria food, not suspect anything else. That would keep me safe.”

Kang Ge chuckled. “Not bad, that’s a clever way to divert suspicion. From the start, you spread news of Xu Wenrui’s death to the school gossip Xu Hao, hoping to stir up rumors and muddy our investigation, and to deflect attention from yourself, right?

But since you tried it yourself and believed it was safe, why go to such lengths to cover your tracks? Why not just tell us when we questioned you?”

“Because I didn’t want my graduate recommendation at risk,” Zhuang Fukai lowered his head. “If you suspected me and investigated—even if I could explain—my reputation would suffer. If it affected the recommendation process, I couldn’t take that chance.”