Episode 23: Moonlit West Tower

Three days later, the sky above the city was no longer overcast. The rain had stopped for several days, and at last the sun showed its face, shining down upon the earth, baking the suffering of the world's tormented people. For a brief moment, people could feel a little lighter, a trace of warmth brushing past on the gentle breeze.

Qin Shaohua, however, could not be warmed by the sunshine. He bowed his head over the restored master tape audio that had just been sent to his laptop, a cup of freshly brewed coffee on the desk beside him. In the whole of Daozhan Law Firm, he was the only person there. The cases he took on were all grey-area cases, cases that slipped through the loopholes of the law — which was also why he never let feeling colour the way he handled things.

He gazed at the audio file, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, as if turning a question over in his mind. He turned to look out of the window, his expression cold, and picked up the hot coffee and took a sip. He knew this was the key to opening the darkness — yet he hesitated.

Situ Hengyi had never seen him hesitate like this. What was he thinking? He never showed what was in his heart, and Situ Hengyi had never seen him worried — yet now his brow tightened, and his face changed almost imperceptibly. He asked softly, "What did you find?"

Qin Shaohua said coldly, "The master tape has been restored."

Situ Hengyi remembered what Yu Mengge had said to him in the dream: "Find the seventh shadow."

Qin Shaohua hesitated a moment, then said calmly, "This may be the key — the key to opening all the darkness."

With that, he pressed play. The melody sounded — a song at once sorrowful and beautiful — and a clear voice began to sing. It was Yu Mengge's final song, its singing gentle, mournful, and mysterious, a song never before released:

A Testament in Light and Shadow

The wind outside the window blows softly,

Shadows sway beneath the grey streetlamps.

The envelope in my hand, unopened,

Each day hides the weight of night.

I once ran in the light,

And was chased by darkness into a corner.

Names strung into a cold, indifferent net —

Who can see through my fear?

In the grey room, I gently set the light down,

Every name locked in the dark corner of the night.

The me in the reflection quietly points to words left unsaid,

Searching the edges — truth flows within the melody.

A black envelope hides an unfinished melody,

From A to Z, the numbers trace a secret trail.

Hummed softly — only those who understand will know,

The leaping notes point to the vanished trace.

Notes in the margins, glittering like stars,

Every symbol an unspoken confession.

Within the files, an unsolved breath lies hidden —

Light it, and you will see my final gaze.

Those voices above the high walls

Say my songs are only bubbles of entertainment.

But I know the melody holds the answer —

Only those who dare to look can pierce its dark.

Every low murmur, every pause,

Is a guide I leave to the world.

Can you hear it? The wind carries numbers,

And within the numbers hides a name I never finished speaking.

In the grey room, I gently set the light down,

Every name locked in the dark corner of the night.

The me in the reflection quietly points to words left unsaid,

Searching the edges — truth flows within the melody.

If you hear the whisper of the wind outside the window,

There I left my final confession.

In the melody, in the words, in the unsolved files,

The truth waits quietly to be found.

I am gone, but the voice remains,

Every note a clue I left behind.

Close your eyes, and do not forget to turn the page —

Those lights, forgotten, yet never faded.

When the song ended, Situ Hengyi felt he remembered something — and yet seemed to have forgotten something. The melody carried electronic tones and a low, mournful folk strain, faint strings and the echo of a piano. This was a song Yu Mengge had poured his heart into creating, but for now, its meaning could not be understood.

Qin Shaohua turned to look at the clock on the wall, then lowered his gaze to the play button, now stopped, on the screen. He sensed that Yu Mengge seemed to be conveying some message, and a heavy pressure settled over him. In creating this song, Yu Mengge's heart had been filled with pain, helplessness, struggle, thought, and defiance — carrying a glimmer of light through the dark.

Situ Hengyi looked up at his anxious face — an emotion he seldom showed; whenever they spoke, there was always a trace of calm about him. His gaze drifted to a photograph on the desk: a picture of Qin Shaohua as a teenager beside a middle-aged man. He had seen it on his desk many times, yet Qin Shaohua had never spoken of his past, or of his parents. What kind of person was he, really?

By noon, Qin Shaohua took Situ Hengyi to a rather upscale restaurant and ordered several signature dishes. No matter how hard or dark the road ahead, life had to go on — but one must not wrong one's own stomach. He watched Situ Hengyi staring at the dishes, chopsticks unmoving, and asked, "Not to your taste?"

Situ Hengyi looked up at him, his eyes full of worry, and sighed. "How are you like some kind of superman, still able to keep your spirits up? Are you even human?"

