CHINESE CRIME MYSTERY: EMBARRASSMENT IS THE ONLY WAY TO PRESERVE THE BODY FOR LONGER

Today, March 27, 2026, I'm collecting a series of stories about perplexing and challenging cases. I will tell you about another horrific case in China that has shaken public opinion in this country of over a billion people.

On May 10, 2014, Harbin was experiencing the coldest winter in its history, with outdoor temperatures dropping to -28 degrees Celsius. In the industrial zone on the outskirts of the city, factory chimneys spewed thick white smoke, mingling with the dense fog. This area mainly consisted of old warehouses, some abandoned since the subsidy era, others leased out for storing construction materials or cheap frozen food. At 8:03 AM, Liu Wei, an electrical technician in the industrial zone, received a report of an unusual voltage drop at Substation No. 7. According to the power grid diagram, this substation supplied electricity to warehouses No. 1 to No. 10. However, the warning system recorded a sudden disappearance of power consumption in the branch line leading to warehouse No. 4. This warehouse was registered under the name of a private company that had ceased its food business two years prior but continued to pay its electricity maintenance fees regularly. One month, Liu Wei drove his specialized pickup truck to the entrance of warehouse number 4. The rusty iron door was covered in ice and snow. He breathed on his numb hands, even though he was wearing gloves, then used bolt cutters to remove the rusted lock. The dry clang of metal echoed in the silent space as the heavy door slid open, revealing a dark and dusty interior. Liu Wei turned on his flashlight and stepped inside. The warehouse was empty, except for industrial waste and a few rotten wooden pallets scattered in the corner. However, the flashlight beam swept back and forth, finally settling on a large cube deep inside the warehouse. It was a 40-foot refrigerated container, its blue exterior paint peeling, but the refrigeration unit at the rear was still relatively new. The engine was silent, indicating it had stopped working. Liu Wei approached and smelled a strange odor—not the musty smell of an old warehouse, nor the typical smell of spoiled food or dead rats after a power outage. It was a stale, sweet, and slightly chemical smell, like something you'd find in a hospital. He touched the container's exterior; it was icy cold, but there was no longer the frost clinging to the outside as when the air conditioner was running. The power outage had probably happened overnight, causing the temperature inside to rise. Liu Wei took out his walkie-talkie and called the control center. His voice trembled from the cold: "I'm in the refrigerated compartment. There's a power outage here. I need to check the circuit breaker inside. Does anyone know who the warehouse owner is?" The other end of the line crackled with static and then replied that they couldn't connect. "The registered number is a fake number. Check it yourself if it's broken." Whatever problems arise, a report will be filed at the scene. Liu Wei sighed. He decided to open the container to check what goods were inside, just in case rotting food caused environmental pollution. The lever to open the container door was frozen solid. Liu Wei had to use a hammer to forcefully hit the lock, then used all his strength to climb onto the lever. A loud crack echoed, and the ice fell in clumps onto the concrete ground.

The container door slowly creaked open, releasing a blast of icy white air that carried a pungent, chemical smell even stronger than before. Liu Wei coughed violently, covering his mouth with his hand. As the cold air dissipated, his flashlight shone directly inside, revealing a scene that left him speechless. His hands trembled, and the flashlight in his hand nearly fell to the ground. Inside the container, there were no cardboard boxes of meat or seafood as he had initially imagined. The floor was covered with a strangely clean, dark red velvet carpet. In a neat row on the carpet were three classic-style armchairs upholstered in velvet, and sitting on them were three mannequins wrapped in large, transparent plastic bags—the kind usually used to wrap expensive suits. Liu Wei swallowed hard, trying to reassure himself that they were just mannequins. He took a hesitant step inside, the bone-chilling cold still lingering in the air. Although the air conditioning had been off for hours, he approached the... In the middle seat, through the translucent, steamy plastic wrap, he saw a pale face with wide, staring eyes. Curiosity overcame fear. Liu Wei trembled as he reached out, grabbed the edge of the plastic bag, and ripped it open. The plastic tore, revealing a bare arm resting loosely on the armrest of the chair. The skin was smooth and porcelain-white, but lifeless. Liu Wei lightly touched the arm with his finger, hoping to feel the hard plastic surface, but no. His fingertip felt elasticity—hard and cold, but definitely human flesh. When he pressed a little harder, the indentation in the skin didn't spring back immediately but retained its shape. Liu Wei recoiled, his eyes fixed on the face of the mannequin. It was a young woman, heavily made up, with bright red lipstick, rosy cheeks, and long, curled false eyelashes. She wore a black evening gown in the style of the 1920s and a string of pearls around her neck. "No, the horrifying thing is that the corneas of the eyes are cloudy, gray like rice water, yet still retain an expression of extreme horror. It's not a mannequin, it's a dead body!" Liu Wei screamed, turning and running frantically out of the container. He tripped over a tangled mess of electrical wires on the ground and fell, but still managed to crawl out of the warehouse as if a ghost was chasing him. As he ran, he pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed the police number.

At the Harbin City Police Command Center, the phone rang incessantly. Liu Wei stammered into the phone, "Help! Help me! There are dead people in warehouse number four of the industrial zone! No... no... not just one person, but three people... they're frozen!"

Upon hearing the news, the police immediately moved to the scene. Less than 20 minutes after Liu Wei's call, police sirens echoed throughout the industrial park. Three police cars and a forensic vehicle pulled up in front of warehouse number 4. Yellow tape was quickly wrapped around the area, sealing off the scene and preventing curious workers from nearby warehouses from gathering. Criminal investigation team leader Wang Zhijian stepped out of the car; the cold wind lashed his face like a knife. He pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and hurried inside the warehouse. Wang Zhijian was a man in his 40s, with a sharp face and piercing eyes, exuding the sternness of a seasoned veteran. Accompanying him was Song Jia, the chief forensic pathologist of the police department, known for her cold demeanor and extremely high level of expertise. Liu Wei was sitting slumped at the warehouse door, her face pale and bloodless, being questioned by a young police officer. Wang Zhijian merely nodded to his subordinate and went straight into the container area. Inside the container, the high-powered spotlights of the forensic team shone brightly. The bright lights illuminated every corner, and the sight of the female corpse sitting on the chair struck Wang Zhijian's eyes, creating an indescribable chilling sensation. Unlike other murder cases, there was no gore or violent struggle; everything was neat, tidy, and eerily clean. Wang Zhijian, wearing rubber gloves, approached to observe. He immediately recognized the abnormality of the scene. He turned to the technician sweeping dust and searching for fingerprints and asked, "How's the situation? Did you find anything?" The technician shook his head, wearily replying, "No, sir!" "The report says everything is spotless. We've swept every surface of the seats, the floor, the container walls, and even the handrails. There aren't a single fingerprint, not even the victim's. The killer cleaned everything extremely thoroughly with a specialized cleaning solution; the floor is so clean you could see your reflection in it." Wang Zhijian frowned. He looked down at the dark red velvet carpet on the container floor, which showed no footprints except for Liu Wei's shoe prints right at the entrance. This proved the killer had meticulously arranged the scene and then retreated, erasing all traces as they went. Song Jia was standing in front of the victim's body in the middle, the one whose plastic bag Liu Wei had torn open. She carefully used tweezers to pick up a piece of fabric from the victim's dress and put it into the evidence bag. She gently touched the victim's neck, where the skin and flesh were frozen solid. Song Jia said, "The temperature inside before the power outage was maintained at a very low level, probably around -20 to -25 degrees Celsius. The freezing process happened very quickly." Wang Zhijian stepped closer, "Can you determine the preliminary time of death?" Song Jia shook her head, her voice low and serious, "It's very difficult. The low temperature has halted all decomposition processes. Normal biological signs like postmortem ulcers or muscle stiffness have been altered by the freezing process. Looking at the transparency of the skin and the shrunkenness of the eyeballs, I estimate that this body has been here for at least six months, possibly even longer." Wang Zhijian carefully observed the victims' faces, heavily made up to conceal their true skin color, but unable to hide the horror in their wide-open eyes. Pointing at the victims' eyes, he asked Song Jia why their eyes were still open. Normally, when dying in a state of extreme terror, the facial muscles lock up instantly. All three victims were women, aged between 20 and 25, all petite and slender, and all three were wearing classic Western-style evening gowns made of expensive velvet or silk. Their hair was elaborately styled, their heads adorned with sparkling jewels; they looked more like dolls in a high-end toy store display case than corpses. Wang Zhijian walked around behind the chairs and noticed a strange detail: small drilled holes under each chair were bolted to the container floor. This indicated that the chairs were very securely fastened, probably to prevent them from shifting during transport. Wang Zhijian muttered, "This guy has prepared very carefully. He doesn't just consider this a place to hide corpses, but a display. He wants these corpses to sit in the exact same position, no matter where the container is moved."

The technical team continued searching for clues. They found an automatic spraying system installed on the container, but the solution tank was empty. A technician reported, "Boss, it seems this system is used to spray preservatives or flavorings periodically. I smell a faint formaldehyde odor in the pipe." Wang Zhijian nodded, collecting the remaining solution in the pipe for immediate analysis. Outside, it began to snow. Wang Zhijian looked at the three cold dolls one last time before ordering the transport team to take the bodies to the morgue.

He had a feeling this wasn't a typical murder, robbery, or revenge case. The meticulous cleanliness and cold, ruthless nature of the scene suggested the perpetrator was a deeply disturbed individual with a possessive nature, a penchant for art, and, more frighteningly, a remarkable knowledge, skill, and patience in cleaning up the scene without a trace. The bodies of the three victims were transferred to the Harbin police department's forensic lab that afternoon. The air in the lab was chilly and thick with the smell of disinfectant. Three metal stretchers, lined up side-by-side, carried three frozen bodies still wrapped in layers of luxurious clothing. Song Jia stood before the table, wearing protective glasses and sterile surgical attire. Beside her were two young forensic assistants, their faces tense. Analyzing frozen bodies was a major challenge; thawing them too quickly with heat would cause cell damage and tissue destruction, making the cause of death impossible. Song Jia ordered her assistants, "We can't thaw them at room temperature immediately. Put the bodies in a 4°C cold chamber to thaw slowly over 24 hours." However, I need to take blood and tissue samples now to test for toxins. She used a specialized medical drill to bore through the frozen skin on the victim's thigh. First, a small cylindrical tissue sample was taken out. The color of the flesh was not the usual bright red or crimson, but a strange pale pink with a hint of purple.

