It was another serene and sunny afternoon, with the long-absent dark clouds lingering at the horizon. A thin layer of mist softened the harsh sunlight, making it more gentle and soothing, and even the perennial sea breeze mellowed.
Today was perfect for fishing, and Shiller came to the lakeside with his fishing gear and the fake bait he had made the night before.
As he walked along the lake, he indeed spotted that neighbor who loved lure fishing, upstream by the creek. When delivering the invitation, Shiller had learned his name was Feite, a 53-year-old retired specialist engineer.
Shiller approached Feite and they started chatting, with Shiller opening the conversation with talk of his housewarming party. Feite seemed very interested, suggesting he might bring a large fish he had caught himself, and Shiller gladly accepted the offer.
They then moved on to the main topic of conversation, fishing. According to Feite, this lake and stream were rich in fish variety, especially at the junction of the lake and river, where lure fishing enthusiasts were never disappointed.
Feite also stressed to Shiller that only lure fishing was allowed in these waters; any type of real bait was prohibited. The implication was clear: if you're the kind of fisherman who can only catch fish by baiting them, it's best to stay away.
Shiller introduced himself to Feite, mentioning that he had been too busy with work to fish before, but he now had some spare time since the school had moved and was looking to pick up a hobby.
Feite became even more enthusiastic and began to describe his favorite fishing spot on the south side of the stream, atop a jagged boulder—it was a migration path for schools of fish.
Then he expressed his puzzlement, "Lately, for some reason, there's been little activity from the fish. I suspect those damned electric fishermen have been throwing bait into the lake again. If this keeps up, I'll have to call the community officer."
"Oh, did you bring any fake bait?" Feite turned to look at Shiller and asked.
Shiller took out his homemade bait, and Feite, after examining it, expressed his surprise, "Did you make this yourself? Professor, that's quite impressive."
He closely studied the fake bait and then, somewhat puzzled, asked, "What are these hairs? Boar bristles? Or from some long-haired animal?"
"They're from a male moose's mane," Shiller pointed to his neck and said. "It's the hair under their chins, which always gets wet when they drink. Its appearance reminded me of fish swimming in the water."
In the mild sunlight, the fake bait, shaped like a tapering spindle with the thicker end at the bottom, displayed stiff bristles of brownish-black hair that glinted softly under the sun.
"Full of creativity," Feite handed back the bait to Shiller and said, "Let me show you my impressive little buddies."
As he spoke, Feite bent down to set up his fishing rod and started rummaging through a black cloth bag beside him. Shiller just stood there, waiting.
Suddenly, Feite stood up straight, but instead of fishing bait, what he pulled out was a long shotgun, its dark barrel aimed directly at Shiller.
"Don't move," Feite's beard quivered as he squinted at Shiller and said, "Don't play games with me. I know that's not moose hair; it's human hair."
"So how did you know that, sir?"
"Whose man are you? The Federal Bureau of Investigation? Those idiots have been chasing me for over thirty years and still haven't given up?"
"I'm nobody's man, sir. Have you heard about the recent mysterious body-dumping case?"
"You suspect it was me?"
"Oh, of course not." Shiller shook his head with a smile and said, "You wouldn't be so wasteful, you wouldn't leave a bit behind."
Feite's expression darkened, and Shiller, twirling the bait in his hand, said, "Did you take a good look at the invitation I sent you?"
Feite stared at him, clueless, and Shiller had to be more explicit, "In fact, I really enjoyed the article you published, 'Twelve Ingenious Uses for Human Remains.' This bait was made using the method you described, not bad, right?"
Feite immediately showed an understanding look and said, "Which one are you? Not that wasteful kid who wrote 'Chemical Solutions to Your Problems,' are you?"
Shiller just smiled back at him.
Suddenly, Feite's expression changed, and he stared at Shiller in shock, "Professor? Are you the Professor???"
"Should I say long time no see?" Shiller said with a smile, "Mr. Gourmet, it's been a while since you've published any noteworthy articles. Have you run into some trouble?"
Upon realizing Shiller's identity, Feite instinctively took two steps back, his Adam's apple bobbing.
As Shiller stepped forward, Feite roared at him, "Stay back, or I'll shoot! What are you here for?"
"I'm not joking, sir. I've moved to this community and invited everyone nearby to my housewarming party. I did indeed come here today to learn a bit about fishing," Shiller said.
Feite watched him with a grim expression.
"Alright, I'm also here to discuss some business," Shiller glanced towards his house across the lake and lawn, the solitary building perched against the skyline, appearing rather dreamlike in the hazy light.
"Did I hear you mention contacting the community officer?"
Feite watched him silently and said, "You don't think I'm afraid of dealing with the police, do you? Or are you afraid?"
"Of course not, but I don't recommend you add him to your recipes."
"Why not?"
"Simply because it's unnecessary. Did you catch any fish yesterday?"
"Yes, I caught three big ones."
