T**********e
发帖数: 29576 | 1 http://www.dailydot.com/society/zhu-ling-sun-wei-petition-case/
The heartbreaking saga of Zhu Ling
By Kevin Morris
In a grainy, black-and-white video of her final performance, Zhu Ling sweeps
across the stage in a black skirt and white blouse before taking a seat
behind a guqin, the six-stringed Chinese zither. She's been feeling sick
recently, and you can tell she's a little nervous. But her fingers are
precise. They pluck out a cautious melody.
Zhu has no idea she's been poisoned.
A heavy metal is coursing through her body, brutalizing her neurological
system. By the time the rare element is finally diagnosed and purged, Zhu
will be physically ruined, her brilliant mind permanently damaged, her
mental capacities reduced to that of a 6-year-old. She will forever be
trapped in 1995, believing she's a student at China’s most prestigious
technical university.
She will miss everything that happens next.
Zhu's story has straddled and defined two ends of the Internet revolution,
connecting two decades, two continents, and two generations. She was
probably the first person whose life was saved thanks to crowdsourced
medical advice.
Nearly two decades later, her case has become the subject of what may be the
largest amateur online manhunt in history, as millions of strangers in two
countries unite on message boards and social media to scour the world for
the only suspect in her poisoning, a woman barely seen or heard from since
1995—her college roommate.
It all began with an SOS made of ones and zeroes.
Dr. John Aldis was sitting in his home office in Washington, D.C., on April
10, 1995, when the message popped up on his computer screen.
“Docs in China unable to diagnose this disease. HELP!!"
Aldis had served 20 years as a doctor in embassies around the world, from
Jakarta to Lagos and eventually Beijing. Towards the end of his four-year
tenure in Beijing, he’d taken a tour of Peking Union Medical College
Hospital (PUMC) with his friend Dr. Chen Dechang, head of the critical care
unit. Chen told him about a patient who suffered from mysterious symptoms
they were struggling to diagnose.
The Usenet message had his attention immediately.
"This is Peking University in China, a place of those dreams of freedom and
democracy. However, a young, 21-year-old student has become very sick and is
dying. The illness is very rare. Though they have tried, doctors at the
best hospitals in Beijing cannot cure her; many do not even know what
illness it is. So now we are asking the world—can somebody help us? "
My god, Aldis remembers thinking. That's the same girl. He was no expert in
toxicology, but Aldis knew people who were. He printed out the message and
marched it straight to work at the state department the next day.
Aldis wasn’t the only one digging into the mystery. First posted to the sci
.med Usenet group on April 10, the message was jumping across phone lines
and satellites at light speed, popping up on computer screens belonging to
complete strangers across the world. In years to come, a thousand memes
would propagate with the same kind of viral intensity. But to doctors poking
around on the proto-Internet, this was an entirely new phenomenon. And it
was deadly serious.
In Los Angeles, toxicologist Ashok Jain would learn of the case from the
teenage son of his department’s chair. Fellows at New York city’s world-
famous poison control center, including 33-year-old Richard Hamilton,
printed out the message and discussed it as an academic case study. At UCLA'
s School of Medicine, Xin Li, a China-born graduate student studying the
untested field of telemedicine—sharing medical information over phone lines
and the Internet—replied to the message.
Keep me informed of what happened next, he said.
He might be able to help.
…
A month earlier, Beijing University student Bei Zhicheng had received a
phone call from an old friend. He’d better go visit Zhu, the friend said,
because it might be the last chance to see her alive. Zhu and Bei had had
grown apart after graduating high school and attending different
universities, but Bei had fond memories of her. She was sweet and kind, a
whiz at math and science, and a gifted musician.
Stepping into her hospital room, Bei’s first reaction was to flee. His
former classmate was half-naked, strung up with so many tubes she hung like
a puppet. Her eyes bulged out in an expression of unbelievable pain. “I was
terrified,” he later recalled.
He paced the halls, trying to think of what he could do. Then he had an idea
. His friend Cai Quanqing was experimenting with a new technology, just
introduced to top universities and research institutions in China. Cai was
one of the few students at Beijing University with an email address and
access to Usenet groups.
He asked Zhu’s parents if they would object to sending a message over the
Internet, to spread her story to people all over the world.
“Please try if you can," her mother said.
On April 10, the pair copied their digital SOS into a window on the sci.med
board. Then they clicked "enter."
