Futile Devices Scans

Chen Zheng asked the head nurse for Wu Lianshan’s recent work records. On the night of October fourth, when “Zeng Yan” was murdered, Wu Lianshan had been working the night shift at the hospital. Even so, Ming Han obtained a biological sample from her on the grounds that it was needed for canvassing.

After Ming Han finished speaking with Wu Lianshan, he ran into Chen Zheng at the stairwell. “Bro, you’re here?”

Only then did Chen Zheng start downstairs. “We’ll talk in the car.”

Ming Han laughed. “So this wasn’t just ‘you’re here.’ You were specifically waiting for me.”

It was long past lunchtime. Ming Han pulled open the passenger-side door and saw a bag of food sitting on the seat, and suddenly realized how hungry he was. Chen Zheng moved the bag to the back seat. “I bought it at the convenience store where Wu Lianshan used to work. Pick whatever you like.”

Ming Han took out a salmon-and-ham sandwich. “You only went there to ask some questions, and you still patronized their business.”

Chen Zheng glanced sideways at him. “Didn’t I also take care of your stomach?”

Ming Han chuckled. “Fair enough.”

The car was parked beneath a tree. The temperature had risen again slightly over the past two days, and at midday this was about the only nearby spot cool enough to park comfortably. Chen Zheng had not eaten either and rustled through the bag until he found two rice balls. Halfway through eating, he asked, “What was your impression while you were talking to Wu Lianshan?”

“You were right outside the door, weren’t you?” Ming Han said. “What about you? What was your impression?”

Chen Zheng turned his head. “You knew?”

Ming Han said with obvious pride, “Being alert is a basic qualification for a Mobile Unit member. I noticed the moment you got to the door.”

“But I couldn’t see her expression,” Chen Zheng said. “You know facial reactions are an important part of gathering clues too. So you go first. Besides…”

Ming Han looked curious. “Besides what?”

“Have you never heard that once you eat someone’s food, you owe them?” Chen Zheng said.

Ming Han: “…”

Chen Zheng pointed at the last bite of sandwich in Ming Han’s hand. “You picked the most expensive one. Twenty-one yuan.”

Ming Han hurriedly stuffed the final bite into his mouth, crumpled the plastic wrapper into a ball, and raised his hands in surrender. “Wu Lianshan gives me the same inexplicable feeling as the way she suddenly appeared in ‘Zeng Yan’s’ life. According to her, the two of them met by chance while square dancing. The details all line up. Two girls with compatible personalities hit it off immediately and started spending time together like sisters. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But every time she mentioned ‘Zeng Yan,’ her whole body went tense. I couldn’t find any motive for her to commit the murder, and she didn’t have the time either. She seems unrelated to ‘Zeng Yan’s’ death, yet somehow there’s another important layer to her relationship with ‘Zeng Yan’ herself. And there’s one thing I really don’t understand.”

“What?”

“After fighting with her boyfriend, Wu Lianshan didn’t go to anyone else. She went only to ‘Zeng Yan.’ If she trusted ‘Zeng Yan’ enough to pour everything out to her, why did she leave ‘Zeng Yan’s’ home the next morning and then behave as though they were strangers?” Ming Han said. “The moment I found her, she knew ‘Zeng Yan’ was dead. She admitted it herself—when she heard people talking about the murder in the snack alley, she guessed the victim was ‘Zeng Yan.’ For a friend, her reaction was too cold.”

Chen Zheng thought for a moment. “That part I can understand. Wu Lianshan fought with her boyfriend and said she wanted to break up, but deep down she didn’t actually intend to. She only needed somewhere to dump her emotions. Someone truly close to her wasn’t suitable; a person like ‘Zeng Yan,’ who had never entered her real social circle, was perfect. People are more emotional at night. She said things she was never going to do—she wasn’t going to decisively break up, and she wasn’t going to commit to never marrying like ‘Zeng Yan.’ So afterward she felt embarrassed, and once she felt embarrassed, she didn’t want to meet again. And ‘Zeng Yan’ said quite a few disparaging things about her boyfriend. With boyfriends, you can criticize your own all you like, but once an outsider criticizes him, in Wu Lianshan’s eyes the outsider becomes the one in the wrong.”

