Nanhai Fourteen Lang's Works Jiang Shan is so many heroes Jiang Shan is so many heroes Volume 1: The Captive Volume Preface Interview Manuscript of a Death Row Inmate

  Foreword: A Death Row Inmate's Interview Manuscript

  This is a true story, but I have concealed the exact location and names of people involved.

  I am a reporter for the Legal Daily in Guizhou, and I have been on the job for less than a year. In November 2006, on a sunny afternoon, my superior called me back from a trip halfway through, asking me to rush back to complete an interview task that was originally scheduled for early December but had to be brought forward due to the main character's sudden request. I reluctantly left the tourist group and drove alone in my old Santana, which was made in 1997, on the winding mountain road, slowly heading northeast.

  I don't know if it's because the interviewee was particularly unlucky, but before I even arrived at my destination, it started raining. The drizzle of late autumn was dense and continuous, not very cold, but it made the road surface very slippery. On the mountain roads of Guizhou, no matter how big my courage is or how good my driving skills are, I didn't dare to exceed 40 kilometers per hour. So when I carefully stopped the car in front of the prison gate, gasping for air, the warden thought I had an accident on the road and was preparing to call my superior leader.

  After the warden and I introduced ourselves, he rubbed his sleepy eyes and said: "He may not have slept yet. After all, it's the last night, there are always some things to think about, and he's still young. Let's go directly to his room."

  My mood is terrible. The travel plan was disrupted, and it rained halfway, and unfortunately, water got into my boots when I got off the car, making my feet cold and icy. Therefore, although I heard the old prison warden's tone of regret, I still said emotionlessly: "That's what he gets for asking for it." This sentence made the old prison warden nod unconsciously.

  The warden led me through the narrow corridor, inadvertently passing by a vacant lot. At the end of the vacant lot was a slope with bloodstains all over it. As people walked to this place, they suddenly felt a little terrified. The air seemed to be filled with an aura of death, and even the painful screams before dying could be faintly heard. The faint smell of blood seemed to seep out from the dark soil as well.

  Seeing me somewhat nervous, the old prison warden comforted: "Don't be afraid, when a person dies it's like a lamp going out, with one shot of the gun everything will be over."

  I huddled up and looked at the patchy slope that had witnessed the end of countless lives, rubbed my slightly cold fingers, hesitated for a moment, and said: "That person... tomorrow?"

  The warden smiled and said, "Yes, actually it's nothing to be surprised about. After seeing many times, it's just like killing a chicken. However, you're a girl, you might not be able to bear it. Don't look and don't think, then there's nothing. Those are the executioners' business, they are professional killers, clean and efficient. I've been here for so long, but I've never encountered anyone who needed a second shot, all were finished with one shot."

  I suddenly felt a chill on my back and quickened my pace by two steps. After passing through the same narrow corridor, under the gaze of two young armed police officers, I entered the formal detention area. The death row was at the very end, looking ominous and quiet. According to the prison warden's introduction, there is currently only one person on death row, who is the object of my interview. For me, this interview is a very unpleasant task. On the way here by car, I felt depressed, wondering what there is to interview about this heinous murderer and gun maker? It was probably because I unknowingly offended some editor again, so they ruthlessly cut short my vacation and sent me to this remote mountain valley that no one has ever heard of.

  Another prison guard came over and opened the gate of the dead prisoner's cell with the warden. With a clang, the iron door opened, and there was no movement inside. The warden went in first, and the prison guard stood outside the iron door. I stood outside and took a look inside, the light inside was not bright, and I vaguely saw a figure huddled in the corner. There were two other prisoners with lighter sentences inside the prison, who were specifically assigned to accompany the death row inmate, they all came out when they saw the warden's arrival.

  The cell looked clean, but I felt a wave of nauseating stench piercing my nostrils. I had to hold my breath and take a few steps back. After a while, the smell seemed to dissipate, and I released my hand from covering my nose. However, the stench hadn't dissipated much and was still unbearable, but the warden called me in, so I stepped inside with trepidation.

  The warden seemed to have said something to the figure, but I didn't catch it. I stood by the door and watched as the figure slowly put down the book in his hand, his small eyes gazing at me faintly from behind the pages. At this point, I also got a clear look at the man, the condemned prisoner who was to be executed at dawn the next day. His appearance really surprised me, completely unlike what I had imagined.