Qin Shaohua smiled and replied, "I am human. A living human."

Situ Hengyi received a text from Lin Fan. He had looked into Tian Sirong's background: she had once been a hugely popular actress in the late 1990s, known for works such as Your World Without Me and Rice Fragrance. At the height of her fame, she married the wealthy businessman Zhu Ming. Zhu Ming was imprisoned for corruption and bribery, and five years later, just as he was about to be released, he died in prison.

She inherited all of Zhu Ming's assets and became a capital widow, taking on another identity in this circle — that of an investor. Rumour had it that she hosted a "murder party," gathering the big shots of the capital world, though no one knew what kind of party it really was.

Qin Shaohua took a bite of food and, seeing his expression harden, as though the text had affected his mood, asked casually, "Has the police station been blown up?"

Situ Hengyi replied, "No. It's information Lin Fan sent about Tian Sirong. This woman has a 'murder party' — it feels a little strange…"

Qin Shaohua placed a piece of meat in his bowl, tapped softly on the table, and remained calm as ever. "Eat," he said quietly. "Don't talk about the case. Even if you rack your brains, you won't solve it in time."

Back at the firm, Situ Hengyi looked at the information on his phone, feeling that he had missed something. Xia Zilan had also mentioned that 'murder party,' and the behaviour of the artists under Tianze Entertainment was also very strange. Song Yiyi's fall from the building had not been an accident, either. Who wanted her dead?

Every case seemed to converge on a single thread — the Yu Mengge case. It was a beginning, and also the beginning of the end. Nine years ago, the Qiao Lingchuan case came to light: he had died by sadistic murder, not suicide. The Judge had since passed judgment on Fang Jin, Shen Yao, Fan Zhixi, Du Feng, and others — yet the five who had died before them had never been publicly judged. Why, starting with Fang Jin, had the judgments become public? The point where all the cases intersected was the Yu Mengge case.

Qin Shaohua saw the questions written all over his face. He poured him a cup of hot coffee, elegantly picked up a stack of documents from the desk, and handed them to him. "Judging by the timing of the cases so far," he said lightly, "the Judge was first killing tentatively, to see how the other side would react. The results were all treated as accidents. Then, at Fang Jin's premiere, he killed in front of the major media, reporters, audiences, and a live stream — a demonstrative killing, to see how his opponent would respond. After that, he judged Shen Yao, Fan Zhixi, Du Feng, and the others. He is keeping the initiative in his own hands."

Situ Hengyi flipped through the documents, his eyes narrowing, and said coldly, "The Judge is forcing them to act, waiting for them to slip up."

Qin Shaohua drummed his fingers on the table, his eyes calm, and said in a low voice, "All the cases point to the Yu Mengge case. All the related files have vanished; even the autopsy report was switched, and the forensic examiner on the Yu case is dead too. That is too much of a coincidence."

Situ Hengyi had too many questions swirling around the case. Where should the investigation begin? There were ghosts inside the police force, and there was no way in. The entire case had been taken over by the special task force, and he could not access any more detailed case material. Where to begin?

Qin Shaohua leafed through the list of all the dead artists and the places where they had died. They shared one thing in common: all had died by accident, all by falling from a height. The authorities had merely brushed it off and would never tell the public the truth. But all of these artists lived in the same community — Moonlit West Tower.

"Let's go to the scene of the crime. Perhaps we can find answers there," he said coldly, looking at the photograph of the community. "That is the key."

Situ Hengyi said anxiously, "It's been three years. Can we still find any relevant evidence? Perhaps it has all been destroyed."

Qin Shaohua shook his head. "Evidence can be destroyed, but the truth is still there. That day was a murder. It is impossible that no one in the whole community heard a thing! We start from the beginning — from Moonlit West Tower."

Situ Hengyi looked at the building in the photograph, a very bad feeling rising in him, and murmured, "Moonlit West Tower?"

A cold wind passed through the gloomy corridor. In the night sky, the moon flickered, bright then dim, and the air was thick with a chill. Ever since the Yu Mengge case, many residents of this community had moved away. Legend had it that at night, one could hear crying — some said it was Yu Mengge singing; others said it was the desperate cry for help he made before he died.

Taoist talismans hung from the trees all around, tied to the branches with red thread, fluttering in the wind and making one's heart tremble, while a violet mist spread, as if veiling the truth.

The once-bustling residential area now held only dust and mottled walls, echoes drifting through the stairwells like some uneasy memory still lingering here.