Ming Han rested his chin on one hand and looked thoughtful. Chen Zheng assumed he was digesting the explanation, but several seconds later, Ming Han’s eyes lit up. “You understand this stuff really well.”

Chen Zheng: “…”

After making his joke, Ming Han immediately returned to the subject. “What’s strange about Wu Lianshan actually fits together with what’s strange about ‘Zeng Yan.’” He raised both hands and mimed two mortise-and-tenon pieces fitting together. “To ‘Zeng Yan,’ Wu Lianshan was practically half a stranger. Yet she was willing to bring Wu Lianshan home to stay the night and talk heart-to-heart with her. Forget for the moment how ‘Zeng Yan’ replaced the old Zeng Yan. Just looking at her identity as an ordinary cold-dish vendor, she seems overly naive, with far too little wariness toward strangers.”

“But she secretly photographed Wu Lianshan,” Chen Zheng said.

“Exactly! That’s the most contradictory part.” Ming Han said, “When Wu Lianshan saw that photograph, she was genuinely shocked. She had absolutely no idea ‘Zeng Yan’ had taken a picture of her without her knowing. Her emotions fluctuated quite a bit throughout our conversation today, but that was the strongest reaction she had.”

“If no third person was in the apartment at the time, then the photograph had to have been taken by ‘Zeng Yan,’” Chen Zheng said. “That behavior really is difficult to explain.”

Ming Han folded his arms and theatrically rubbed away goosebumps. “That ‘third person’ of yours sounds a little creepy.”

Chen Zheng shook his head. “But whether ‘Zeng Yan’ took the photograph herself or not, it was on her phone, so she knew about it. She deliberately left the photograph behind and hid the phone. After killing her, the murderer took the phone she normally used. Because the killer never found this one, they never saw the photograph and never disposed of it. That photograph is a clue ‘Zeng Yan’ deliberately left for us.”

The car remained quiet for quite a while. Ming Han finally said, “‘Zeng Yan’ almost seems to be telling us that Wu Lianshan was the one who killed her.”

“I didn’t hear the rest of your conversation. I left to check surveillance footage,” Chen Zheng said. “What else did you talk about?”

“I asked Wu Lianshan whether ‘Zeng Yan’ had ever talked about her family, especially Zeng Qun. Wu Lianshan looked a little lost as she tried to remember. She had told ‘Zeng Yan’ a great deal about her own family of origin, mostly complaints. She had always thought their conversations went both ways, that ‘Zeng Yan’ had told her plenty about her own family too. But once she really tried to remember, she couldn’t think of a single detail. ‘Zeng Yan’ had only echoed her while she talked. The one thing Wu Lianshan knew was that Zeng Qun had made very good cold dishes.”

That was exactly what Chen Zheng had expected. “‘Zeng Yan’ was contradictory to an extreme. She looked completely unguarded, yet secretly kept photographs. Her conversations with people seemed sincere, but in reality she kept herself hidden in the shadows. She could peer into other people, while no one could see the real her.”

Ming Han gave a soft scoff. “She wasn’t really herself to begin with.”

Chen Zheng pressed his fingers between his brows. “Another dead end.”

Before today, the photograph on “Zeng Yan’s” phone and the hair found in her bedroom had been among the most important clues the Beiye Sub-bureau possessed. Finding the woman in the photograph might have led them to the reason “Zeng Yan” was murdered. Now they had found her, but Wu Lianshan could almost certainly be ruled out as the killer. All she had brought the police were new questions, making the outline of “Zeng Yan” even blurrier.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this,” Chen Zheng said.

Ming Han turned toward him. “Empty inside?”

Chen Zheng knew the man was talking nonsense. “I can’t build a profile of the suspect, and now I can’t even build one of the victim.”

“Is it possible the victim is also a suspect?” Ming Han asked. “Maybe that’s why the profile is so hard to build.”

Chen Zheng had been leaning back against his seat, his face turned to the right. For the few seconds he and Ming Han looked at each other, his mind inexplicably went blank. Then Chen Zheng abruptly sat up. “If the Wu Lianshan route is difficult, then the other route becomes even more important. You reminded me. The answer might be with Yin Jingliu.”

Ming Han suddenly interrupted. “You’re finally willing to tell me?”