While waiting for the natural thawing process, Song Jia conducted a preliminary external examination. Using medical scissors, she cut away the victim's dress. When the velvet fabric was separated, a strange scent permeated the room—a strong lavender scent that overpowered the smell of the corpse. Song Jia carefully observed the victim's abdomen and discovered a long suture line running along the midline of the abdomen, from the sternum down to the pelvis. The suture was very finely stitched, with evenly spaced needles, indicating that the person who performed the procedure had good surgical skills or expertise in sewing. The forensic assistant exclaimed, "This incision looks like an autopsy incision, but it's been sutured so beautifully!" Song Jia nodded, "That's right, the wound hasn't completely healed. This is an incision made after death." After 12 hours, when the surface of the body began to soften slightly, Song Jia decided to proceed with the abdominal incision. She cut along the old sutures, the blade struggling to pass through the cold skin. When the abdominal cavity was opened, the forensic team was stunned. Inside, the victim's body was completely empty; there was no heart, liver, lungs, stomach, or intestines. All internal organs had been removed. Instead, the chest and abdominal cavities were stuffed with rolls of pristine white medical cotton, interspersed with small bags containing desiccant beads and dried herbs. Song Jia used tweezers to pick out a ball of cotton. The cotton was soaked in a colorless, viscous solution. She brought it to her nose and said, "Low concentrations of glycerol and formaldehyde. He processed the internal organs and then used chemically treated cotton to preserve the body's shape." Simultaneously shrinking and preventing internal decay, the results of tissue fluid sample tests sent from the chemistry lab confirmed Song Jia's hypothesis that the victim's muscle tissues contained high levels of glycerol and dimethyl sulfoxide, common cryoprotective agents used in medicine to preserve stem cells, sperm, or embryos.

These substances prevent the formation of sharp ice crystals inside cells when the temperature is lowered, helping the cells maintain their structure. Song Jia looked at the results displayed on the screen, her forehead beaded with sweat despite the cold room. She told her assistant that this wasn't a typical murder and concealment of a body; it was a high-tech embalming process. He had drained all the victim's blood and injected this preservation solution into the circulatory system before freezing the body. Thanks to this, the victims' skin retained its smooth and elastic appearance, as if they were still alive. He wanted to turn them into eternal statues. Song Jia continued to examine the victims' necks. Beneath the thick layer of makeup, she found a tiny needle mark right on a vein. The skin around the injection site was not bruised, indicating that the injection was performed very gently or that the victims had already lost the ability to resist. Further examination of the other two bodies yielded completely similar results. All three had their internal organs removed, stuffed with chemically treated cotton, and filled with cryogenic preservation. There were no signs of prior sexual assault, nor any wounds caused by hard or sharp objects other than the organ removal incisions.

Wang Zhijian stood outside the glass room observing the entire process. He tapped on the microphone, connecting to the operating room and asking, "What is the cause of death?" Song Jia looked up through the glass, unable to confirm anything definitively until the results of the poisoning in the liver or brain were available. "But since all the internal organs are gone, I can only rely on the remaining blood samples in the bone marrow. However, with the injection marks in the neck and the lack of any visible injuries or resistance, I lean towards the hypothesis that the victim was injected with a high dose of poison or anesthetic," Song Jia paused for a moment before continuing, his voice trembling slightly, a rare occurrence. "Mr. Wang, the most terrifying thing isn't the death itself, but the process. For the preservation solution to permeate every cell like this, the victim's heart must still be beating to pump the chemicals throughout the body during the initial stages of the blood transfusion. It's very possible he performed this procedure while the victim was still barely alive." Wang Zhijian shuddered, picturing the victim lying on the operating table, their consciousness hazy, feeling the warm blood flowing. Their bodies were gradually replaced by that icy liquid, little by little, until their hearts stopped beating and their bodies turned to stone. On May 11, 2014, the criminal investigation team's office was filled with cigarette smoke; the whiteboard on the wall was plastered with photos of the crime scene and portraits of the three victims after their makeup had been digitally removed. A tense and urgent atmosphere prevailed. Officer Xiao Chen, in charge of the case files, entered the meeting room carrying a stack of documents. He placed the files on the table and said, “Boss, we have the DNA and dental records for all three victims. They are all in the city and surrounding areas’ missing persons database. Their identities have been confirmed.” Wang Zhijian extinguished his cigarette and nodded, signaling, “Go on to the details.” Xiao Chen pasted a photo of the first victim onto the board. It was the girl sitting in the middle seat whom Liu Wei had touched. Victim number 1, Zhang Xiaomi, 24 years old, was a freelance model who occasionally participated in advertising photoshoots for online fashion shops. Zhang Xiaomi was reported missing on May 15, 2012, almost two years ago. The last time she was seen was when she left home to meet a photographer for an audition for a winter art photoshoot. Wang Zhijian asked if they had found that photographer. Xiao Chen shook her head. At that time, the police had investigated but found no clues. She contacted them via social media; the other person's account was a fake profile that was later permanently deleted. Xiao Chen then posted a second photo. The second victim was Liu Bei, a 21-year-old third-year student at the Harbin Art School of Dance, who disappeared on October 20, 2013. She disappeared after her graduation performance. Friends said she received a dinner invitation from a mysterious sponsor who wanted to invite her to join a theater troupe. She went and never returned. Finally, the third photo showed the third victim, Zhu Ruoyu, a 23-year-old consultant at a large wedding dress shop in Nanjiang County, who disappeared on December 5, 2013. Just over a month ago, she vanished on her way home from her night shift.

Security cameras recorded her getting into a black taxi, but the license plate was obscured by mud and unidentified. Wang Zhijian stood up, walked closer to the whiteboard, and, with his arms crossed, observed the three faces. He remarked, "Does anyone notice what they have in common?" A detective spoke up, "They're all very beautiful and young." Wang Zhijian shook his head. "Not only that, but look closely. All three have petite figures, about 1.6 to 1.62 meters tall, with small bone structures, very fair skin, long straight black hair, oval faces, and pointed chins." They all had a very classic, fragile look. Xiao Chen added, "That's right, boss," and the disappearances of Zhang Xiaomi in February, Liu Bei in October, and Zhou Ruoyu in December all fell during the cold or early winter season in Harbin. Wang Zhijian returned to his desk, picked up a red marker, and connected the time points. Winter was a favorable condition for preserving and transporting bodies without arousing suspicion. Moreover, the dresses they were wearing when found—the 1920s-style evening gowns found in the crime scene files—were not cheap, ready-made clothes. The fabric was of very good quality, and the hand-stitched details suggested that each person had their own outfit. This indicated that he had an obsession with a specific female archetype; he didn't choose victims randomly, but hunted for girls who fit his collection. At this moment, Song Jia entered the meeting room holding a new report. She said, "There are new details from the forensic department. We found traces of makeup on the victims' faces." These weren't ordinary supermarket cosmetics; they were traditional face powder and handmade lipsticks made with an old recipe, rarely found on the market today. Furthermore, the hair styling technique used on the victim was a heated iron curling technique, a common practice in barbershops in the 1980s and 90s. Wang Zhijian narrowed his eyes, thinking the culprit was a nostalgic individual with a unique aesthetic sense, medical or biological knowledge, and the financial means to purchase chemicals and maintain the cold storage. He was knowledgeable about anatomy but had a fondness for things from the past. He turned to Xiao Chen and ordered a thorough review of all security camera footage around the industrial park's cold storage area. Over the past two years, focusing on refrigerated transport vehicles, he had to use specialized vehicles to transport the bodies there; regular vehicles were not an option. Xiao Chen nodded, "Yes, sir, but the camera data from two years is enormous, and much of it has been overwritten." Wang Zhijian slammed his hand on the table. "If it's overwritten, restore it. Find it for me. He kept these bodies elsewhere before transferring them to warehouse number 4."

Warehouse No. 4 was merely a temporary staging area or long-term storage facility that he had rented; his movement route had to be traced. The meeting ended on a heavy note. Three young girls, three promising lives, were now just cold, lifeless corpses in the morgue, and outside, in the sub-zero temperatures of Harbin, the perpetrator was still lurking, perhaps eyeing his next victim for his sick collection. Wang Zhijian looked out the window; the snow was falling thicker, blanketing the city in white as if to bury all the crimes. On May 12, 2014, the forensic department of the Harbin Public Security Bureau was lit up all night, dozens of computer screens flashing continuously, replaying video footage from the traffic surveillance cameras around the industrial zone. The task for the investigation team was like searching for a needle in a haystack, looking for a suspicious vehicle among thousands of cars that had passed over the past two years. Wang Zhijian stood behind Xiao Chen, his eyes glued to the screen. He had stayed up for two nights straight, his eyes bloodshot. Wang Zhijian patted his subordinate on the shoulder and asked, "How much of the data have you filtered so far?" Xiao Chen rubbed his eyes, his voice hoarse with exhaustion, "Reporting, sir, we've finished reviewing the data for 2013 and are now starting to go back to 2012. There are too many trucks going in and out at night to deliver goods to the wholesale market early in the morning; identifying a suspicious vehicle is very difficult." Wang Zhijian took a large gulp of his strong black coffee, concentrating on the timelines around the victim's disappearance and the full moon days of each month. He was a man of his word; he wouldn't break his schedule. Xiao Chen nodded, his fingers moving quickly across the keyboard to enter commands to filter the time, the screen fast-forwarding through blurry black and white footage due to the falling snow. and fog. Suddenly, Xiao Chen pressed the pause button, zoomed in on a corner of the screen, and said loudly, "Look, boss, this is footage recorded at 2:15 AM on February 16, 2012, one day after the victim Zhang Xiaomi disappeared. On the screen is a crossroads leading to an abandoned warehouse area. A small, white refrigerated truck, weighing about 1.5 tons, is turning onto a dirt road leading to the warehouse. The truck is moving very slowly, its headlights off, only the dim fog lights are on to illuminate the road." Wang Zhijian squinted, observing, "Where's the license plate? Can you read it?" Xiao Chen shook his head, adjusting the contrast to make it very blurry. The license plate was smeared with mud or deliberately dirty. However, looking closely at the truck bed, the logo of the truck manufacturer was painted over with white paint, but the bumps and dents were still visible. This is an older model truck.