In Los Angeles, Doctor Jain immediately suspected thallium poisoning. The
same answer came to Hamilton and the fellows at New York's poison control
center. And when Dr. Aldis heard back from his trusted colleague at the
state department, the answer was clear: thallium.
More than 1,500 other replies, many from top toxicologists around the world,
poured in. Bei and Cai had turned on a faucet that they couldn’t control.
The information was coming so fast they could barely translate a message
before another two or three appeared. But even as the responses overwhelmed
them, they couldn't help but notice that one alien word appearing again and
again.
Thallium.
The 81st element on the periodic table looks like how you might imagine
frozen mercury. Silver and delicate with a sharp metallic sheen, thallium is
soft and malleable, giving with the ease of butter when cut. Called ta in
Chinese, the metal does not exist free in nature, and it was unknown to
science until 1861, when English chemist William Crookes noticed a strange
residue left behind after making a batch of sulfuric acid. A year later,
another chemist, Frenchman Claude-Auguste Lamy, figured out how to isolate
the new element. Neither man had any idea they’d just discovered one of the
most dangerous poisons in history.
One gram of the stuff will kill you—slowly, painfully, over the course of
two weeks. Since it’s odorless and tasteless, you can add a pinch to a
drink and your victim will never know.
Thallium competes with potassium, a key nutrient, replacing functioning ions
with duds that just don't work. “It blocks energy production in the body
at just about every level," Hamilton told me. "In neurons, in the
gastrointestinal tract, in every organ system.
“There's nothing it doesn't poison.”
Dubbed the “poisoner’s poison,” thallium has long a been a favorite
weapon for assassins and creative killers looking for a quiet murder weapon.
It was Saddam Hussein's assassination tool of choice and a favorite of the
KGB, too. For a long time, thallium sulfate was a common ingredient in rat
poison, and murderous housewives baked it into treats or dropped a serving
in tea. Between 1948 and 1953 in Australia, thallium poisoning almost became
a fad; Sydney hospitals were overwhelmed with more than 103 cases of
poisoning during the time period.
Authorities slowly wisened up. Now thallium is illegal in most countries,
its use restricted to a select few chemistry labs where researchers study
its application in computer hardware and other high-tech fields. In 1995,
only a few students and professors at Qingua University had access to
thallium.
Zhu wasn’t one of them.
…
As the poison continued to ravage Zhu's body, Bei and Cai rushed to deliver
their messages to the hospital. But the doctors were hesitant to believe
diagnoses gathered from strangers over the Internet. Since Zhu didn’t have
access to thallium, how could it possibly be the problem? They seemed
unwilling to entertain the notion Zhu had been deliberately poisoned.
For Zhu’s parents, the crescendo of voices from around the world was too
much to ignore. They collected samples of their daughter’s blood and hair
and sent them to a toxicology expert elsewhere in Beijing.
Aldis remembers receiving the phone call April 28 from either Bei or Cai (18
years later, he can’t remember which) while he was at a medical conference
in Hawaii.
“It is thallium poisoning!” the voice shouted over the receiver. More than
1,000 times the normal amount.
Now the PUMC doctors were willing to admit they needed urgent help: How
should they treat her? UCLA grad student Xin Li ,27, stepped up as an
impromptu coordinator, reaching out to Jain and Hamilton, of the Los Angeles
and New York poison control centers, and translating their instructions for
Beijing. He set up a website to track the case, (still available on the
Internet archive) where he uploaded a rolling set of updates on her
condition, as well as MRI scans of her brain and other medical documents.
The American doctors urged administering the antidote immediately: Prussian
Blue, a pigment frequently used in painting and inks.
There was no medical Prussian Blue in the entire capital, the Chinese
doctors soon discovered. Could they use the industrial dye from local
factories? Yes, the Americans responded. On May 3, nearly a month after Bei
and Cai’s Usenet plea for help, doctors finally began administering the
antidote. Thallium levels plummeted and then rose and then plummeted again.
At one point, Zhu’s mother noticed beads of blue sweat forming across Zhu’
s skin. But the Americans said that was not unusual. She was sweating out
Prussian Blue—and with it, the thallium. On May 9, the poison's levels were
21 milligrams per liter of blood, down from a high of 33. By May 12, the
levels had dropped to almost zero.
Zhu was cured.
But the help had come too late.