Situ Hengyi looked up at the balcony of the fifth floor of that building — pitch black, without a glimmer of light — and felt a flicker of anxiety, his whole body trembling.

That was where Yu Mengge had fallen. What had he gone through? He remembered the video in the police station: on the day Yu Mengge died, Luo Jin had also been there —

Qin Shaohua, wearing gloves, pushed open the iron gate. The rusted hinges let out a piercing screech.

"This place has been sealed for three years. Everything was cleared out. The records show that when it was cleaned, all that remained was bloodstains and a shattered glass."

Qin Shaohua's tone was calm, yet he could not suppress the eerie chill in it. His fingers traced the marks on the wall — they had clearly been tampered with, but the truth was hidden at the scene of the crime.

Downstairs, a few fans gathered around candlelight, gently laying down bouquets, and someone hummed his final single in a low voice.

The faint singing drifted through the night — sorrowful, yet carrying a kind of obsessive madness.

Ever since the Yu Mengge case had been brought up again, it was as if he had returned to the world of the living. From time to time, fans came here to mourn him — an expression of human longing, and a hope that the truth might come soon.

Situ Hengyi sighed softly. "Has everyone here moved away?"

Qin Shaohua gazed at the empty, eerie stairwell, sensing that something unforgettable had happened here, and said coldly, "They moved because they were afraid."

"Yes," came an old voice from the shadows. "Since his death, few people mention his name anymore."

The two men turned. An old woman with a head of white hair came toward them, leaning on a cane and wearing an old cashmere coat, her steps slow. She drew closer to them, little by little. "No one has mentioned him in a long while! You are not his fans!"

Her eyes were cloudy yet clear, as if she had seen through too much. She looked up at them, her face serene, yet with a trace of calm.

"Everyone else has gone. Only I remain. I am old — I cannot move," the old woman sighed.

She paused, her voice so low it was almost swallowed by the wind. "That night, I heard screaming."

Qin Shaohua's gaze sharpened. "You are a witness?"

The old woman shook her head and sighed. "That sound — it did not sound like he jumped on his own. Someone was arguing upstairs. I heard three men's voices… No, that night there were many people. It was very noisy, and there was a woman crying, and there were gunshots. But the police said it was a hallucination."

Situ Hengyi said in a low voice, "At the time, did you see anyone coming or going?"

She raised a finger and pointed at the surveillance pole across from the building. "That night there were several black cars parked there for a long time. At three in the morning, three men got out, carrying cases upstairs. Less than twenty minutes later, they came back, the cases empty."

Qin Shaohua looked at Situ Hengyi and frowned. "There is no mention of this in the police records."

The old woman gave a cold laugh. "Of course not. And there were police cars — two or three of them came, keeping the residents from getting close. The commotion that day was so great, everyone in the building heard it. No — everyone in the whole community knew what had happened."

She paused again, then continued, "Early the next morning, several people came, claiming to be from Tianze. They sealed the whole building, saying they wanted to 'protect the artist's reputation.' They took the surveillance cameras away."

She took a step with her cane, then turned back and added, "He was truly so pitiful —"

Situ Hengyi clenched his hands into fists, his eyes growing cold. "So from the very beginning, they were covering it up."

The old woman's gaze rested steadily on them, and suddenly she added, "Do you know? In the week before that child died, every night he sang on the rooftop. I don't know who he was singing to, but he always spoke to the sky — 'I will not yield. I want to see them go to hell.'"

The wind swept past, the candlelight flickered, and from downstairs came a faint creaking sound, as if someone were walking past, as if in answer to them.

Qin Shaohua looked up. The curtains of the fifth-floor window stirred slightly, and inside was pitch black. What terrible thing had happened here, only to be covered up?

Situ Hengyi said quietly, "The police were involved too? What else have we not seen?"

The old woman's voice trembled in the wind. "He refused to leave. On the day he died, Tianze's people came. They would not let anyone near… You must be careful. Those people — even ghosts are afraid of them."

A cold wind blew through, the candle flames went out, and the whole building sank into darkness as the mist slowly dispersed.

When Qin Shaohua turned back, the old woman was slowly walking away on her cane. At the turn of the corridor, she vanished from sight, leaving only her cane leaning against the wall, slowly toppling over.

Situ Hengyi said in a low voice, "What she just said… is it all true?"

He took a USB drive from his pocket and pressed it into his hand, saying coldly, "There are ghosts inside the police force. From the very beginning, they planned the whole thing."

Qin Shaohua looked at the USB drive in his hand, remaining calm, and said quietly, "At least, the truth began even earlier than we thought."