Xiao Chen continued rewinding the footage for about 40 minutes, then the vehicle returned, this time going a little faster. Wang Zhijian ordered further checks of other time points to see if it appeared again. The technical team worked diligently for the next three hours, and a chilling pattern gradually emerged: this mysterious white truck appeared regularly once a month, usually in the early morning of the 15th or 16th of the lunar month. It always followed a fixed route, appearing from the northern ring road of the city, entering the industrial zone, stopping for about 30 to 45 minutes, and then leaving. Especially on the nights coinciding with the disappearances of the three victims, this car stayed in the warehouse longer, about two to three hours. Wang Zhijian slammed his fist on the table; it was this car. He used it to transport bodies and maintain his collection. Two hours was enough time for him to arrange the position of a new corpse. Xiao Chen extracted the clearest image of the car from the night of October 20, 2013. Thanks to the streetlights, they could see the license plate HA-5x peeking through the mud, the last letters blurred. Xiao Chen checked the registration data and reported that no car with the exact same characteristics as this license plate was found. It was most likely a fake plate or a plate from a salvaged vehicle. Wang Zhijian pointed to a small detail: on the hood of the car in the enlarged image, there was a small decorative object, a metal eagle. This wasn't an original accessory; it was an added modification. Issue a search warrant for all of them. All the white refrigerated trucks of this model, from 2005 to 2008, with the Eagle logo on the front, were found in Hanixin and surrounding areas. Meanwhile, another reconnaissance team reported the results of reviewing the list of vehicles entering and exiting the industrial park; there were no records of this particular truck at the main security checkpoint. Wang Zhijian looked at the area map. He didn't go through the main gate; he took a trail behind, along the Songhua River. That road was very bad, usually impassable for vehicles, but in winter when the ground froze solid, small trucks could squeeze through. He knew the terrain like the back of his hand. The investigation opened up a new direction. The truck wasn't just a means of transport; it was a mobile cold storage unit. The truck's regular monthly appearance suggested that he came to the warehouse not only to hide fresh corpses but also to inspect and maintain the machinery, or simply to gaze at the victims. Wang Zhijian pondered, why on the full moon? Did the bright moonlight help him see the road in the dark without needing headlights or some superstitious belief? He turned to the deputy and told them to set up an ambush at the riverside trail and warehouse number 4. Although the bodies had been removed, he didn't know it yet; he might return, or if he knew the police had sealed off the area, he would try to destroy any remaining evidence. As night fell over Harbin, a bone-chilling cold seeped into every alleyway. That ghostly truck, like a steel monster, silently drifted through the night, carrying the horrific secrets of those unfortunate young girls. On May 13, 2014, the morning's case meeting was attended by Professor Liang Chen, a leading expert in criminal psychology invited from the Beijing Public Security University. The atmosphere in the meeting room was solemn and heavy. On the screen, images of the three victims were projected in a seated position, elaborately made up but lifeless. Professor Liang Chen adjusted his glasses and spoke in a deep, resonant voice, "I have reviewed the case file and the forensic report. The perpetrator we are facing is not a murderer driven by ordinary lust or a murderer driven by sudden hatred. He belongs to a highly organized crime group with complex psychological motives related to objectophilia and perfectionism."

Wang Zhijian folded his arms and listened attentively. "Professor, could you elaborate on his motives?" The professor pointed to a close-up photograph of the victim's face and said, "Look at how meticulously and classically he applied makeup to the victim. He didn't rape the victim in the biological sense. For him, sex wasn't about physical penetration, but about absolute possession and control. He suffers from inverted Pimalean syndrome. He doesn't want to turn statues into people, but people into statues." The room fell silent. The professor continued to analyze the removal of internal organs and their replacement with scented cotton, showing that he viewed the human body as a shell containing beauty, while the internal organs were something dirty and easily rotten that needed to be removed. He feared decomposition; he wanted to freeze time. His victims were all beautiful, fragile girls. He killed them not to destroy them, but, according to his distorted thinking, to preserve that beauty forever. Song Jia added, "From a forensic perspective, the professor is right. His embalming technique is very professional. He uses expensive and hard-to-find chemicals, which proves he has a comfortable financial situation and deep knowledge of anatomy or chemistry. He's not unemployed or a low-skilled laborer." The professor nodded in agreement. He's a man of certain social standing, with a polite and trustworthy appearance, which is why he easily lures young women to follow him.

His patience is extreme. He can spend hours every day meticulously caring for the corpses. This is his ritual; he considers himself an artist and the corpses his works of art. Wang Zhijian asked, "Then why did he hide them in an abandoned cold storage?" "Why not a more secretive place?" Professor Liang Chen smiled faintly. That was his private display area, an industrial warehouse that offered a sense of security and isolation. Moreover, the temperature there was stable. He needed a space large enough to sit and observe them. He was a collector, and like any collector, he wouldn't stop at three. His collection was incomplete. A detective raised his hand to speak, "If he wants to collect, why does he choose girls with different professions?" The suspect, a student, a salesperson, the professor explained further that profession didn't matter, what mattered was appearance and demeanor. He sought passive meekness, but this girl had the characteristic of looking weak. He liked the feeling of controlling a creature incapable of resistance and paid particular attention to the victim's eyes, keeping them wide open. He wanted them to look at him with admiration or fear forever. Wang Zhijian quickly jotted down in his notebook the identifying characteristics of the male suspect, 35 to 45 years old, single or separated, with transportation, knowledgeable in medicine or the food industry, with a hobby of collecting antiques or art, and a meticulous, obsessive-compulsive personality. Professor Liang Chen added a chilling detail: 'Be careful, people like this, when cornered, will not surrender. He considers the corpses his most precious possessions; he would rather destroy everything than let others touch his work, and more importantly, the time between cases is short.' The time between case one and case two was over a year, but from case two to case three was only two months. He's speeding things up; he's craving a new doll. The professor's warning was like a cold shower for the entire investigation team. If that's true, some girl out there is in his sights, and time is running out.

On May 14, 2014, based on the hypothesis of the perpetrator's route along the Tung Hoa riverside trail, Vuong Chi Kien directed the investigation team to thoroughly search the area. This was a makeshift slum for homeless people and scavengers hidden behind scrap metal collection points. As dusk fell, the river wind whipped against the tattered shacks made of plastic sheeting. The deputy head of the criminal investigation team, along with two undercover detectives, ventured deep into the area, carrying a photo of the truck. They stopped in front of a dilapidated shack made of corrugated iron sheets. Inside, a thin, elderly man with gray hair sat warming his hands over a small fire fueled by rotten wood. Locals called him Old Ma, a hard-of-hearing and somewhat senile scrap collector. The deputy captain walked in, holding up a photo and asking loudly, "Old man, have you ever seen this car pass by here at night?" Old Ma squinted his cloudy eyes at the photo, then shook his head, muttering meaningless words. The deputy captain patiently asked again, "This time he gave you a hot steamed bun bought from the street corner. Look closely, it's a white car with an eagle on the front. It often goes down that dirt path over there." Old Ma held the bun in his trembling hand. A look of fear flashed in his eyes when he saw the eagle in the photo. He whispered in a hoarse voice, "Ghost car, ghost car... it has no engine sound, it just drifts away." The deputy captain, overjoyed, squatted down to his eye level. "When did you see it? Did you see who was driving it?" Old Ma ate a piece of the bun, chewing and speaking with saliva dripping from his lips, "I've seen it many times. On full moon nights, I go to collect plastic bottles at the garbage dump near the cold storage. The car is parked there." The deputy captain pressed him, "Did you see the driver? What did he look like?" Old Ma shuddered, pulling the tattered blanket up to cover his chest as if to reassure himself. He was terrifying; he was dressed entirely in white, covering him from head to toe like a doctor in a hospital, his face covered by a muzzle. He was tall, his shadow stretching long across the snow. Old Ma paused for a moment, then continued, his voice filled with horror.

He opened the door, and a blast of cold air rushed out like mist. He carried... he carried long rolls of carpet—no, not carpets, we could see long hair sticking out from the edges. He carried them very gently, like carrying a child. He didn't carry them on his shoulder; he carried them horizontally. The detective standing beside him shuddered; this description perfectly matched the psychology professor's hypothesis: the killer considered the victim a treasure. The deputy asked, "What did he do after that?" "Did you see his face?" Old Man Ma shook his head vigorously. He hadn't seen his face, only his eyes through his goggles; they were bright, cold, and piercing. Once, I accidentally stepped on a beer can, making a noise. He turned and looked towards the bushes where I was hiding. I was so scared I held my breath and didn't dare move. He stood there for a while, then took out a spray bottle and sprayed something on the ground where he had just walked. It smelled terrible, like cleaning solution used to erase traces immediately after moving. That's why the police dogs couldn't detect anything, and there were no unfamiliar footprints at the scene.

The deputy asked one last question: when was the last time he saw him? Old Ma pondered for a moment, counting on his dark fingers. Last month, during the full moon, he arrived later than usual. He carried a huge box. He stayed in the warehouse for a long time; it was too cold, so he left early. The information from Old Ma was more valuable than gold. It confirmed that the killer used medical protective clothing or specialized work protective gear, wearing a gas mask, probably to avoid inhaling chemicals or to conceal his face, and had a habit of meticulously erasing traces. He wasn't just a murderer; he was a phantom of disinfection. The deputy immediately called Wang Zhijian to report, "Boss, the witness has confirmed the car and the figure, about 1.8 meters tall, wearing full protective clothing. He was very careful to erase traces on the spot and treated the body extremely gently." Wang Zhijian, on the other end of the line, grumbled, "Fine, at least we know he's a real person, flesh and blood, not a ghost." Continuing to investigate if the old man remembered any more details about the car, such as scratches or other stickers, on May 15, 2014, in the forensic lab, Tong Jia was conducting a more in-depth analysis of tissue samples taken from the corpse. Her desk was cluttered with chromatographic charts and toxicology reference materials. Tong Jia urgently called Wang Zhijian down to the lab. When he arrived, she pointed to the screen displaying the molecular structure of a strange substance found in the victim's spinal cord. Tong Jia said in a serious tone, "We've found the cause of death. It wasn't ordinary anesthetic, nor cyanide or arsenic; it was susinin." Wang Zhijian frowned. What was that? Tong Jia explained it was a powerful muscle relaxant commonly used in anesthesia for intubation. However, it has an extremely terrifying characteristic: if misused, it causes complete paralysis of all muscles, including the diaphragm, but does not affect the central nervous system or the victim's consciousness in the initial stages. Wang Zhijian shuddered; he began to understand the problem—meaning the victim was still conscious. Song Jia nodded. The victim would immediately be paralyzed from head to toe; they couldn't move their arms and legs, not even a finger; they couldn't scream because their vocal cords were paralyzed; they couldn't breathe because their diaphragm stopped functioning, but their brain still functioned normally; they could still hear, see, and feel everything around them. Wang Zhijian clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking. They were suffocating to death. Song Jia shook his head slightly; that was the most cruel part. He didn't let them die immediately from suffocation; he kept them alive with artificial respiration for a short time. During that time, he began the process: he injected anticoagulants, he started drawing blood and pumping cryopreservatives into their bodies. The victims felt the icy cold spreading through their veins, felt their life being drained away, but they were completely helpless.