  When I was on the car, my mind always imagined that he must be a ferocious-looking man with a cruel gaze and a sturdy build, with chilling tattoos embroidered on his shoulders, just like the triad boss in TV shows, exuding an arrogant and lawless aura all over his body, with knives and guns always by his side, killing people without blinking. But in reality, the death row inmate in front of me was completely different from what I had imagined, not even one bit matching my previous imagination.

  He was an ordinary young man, about twenty-five or six years old, with a very ordinary appearance, so ordinary that if I put him in the crowd, I couldn't recognize him at all. He seemed to have no interest, or maybe he had already given up, so he only glanced at me and then lowered his head to read again. I frowned and looked at the things around him, there was nothing around him, no clothes, no toiletries, only a dozen or so worn-out magazines. One was "Light Weapons Knowledge", one was "Chinese Military", and one was "Ship Knowledge". They had all been flipped through many times, even with torn pages. It's almost imaginable that in his last days on this earth, he only had these few magazines to accompany him. And I seemed to understand a little why he asked for the death penalty to be carried out ahead of time, because living like this now was really worse than death.

  On the car, I simply looked over this death row inmate's information. According to the warden's introduction, this guy is a typical "money is life, soft but not hard" personality. His name is Yang Suofeng, 26 years old, in his prime, unfortunately, the world has left him with less than one day.

  The warden introduced me, but the death row inmate didn't react at all and continued reading calmly. The warden had to shout his name loudly: "Yang Suofeng! Attention!" This slogan still worked effectively, and the inmate immediately put down the book in his hand and stood up straight. It was only then that I noticed he was wearing a deep blue windbreaker, with a white vest underneath, and a pair of dark-washed casual pants that were so dirty they had lost their original color, all wrinkled and seemingly unwashed for a long time.

  His movements caused the air in the room to circulate, and the stench emanating from his body almost made me pass out. Even if it seemed very rude, I couldn't help but pinch my nose shut. As a result, he gave me a cold, disdainful look, and also rubbed his nose. Yes, it was indeed a disdainful look. In my career, I've seen too many such disdainful looks and endured too much of them. However, this time, I decided not to endure it anymore. He's just a dying prisoner, what qualifications does he have to look down on me? So I said loudly and sharply: "Put your eyes in the right place!"

  I thought the prison warden was standing next to me, cheering me on, and this sentence would definitely make him take heed. But who knew, he actually reacted with no reaction at all and looked down on me again with disdain. I suddenly became furious, thinking in my head, what makes you, a dead prisoner, look down on me? Even a dead prisoner looks down on me, how can I still have the face to see people? So I said angrily: "I am a reporter from Legal Daily, I am a reporter! Do you know that?"

  He tilted his head, seemingly finally intimidated, and I felt a sense of triumph in my heart, thinking that he was finally afraid. But before my excitement could last for three seconds, he said with a silly grin: "I know you're a reporter! But aren't you here to interview me? It's you who needs something from me, not the other way around, so shouldn't it be you showing respect first?"

  His appearance looked silly, but as soon as he spoke, I knew he wasn't an easy person to get along with. From a rough glance at his materials, it seemed that he had received a complete higher education and had good grades. However, the way he spoke was fundamentally annoying to me. You're a dead prisoner, and you want me to respect you? Dream on! So I also loudly said: "You are a product of legal despotism, you have committed crimes against the people, you have been deprived of political rights for life, you are a criminal who is despised by everyone, what do you have that deserves respect?"

  My words were too blunt, even the warden inadvertently furrowed his brow, but I wasn't afraid. I've always been one to do as I please, and aside from my direct superiors, I don't put much stock in anyone else. What's more, this was just a death row inmate who wouldn't live past tomorrow? Indeed, my words had stunned him into silence. His expression was strange, as if he wanted to retort, and I saw his Adam's apple bob up and down several times, as if he were about to speak, but in the end, he said nothing. Only a faint glimmer of something flashed in his beady little eyes, like a spark of light, before it disappeared just as quickly. He hung his head and meekly returned to the corner.

  I finally let out a sigh of relief, if I couldn't even handle a dead prisoner, then this trip would be in vain. The warden saw us like this and mediated again, asking the dead prisoner Yang Suofeng to cooperate with me, to reveal his inner world as a warning to later generations. However, it was clear that the warden's words had no effect, Yang Suofeng's enthusiasm was not high. He just hung his head silently, ignoring everything around him.