"Then you've already had a taste."
Feite's pupils dilated as he said, "You killed him and threw him into the lake? Why would you do that? We need people for public safety!"
"Of course, someone will maintain public order, and it'll be the same person every time." Shiller lowered his head to look at the bait in his hand and said, "If you don't believe me, let's make a bet."
"What kind of bet?"
"I know you've wanted to do this for a long time."
"Do what?"
"Taste justice and law enforcement." Shiller looked up into Feite's eyes and said, "When justice melts in your mouth, you want to know what else it will say to your heart. You thought about doing this before, but you weren't sure, so you never put it into practice."
"You're really crazy." Feite shook his head and said, "I never thought the person running this club would be a cop."
"I told you I'm not."
"Then how do you know I... Are you saying you can read minds?"
"That guess is much more plausible than me being law enforcement. In fact, I'm a psychologist."
"So you can read minds?"
"No, I'll say it again, I can't, but I can analyze the origin of your problem. Maybe it's a childhood accident, someone who shouldn't have died did, someone who shouldn't have lived did, and justice and law brought you nothing. You never received justice, so you want to devour them and see if they taste different."
"You're absolutely mad."
"There must have been some sensory stimulus, I guess... A fire? You were hungry at the time, and the scent of protein being cooked was too fragrant, too tempting. You couldn't resist the innate human instinct to eat, and since then, you've been searching for that aroma, always searching, always searching..."
Feite slowly put down his shotgun.
Soon, the two of them sat side by side on a rock, with Feite caressing the handle of his shotgun, saying, "I haven't written anything for so long because I've been fermenting the idea of sharing all this, but I don't know how to express it, or rather, words seem too pale for this."
"Who died? Your brother or sister?"
"My brother." Feite sighed and said, "My own brother. Our biological parents died in a car accident, and we were adopted by a couple who lived off insurance money by taking in children. The law wasn't strong back then, and this happened a lot."
"Did they abuse you?"
"Yes, not only did we have to work on their farm, not getting fed was common. I've always felt very hungry since I was young, and whenever I got some food, I would eat it as quickly as possible, while my dad would just mock me, calling me a greedy hyena, even dumber than the pigs in the pigsty."
After recalling a bit, Feite said, "My brother always protected me, doing the hard and tiring chores, and even when we were being beaten, he would try to stop the two of them, and he would often be pushed to the ground and knocked unconscious."
"Since I was young, I found that I was different from others. I didn't feel any affection for the lambs we had raised for a long time, I was indifferent to seeing them slaughtered, and I didn't feel much pain when I was beaten. I was just always feeling hungry."
"I set a fire," Feite said. "I'd had enough of that place and wanted to burn it all down."
"They tried hard to put out the fire, but in the end, everything was engulfed by the flames, including my brother, who was locked in a room. I listened to his screams from outside the door, but what attracted me the most was that alluring scent of meat."
"Did your parents die in the fire?"
"No, I didn't let them die. They suffered severe burns over 99% of their bodies. I don't know how to describe it, but their appearance made all the police officers, firefighters, and doctors scream."
Shiller suddenly laughed, and Feite also smiled, shrugging his shoulders and saying, "They were conscious, begging the hospital to save them, but they had no money for skin grafts. I can imagine what they would become afterward."
"And your brother..."
"He was freed." Feite said, resting his head on his hand, "I saw him fall asleep in the flames, someone took his soul to a place of peace. I wish he could have left his body behind, that was the most tempting aroma I've ever smelled, but unfortunately when I returned, I found nothing."
"Was your parents' crime exposed?"
"They killed the four foster children before me, all in unfortunate fires. The fifth was my brother, but the police never figured anything out, and they still haven't. But that doesn't matter anymore."
"You threw the inedible parts into the lake," Shiller said. "Water has a deeper meaning for you."
"Flesh boils in flame, bones should erode in water; it's a balance that allows their souls to find peace."
"You sound like a priest."
"I'm doing the work a priest couldn't," Feite's face lit up, "All the turmoil in this world comes from this, people don't know how to balance heat and cold, they let desires burn everything to the ground, treating others as cold as ice."
"So are you tempted by the aroma, or do you just want them to experience first-hand what they did in life?" Shiller asked.
"Those aren't conflicting. The aroma tempts my instinct, while wanting them to suffer the consequences of their actions is my rationality."
"The primitive hunger and the sense of transcendent responsibility have forged a new you, taking a big step forward into civilized society. Making fire, cooking food, enjoying the dual satisfaction of physiological and spiritual fulfillment."
"Just tell me what you really want to do," Feite said, "Even if our houses are close, you wouldn't come all this way just to show off your mind-reading technique, would you?"
Shiller no longer wanted to argue. He simply said, "I told you, I'm here to offer you a business opportunity."
"I'm not interested in any extra work."
"You won't need to do any work. I'll just provide you with the ingredients, and pay you a waste disposal fee."