Episode 4: The Starting Point of the Mystery

At three in the morning, the night was hazy, steeped in an eerie atmosphere that left everyone present feeling almost suffocated. The premiere venue was sealed off, and blood on the red carpet gleamed darkly under the cold light. Reporters and premiere guests crowded around, all wondering the same thing: who exactly had Fang Jin offended, that he should meet with revenge?

Some reporters had waited for hours, sending their first-hand material back to their editors-in-chief, desperate for the headline, while the audience marvelled at a hair-raising rumour spreading online: that Fang Jin had done too much evil in life and so had met with revenge; others said that Yu Mengge's fall from a building years ago had everything to do with him; some even whispered about casting-couch deals — that Yu Mengge had come back for revenge, a wronged ghost demanding a life... The online chatter grew wildly absurd, yet some people believed it, and for a time it shot up the trending lists.

The cordon snaked like a serpent. Reporters were driven back, leaving only a few flickering camera lights swaying in the wind. After the chaos of trampling, some evidence at the scene had been destroyed. Although the case had drawn wide media attention, the bureau's leadership was oddly indifferent, as if the dead man were a stranger rather than a nationally famous director at the height of his fame.

Situ Hengyi of the Major Crimes Unit crouched at the edge of the stage, his fingertips brushing the remnant of a wire. This man had been dropped from high above the stage, and he seemed to have been left hanging for a long time. The question was: why cut his throat? And why commit murder at a premiere?

He was the Major Crimes Unit chief of the North City branch, young and capable, with countless cases solved, sharp eyes, and few words. His expression always carried a barely perceptible weariness. He looked up toward the heights, as if the killer had prepared everything long in advance. Other officers were measuring the blood trails. The victim seemed to have been drugged unconscious, dragged up high above the stage, and suspended from a thin wire. When he woke and found himself hanging there, the more he struggled, the tighter the wire cut — until his throat was slit. Then, the moment the spotlights came on, the heat burned through the wire, it snapped, and the man fell. What was the killer trying to say, designing such a complicated method?

He had seen too many deaths, but never a death like this — a death "forced to perform."

This was not murder. It was a demonstration.

"The wound across the throat is extremely deep and precise — not an accident, more like a calculated performance. All the video files at the scene have been overwritten; the inserted footage is timed at 23:52." The technician handed over the report, his voice trembling.

Situ Hengyi raised his eyes to the huge screen. Scorched black marks remained on it, as if something had once watched the crowd from behind it.

Suddenly his phone vibrated with a flash report from the bureau: "Confirmed: the director in the footage was recorded five days ago; the filming location is unknown."

In other words, the Fang Jin on stage that day... may have been a fake from the very beginning. Someone had used film effects to stand in for Fang Jin himself, and then carried out each step exactly as planned.

Situ Hengyi's heart sank. It seemed the killer had arranged everything in advance, determined to make Fang Jin die a miserable death before the major media, and become the centre of attention.

The case exploded across the internet, yet the bureau seemed to have pressed a mute button.

He turned toward the back of the stage, where an emergency exit had been forced open. On the ground lay a framed production still, its fingerprint smudged, holding a photograph of a young man —

His eyes were hollow, resembling the dead man, yet colder, more like a dream not yet woken from. He looked up at the giant poster — it was his photograph. The eyes on the poster seemed to slowly brighten in the night, as if watching him.

"Yu Mengge." Situ Hengyi murmured the name. He remembered that this was a male star Fang Jin had once worked with, who had died three years earlier in a fall from a tall building. The case had long been closed. Cause of death: suicide.

Wind poured in through the theatre doors, scattering the bouquets laid out for the occasion. Petals flew everywhere. What had been celebratory flowers prepared for this premiere were now all thrown into disarray, lifting a promotional poster into the air.

The poster bore the title of "Next Stop: Tornado" — If life is a play, who is directing your ending from behind the curtain?

Situ Hengyi's fingers trembled slightly. His instincts told him this murder was not merely revenge, but a play rehearsed in advance. And Yu Mengge, that dead name, seemed to be slowly reviving from the depths of time.

Situ Hengyi possessed a calm ability to judge cases. For him, every dead person had a story no one knew, and pursuing the truth of each case meant giving the dead their final truth.

Time: 4:32 a.m.

Location: City Public Security Forensic Centre

Case No.: 0417—001

Under the glaring cold-white lights, a blood-washed corpse lay quietly on a metal autopsy table, its skin the same pallid grey all over. The forensic examiner faced the body with extreme calm, switching on a voice recorder to document the entire autopsy, and read out in a stern voice:

"Deceased: Fang Jin, male, 52 years old, profession: director."