  I also controlled my emotions and adjusted my mindset, so as not to make things irreconcilable. This dying prisoner, of course, wouldn't do anything to me, and I wasn't afraid of him either. But if he suddenly clammed up, then I would be unable to complete my task. At that time, not only would I have made a wasted trip in the cold wind and rain, but I would also have to face criticism from my editor when I returned. So I cleared my throat, opened my bag, and took out paper and pen. Seeing me prepare to take notes, the prison warden kindly said: "Let's go to the meeting room instead, the lighting is better there."

  I certainly did. The room was indeed very unpleasant, whether it was the stench emanating from the room or the body odor emanating from Yang Suofeng, both made me feel like vomiting. Yang Suofeng was originally a bit reluctant, but in the end he succumbed to the warden's lust and followed us obediently. His shackles dragged on the corridor, making an uncomfortable sound.

  After sitting down in the living room, my mood did indeed improve a lot. At least there was a steaming cup of Tieguanyin tea to soothe my throat and drive away the chill, and it didn't have that disgusting stench I hated the most. Yang Suofeng let out a series of sneezes; he had a strange kind of rhinitis where he would sneeze whenever he smelled an unfamiliar woman's perfume - the scent on me was no exception. His hands were cuffed, and the sight of him pinching his nose with cuffed hands made me feel sick, so I didn't want to look anymore and lowered my head. I took a sip of tea, opened my laptop, and without raising my head, asked perfunctorily: "What's your name?"

  Yang Shuangfeng was sitting across the table from me, less than two meters away. But for a long time, I didn't hear him respond. I couldn't help but raise my head and say sharply: "I'm asking you, are you mute?"

  Yang Songfan shook his head, tossing the hair that had fallen on his forehead, and looked at me with a deep, slightly silly gaze. He said coldly, "Are you blind? Don't you have my file in your hand? Can't you see the big name on it?"

  I was about to go crazy again. I had never seen a dead prisoner so arrogant. Although I hadn't been in contact with other dead prisoners before, in my impression, those who were sentenced to death at this time should have already been a pile of rotten mud, answering whatever others asked obediently. This guy in front of me actually dared to talk back to me, being sharp-tongued and opposing me head-on, it was simply lawless. Sure enough, the warden severely criticized him for a while before he curled up again.

  I suppressed the anger in my heart and asked a second question: "Why did you make black guns?"

  "Make money." Yang Suofeng spat out two unclear words, and then there was no more. I savored it for a while before understanding what the two words meant. But this answer is too simple. Who doesn't know that you manufacture black guns to make money? Is it to recover Taiwan or something? For such an uncooperative death row inmate, I've lost much interest in interviewing him, and even decided to take criticism back home. Unexpectedly, just as I thought he was going to play dumb again, he suddenly spoke up.

  "Do you know? Making a black gun is very profitable. A 54 pistol costs only two hundred yuan, but it can be sold for over a thousand, this is a ten-thousand-fold profit...". He lowered his voice and spoke mysteriously, afraid that the warden would hear. But how could the warden not hear in such a small visiting room? The warden coughed loudly, and Yang Suofeng immediately changed the subject: "If your husband has an affair in the future, you want to get rid of him, just report my name on this road, someone will sell you a 54 pistol at a 60% discount, with three original military bullets. Don't worry, the quality is absolutely guaranteed, it can blow your husband's head like a watermelon..."

  The warden walked over with big strides, grabbed the back of his collar, lifted him up heavily and then put him down again. The solid conference chair suddenly made a creaking sound. The warden also had someone bring over a baton and said expressionlessly: "Yang Suofeng, don't think that just because you're leaving tomorrow, you can be like a dead pig not afraid of boiling water. If you make trouble again, I guarantee you'll be satisfied tonight!"

  Yang Shuangfeng nodded slowly after a while, indicating that he understood.

  I'm so furious I could explode, I really want to take a hammer and smash it on his head, just like he said, smashing his head open like a watermelon. Due to excessive anger, the pen in my hand actually scratched through the notebook. I slammed the notebook shut with a "pa" sound, pointing at his forehead and scolding: "Just for money, you'd become a black gun? Just for money, you'd provide weapons to criminals? You give them guns, give them bullets, let them go rob and kill, rob banks, do you still have any conscience left? Don't you know that doing this will bring heavenly punishment? Are you still human? Are you an animal?"