They lay there, their eyes wide open, staring at him, at the surgical knife in his hand, but unable to do anything. Song Jia pointed to the injection mark on the victim's neck that she had found earlier. This injection was extremely precise, hitting a vein. This was a difficult intravenous injection technique requiring professional training as a nurse or doctor; an ordinary person couldn't hit it on the first try without rupturing the vein or causing extensive bruising. He did it very skillfully. Wang Zhijian felt a chill run down his spine; the cruelty of the killer exceeded his imagination. He not only killed people, he tortured the victims' minds to the depths of despair. He asked, "Is this substance easy to buy?" Song Jia replied, "This is a prescription drug that is extremely strictly controlled and only used in hospitals. However, it can still be smuggled out on the black market or through connections in the industry, or he is someone working in the medical field." Wang Zhijian looked at the three corpses lying motionless in the refrigerator compartments. Now he understood why their eyes were wide open and filled with such terror. It wasn't a sudden death; it was a slow death in extreme lucidity and unspeakable fear. He turned to Song Jia and said, "Check for traces of tranquilizers. I hope he gave them a dose of tranquilizers before doing those things." Song Jia sighed and handed him the comprehensive test results. "Unfortunately, Mr. Wang, you didn't have any anesthetic, only succinium and preservatives. He wanted them to stay conscious; he wanted them to witness the process of becoming dolls. That's part of his sick satisfaction." His castration. Wang Zhijian walked out of the forensic lab with a heavy heart. He pulled out his phone and called the investigation team, mobilizing them to investigate all surgeons, anesthesiologists, morgue staff, and even pharmacists with access to the hospital's drug store. "He's hiding behind a white lab coat or a facade of intellect; similarly, he's a devil in human form, and he's very close to us," Wang Zhijian's words echoed in the deserted corridor like a formal declaration of war against the invisible killer. Outside the window, snow continued to fall, covering the city in a mournful white. A new missing person case was about to be reported, and the nightmare of the ice doll was far from over. On April 16, 2014, the investigation into the past of the first victim, Zhang Xiaomi, opened up a promising new avenue. The high-tech team successfully recovered data from her old laptop, which her family had carefully stored away after her disappearance. In the deleted files, investigators found an email exchange between Zhang Xiaomi and an email address with an encrypted domain. Wang Zhijian carefully read the printed content of the email. The sender, claiming to be the art manager of a newly opened private studio, wanted to invite Zhang Xiaomi to be the exclusive model for a photo series themed "eternal ice." The fee offered was five times higher than the market rate at the time. The manager's email contained very strict requirements regarding body measurements: the model had to have naturally white skin, no tattoos, no keloid scars, and especially, must be able to withstand cold for outdoor or low-temperature shoots. He emphasized that the photo series was intended to celebrate... With a serene, emotionless beauty, Wang Zhijian turned to Xiao Chen and asked, "Have you found the IP address of this email yet?" Xiao Chen typed continuously and replied that he was using anonymity software, but they had traced the registered address of the last login: a ground-floor apartment in an old apartment building in Xiangfang District. This place had been registered as an art photography studio but had closed down more than a year ago. Immediately, Wang Zhijian and a team of investigators set off for the suspected address, an apartment at the end of a dark, damp corridor.

The landlady was a middle-aged woman. She appeared flustered upon seeing the police. She claimed that a man named Li Jun, who used the apartment as a photography studio, had previously paid promptly, usually six months in advance. He said he was an artist and needed a quiet space. He had covered all the windows with black paper and installed soundproof doors. Wang Zhijian signaled his subordinates to break the lock. The room, approximately 40 square meters, was empty and cold; all the furniture had been removed. However, upon entering, Wang Zhijian sensed a strange atmosphere. The walls were painted a stark white, and the floor was tiled with hospital-grade white ceramic tiles, not the usual household tiles. In a corner of the room, Song Jia noticed several drill holes in the ceiling and traces of high-powered light fixtures. But what caught her attention most was the bathroom area, which had been meticulously renovated with a larger-than-normal drainage system. Song Jia sat down and used a UV lamp to examine the grout lines in the bathroom. She observed a bioluminescent reaction; even after thorough cleaning with strong bleach, traces of biological activity remained in the grout lines. He had processed something here, perhaps developing photographs, but it could also have been used to clean a victim's body.

Xiao Chen found a small piece of paper stuck in a recessed electrical cabinet; it was a receipt for a large quantity of dry ice. The date on the receipt matched the time Zhang Xiaomi disappeared. Wang Zhijian held the receipt, his eyes cold. He had lured her here under the pretext of taking photos, and he had prepared a soundproof, secluded space so she couldn't call for help. The purchase of dry ice showed that he had intended to lower the ambient temperature from the beginning, or use it to create a cold smoke effect as promised, but in reality, to numb the victim's senses. The investigators continued to search for the remaining victims: Liu Pei, a dance student who had shared with friends that a photographer had praised her figure and invited her to participate in a secret art project; and Chu Ruoyu, a wedding dress shop employee who had also served a male customer who inquired about buying a used evening gown and complimented her on having the aura of a photo model. All paths led to the same person. He wasn't just a random predator; he approached, assessed, and instilled trust and ambition in the minds of young women. He used the guise of art to conceal his cruel nature. This apartment was the first transit point, where he carried out the first step of his brutal process: kidnapping and processing.

On May 20, 2014, while Wang Zhijian's team was racing against time to track down clues from the abandoned studio, another tragedy was silently unfolding in another corner of Harbin. 22-year-old Lin Jia, a promising actress from the city's theater troupe, had just finished rehearsals for a Spring Festival play. The wall clock showed 11 PM; everyone else had gone home, leaving only Lin Jia behind to practice a difficult scene. A perfectionist and ambitious woman, she always wanted everything to be perfect. Lin Jia turned off the stage lights, put on a thick puffer coat, and walked out the back gate of the theater. Heavy snow covered the deserted road, and the wind howled, making it bitterly cold. She huddled under an awning, trying to call a taxi, but the phone line was flickering due to the snow. Just then, a black sedan slowly approached, its yellow headlights piercing through the white snow. The car stopped right in front of Lin Jia, and the driver's side window rolled down. Halfway down, the driver, wearing a medical mask and a hat pulled down to cover half his face, spoke in a low, hoarse voice, "You won't find a taxi at this hour, where do you want to go? I'll only charge a cheap price." Lin Jia hesitated for a moment. She looked around at the deserted streets, not a soul in sight. The cold was seeping into her bones, making her shiver. She thought of the warm bed at her guesthouse and nodded. Lin Jia opened the back door and got into the car. "Please take me back to the Happiness Apartment Complex in Nanjiang District." The car rolled smoothly, the interior was warm, with a faint scent of lavender mixed with the smell of new leather. Lin Jia leaned her head against the seat, drowsiness quickly overtook her. She felt her eyelids heavy, and her limbs began to numb in a pleasant way. She mumbled, "You must have turned the heater up too high," "I feel a little dizzy." The driver didn't answer; he glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowed with amusement, and he smiled. He pressed a small button on the control panel, and a faint hissing sound came from the air vents in the back. It wasn't ordinary warmth, but a colorless, odorless anesthetic gas he had concocted himself. Five minutes later, Lin Jia slumped her head onto the seat, completely unconscious. The car didn't turn towards Nanjiang District but instead swerved, speeding towards the ring road leading to the city's outskirts, where vast pine forests and deserted warehouses stretched out. The following morning, May 21, 2014, Lin Jia's roommate rushed to the police station to report the crime. She said Lin Jia hadn't come home the previous night and her phone was switched off. The local police immediately forwarded the case to the serious crime unit because Lin Jia's physical characteristics matched the description in Wang Zhijian's warning: young, beautiful, with long black hair, and involved in the arts. Upon receiving the report, Wang Zhijian slammed his hand down on his desk. "Damn it, he's already done it! He knows we're alerting him, so he wants to get his last catch before disappearing!" he ordered the entire team to immediately check traffic cameras around the theater the previous night, find the car that picked up Lin Jia, and mobilize all forces to search all roads and inquire throughout the city.

We cannot afford to lose another person. On the monitoring screen at the command center, the blurry image of a black sedan appeared, its license plate obscured by mud, but a fake taxi emblem on the roof. The car moved skillfully, dodging traffic checkpoints, disappearing like a ghost in the snowy night. Lin Jia's fate now hung by a thread. Lin Jia woke up with a pounding headache. The first sensation was not the cold of the snow and wind outside, but a deep, silent cold that seeped into every fiber of her being. She tried to move her hands but found she couldn't budge. She opened her eyes to the blinding white LED light, forcing her to squint. As her vision gradually adjusted, Lin Jia realized she was sitting on a cold metal chair, her hands and feet tightly secured to the armrests and legs with straps. The room she was in was vast and stark white from ceiling to floor. The walls were covered with gleaming metal plates that reflected her distorted image. The temperature here was definitely below 0 degrees Celsius, as she could see her breath coming out in thick white smoke. Lin Jia panicked and wanted to scream, but she realized her mouth was taped shut. She could only utter weak, guttural sounds. She looked down at her body; her thick winter clothes had disappeared, replaced by a thin, white silk dress, a classic, floor-length nightgown. Her skin broke out in goosebumps from the cold. A soft sound echoed behind her, the clanging of metal. Lin Jia tried to turn her head, but the chair was designed to keep her head straight forward. A deep voice, resonating from the metal walls, said, "Don't move too much, you'll ruin the dress." A man came into her view; he was wearing a white medical protective suit from head to toe, and blue rubber gloves. His face was completely obscured by a specialized gas mask, only his eyes visible behind protective goggles. Those eyes showed no anger or madness; on the contrary, they were calm and intensely focused, like a doctor preparing for a major surgery. He pushed a stainless steel trolley in front of Lin Jia, on which lay a jumble of gleaming instruments: surgical knives of various sizes, medical forceps, syringes, and glass bottles containing a pale blue solution. He picked up a soft cotton swab, dipped it in a basin of ice water, and gently wiped Lin Jia's face, which was drenched in cold sweat. His movements were frighteningly tender. He whispered, "You are so beautiful, more beautiful than anyone before. Your bone structure is perfect for eternity." Lin Jia's eyes widened, tears welling up in her eyes from fear. He used his gloved finger to wipe away a tear from her cheek and clicked his tongue regretfully.