“She’s a girl with no brain and one lung," Aldis said. "She will never tie
her shoelaces. She's severely neurologically bad off. Did we succeed?"
Zhu was left nearly blind, permanently brain-damaged, confined to a
wheelchair. For the rest of her life, she would depend entirely on her
parents' care.
For her family and everyone who had helped her, one question still lingered:
Who poisoned Zhu?
…
There’s no real American parallel for Tianya. Launched in 1999, China’s
largest Web forum has dominated the country’s Web culture for more than a
decade, a petri dish for Internet subcultures but also a hub for China's
mainstream Internet: Imagine 4chan and Reddit spliced with the old AOL
launch page. In the 2000s, Tianya achieved a certain level of fame and
notoriety for something called the “human flesh search engine,” a somewhat
grotesque term used to describe China's unique brand of crowdsourced online
detective work.
In 2005, the human flesh search engine was let loose on Zhu’s case. It
began on Tianya, with a single post from a user calling herself Skyoneline:
“Ten years ago, while I was still in college, I heard about Zhu Ling’s
story on the news."
The case laid out by Skyoneline told a story of jealousy, corruption, and
cover up, all pointing a finger at a woman named Sun Wei.
Sun Wei was Zhu Ling's classmate, roommate, and teammate on the college
folk music team. According to some Tsinghua students, Sun was doing a
research with her professor at that time, and was the only student that had
access to thallium. Besides, due to her close relationship with Zhu, she had
the best chance and time to poison Zhu. (Translation via China Daily)
The story was a lot more than hearsay. Police really did question Sun Wei in
August 1995, but they released her after eight hours. In 1998, they dropped
the case, citing lack of evidence
Speculation on Tianya suggested something more sinister at play: Sun Wei had
powerful family connections. Her father's cousin had once been deputy mayor
of Beijing, and her grandfather was a close acquaintance of Jiang Zemin,
China's president at the time. In China, guanxi, or personal connections,
are a powerful cultural force, encouraging nepotism and favoritism, and
perpetuating class disparities. In Sun’s case, Tianya users alleged, guanxi
was enough to help Sun get away with murder.
As the Skyoneline post set Tianya alight with conspiracy theories, old names
resurfaced. Bei Zhicheng posted to the forum, asserting his own suspicions:
“The police's suspicion was based on facts presented by Qinghua University
up on the Folk Music Team," Bei wrote.
He continued:
According to a retired officer with the Beijing Municipal Police Station
, Zhu Ling's cup was found in a box under Sun Wei' s bed. The other thing I
want to mention is the apathy shown by Zhu Ling's classmates. Nobody offered
a hand when I asked them for help in translating the emails on Zhu Ling's
illness we got from the foreign experts.
Here was word from someone who had firsthand knowledge of the events,
hinting both of a motive and perhaps conspiracy. Sun was jealous of her
beautiful and talented roommate. And her friends refused to help the
campaign to save Zhu’s life.
Strangers began calling Sun’s family home. They hounded her old friends,
too, the ones Bei accused of apathy: her former roommate, Jin Ya, her next-
door neighbor, Li Hanlin, and Li's husband, Xue Gang. The tireless human
flesh search engine appeared to be weighing Sun Wei down. After talking over
the situation with her friends, she finally broke her 10-year public
silence. She issued a statement—on Tianya:
"I am innocent, and also a victim of the case,” Sun began, before
suggesting that thallium was very easy to access at the university. “
Sometimes, the laboratory was even left unlocked.”
She added: “On the Internet, even though everyone has just a virtual
identity, one should still be rational, objective and responsible for their
own words and actions."
Around the same time, a hacker broke into Sun’s email account and posted
her conversations with her friends online. The emails revealed a sense of
helplessness and a desire to to fight back, but Zhu’s supporters saw the
discussion as a conspiracy to whitewash Sun’s image.
Sun was fighting an impossible public relations battle: One woman and her
friends against pretty much all of China’s Internet. After posting once
more to Tianya, she apparently gave up. In the years that followed, she
allegedly changed her name to Sun Shiyan and fled to the United States,
where she goes by the name Jasmine Sun.
Despite the groundswell of public interest in the case, it never reopened.
It went cold as it was in 1995.
...
The longer Zhu Ling’s poisoner remains unpunished, the deeper anger settles
into the bones of China’s Internet.