  Yang Shuangfen was frightened by my roar, her eyes staring blankly at me. Even after I finished roaring, she still looked foolishly at me as I paced back and forth in the conference room, my high heels clicking loudly on the cement floor. It wasn't until my gaze fell on him again that he spoke up in a weak and pitiful voice: "I also told those people not to use guns for evil purposes, but they wouldn't listen. I couldn't control them either. That's something the police should handle!"

  I was stunned, almost fainting. What kind of answer is this? A prison guard walked over and struck him on the back with his baton. He immediately pretended to be dead, lying motionless on the conference table, hair disheveled. But when the guard pulled his head up, he suddenly sat up straight again, his face solemn and dignified, his eyes pure as if he were about to take a party oath.

  "Yang Shuangfeng, if you continue to answer irrelevantly, the forensic police will come directly to identify your body tomorrow." Under the strict rebuke of the prison warden, Yang Shuangfeng finally agreed to cooperate. However, the prison guard still stood beside him with a baton, only one foot away. This allowed our interview, which was about to be interrupted by me, to continue intermittently. I took a deep breath and sat back down. Perhaps it was the pain brought by that dark-colored baton, but Yang Shuangfeng finally stopped being evasive and answered my questions honestly. However, in my heart, I already knew that this ordinary-looking death row inmate actually had a complex and cunning inner world. At this time, he still had the mood to play cat and mouse with me, and I couldn't help but admit that he was indeed an unusual person. Only, all of this would come to an end with the sound of gunfire at dawn tomorrow.

  The following is my interview record on that day, with some content deleted due to confidentiality requirements, but it does not affect everyone:

  Reporter (hereinafter referred to as "R"): "Yang Shuangfeng, you are a graduate of Tiannan University of Technology, and can be called the pride of heaven. After graduation, you also have a proper and stable job. Why do you still want to become a mercenary? There is a road to heaven that you don't take, but instead you enter the gateless hell, what's the reason?"

  Yang Shuang Feng (hereinafter referred to as Feng): "I said it earlier, I want to make money. When I was in school, I also had a good dream. My dream is that one day I will have a decent job, a pretty good income, a three-bedroom two-hall house, a small car, and a gentle and loving wife... But the reality is, I don't have anything. No money, none of these things... I need money..."

  "Is it just for the money? Your job at Tian Nan Steel Factory isn't bad, is it? A technical researcher, working from 9 to 5, with two days off a week, just like a civil servant. The salary isn't low either, 1500 yuan a month, isn't that enough for you?"

  Maple: "I don't know how you understand the phrase 'salary is not low'. In my opinion, a monthly salary of 1500 yuan can only be used for eating and living. I don't know what else it can be used for. Buying a house? Maybe if I don't eat or drink for a month, I can buy an area the size of a ceramic tile. Buying a car? Oh, maybe I can use it to buy a nut from a domestic car wheel."

  "But after all, it's a legitimate profession. As your years of service increase, your income will definitely become more and more substantial."

  Maple: "Yes, every year there will be a 50 yuan increase in annual salary."

  "Don't you know that being a hitman is against the law? If you hadn't become a hitman, would you have ended up on the executioner's platform today?"

  Maple: "I know, very clearly, I majored in mechanical engineering at Southwest University of Science and Technology, and minored in law at Southwest Normal University. You don't need to lecture me on legal issues, I understand more than you do. From the moment I sold my first 54 pistol, I knew today would come. In total, I made 183 guns, sold 171, and killed six people. By any country's criminal law, this is how it ends."

  "You know you'll die if you go, but you still want to go?"

  Maple: "I've said it many times, I don't want to say it again. The reason is simple, because I need money, a lot of money. People die for wealth, birds perish for food, and I'm the typical example."

  "There are many ways to make money, no need to do something shady. Even if you think the salary of a state-owned enterprise is not satisfactory, you can go to a private or foreign-funded enterprise, or start your own business..."

  Maple: "I'm going to raise funds in a short period of time to do business."

  "Does fundraising have to be done through criminal means?"

  Maple: "I remember that in our previous political textbooks, it was said that the primitive accumulation of capital is always filled with blood..."

  "You're taking things out of context. Whose accumulation of wealth was achieved by doing shady deals?"