"Don't cry, tears contain salt that will disrupt the pH balance of your skin. You must maintain the purest state," he said, reaching for an old music player. The melancholic melody of "Serenate" played, a stark contrast to the horrific scene of death in the room. He began humming along, holding a syringe containing a clear liquid. He looked directly into Lin Jia's eyes and said, "It won't hurt, or if it does, it will only be a moment of ecstasy. You will feel your body lighten, all worldly worries will vanish, you will become a work of art to be admired forever, never aging, never becoming ugly." He moved closer, searching for a vein on her bare arm. The icy needle touched her skin. Lin Jia wanted to struggle, to kick, to bite, but her body was stiff from the remaining anesthetic and from overwhelming fear. She watched the liquid slowly enter her bloodstream; a numb sensation began to spread from her fingertips. He withdrew the needle, gently pressed a cotton swab against the injection site, and said, "Now relax, we have plenty of time. I need to prepare for the replacement." "You know, organs are the most superfluous things; they only spoil the outward appearance." Lin Jia felt her eyelids heavy, but her mind remained painfully clear. She realized her fate: he would dissect her, he would turn her into an empty-headed doll. Despair enveloped her, colder than the temperature in this room. On May 21, 2014, in the meeting room of the criminal police department, Song Jia placed a thick chemical analysis report on the table. This was the result of the analysis of the pale blue liquid found in the container's pipeline. Mr. Wang, the experts at the Institute of Chemistry have identified the exact composition of this solution. Besides Glycerol and DMSO, it also contains a special additive called Cryogetic, a new generation cell stabilizer, which is very expensive and not yet widely available on the market. Wang Zhijian immediately asked what it was used for and who could buy it. Song Jia turned to the next page and said it was exclusively imported by a large pharmaceutical corporation to supply stem cell laboratories and high-end food companies such as those transporting tuna or Wagyu beef. These are foods that require strict preservation to maintain their fresh taste. Xiao Chen replied, "I have worked with the supplier for the past three years in Heilongjiang Province, and only five businesses and two hospitals have ordered this chemical in large quantities." Xiao Chen projected the list onto the screen and read aloud, "One is the No. 1 General Hospital, Organ Transplant Department; Second is the Harbin Institute of Biological Research; third is the Blue Sea Food Company; fourth is the Ocean Shipping and Logistics Company; and fifth is the Arctic Seafood Processing Company.

Wang Zhijian stared intently at the list of hospitals and research institutes that had been eliminated. Their chemical management procedures were very strict, making it difficult to smuggle large quantities out without detection. Focusing on the remaining three private companies, he pointed to the fourth name: Bingyang Logistics and Transportation Company. The name sounded familiar. "Check the company's records," Xiao Chen quickly searched the enterprise database. Bingyang Logistics Company specialized in long-distance refrigerated transportation and mini-cold storage rentals. The director was Li Jianguo, with its headquarters in the Songbei Industrial Park, but they had many warehouses scattered throughout the city. Xiao Chen suddenly froze, his eyes widening. "Boss, look!" he exclaimed. "One of Bingyang Logistics Company's old warehouses is warehouse number 4 in the industrial park where we found the body. Although warehouse number 4 belongs to a shell company on paper, it's highly likely that Li Jianguo secretly used it because it's right next to his property." Wang Zhijian felt a jolt of electricity run through him. The scattered clues began to piece together: the mysterious truck, knowledge of refrigeration, access to chemicals, and the crime scene. Everything pointed towards the Ice Ocean Company. He ordered an immediate investigation into Li Jian Guo: how old was he? What was his background? Another detective reported that Li Jian Guo was 42, single, and a former medical student at Harbin Medical University who dropped out in his final year due to mental health issues. He then inherited his family's transportation business and lived a very reclusive life with little social interaction. Wang Zhi Jian nodded, his eyes blazing. A medical student who dropped out, with anatomical knowledge, the means, the chemicals—he was the man they were looking for, but they didn't have enough direct evidence to arrest him immediately. If they alerted him, he might destroy evidence or harm Lin Jia. He turned to Song Jia: "Does Cryogetic have a distinctive smell?" Song Jia nodded, saying it had a slightly pungent smell like bitter almonds when it evaporated. Wang Zhijian decided they would approach Li Jianguo under the guise of an administrative inspection regarding fire safety and hazardous chemical management. This was a legitimate reason to conduct a public search of his facility without an emergency search warrant, or to prepare a special task force for support. If any suspicious signs were detected, they would immediately apprehend him. The police car sped away into the night with sirens blaring. Wang Zhijian looked out the window at the falling snowflakes, hoping Lin Jia was still alive. The clue from the industrial chemicals had opened the door to the monster's lair, but would they arrive in time before he completed his final masterpiece? That remains a haunting unanswered question. On May 22, 2014, under the guise of an inter-agency inspection team on fire safety and hazardous chemical management, Wang Zhijian and three experienced investigators entered the headquarters of Bingyang Logistics Company. The office area, separate from the warehouse, was constructed of glass and steel, exuding a modern yet cold atmosphere. Greeting the inspection team was Li Jian Guo, the company's general manager. This 42-year-old man was tall and slightly thin, with a clean-shaven face and gold-rimmed glasses. He wore a well-fitting gray suit and displayed a calm, polite demeanor, showing no signs of embarrassment or fear at the sudden arrival of the police.

Wang Zhijian carefully observed every gesture of Li Jianguo; his hands were long and slender, his nails neatly trimmed and clean, without a single speck of dirt or grime clinging to them. When shaking hands, Wang Zhijian felt his palm was dry and cold, but the grip was just right, not too tight and not too loose. Li Jianguo smiled faintly and invited everyone to sit down, saying, "Officers, you've worked hard. Our company always strictly adheres to safety regulations. Please feel free to inspect." Wang Zhijian nodded in response, "We're just following procedures. Recently, there have been many fires and explosions related to industrial chemicals, so the city has requested a thorough review, especially of refrigerants." Li Jianguo gestured for his secretary to bring out the files, and he calmly replied, "We mainly use liquid ammonia and some common refrigerants for refrigerated vehicles. Both have complete invoices and documentation." Wang Zhijian flipped through the file, his eyes glancing at Li Jianguo's demeanor, "I see in last year's import report that the company imported a large quantity of Glycol and DMSO. These substances are usually used in medicine or for preserving biological samples rather than food." Normally, Li Jianguo's eyes flickered behind his glasses, but he quickly regained his composure. "Ah, that was a special order. Last year, we contracted to transport serum and vaccines for a pharmaceutical partner to a remote area. Strict storage requirements necessitated the use of specialized solvents to stabilize the temperature. The contract has been finalized," Wang Zhijian said without further questioning, gesturing to his subordinates to inspect the warehouse. He then stood up and walked around Li Jianguo's office, which was decorated in an extreme minimalist style; everything was neatly arranged, and there wasn't a speck of dust on the desk. Interestingly, the shelf behind his chair didn't display any awards or business trophies, but rather small plaster statues and a few classic European dolls. Wang Zhijian picked up a doll and examined it. The doll wore a red velvet dress, had black hair, and its eyes were open and lifeless. He noticed that the dress was very similar in style to the victim, Chu Xiaomi. He said casually, "Director Li has a unique collecting taste. These dolls look very soulful." Li Jianguo stepped closer, his voice lowering, "That's the art of silence. People are always noisy and changing, but dolls remain eternally faithful to their original beauty. Don't you think so, Mr. Wang?" Wang Zhijian put the doll down, turned to look him straight in the face, but the doll lacked life. Beauty without life is just an empty shell. He smirked, a cold smile playing on his lips. Life is a process leading to death; only death, when properly preserved, constitutes eternal life. The inspection concluded after two hours, and the police found no major irregularities in the paperwork.

However, upon leaving the company, Wang Zhijian whispered to the investigators that it was him. Even though the scent in his office was masked by perfume, I could still smell the distinctive disinfectant. And the way he talked about dolls—he didn't consider them toys, he considered them a philosophy of life—was enough. They assigned someone to follow him 24/7, absolutely not letting him get away. On May 23, 2014, the undercover investigation team began delving into his private life. The information gathered painted a portrait of a man with a terrifyingly perfect double life. By day, he was a successful, serious businessman who always arrived at the company on time and handled work efficiently. He treated his employees politely but distantly, never attending company parties or celebrations. He also had no girlfriend or any publicly acknowledged romantic relationship in the past 10 years. But when night fell, his real life began. He lived alone in an isolated villa in the northern suburbs, bordering a pine forest. Neighbors said the house was always locked, with thick curtains covering all the windows. They often saw his company's trucks coming and going in the middle of the night and sometimes heard the rumbling of a generator coming from the basement. An undercover investigator, disguised as an electricity bill collector, approached his part-time housekeeper. She said she was only allowed to clean the living room and kitchen in the mornings when her boss was away; the second floor and basement were off-limits. She also revealed a chilling detail: Mr. Li liked to boil water himself at night, but she had never seen leftover food scraps or household waste in the trash can. He seemed to dispose of his waste himself. The technical team hacked into the neighborhood's security cameras. The data showed that on full moon nights or extremely cold days, Li Jian Guo would often drive his old pickup truck, the one with the gang logo that the police were searching for, leaving home around 2 AM and returning at 4 AM. Xiao Chen brought another important piece of information from old medical records: "Boss, I found Li Jian Guo's mother's psychiatric records. She suffered from obsessive-compulsive disorder and paranoia. She had abused her son when Li Jian Guo was a child, often forcing him to bathe in cold water for hours to wash away the dirt. She died in 2005. Strangely, after her death, Li Jian Guo didn't hold a funeral immediately but kept her body in the house for three days in the middle of winter before announcing her death." Wang Zhi Jian smoked, the smoke drifting lazily in the meeting room.