“The intelligent, diligent, multi talented, and beautiful Zhu Ling ...
represents every Chinese parent’s dream and is every young Chinese student
’s role model,” ChinaFiles Sun Yunfan wrote last week. “For 19 years many
people in China have believed that her dreams were shattered by someone
with a powerful family, and that justice could not be served because the ‘
ruling class’ was above the rules.”
Few things inspire Chinese populist rage as much as corruption; the case
symbolizes the helplessness many Chinese feel in the face of a judicial and
political system that bends to the will of the powerful.
These tensions have always simmered under the surface, but the Internet
provides a platform for anyone to sidestep censors and reach audiences in
the millions. Private companies like Sina Weibo, China’s Twitter-like
social media giant, employ small armies of censors to comply with government
directives, but sometimes information simply moves too fast. Last year,
social media exposed a half dozen sex and corruption scandals among Chinese
officials. And in 2011, it proved a powerful force in revealing how graft
and corruption helped cause a train derailment that killed 37 people.
On April 15, 2013, a graduate student at Shanghai’s prestigious Fudan
University fell ill and died. The similarities with Zhu’s 20-year-old cold
case ago were obvious, except for one key detail: In Shanghai, police moved
swiftly to arrest the murdered student’s roommate.
A switch clicked in the Chinese Internet. Overnight Zhu’s name dominated
conversation. The Beijing Security Bureau's Sina Weibo page became a
lightning rod for online fury, as netizens littered it with invectives and
complaints and demands to reopen the case. Celebrities with millions of
followers helped fuel the fire, and soon Sina Weibo censors stepped in with
a ham handed censorship campaign, deleting high-profile posts about Zhu Ling
. That only spurred conspiracy—a sense of dread that the government was
once more shirking justice in favor of the powerful. Wrote one Sina Weibo
user:
A powerful force has decided that microblogging related to Zhu Ling has
become worthy of censoring and controlling, including those tweets written
by celebrities and the People’s Daily. The force is so powerful it can
withstand millions of microbloggers in pursuit of justice. (Translation via
Bloomberg)
By April 30, Zhu's name was a trending topic on Weibo, before suddenly
disappearing. It’s not clear if Sina Weibo was acting on its own or if the
government itself was directing censorship. A leaked memo acquired by China
Digital Times, however, revealed Chinese officials were taking online
chatter about the case seriously. The directives from the state's propaganda
department demanded that Chinese media official police accounts of events
be trusted implicitly:
If producing reports concerning the thallium poisoning of Qinghua
University student Zhu Ling, all media and website coverage must without
exception accord authoritative information from the relevant Beijing
municipal departments. Do not challenge [the information from the
authorities] and do not sensationalize the story.
As the state’s stranglehold began to settle in, it was almost natural for
Chinese to once again look overseas for help.
…
Occasionally blocked in China and little known to most Americans, Huaren.us
is a bustling message board catering to the the U.S.'s sizable Chinese
population. Members have followed Zhu for years, but discussion heated up a
few days after the Shanghai poisoning incident.
Leaping off trailheads from mainland China, Huaren users trawled through the
online footprints of Sun’s alleged accomplices (the “Thallium Party”).
Li Hanlin and Xue Gang had long ago married and moved to the United States,
launching successful careers in big pharmaceutical companies. Hanlin was
formerly a principal scientist at Pfizer; Xue Gang recently began work Amgen.
On the Huaren boards, details from the trio's social media profiles trickled
in at constant pace: home addresses, phone numbers, emails, satellite
photos of their houses, photographs of the couple and their young child.
Their employers were hit with a deluge of phone calls and emails, most of
which were some variation of this:
I know Mr. Gang XUE through this crime and I know your company, Amgen,
through this crime. I feel deeply sorry to see that your company, a
prestigious image preciously created and maintained, is linked to this cruel
, cold-blooded crime through Mr. Gang XUE, a dishonest, low morale and
manipulating person.
(Amgen declined to speak to the Daily Dot, saying it does not speak on the
private affairs of its employees.)
When Huaren users discovered the couple was posting their $400,000 Waterford
, Conn., house for sale, they peppered the listing company with emails.
Within a few days the listing agent had dumped it from the website. Both Xue
and Li have since worked to scrub their trail from the Internet.