Chen Zheng froze. “Hm?”

“I thought I’d have to wait a long time before you trusted your teammate—me—enough to share the leads you got from the noodle shop.”

Their eyes met. Ming Han wore a smile, but the color in his eyes was very deep. The deeper something went, the easier it was to associate it with mystery and cold. Reflected in those eyes, Chen Zheng saw himself and also thought of someone who shared a few traits with Ming Han.

He had felt it the first time he met Ming Han. The resemblance between Ming Han and that person went beyond the han in both their names; it was more a matter of temperament. That was why seeing Ming Han sometimes put Chen Zheng slightly on guard. He was not good at dealing with people like that.

Chen Zheng did not want personal matters affecting the investigation. He coughed lightly. “It wasn’t that I refused to tell you last time. The clues I’d found were scattered and seemed illogical at first glance. Until I sorted them out, talking about them would only interfere with the investigation.”

Ming Han looked interested and leaned a little closer. “And now you’ve sorted them out?”

Chen Zheng was silent for a moment. “I only have a preliminary idea. There are still plenty of holes.”

Ming Han leaned closer again. “That’s fine. Mobile Unit members specialize in being quick on the uptake. You bring the holes; I’ll fill them.”

Chen Zheng raised his left hand and blocked Ming Han’s face, which had gotten far too close. “It’s autumn, not the dead of winter. A little early to huddle together for warmth, isn’t it?”

Laughing, Ming Han shifted back, but his gaze sharpened. “You suspect ‘Zeng Yan’ was killed by someone avenging Yin Jingliu.”

Chen Zheng returned his gaze and, after a moment, nodded. “Yes.”

“All the visible changes happened during the winter and spring of Zeng Yan’s senior year. Yin Jingliu disappeared. Zeng Yan abruptly distanced herself from her old close friends Feng Feng, Wei Youtai, and the others. The old Zeng Yan was replaced by the current ‘Zeng Yan,’ and the fake Zeng Yan withdrew from school. But if we go back another year—leaving the others aside for now—Yin Jingliu, at least, had already started changing.”

As Chen Zheng spoke, he folded his arms across his chest. He did not open his notebook. His gaze and tone were exceptionally calm. If the person in the passenger seat had been some inexperienced criminal investigator rather than Ming Han, they might have found him frightening in that moment.

“Yin Jingliu was cheerful and warm, unlike the stereotype of a top student. His grades were good enough for most well-known comprehensive universities, but he was actually very certain about his future—study aviation and become a pilot. Eyesight is an important requirement for pilots, so he kept an eye chart at home. Even after he fought with his parents and the chart was torn down, he put it back up. His teachers tried to persuade him, and his parents tried too. He only had one serious argument with them; after that, he practiced ‘nonviolent noncooperation.’ By senior year, Yin Gaoqiang had actually begun to give in. But then Yin Jingliu suddenly tore down the eye chart himself and gave up his dream.”

Chen Zheng asked, “If it were you, what would make you choose that?”

“At the very least, it wouldn’t be because I suddenly became sensible or finally understood how hard things were for my parents,” Ming Han said. “If he was internally steady and determined, then there’s really only one possibility—the objective conditions no longer allowed him to become a pilot. Tearing down the eye chart… that act was unnecessary.”

“Exactly. Even if he changed his application plans, there was no reason he had to tear down the eye chart,” Chen Zheng said. “Unless the chart itself had become painful for him to look at. Every time he saw it, it reminded him: your eyes aren’t good enough anymore.”

His eyes were no longer good enough.

His vision had blurred. He could no longer become a pilot.

Chen Zheng stopped speaking, as though immersing himself in Yin Jingliu’s emotions at the time.

Yin Gaoqiang had said that Yin Jingliu had protected his eyesight carefully ever since childhood. No matter how heavy his schoolwork or how much homework he had, he made time to look into the distance and do eye exercises. He would never read in dim light. Boys his age liked video games. Yin Jingliu played occasionally too, but he never became obsessed. Many of the things he did were meant to keep his eyesight within the standards required of a pilot.

But during the winter of his senior year, something sudden changed his life.