Haunted by a past of abuse and an obsession with cleanliness, he is reenacting what his mother did, but in a distorted way to control his pain. He wants those women to be clean and forever unable to hurt him. There's definitely something wrong with his basement, but we can't yet obtain a search warrant. Based only on psychological speculation and unusual behavior, we need evidence that he's holding Lin Jia captive. At this moment, the detectives following Li Jian Guo report that the target has just left the company. He's not going home but driving towards the old chemical market in the district. He's buying more dry ice and medical bandages. Wang Zhi Jian stands up; he's preparing for the next stage. The dry ice will be used for rapid cooling. He's about to freeze Lin Jia. Increase surveillance. If he takes Lin Jia out of captivity to transport her, that's our only chance to catch him red-handed. Lin Jia didn't know how long she'd been in this stark white room; time seemed to stand still in the biting cold. She vaguely regained consciousness after the second injection, this time her body completely limp. She tried to lift her little finger but couldn't; her muscles were completely unresponsive to her brain's control. The only things still functioning were her senses and consciousness. She clearly heard the footsteps of the man pacing around the operating table, smelled the pungent odor of disinfectant chemicals, and, even more horrifying, felt the cold wind from the powerful air conditioning system blasting against her bare skin. The man, still in his full protective suit, approached her. He bent down, his eyes behind the glasses gazing at her with a sickly tenderness. He gently stroked her long black hair, then slipped his hand under her neck, lifting her head slightly to adjust her posture. He whispered in a steady, chanting voice, "Your body is starting to relax. That's good. SuSinin is working. You know? The tension in your muscles from fear will create ugly wrinkles after freezing. I need you to be soft like water, still like ice." He reached for a large sponge, dipped it into a basin of ice water mixed with lavender essential oil, and began wiping down her arm and chest. The icy cold water touching her skin made Lin Jia want to scream and jump, but she lay motionless like a log. Her heart pounded in her chest, the only thing that reacted to her fear. As he wiped her, he spoke to her as if they were on a romantic date, "Do you know why I chose you?" Because her eyes were so clear and resolute, others usually closed their eyes in fear, but she didn't. She looked straight into my eyes, and I will keep these eyes open forever. Lin Jia saw him pick up a gleaming surgical knife. He brought the blade close to her neck, not to cut, but to remove the tiny fine hairs on her skin. He meticulously cleaned every millimeter of her body. He continued, "It's almost time. I will give you a blood transfusion." The hot, earthly blood would be replaced by a cool, eternal stream. She would feel a slight chill creeping into her heart and spreading throughout her body. She would feel very sleepy, "Just sleep, when you wake up you'll be my ice queen," Lin Jia's tears welled up and streamed down her temples. He gently wiped them dry with a cotton towel. "Shhh, don't cry, I told you already. Tears disrupt the pH balance. Be good," he turned to prepare the pump and pipes. Lin Jia looked up at the stark white ceiling, images of her elderly parents back home, the brightly lit theater stage, and the thought of dying alone and coldly in the hands of a monster flashing through her mind. Despair plunged her into a darkness even more terrifying than the imminent death. On May 24, 2014, the investigation into Lin Jia's whereabouts was at a dead end when a glimmer of hope emerged from the accounting department. Xiao Chen discovered an unusual coincidence in Li Jian Guo's financial transactions. Despite his careful use of cash or fictitious accounts, Li Jian Guo had made a small mistake when paying for a liquid nitrogen import invoice three months prior. The invoice was sent to a shell company called "Green Agriculture," but the delivery address had the wrong postal code. This postal code did not belong to his warehouse or villa area, but to a remote suburban area in the northwest of the city, where there were old, disbanded dairy farms. Wang Zhi Jian looked at the area's planning map and noticed something unusual. Xiao Chen zoomed in on the satellite map. There was an abandoned dairy farm called Green Meadow, isolated far from residential areas, surrounded by pine forests. Notably, this farm had a large underground system previously used for silage and preserving fresh milk. Furthermore, it was located on the road through the pine forest where traffic cameras had recorded the truck with the Big Eagle logo on the night Lin Jiai disappeared. Wang Zhijian slammed his hand on the table, reconnecting the data. He had bought liquid nitrogen and delivered it near this area; his truck appeared here because the farm had an underground septic tank. This was his second base where he carried out complex operations without fear of detection, unlike at his private residence or warehouse. Just then, the technical reconnaissance team reported, "Our boss just intercepted a GPS signal from Li Jian Guo's pickup truck. He just left the city and is moving at high speed towards the northwest, a direction that coincides with the location of the Green Meadow Farm." Wang Zhi Jian immediately ordered, "He's heading there, carrying dry ice and medical supplies. He intends to act tonight." The entire team set off, mobilizing the SWAT special forces for support, bringing a breaker and door-breaking equipment. "We must get there before he injects the chemicals into the victim." A convoy of ten police cars, sirens blaring, tore through the night and sped through the snowstorm.

Wang Zhijian sat in the command vehicle, his hand gripping his pistol, his eyes fixed on the moving red dot on the navigation screen. He muttered, "Hang in there, Lin Jia, don't die, we're coming." At the Green Meadow Farm, Li Jianguo parked his car in front of the underground bunker. He turned off the engine, got out, and carried a bag full of surgical instruments and a mini liquid nitrogen tank. The wind whistled through the rotting wooden cracks of the cowshed, creating eerie sounds. He took a deep breath of the icy air, feeling a surge of excitement. Tonight, his collection would have another perfect masterpiece. He had no idea that 15 kilometers away, the net of justice was closing in. But would the police be able to stop his deadly needle in time? When the embalming process requires even a small mistake or a delay of a few minutes, meaning the victim can never be brought back, on May 24, 2014, a convoy of the serious crime unit and SWAT special forces moved through the night like a pack of hunting wolves. A blizzard lashed against the windshields, reducing visibility to just a few meters. Wang Zhijian sat in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, his eyes glued to the topographic map on his tablet. Their target was the Green Prairie Farm, an abandoned area nestled among old pine forests northwest of the city. Around 11:30 PM, the convoy silently approached the edge of the farm, its headlights off. Wang Zhijian ordered everyone to disembark and approach the infantry in absolute silence; he might have weapons or an early warning system. The task force split into three groups, surrounding the main building and the old barns. The crunching sound of their footsteps on the snow was drowned out by the howling wind. Wang Zhijian, along with his deputy and two scouts, advanced towards the largest warehouse, where satellite imagery showed truck tracks leading in. The wooden door of the dilapidated warehouse swayed in the wind. Wang Zhijian signaled the SWAT team leader to break it down. With a loud crash, the door fell, and tactical flashlights quickly swept inside. The space was empty except for piles of damp straw and a few rusty milking machines lying abandoned. However, reconnaissance team number 2 reported finding fresh tire tracks on the damp clay behind the warehouse. The tire tracks had a distinctive "B" pattern, characteristic of light trucks, matching the data on Li Jianguo's vehicle. The tracks led straight to a smaller, more solidly built brick warehouse, previously used for milk processing. Wang Zhijian and the special forces team immediately changed direction. They approached the small warehouse, its iron door locked with a brand-new, anti-theft padlock. Wang Zhijian whispered, "Use the pliers quickly!" A sharp, cutting sound echoed as the heavy iron door was pushed open. Inside, it was pitch black. When the flashlights shone in, they could see... A white pickup truck was parked in the middle of the room, its license plate covered with black tape, but the metal eagle emblem on the hood gleamed with a cold light. A scout checked the hood and reported that the engine was still warm; he had just arrived. Wang Zhijian ordered the vehicle to be sealed off and the search for the underground cellar. According to the old planning drawings, this farm had an underground cellar for fermenting animal feed.

They overturned the floorboards and discovered a steel hatch hidden beneath a pile of old sacks. The hatch had a rubber seal to ensure it was airtight. Wang Zhijian tapped lightly on the hatch; the echoing sound indicated a large space beneath. He signaled the special forces team to prepare stun grenades and gas masks. He whispered that he could use chemicals, put on the masks, and count to three to break the hatch: '1, 2, 3!' The hatch was pried open, and a blast of white, cold air rose up like smoke from hell, carrying the pungent smell of disinfectant. The special forces team threw stun grenades; a deafening explosion rang out, accompanied by a blinding flash of light. The special forces team leader shouted, 'Police!' Raising his hand, the special forces soldiers rushed down the steep iron staircase. Wang Zhijian followed closely behind, his rifle loaded and ready to fire. However, the only response was a deathly silence—no gunfire, no screams, only the rumbling of the air conditioner. As the smoke from the grenades cleared, Wang Zhijian saw a long corridor paved with white tiles leading deep into the ground. The white neon lights shone on the cold walls, sending a chill down his spine. They had entered the monster's lair, but the monster seemed to be playing hide-and-seek with them. Wang Zhijian and Song Jia walked along the underground corridor; the air was freezing, the temperature estimated at around 0 degrees Celsius. Framed anatomical paintings from the Renaissance period hung on the walls.

At the end of the corridor was a double door made of tempered glass, the kind commonly found in modern operating rooms. Pushing the door open, the entire team was stunned by the sight before them. This wasn't a filthy, composting cellar, but a state-of-the-art, high-tech medical laboratory. In the center of the room was a gleaming stainless steel operating table with a multi-point surgical lighting system above it. Surrounding it were specialized medical equipment: heart monitors, ventilators, and, notably, a circulatory system—similar in mechanism to a hemodialysis machine but improved with containers of light blue and pale pink solutions. On the glass shelves along the walls, hundreds of glass jars containing human body parts preserved in formaldehyde were neatly arranged. Some jars contained eyes, fingers, and even pieces of skin with tattoos. This is a collection of discarded items he'd cut up from previous victims or gathered from some other source. Song Jia approached the operating table, her hand touching the metal surface. She spoke urgently, "The operating table is wet and cold, but dust-free. There are traces of water in the drain; he just used it to clean something, perhaps a victim's body." Xiao Chen found a medical tray knocked under the table. Inside were a long, jet-black lock of hair and several scraps of white silk fabric. Xiao Chen picked them up and handed them to Wang Zhi Jian, "Boss, look! Women's hair is long and smooth." It must be Lin Jia's, and the fabric is similar to the material of the nightgown he usually dressed his victims in. Wang Zhi Jian looked around, his gaze stopping at a corner of the room where a chair was placed, identical to the one found at the scene in warehouse number 4. The chair still had remnants of leather straps used for tying people. He gritted his teeth; he was here. He had prepared everything to execute her. The ritual of petrifying Lin Jiai is currently taking place here, but why did he leave? A scout ran in to report, "Our boss found a vibration sensor system installed at the farm gate with an alarm light in this room. Perhaps he received the warning when our vehicle approached the trail 3km away."