“Although I'm a bit younger, Zhu Ling and I are from the same generation,”
Huaren user chitchat told me. She’s been deeply involved in the campaign
and told me she’s a naturalized U.S. citizen and a professor at an American
university. “We could have shared similar personal joys [and] and dreams
and professional ambitions.
“Zhu Ling's aging yet resilient and respectable parents could have been
mine.”
Another branch of the Huaren campaign focused on publicizing the case to a U
.S. audience, like a crowdsourced America's Most Wanted.
They battled over Zhu Ling's Wikipedia page, eventually prevailing in
ensuring that Sun Wei's role in the case was included. A dozen other Huaren
users worked feverishly to translate a famous CCTV news report on Zhu Ling’
s case, hoping it might hit the front page of YouTube. That never happened,
but the video has been viewed more than 90,000 times and does provide one of
the best English-language introductions to the case.
“The production group doesn't want to create a wrong impression of a ‘
Internet witch hunt,’” chitchat told me. The goal, she suggested, was to
“push Sun and/or her accomplices to confess,” so their statements would
stand as evidence for reopening the investigation.
…
The pressure on Sun boiled over on May 3, when her name landed on the White
House's front steps. Thousands had flocked to an online petition started by
Huaren user Y.Z., demanding the U.S. investigate and deport Sun Wei. (There
’s still little solid evidence she lives in the United States. Sun has been
an online ghost since 2006.) With more than 100,000 signatures, the
petition easily gathered enough supporters to pass the White House's
threshold for an official response. It’s not clear the Obama administration
can do much of anything, however, beyond making a public statement; the
Justice Department has no jurisdiction over foreign criminal cases.
The campaign was always more about raising awareness than somehow forcing
Obama’s hand, however. Back in the mainland, agitation from the public
finally forced the Beijing Public Safety Bureau to release a feckless
statement on its official Weibo account about the case. The police claimed
Zhu's poisoning case was simply too old to effectively reopen, and things
were handled correctly the first time around: “The dedicated investigation
team worked according to law, and the investigation was never compromised or
interfered with in any way.” Around the same time Sina Weibo finally
lifted its censorship of Zhu Ling's name.
For Americans, the Zhu Ling campaign may recall uncomfortable similarities
to the vigilantism after the Boston Marathon bombing, when thousands of
amateur Internet detectives scoured public footage of the attack and
misidentified the bombers—twice. But China's judicial system works behind a
veil made murky by political sensitivity and corruption. As Motherboard’s
Alex Pasternack put it:
Of course there is a risk to the vigilantism that Zhu's case has
inspired. Crowdsourcing may be useful for diagnosing a disease, but as
America's failed attempt to crowd-source the Boston bomber's identity
demonstrated, it's not necessarily a very good way to solve a crime.
In the wake of crimes like the Boston bombing, Americans can speculate
about the power of the crowd to do that sort of thing; in China, sometimes
there's no other option.
There is another option.
A private investigator is now on the hunt. Earlier this month, Huaren
members chipped in $1,500 to hire to hire the U.S.-based PI, hoping he
might be able to discover Sun Wei’s location and uncover alleged tax fraud
she committed with her husband.
Zhu Ling is now 40 years old. Her septuagenarian parents still take care of
her everyday, flushing sputum from her lungs, massaging her legs, hooking
her up to a respirator.
"Things used to be so different," her mother told China Daily. "Before the
tragedy all she brought me was joy. Her life would have been so promising if
her plans had worked out. But now all that is lost. There's nothing left."
Sun Wei will probably never receive a fair trial. But most of the Chinese-
speaking world is making sure she'll be a fugitive the rest of her life.
Donations to Zhu Ling's family can be sent via the Help Zhu Ling Foundation.
For an excellent contemporary account of the case, check out Malcolm
McConnell's 1996 Reader's Digest article, "Rescue on the Internet," which
provided some of the background information for this article. Check it out
here (pages 1, 2, and 3). | T**********e
发帖数: 29576 | 2 "Sun Wei will probably never receive a fair trial. But most of the Chinese-
speaking world is making sure she'll be a fugitive the rest of her life."
铊公主名字上外交季刊了. | w*********r
发帖数: 42116 | 3 http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2013/05/17/longform_s_pic
不在首页
【在 T**********e 的大作中提到】
: http://www.dailydot.com/society/zhu-ling-sun-wei-petition-case/
: The heartbreaking saga of Zhu Ling
: By Kevin Morris
: In a grainy, black-and-white video of her final performance, Zhu Ling sweeps
: across the stage in a black skirt and white blouse before taking a seat
: behind a guqin, the six-stringed Chinese zither. She's been feeling sick
: recently, and you can tell she's a little nervous. But her fingers are
: precise. They pluck out a cautious melody.