Forensic examiner Qin Lang bowed his head over his notes, his breathing beneath the mask slightly unsteady, yet he knew this corpse very well. He examined the wounds all over the body and left a record. Looking at the traces left on the corpse, he had seen too many bodies — but this one was not normal.

"Time of death: estimated between 23:49 and 23:52 that night. Cause of death: massive blood loss and a needle stabbed into the heart under high pressure."

"Fatal wound: at the centre of the chest, an extremely fine metal needle driven from above down into the heart, about seven centimetres long, at an extremely precise angle, avoiding the ribs."

"The killer is presumed to have a highly skilled anatomical or medical background."

He gently drew the fine needle out with tweezers. In the light it flashed a faint silver gleam — the needle was extremely thin, as if handmade, its surface etched with almost invisible fine lines.

As Qin Lang slipped it into an evidence bag, his finger slipped, and the needle tip grazed his skin, drawing a thread of blood.

He froze for a moment, then suddenly felt a faint numbness, as if this silver needle were no ordinary thing, carrying some hint.

At that moment, the recorder on the table flashed red and started up on its own, playing a low, muffled noise —

"Trailer — the play of death has not yet ended."

Qin Lang jerked his head up. The voice was clear. He had never believed in such supernatural things, yet the recorder had dialled back on its own, connected to no external device at all. The voice sounded as if it seeped out of a machine, and as if someone were whispering close to his ear — like a warning from the "spirit world."

He reached out and touched the chest cavity of the corpse. Astonishingly, there was still a foreign object inside the chest. As he opened the tissue along the sternum, a blood-soaked slip of paper slid out from between the ribs.

Printed on the paper was a passage —

"Death trailer: Act Two — the audience will witness rebirth beneath light and shadow."

Qin Lang's hand froze in mid-air. In the bottom-left corner of the paper was signed a familiar name — Y·M·G.

He remembered: this was precisely Yu Mengge's personal signature abbreviation from three years ago. Wind poured in through the vent, the autopsy lamp swayed, and the corpse's arm twitched slightly, as if the flesh between the ribs still carried an electrical reaction.

Qin Lang suddenly felt the whole room grow extremely quiet, as if something were "waking up" again, sending a chill down his spine. He had never felt so alarmed.

5:20 a.m.

Inside the autopsy room, the lights flickered on and off. Water dripped from the wall, "drip, drip," breaking the silence of the whole space — regular, yet eerie.

Situ Hengyi pushed the door open, a corner of his black windbreaker lifted by the cold air. He had not slept all night. To him, this case was a maze, full of countless questions.

Qin Lang was bowing his head over his report. The recorder on the table was still flashing red.

"You're still working at this hour?" Situ Hengyi said in a low voice. "You only ever deal with the dead."

Qin Lang looked up and merely nodded slightly. "This case... doesn't look like the work of a human."

Situ Hengyi walked closer and glanced at the report.

"A needle stabbed into the heart, a trailer hidden between the ribs — this method is a little like the one from three years ago —"

"The Yu Mengge case." Qin Lang finished his sentence.

As he spoke those three words, his voice clearly trembled.

"There was also a foreign object inside that corpse's chest cavity. Only at the time it was officially characterised as self-inflicted."

Situ Hengyi's brow furrowed, his gaze falling on the silver needle in the evidence bag. "What is this silver needle for?" It seemed to breathe, faintly flashing a beam of fire.

Qin Lang shook his head. "Probably to convey some kind of obsession!"

Situ Hengyi turned the silver needle over, murmuring to himself: "If you're going to kill someone, just kill them — why go to so much trouble? To convey some information?"

Qin Lang took the silver needle from his hand, frowning, and thought for a moment. "This is purely handmade. You simply cannot find it on the market. And it's different from traditional Chinese acupuncture needles — it seems like some kind of ritual."

Situ Hengyi repeated: "A ritual? A revenge killing?"

Qin Lang laughed loudly. "Solving cases is your job!"

Situ Hengyi looked at another clue and asked in a lowered voice: "The death trailer — will someone else be killed?"

Qin Lang nodded, pointing at the recorder on the table, and joked: "A warning from the spirit world — what do you think? That voice... doesn't sound like the director's voice."

He pressed replay, and the recorder gave out a low, hoarse voice: "Act Two — begin."

The voice continued, accompanied by faint breathing.