Wang Zhijian punched the wall hard. He had taken the first step; he knew we had come to take Lin Jia away. Song Jia checked the medical waste bin in the corner of the room. She found the empty syringe and vial of tranquilizer. She turned back and said with extreme anxiety, "Brother Wang, he's already injected her. This vial was just broken. Lin Jia is in a state of complete paralysis. If he moves her out into the cold in this condition without respiratory support, she will die from respiratory failure or hypothermia in less than two hours." Wang Zhijian looked at his watch; it was 12:15 AM. He shouted, "Are there any signs of an emergency exit?" The special forces captain pointed toward a hidden side door behind a medicine cabinet, revealing a ventilation tunnel leading to the back of the pine forest. Drag marks on the floor indicated he had dragged the victim along this path, and there were tire tracks from an ambulance. The team immediately rushed through the ventilation tunnel. When they emerged from the emergency exit in the middle of the pine forest, they saw the tracks of another off-road vehicle imprinted on the snow, heading straight north. Wang Zhijian watched the fading tire tracks disappear into the snowstorm. He had a backup vehicle; he had planned his escape route. He was fleeing with the hostage, but where would he go? He needed a place that was cold enough and secluded enough to finish his unfinished work. He couldn't let Lin Jia wake up, nor did he want her to die a horrible death. Wang Zhijian's phone rang; it was a call from the command center. "Reporting to the team leader, we've just reviewed the properties related to Li Jianguo's family. Besides the warehouses, we know his grandfather once owned an old seafood processing plant near the Russian border in Mohe County. It's been abandoned for 10 years but has never been sold."

Wang Zhijian roared, "Mohe, the coldest place in China, is where I feel safest. I want to bring her back to my eternal land." He turned and ordered the entire team to get into the cars. "We must chase him. This is a race to the death. If he gets there and locks the door, Lin Jia will have no chance of survival." On May 25, 2014, the police convoy sped along National Highway G11 towards Mohe County. The road was incredibly slippery due to thick ice and snow. The windshield wipers were working at full capacity but still couldn't clear the large snowflakes hitting the windshield. The convoy had to maintain a speed of 120 mph. A suicidal speed in these weather conditions. Wang Zhijian sat in the car, constantly contacting traffic police in neighboring counties to request roadblocks.

However, Li Jianguo was very cunning. He didn't take the main highway but instead weaved through deep forest trails—paths known only to locals or smugglers—his tracks appearing and disappearing on satellite navigation systems. Song Jia sat in the back seat, clutching the first-aid kit. She spoke to Wang Zhijian in a trembling voice, worried that the current outside temperature was -35 degrees Celsius. If Lin Jia was left in the back of the pickup truck, or in an area without heating, she would suffer frostbite. After just 15 minutes, her body would be paralyzed, its ability to regulate temperature almost nonexistent. Wang Zhijian asked him, "Are you a perfectionist? Did you let her suffer from the cold improperly?" Song Jia thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I want to freeze her from the inside out. I need her body to cool down gradually, following a specific procedure." He probably prepared an insulated container or a specialized sleeping bag, but the problem was the medication; the SuSinin dose only lasted for about 45 minutes to an hour. If she woke up and moved along the way, he would inject more, and an overdose would cause immediate cardiac arrest. The police car shook violently as it crossed a large pothole. Xiao Chen, holding a tablet, shouted loudly, "Boss!" The thermal imaging drone of the border guard support team had detected a vehicle moving on the runway of the abandoned old military airport near the border. It was heading straight towards the Mohe cold storage facility. The distance between them and the vehicle was 20km. Wang Zhijian looked at his watch; it was almost 3 AM. He ordered them to speed up and alert the border guards to intercept the vehicle ahead if possible, but absolutely not to get into the vehicle. The hostage was inside. 20 meters in the snowstorm felt like 2000km. When the police convoy approached the Mohe cold storage facility, it was still pitch black. The cold storage facility stood isolated in the middle of a vast snowfield.

Surrounding it was a rusty barbed wire fence. The large iron gate was wide open, its tire tracks leading directly into the yard. Li Jian Guo's gray off-road vehicle was parked right in front of the main warehouse, its engine still running, its headlights shining directly onto the slightly ajar door. Wang Zhijian jumped out of the vehicle before it had even come to a complete stop. He drew his gun and signaled the special forces team to spread out and surround the area. He shouted through the loudspeaker, "Li Jianguo, you are surrounded! Release the hostages and surrender immediately!" There was no reply, only the howling wind. Wang Zhijian approached the off-road vehicle. Inside, it was empty. On the back seat, he saw a discarded thermal blanket and an empty syringe lying on the floor. He had taken Lin Jia into the warehouse. Wang Zhijian felt his heart pounding. The temperature in this industrial cold storage could drop to -40 or -50 degrees Celsius—a deadly temperature. He turned to look at Song Jia and the special forces team. "We have to go in now! Break down the door quickly!" The special forces team used sledgehammers to smash the lock on the warehouse door. The heavy door dragged open little by little, and a blast of cold air, even more terrifying and powerful than the outside, rushed out, carrying with it a thick white smoke. Visibility inside was almost zero. Wang Zhijian switched on the flashlight attached to his gun and stepped into that white void. He knew that somewhere in that icy mist, Li Jianguo was waiting for them, clutching a scalpel, ready for the final act of this insane drama. Inside the vast cold storage room, like an ice cave, the high ceiling hung iron hooks used to hang livestock meat in the old days.

The floor was covered in a thick, slippery layer of ice. The footsteps of the special forces team echoed from all sides of the concrete walls. Wang Zhijian signaled everyone to spread out and cling to the large pillars for cover, squinting as he tried to see through the cold mist. In the center of the warehouse, under the LED lights, a horrifying scene unfolded. Li Jianguo stood there in a white protective suit and gas mask. In front of him was a hastily set up field operating table. On the table lay Lin Jia, dressed in a thin silk dress, her skin turning purple from the cold. Her eyes were wide and vacant, staring at the ceiling. Her chest rose and fell weakly, a sign that she was still alive but barely breathing. In his right hand, Li Jian Guo held a sharp surgical knife, its blade pressed against Lin Jia's carotid artery. In his left hand, he held a syringe filled with a thick, dark blue solution. His voice, distorted through his gas mask, still exuded a chilling calmness: "You're too late. The transformation has begun." Wang Zhi Jian pointed his gun directly at Li Jian Guo's head and shouted, "Li Jian Guo, put the knife down! You have no escape! Don't harm her any more!" Li Jian Guo chuckled, his laughter echoing in the cold air. "Harm her? I'm saving her! Look how beautiful she is in this cold! Hot blood makes people age and rot; only ice can preserve eternal youth." Wang Zhi Jian slowly approached, trying to distract him so the snipers could find their position. Did he think that was art? That was murder! He was taking the lives of innocent girls. What would his mother think of this? Mentioning his mother, he paused for a moment, his eyes behind the protective glasses flickering. "My mother... she understood. She also wanted to be clean. I helped her, and now I'm helping this girl. She is my most perfect creation. I won't let you steal her away and let her melt. If anyone takes another step, I will slit her throat immediately. Blood will gush out, it will be very dirty, but I'd rather destroy my masterpiece than let it fall into the hands of you vulgar people." Lin Jia, lying on the operating table, heard his words clearly. Tears welled up in her eyes but froze on her cheeks. She wanted to cry for help, but her throat was stiff. She felt the icy blade pressing against her neck. Wang Zhijian secretly signaled the sniper hiding behind a cargo container high above. The shooting angle was very narrow, and because Li Jianguo was crouching to shield Lin Jia, he needed him to stand up straight or move away from the hostage a little. Wang Zhijian lowered his voice, switching to a negotiating tone, "Mr. Li, I understand you want to preserve her beauty, but if you cut her throat now, that scar will never disappear. Your work will be flawed. Can you bear that imperfection?" Li Jianguo looked at Lin Jia's neck. He hesitated. He was a pathological perfectionist; he didn't want any scratches that weren't part of his plan. He muttered, "No scar, it has to be injected into the heart, only then will it be beautiful." He slowly lifted the knife from Lin Jia's neck and held the syringe with both hands, intending to inject it directly into her left chest.

The moment he raised his arm to gain momentum for the needle was when his body was most vulnerable, and then a loud bang rang out. The bullet struck the killer's shoulder, the precise shot sending the arm holding the syringe flying backward and shattering it. The blue liquid spilled onto the white ice, and he roared in pain, staggering and falling. He tried to grab the surgical knife on the ground with his other hand to attack Lin Jia again, but Wang Zhi Jian rushed forward like a bullet, delivering a devastating kick to his face, shattering his mask. This was followed by a hook punch that pinned him to the icy floor. The medical team immediately rushed to Lin Jia, covering her with a thermal blanket, inserting an oxygen tube, and administering cardiac stimulants. Song Jia shouted, "Her pulse is very weak, her body temperature is below 30 degrees, she needs immediate emergency care!" Li Jian Guo, handcuffed and with blood smeared all over his face, still yelled, "No, no, you've ruined everything! She's mine! Give me back my work! Only one left!" "Just one more step and it will be a masterpiece," Wang Zhijian grabbed him by the collar, staring straight into his eyes with hatred, his hands clenched as if wanting to unleash all his anger on him. But reason helped Wang Zhijian calm down, "She is a human being, not an object, and she will live to see the day you pay the price." Lin Jia was put on a stretcher and rushed to the ambulance. In the moment she was pushed past Wang Zhijian, she gently opened her eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She had been rescued from the icy hell at the last moment. Outside, dawn was breaking, the weak rays of winter sunlight shining on the pristine white snow, signaling the end of the long winter nightmare. Li Jianguo struggled, despite his injuries, refusing to let the medical staff bandage him. Meanwhile, another battle began between Song Jia and death to save Lin Jia. Lin Jia was suffering from prolonged hypothermia, her heartbeat was erratic and weak, her skin was pale and icy cold. Immediate warming would cause her joints to break and blood vessels to rupture. Her face still held a look of terror, her eyes wide and vacant, unable to close—a lingering effect of the muscle relaxant drug the perpetrator had used. She was immediately placed in a waiting ambulance and sped to a medical facility.