: Zhu has no idea she's been poisoned.
: A heavy metal is coursing through her body, brutalizing her neurological
| T**********e
发帖数: 29576 | | w*********r
发帖数: 42116 | 5 PICK太多，没劲。
【在 T**********e 的大作中提到】
:
: 很失望?
| T**********e
发帖数: 29576 | 6
什么意思?
【在 w*********r 的大作中提到】
: PICK太多，没劲。
| w*********r
发帖数: 42116 | 7 The Heartbreaking Saga of Zhu Ling: How the case of a poisoned college
student in China, cold for 18 years, has suddenly turned into "what may be
the largest amateur online manhunt in history."
不过就是个目前最大的业余网络人肉。
【在 T**********e 的大作中提到】
:
: 什么意思?
| T**********e
发帖数: 29576 | 8
记者还用了新字条"Human flesh search engine", 采访的华人大妈chitchat还是
professor.
【在 w*********r 的大作中提到】
: The Heartbreaking Saga of Zhu Ling: How the case of a poisoned college
: student in China, cold for 18 years, has suddenly turned into "what may be
: the largest amateur online manhunt in history."
: 不过就是个目前最大的业余网络人肉。
| w*********r
发帖数: 42116 | 9 华人大妈professor chitchat讲了人肉错了，属于误伤了吗？没说的话，我得给补上去
。还有，贴小孩子的照片讲了吗？还有，随便下张照片当证据讲了吗？
【在 T**********e 的大作中提到】
:
: 记者还用了新字条"Human flesh search engine", 采访的华人大妈chitchat还是
: professor.
| w*********r
发帖数: 42116 | 10 赛昆仑
you are totally wrong, Mr. Morris.
In my opinion, one of the accuser, BEI Zhicheng, is the real perpetrator.
the following are a few facts.
1, Bei made the following contradictory statements: (i) after graduation
from high-school, he had not seen Miss Zhu until she went to hospital; (ii)
they met once at Zhu's college; (iii) Zhu went to Bei's college and they
met.
2,Bei told a reporter that 30% of the messages he received diagnosing Zhu's
syndrome as thallium poisoning. Later the number was changed to 60% or 79%.
However, UCLA records shows the actual percentage =5%.
3, Bei's grandparents were PLA generals. But Ms. Sun's grandparent was only
a non-communist member of the standing committee of People's Political
Consultative. I think you understand the difference. Note that in a recent
article published by Zhu's family lawyer's, Ms. Sun's grandfather was "
promoted' to the position of vice chairman of the congress. They want to
irritate the people.
4, I think it is immoral to publish the pictures of innocent children. This
shows that the accusers are low-life trash. It is strange that you, Mr.
Morris, a western reporter seem to enjoy the garbage.
Saikun
duping.net
【在 T**********e 的大作中提到】
:
: 记者还用了新字条"Human flesh search engine", 采访的华人大妈chitchat还是
: professor.
| c******g
发帖数: 322 | | T**********e
发帖数: 29576 | 12
ii)
s
.
你写的?英文比老方强多了.
【在 w*********r 的大作中提到】
: 赛昆仑
: you are totally wrong, Mr. Morris.
: In my opinion, one of the accuser, BEI Zhicheng, is the real perpetrator.
: the following are a few facts.
: 1, Bei made the following contradictory statements: (i) after graduation
: from high-school, he had not seen Miss Zhu until she went to hospital; (ii)
: they met once at Zhu's college; (iii) Zhu went to Bei's college and they
: met.
: 2,Bei told a reporter that 30% of the messages he received diagnosing Zhu's
: syndrome as thallium poisoning. Later the number was changed to 60% or 79%.
| c********l
发帖数: 3254 | | D**********N
发帖数: 830 | 14 如果孙维真的不是凶手，目前先委屈一下吧，我们的目的是要找出真正的凶手！
欢迎外媒报道，同时也能暴露出这些网络暴民们……
大妈就是大妈，当教授智商也还是停留在大妈的层次！不知道这个教授身份怎么得来的
。 |
|