  Maple: "Sorry, Miss Bai, I think you might not have carefully reviewed my file. Take a look at where I was born, take a look, and from the look in your eyes, I can tell you've already figured it out. That's right, my hometown is that famous Black Gun Village. From a young age, I was surrounded by the manufacturing of black guns. To exaggerate a bit, perhaps since I was in the womb, I knew how to make black guns. Of course, that was purely traditional craftsmanship, and has nothing to do with what I'm doing now...I'm doing much better than they did..."

  "But after all, you are a well-educated person, how can you do something so unjust and inhumane..."

  "Ah, yes, I'm a university student, and still an undergraduate. But what's the big deal about that? Who would treat us like treasures? Do you think we're really the favored ones of heaven? That's just something they say when they're collecting tuition fees from you. When I went to the job fair, I saw companies offering 300 yuan a month in salary and not even providing food or lodging for undergraduate students - it's even less valuable than being a migrant worker! What's the use of being a university student? I'm just lucky to have made it into Tian Nan Steel. There are many guys who are worse off than me, some people have graduated two years ago and still don't have a formal job. Do you think that's strange? Actually, I find it strange too."

  "Whatever the case may be, you shouldn't take to a life of crime. You're the first genuine university student that area has produced in fifty years! The local folks have pinned so much hope on you!"

  Maple: "So I need more money. Without money, how can I repay my parents and hometown?"

  "Hey, now that you mention it, I remember. I heard you have a large sum of money, around 140,000 yuan, with no clear destination. The court suspects you gave it to someone else, but you refuse to admit it. Did this really happen?"

  Maple: "Miss Bai, you are not a judge, and you shouldn't be asking questions like this. Even if you were a judge, you still shouldn't ask questions like this, you should go investigate first. Directly questioning the suspect is the stupidest approach. I refuse to answer this question."

  "Don't you think it's foolish of you to refuse to cooperate with the judge? Don't you know the basic principle that leniency is for those who confess and severity is for those who resist? You've even studied law specifically."

  Maple: "Miss Bai, do you think that with my situation, handing over those 140,000 can lead to a lighter sentence? Can I avoid the death penalty?"

  "You have committed heinous crimes and will certainly be sentenced to death!"

  Maple: "Since we're both going to be executed anyway, why should I confess?"

  "...... Indeed you are...... Unfortunately, they were all used on the wrong path. Another thing you refused to confess is that woman who seduced you into doing it, who exactly is she?"

  Maple: "I refuse to answer, same principle as before."

  "He lured you into sin, into darkness, don't you think it was her who ruined you?"

  Maple: "It's money that ruined me."

  "You still have a strong sense of brotherhood and loyalty, don't you know that it's precisely this brotherhood and loyalty that has been holding you back?"

  Maple: "Miss Bai, do you know who Su Yu is?"

  "I don't know."

  Maple: "So you know about the Magna Carta of England? Do you know what the specific content of its thirty-ninth article is?"

  "What's the point of asking these questions? What does it have to do with you?"

  Maple: "Yes, what did you ask that woman? What's your relationship with her?"

  "Hey!... Yang Shuangfeng, don't be too arrogant!"

  Maple: "Miss Bai, please forgive my impertinence. Perhaps you are a standard red and dedicated person who can give me completely different answers. I'll ask you a question, if you were like me, with a monthly salary of 1500 yuan, but another path that can make quick money and big money is attracting you, and stepping on that path is so easy for you, which one would you choose?"

  "I will choose to follow the law."

  Maple: "Miss Bai, this shows that your resistance to the temptation of wealth is stronger than mine. Perhaps you have never encountered any financial difficulties in your life. But I couldn't take it anymore, I've known the taste of poverty since I was a child. In my senior year of high school, I once tried eating only plain porridge and pickled vegetables for an entire month, I was so hungry that my eyes were blurry and I couldn't even tell directions apart. Since childhood, I was taught to be an honest person, but reality taught me that being honest is a dead-end road. It's not that I'm not adapting to this society, it's that society doesn't adapt to me. In today's world, people laugh at the poor and not at prostitutes, I don't want to be poor anymore, I want to succeed, I want to make money, I want to become a big shot. When I found out that using my knowledge and skills to do shady business can bring in even more achievements and money, I almost didn't hesitate before embarking on this path of no return."