“When Zeng Yan, Feng Feng, and that group got into the fight near the noodle shop, Yin Jingliu never imagined his eyes might be injured when he rushed over. He tried to stop the fight because that was simply the kind of person he was,” Chen Zheng said. “During the struggle, something struck his eye, but at the time he didn’t feel much. When the police arrived, his parents and teacher were so eager to keep the name of an excellent student out of a disgraceful fighting record that they hurriedly took him away. Imagine it: maybe he was already a little uncomfortable, but the injury wasn’t the sort you could see with the naked eye. His father and homeroom teacher urged him to get back to school, and the officers asked whether he was hurt. A child his age might endure a little discomfort and say he was fine.”

“But once he got back to school, he realized he couldn’t see the blackboard clearly. Not completely blurred—just going out of focus from time to time, then clearing again after he rubbed his eyes. He became frightened, but didn’t dare tell anyone. He had his own stubbornness and pride. He held out until the next day before finally telling Old Yin that he felt a little unwell. But perhaps he regretted saying it as soon as the words were out. Everyone knows eye problems can cost a great deal to treat, and his family didn’t have that kind of money.”

“After some time passed, I can’t imagine how painful that struggle must have been. He was enduring the fear of not seeing clearly while being forced to abandon his dream. During that period, he most likely went to see a doctor on his own, though there’s no way to verify that now. The doctor told him his eyesight had been damaged by the impact. Daily life would not be a problem, but his vision could never return to what it had been before. Every day he looked at an eye chart whose bottom row he could no longer see. He was only a child who had never entered society. No matter how outstanding he was, he wouldn’t have known what to do. Frightened, he tore down the eye chart and chose, as his parents wanted, to apply for clinical medicine at Luocheng University.”

Ming Han had fully entered Chen Zheng’s line of reasoning, a faint crease appearing between his brows. “When he made that decision, he thought he could adapt. Accept a new identity, a new future. But when he actually started university, studied a subject he didn’t care about, and imagined a future he didn’t want, the emotions he had accumulated for more than half a year finally crushed him. That’s why his new classmates saw an introverted, taciturn, isolated person, completely different from the person everyone in Zhuquan remembered.”

“That’s my thinking,” Chen Zheng said.

“The previous part holds together,” Ming Han said. “What comes after that? Yin Jingliu was an unseen victim of that fight. How did Zeng Yan and the others end up killing him?”

“When a person’s mindset changes, the person changes with it.” There was a mechanical, almost inhuman coldness in Chen Zheng’s voice. “For the past few days, I’ve been putting myself in Yin Jingliu’s place. At that age, half convinced you’ve entered society when in reality you haven’t, surrounded by classmates who are richer and more exceptional than you, reminded from time to time of a dream that died before it began—I would place all that resentment on Zeng Yan and Feng Feng. And he very likely knew who had injured his eye. He hated that person and wanted an explanation.”

“‘Wanted an explanation’ is the polite version, right?” Ming Han said. “What he really wanted was revenge.”

“Yin Jingliu had been a good kid all his life. Hatred gave him the impulse to retaliate, but he didn’t have the ability. During winter break he returned to Zhuquan City and went looking for Zeng Yan and Feng Feng. Maybe he followed them. Maybe he appeared directly in front of them.” Chen Zheng used words to sketch the scene in his mind. “He couldn’t simply start swinging like a thug. He would only stand there nervous and awkward and try to reason with them. To them, he was nothing more than a ridiculous, pathetic fool. Would anyone admit to injuring his eye? Impossible. They would laugh at him, toy with him, use methods an honors student like him had never encountered and couldn’t understand.”

“And somewhere in that process, Yin Jingliu was accidentally killed?” Ming Han asked.

Chen Zheng closed his eyes. “That’s one hypothesis. Another is that after enduring enough humiliation, Yin Jingliu finally exploded and intended to kill someone, but in the chaos, they killed him instead.”

Ming Han hissed softly. “They panicked, disposed of Yin Jingliu’s body, and because they were afraid the truth would come out, they agreed never to see each other again. Everyone followed that rule, so when Zeng Yan was later replaced, not one of them knew. Ten years later, someone came to avenge Yin Jingliu—but the very first person they killed was the wrong one.”

“Yes,” Chen Zheng said. “The killer didn’t know that the current ‘Zeng Yan’ had stopped being the original Zeng Yan long ago.”