Returning to the scene, Li Jian Guo stared blankly around him. The syringe was broken, blood splattered on the floor, everything was shattered, all the preparations were destroyed. He shouted, "What a waste! That was the culmination of my efforts over three months! You barbarians, you understand nothing of beauty!" No sooner had he finished speaking than Wang Zhi Jian grabbed him by the neck, pressing his face close to Li Jian's, his eyes filled with rage. "Your beauty is death! Look, this is a slaughterhouse, not an art gallery!" Li Jian Guo sneered, spitting in Wang Zhi Jian's face. "A slaughterhouse is where flesh is cut and dismembered, but this is a place that glorifies flesh. I didn't kill them; I gave them immortality. That girl was just taken away. She will thank me. If she lives, she will grow old and wrinkled. If she stays with me, she will remain forever young and beautiful, a goddess at 18." Wang Zhijian remained silent, then gestured for the police officer to put him in the car, ordering everyone to cordon off the scene and collect evidence, not missing anything. They seized dozens of 100-liter chemical containers. In the corner of the warehouse, they found a black leather-bound notebook. Inside, it wasn't a diary, but rather charts tracking temperature, humidity, chemical mixing formulas, and the victim's body measurements in detail, down to the millimeter. It resembled a laboratory handbook.

The case closed the pursuit phase, but the horrifying secrets in the perpetrator's mind were only just beginning to be revealed. On April 26, 2014, the first interrogation room of the Harbin Criminal Investigation Bureau was cold and gloomy. Li Jianguo sat on an iron chair fixed to the floor, his right hand bandaged and suspended in front of his chest, his left handcuffed to the table. He had undergone surgery to remove the bullet, and his health was stable enough to participate in the interrogation. Opposite him sat Wang Zhijian and an investigator taking notes. Outside the one-way glass, psychology professor Liang Chen and Song Jia were intently observing him, appearing very calm, even somewhat arrogant. He refused the appointed lawyer, saying he wanted to explain his great work to the world himself. Wang Zhijian began with a direct question: Why cryopreservation? Why not burial in sand or cremation? Li Jian Guo smirked, his eyes gazing dreamily into space. "Fire is destruction, earth is decay, only ice is stillness. Mr. Wang, have you ever seen a fish frozen in a lake? When spring comes and the ice melts, the fish swims again as if nothing ever happened. I want to do that to humans." Wang Zhi Jian drank heavily, but his victims never woke up. He had removed all their internal organs. Li Jian Guo shook his head. "Internal organs are filthy. The intestines contain feces, the stomach contains decaying food, the liver contains toxins. They are a burden on the body. I remove them so the body can achieve absolute purity. The cotton and fragrances I stuff into them are new life, fragrant and eternal." Wang Zhi Jian flipped through his file to the page about his personal information and asked, "Talk about your mother. What does she have to do with this?" Hearing his mother's name mentioned, his facial muscles twitched slightly. He lowered his head and drank, his voice becoming deeper, "My mother... she was a very clean woman. She hated dirt. Every time I came home from going out, she made me bathe in ice water and scrub myself with a wire brush until my skin turned red and bled. She said only cold water could wash away sins and bacteria." He paused for a moment, as if lost in memories. "In 2005, she died of a stroke. I saw her lying there, turning purple and smelling bad. I couldn't bear the thought of my mother being eaten by insects. I tried embalming her. I bought ice and filled the bathtub with it, and I immersed her in it." "But I failed. I didn't have enough knowledge to realize she had frostbite, her skin peeling off in black patches. I cried a lot, and in the end, I had to cremate her. From then on, I swore I would never let that failure happen again." Wang Zhijian continued, "So you used those girls as test subjects to perfect your technique?" Li Jianguo glared at him. "They weren't test subjects; they were candidates. I chose them very carefully. They had to have skin that could withstand extreme cold, and a small bone structure so that when they contracted, they still looked beautiful. You know, when you inject a painful substance without anesthesia, their muscles will contract out of fear. That contraction creates beautiful, toned muscles and tendons that no exercise can achieve. Pain creates beauty." Wang Zhijian felt nauseated by this sick way of thinking. "What did you call Zhang Xiaomi, Liu Pei, and Zhou Ruoyu?" He calmly replied, "Number 1, number 2, number 3, they don't need names, names are just social labels. When they enter my collection, they become ice dolls." Wang Zhijian asked the most important question, "Besides those three and Lin Jia, are there any others?" "We found a huge amount of chemicals you imported, much more than you needed to process the four corpses." He was silent for a long time, staring at the handcuffs on his hands, then smiled mysteriously and replied, "Yes." "The works don't meet the standards; they're flawed in the processing. I can't display them. I have to store them in a colder, deeper place." Wang Zhijian slammed the table and stood up, "Where?" “Confess quickly,” he leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The ancient pine forest, where eternal icebergs never melt beneath the earth—just search there, they sleep peacefully, waiting for the day of rebirth. His confession confirmed the hypothesis of more victims. He wasn't just a serial killer; he was a butcher disguised as an intellectual, using scalpels and chemicals to satisfy his own childhood nightmares. On May 27, 2014, based on Li Jian Guo's vague but suggestive testimony and GPS data from the pickup truck over the past two years, the police narrowed down a suspicious area in the ancient pine forest on the northern outskirts of the city. This area had low-lying terrain with little sunlight, the land was perpetually damp and frozen in winter. Hundreds of riot police and police dogs were mobilized to scour the forest; excavators, metal detectors, and ground-penetrating radar operated at full capacity. Wang Zhi Jian directly commanded the operation at the scene, despite the cold. At -20 degrees Celsius, by noon that day, police dogs were barking loudly at the base of an ancient pine tree that had been half-scorched by lightning... Radar detected an object buried about 2 meters deep underground. Wang Zhijian ordered, "Dig carefully, don't use excavators here, use shovels." After two hours of strenuous digging through the hard, steel-like earth and rocks, the police officers encountered a thick layer of black plastic. When they peeled off the plastic, they found a large rectangular block of ice. Inside the ice, a human figure was faintly visible – a female corpse, tightly wrapped, but in an imperfect condition compared to the three bodies found in the cold storage. Her facial skin was blackened by frostbite, and one arm was broken. This was the flawed work that Li Jian Guo had mentioned. Song Jia observed the burial pit; the victim had been buried about three years ago, and the preservation process was incomplete. He had used the wrong dosage of chemicals, causing the muscle tissue to necrotize from frostbite instead of achieving aesthetic freezing.

Therefore, he abandoned her. About 50 meters away, a second burial pit was found. This victim was also a young woman, her body convulsing violently, her face distorted with extreme pain. It seemed he had failed to control the victim's convulsions when injecting the drug, resulting in the corpse not achieving the still posture he desired. Wang Zhijian clutched a handful of earth; a total of five dead, five innocent young women. He treated them like clay for sculpting statues, discarding them when they failed. The identification of these two new victims was quick thanks to cross-referencing with the missing persons database. The fourth victim, Zhao Min, a 20-year-old student at a teacher training college, disappeared in November 2011. He had approached her at a book exhibition, posing as a publisher looking for a cover model for a romantic novel. The fifth victim, Wu Qing, a 25-year-old office worker, disappeared in May 2012. He had deceived her with a recruitment ploy. During a search of Li Jian Guo's private residence, police discovered a secret drawer under the stairs containing dozens of fake files and business cards with various professions. Photographer, director, cosmetic surgeon, businessman – each identity was a sophisticated trap set to prey on victims according to his morbid aesthetic standards. He even kept strands of hair, teeth, and painted fingernails of his victims, whom he considered "discarded," in small velvet boxes as a way to commemorate his failed experiments. Li Jian Guo's meticulousness and cruelty sent chills down the spines of even seasoned investigators.

On May 15, 2014, more than six months after the shocking case was solved, Harbin entered summer. The snow had melted, but the memory of the -20°C freezing room still cast a dark shadow over the minds of the city's residents. Lin Jia, the sole survivor, underwent a painful recovery process, both physically and mentally. She spent three months hospitalized to treat hypothermia and soft tissue necrosis. Although saved, her motor nerves were permanently affected; her legs were no longer as agile as before, and her dream of becoming a principal dancer on the theatrical stage was forever shattered. A faint scar remained on her neck, left by Li Jianguo's knife, a cruel reminder of that fateful night. However, Lin Jia bravely stood as a key witness in the investigation, exposing the murderer's crimes. Her testimony about the terrifying hours in the sterile white room and his sick whispers became irrefutable evidence. With irrefutable evidence, the verdict for Li Jianguo was delivered without much fanfare or controversy; the process was swift and public to protect the honor of the victims.

However, because the strictness of the law was still thoroughly enforced, based on the provisions of the then criminal code regarding murder with the most serious aggravating circumstances being the killing of multiple people in a barbaric and mass act of a dangerous nature. The Heilongjiang Provincial High Court issued its final verdict: defendant Li Jianguo was sentenced to death, stripped of his citizenship for life, and all his assets confiscated to compensate the victims' families. Upon receiving the sentence, Li Jianguo showed no remorse or fear. He only made one bizarre final request: to donate his body to medical science, specifically to a cryopreservation institute so that his body could be preserved in liquid nitrogen awaiting resurrection. He wanted to become an immortal work of art. However, this request was flatly rejected. The law does not allow a serial killer such a privilege; his body must be handled according to the usual procedures for death row inmates. On the day of execution, he was led to the execution grounds in the prison. He wore a black and white striped prisoner's uniform, his hands and feet shackled, before being injected with the lethal drug. He looked up at the clear blue summer sky, sighed regretfully, and muttered his last words, "It's too hot, this world is too hot, ugliness is melting away." The needle of the poison was inserted into his nostril, and the liquid flowed directly into his bloodstream. This time it was poison, not preservative, ending the life of the deranged and delusional fanatic and restoring peace to Harbin.

The case closed, and the cold storage facilities in the industrial zone were sealed and later demolished. However, locals recounted that on cold winter nights, when passing by the empty plot of land where Warehouse No. 4 used to be, they could still hear the wind whistling through the cracks in the doors, sounding like the mournful cries and screams of young girls echoing from a cold, ethereal realm. Wang Zhijian stood before the graves of the victims, placing a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on each grave along with the message, "Rest in peace, the wicked have paid for what they did." Then he looked up at the sky, silently hoping that in the afterlife they would find the warmth they had so cruelly been deprived of in this world.