  "It seems like your university education was a waste. You've forgotten all the lessons your teachers taught you about being a good person."

  "No, at least my knowledge is far superior to those who are illiterate. What the teacher taught me, I benefited greatly from it. I can proudly say that I am absolutely the first professional talent in the country to systematically study the manufacture of black guns, and I am not inferior to those technical personnel in military factories. From steel smelting to gunpowder configuration, I have a deep understanding of all these processes. The guns I made are much better than others. I am also the first person who can independently produce bullets, do you believe it? Making guns is easy, but making bullets is difficult. The craftsmanship required to make bullets is far more complicated than making guns. I am the first person in this region who can manufacture matching bullets on my own, and this is also the fundamental reason why I was targeted by the public security authorities and pursued relentlessly. Among so many people making black guns here, why did the Ministry of Public Security specifically want to catch me and offer a reward of 50,000 yuan? It's because the quality of the guns I made is too good, even comparable to real military guns. If I didn't know how to make bullets, maybe I could have lived for a while longer."

  "It's truly a pathetic joke that your knowledge is being used for criminal purposes."

  Maple: "You're wrong, I don't think that way. At least I'm a hero who has found a use for my skills, even if it's not the right one. If I stayed at Tian Nan Steel, all I could do is study old blueprints every day, and my knowledge would be even more useless. To be honest with you, if I didn't use this knowledge to make black guns, I really wouldn't know what else to use it for. Since the things I learned in school can only be used to make black guns, then that's all I can do."

  "I can see it, your mind has been completely warped."

  Maple: "My body is also completely twisted. More than 100 armed police chased me for half a month, I'm really exhausted."

  "Doing a hit job is one thing, but why did you have to kill people? And six at that! Do you have some deep grudge against them?"

  Maple: "It's very simple, because they broke the rules."

  "What rules did they break?"

  Maple: "At first, because I made good quality guns, customers were willing to buy from me, so they became jealous..."

  "But in fact, it was you who fired the first shot, and you were holding a powerful Type 56 semi-automatic rifle, while they only had ordinary Type 64 handguns."

  Maple: "Miss Bai, your professionalism as a journalist seems to be lacking. How can you speak like this? No matter what kind of gun it is, its purpose and function are the same - to kill people. Would I be unscathed if a 64 pistol was fired at my head?"

  "Your Type 56 semi-automatic rifle is from where? Also made by yourself?"

  Maple: "Of course. Do you think the People's Army would give me one?"

  "Can you actually make a semi-automatic rifle with five or six shots?"

  Maple: "Why can't I? Same principle, same craftsmanship, just more materials used. Besides me, others can also do it, but the sales of long guns are not good, and no one wants to do it. I'm doing it for fun myself. When I first started making guns, I hadn't opened up a sales channel yet, and I had a lot of inventory that didn't sell out. I was feeling depressed, so I made a 56 semi-automatic rifle and went hunting in the mountains. My marksmanship was also honed during that time. There aren't many game animals here, so I specifically hunted wild rats. No matter how fast those little things ran or how agile they were, within 100 meters, if I wanted them to fall down, they would fall down. Do you think I'm bragging? I can very responsibly tell you that except for the rifling being difficult to handle, my 56 semi-automatic rifle is absolutely on par with those made by military factories. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to take out six of them."

  "Did you kill all six of them by yourself?"

  Maple: "Are you helping out beside me? With your small palm, a .54 is hard to hold, and a .64 is just barely manageable."

  "Are they six coming together to bully you?"

  Maple: "Are they taking turns dying? Do you think the spiritual quality of our region's black gun manufacturers has reached the level of medieval European knights?"

  "Why didn't they kill you?"

  Maple: "Their marksmanship is too poor."

  "Your marksmanship is quite good?"

  Maple: "Proven through actual combat, I am indeed better than them."

  "Do you often practice shooting?"

  Maple: "You often go hunting. Didn't you hear me just now? Or is your memory not good? That's not a good thing for a reporter."

  "What did they come to you for?"

  Maple: "There was a Xinjiang person who ordered a large quantity of goods from them, but they didn't have enough stock. They asked me if I wanted to sell to them, and I said my things aren't for sale to Xinjiang Eastern separatists. I even scolded them, so they started grabbing my stuff, and we ended up fighting."

  "Strange, why don't you sell your guns to Xinjiang people? They can't afford it?"