Situ Hengyi felt the cold air behind him grow heavier. He immediately set the recorder down. "You didn't record this yourself to scare people, did you?"

Qin Lang said coldly: "Apart from dealing with the dead every day, do you think I would be so bored as to play such a low-level prank?"

Situ Hengyi asked again: "Did you really record that audio by accident?"

He looked around. The room was completely empty; only the corpse lay quietly on the metal table. He shuddered all over. He had seen countless corpses, but this was the first time he had felt such a chilling, hair-raising fear.

Seeing his frightened look, Qin Lang smiled and said: "You don't need to be afraid. The dead are the least likely to lie. This case is probably tricky. The victim was already dead; his throat was cut after death — evidently to attract the attention of the reporters and media present."

Situ Hengyi went on to ask: "Could it be connected to the case from three years ago? Or perhaps sending us some kind of signal?"

Qin Lang said with a serious face: "I only do autopsies. I'm not responsible for solving cases."

Situ Hengyi frowned deeply and sighed: "Can't you provide any valuable information?"

Qin Lang took off his rubber gloves, tossed them into the bin, picked up a cup of coffee that had long gone cold, took a sip, and said in all seriousness: "This case is probably not a simple murder. Before dying, the victim experienced suffering; his whole body convulsed — in other words, he suffered inhuman abuse." He shook his head, picked up a candy from the table, "Perhaps the killer didn't want him to die easily. Executing him before the major media was also meant to warn certain people!"

Situ Hengyi continued to ask: "That's it? That's your valuable information?"

With a candy in his mouth, Qin Lang spoke indistinctly: "I only do autopsies. This is the answer the corpse told me." He picked up another candy. "Situ, why don't you try one? Eating in the autopsy room is quite interesting."

Situ Hengyi looked at his nonchalant manner, still calm and at ease: "Don't tell me you even sleep in the autopsy room?"

Qin Lang nodded. "Sometimes when I work overtime, I take a nap!"

The next day, Situ Hengyi received a call from his superior telling him to return to the bureau, saying there was a major discovery. But when he got back to the bureau, his colleagues looked at him strangely. Holding an autopsy report, he knocked a few times on the director's office door. Su Yizhou had already been waiting for him.

Situ Hengyi pushed the door open and saw that Su Yizhou had already brewed tea. Smiling all over his face, he asked very politely: "Any progress on the case?"

Situ Hengyi sat down, his face serious. "Still in the investigation stage. Lin Fan has already gone to check Fang Jin's personal connections, and his past..." He was clearly ill at ease; this kind of concern from a leader felt abrupt to him. He only knew how to investigate cases and seek the truth.

Su Yizhou chuckled, putting on a bureaucratic air: "This case has drawn wide public attention, but our superiors want us to keep a low profile. After all, this is a public incident now."

Situ Hengyi managed to restrain his emotions and forced a smile. "Director, what approach do you think we should use to close this case?"

Caught off guard by the question, Su Yizhou looked a little embarrassed. He froze for a moment, then immediately changed his tone: "Situ! I'm only concerned about the progress of the case. The leadership above is also very concerned!"

Situ Hengyi sighed: "Director, solving a case takes time. It's not something you do on paper —"

Su Yizhou's fleshy head turned, and a slick smile appeared: "Solving a case does take time, but you can't waste too much time either. When you have a chance, go travelling. Don't delay the major event of your life — how about I ask your Aunt Mei to introduce a few girls to you?"

Situ Hengyi forced a smile. "Director, just now you were telling me to solve the case. Matters of the heart easily spoil the atmosphere. This case is extremely strange."

Su Yizhou froze, as if he had not a single piece of valuable information, and immediately backtracked: "All right, just get on with your work."

Situ Hengyi went on to ask: "Director, do you still remember the Yu Mengge case from three years ago? At the time, didn't the bureau conclude — suicide?"

Su Yizhou froze, his face changing, his expression shifting, and he babbled incoherently: "The case from three years ago — who still remembers that! These entertainment stars, depression, too much pressure — it was all a mess to begin with —"

Situ Hengyi cut him off: "Director, I never said he was a star. Clearly you remember it very well. I was only asking casually. If there's any progress, I'll let you know." He sensed that Su Yizhou was clearly not telling the truth. His judgement was right: the Yu case implicated a great deal.

Su Yizhou nodded. Situ Hengyi left the office, looking thoroughly dejected. He disliked this official pretence most of all. Clearly this was no ordinary case. Perhaps behind it there was some unspeakable secret.