  Maple: "Miss Bai, I'm telling you very solemnly that although I've been deprived of my political rights for life and will be leaving this world in a few hours, the judge can take away my life but not my inner desires. Admittedly, I was blinded by money and greed, and my thoughts weren't noble, but at least I still had a bit of a bottom line - I absolutely wouldn't allow anyone to split our country. My gun could be sold to anyone except those who would split the country. I can swear on my parents' souls that my love for the motherland is not inferior to yours. Those armed police chased me for half a month, and I had a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle, two handguns, and 150 bullets, but I never fired a shot. Do you know why?"

  "Memories: 'Why? But no matter how hard you struggle, it's a dead end.'"

  Maple: "You're right, so I didn't make a pointless resistance. Even if I could beat to death one or two dozen armed police, it would only add to my sins. They are the loyal guards of the state, the backbone of the country. I couldn't harm them, so in the end I chose to surrender. When I was very young, I also dreamed of wearing a green military uniform and defending our great motherland with my life and blood. That's why I liked guns too. Unfortunately, this lifetime has no chance for me to lay down my pen and take up arms to serve the country. Hehe, if there is an afterlife, I will try it out."

  "Unexpectedly, you still have a little bit of patriotism."

  Maple: "Everyone should love their own country, don't you?"

  "If you really love your country, you shouldn't be a hitman and commit crimes!"

  This time, Yang Suofeng didn't say a word. But from his eyes, I could tell that he wasn't moved by my words at all, he just didn't express it. I also gradually realized that this dead prisoner named Yang Suofeng was indeed clever, had a broad vision, and even had good courage, with ruthless means, and professional knowledge in mechanical manufacturing and firearms manufacturing that made people ashamed, if he walked on the right path, he would definitely become an outstanding technical worker in the future, but unfortunately, it was all misused.

  He is a combination of wisdom and evil, with a very complex personality, intelligence and sin intertwined, loving his country yet despising life, gentle in nature but advocating violence, deeply understanding the law yet knowingly breaking it. The warden's words were quite insightful, he was indeed someone who valued money over life. Behind him, there might be even more stories. However, I didn't have any interest in studying his personality or exploring the stories behind him. I was just a routine journalist, and his personality and stories were better suited for sociologists to study and explore.

  As I gradually felt bored, I soon terminated this interview, and the manuscript of this interview was enough to pass. When Yang Shuangfan was taken away, I didn't know if it was a fever or a collision with evil spirits, but I still asked: "If there is really an afterlife, will you take this path again?" Yang Shuangfan's body paused for a moment, his head raised for a long time, and he did not answer. Then he was dragged away by the impatient prison guard.

  That night, I stayed overnight at the prison reception office. There, I didn't see Yang Suofeng's family members, which meant that his body wouldn't be claimed by anyone tomorrow either. Thinking of this, I suddenly felt a bit sorry for him - how come none of his relatives showed up? I had agreed with the warden to take a look from afar at Yang Suofeng's execution process tomorrow. However, before dawn broke and my phone alarm went off, I heard a dull gunshot sound. I hastily got up and asked a prison guard to take me to the execution ground, only to find that the law enforcement officers were already cleaning up the scene when I stood outside the fence.

  The prison guard who accompanied me told me that two hours before the execution, Yang Shuang suddenly became hysterical, speaking nonsense and losing control of his behavior. He scattered the Yin-yang meal everywhere and ran wildly up and down, with both guards unable to restrain him. After consulting with their superiors, the judicial police executed him ahead of schedule. I understand that although Yang Shuang had been extremely restrained in his emotions and had maintained a rare calm for a long time, he was ultimately afraid at the last moment and collapsed. This makes me believe that he is also an ordinary person, not a saint.

  I don't know why, but I stood numbly at the entrance of the execution ground, staring at the mottled earth slope. In front of the slope, on the muddy ground filled with rainwater, through the hazy fine rain, a corpse could be vaguely seen lying quietly on the ground, wearing that deep blue windbreaker. He had finally accepted the judgment of the gunshot of justice. I stood there for a while, until the rainwater seeped into my shoes and mixed with the faint bloodstains, before I left. At that time, I couldn't help but wonder, if there really is an afterlife, would Yang Suofeng, this psychologically abnormal genius, still take this road of no return? Would he still be so greedy for money and so reckless with his life?