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墨書 Inktalez
I nodded and said, "I think there must be other forces involved here. If I'm not mistaken, Dongxing City won't remain calm for long. However, if these people want to abduct Guan Zengbin, they must have some purpose behind it. From this perspective, she should be safe for the time being."
But this safety is only temporary; what these people truly want will likely become clear soon enough.
Guan Zengbin has been taken, and I am now mistakenly identified as the Murderer. I don't know if returning to the City Bureau will allow them to prove my innocence. Regardless of whether they can or not, I am now the prime suspect in a murder case. Moreover, the victim was a police officer, and I don't need to explain how serious this situation is.
Gu Chen seemed to know Duan Jingliang from his time as a paramilitary officer, and at this moment, Duan Jingliang did not stop our conversation.
I continued, "Secondly, do me a favor."
Gu Chen looked at me, nodded, and asked, "What?"
I paused for a moment before saying, "Tell Sister Mao about my situation. I've introduced you to her several times; you should know her, right?"
Gu Chen nodded.
The situation had already exceeded my expectations; I felt like a pawn being manipulated by someone else. But if a pawn could jump off the Chessboard, it might do something that even the player couldn't control. Since things are already murky, I might as well make them even more chaotic.
With that thought in mind, I stepped forward.
The paramilitary officer behind me tried to block my path but was stopped by Duan Jingliang.
Duan Jingliang said, "Cut the nonsense and get on with it. Once you're taken away, it'll eventually be handed over to the Criminal Police Force for investigation anyway; you'll see each other again. Acting like it's a matter of life and death is unnecessary—just hurry up."
I walked over to Gu Chen and leaned my head on his shoulder before slowly saying, "Gu Chen, no matter what happens in the future, trust me."
After that, I took two steps back and smiled at Gu Chen. He stared into my eyes with a slight frown and tightly closed lips. We held each other's gaze for a moment before Gu Chen reached out and patted my shoulder, saying, "Just remember your identity and don't be anxious."
"See you at the City Bureau."
With that, Gu Chen turned back to the other officers and said, "Let's wrap it up; this is how it ends."
At ten forty, in a dark room at an unknown location.
A man sat across from me, the light shining only on my side, obscuring his features. I could only hear a voice filled with the weight of experience: "Wu Meng, we may not meet again after today. Remember what I say to you now; you will hear my voice again. We are kindred spirits."
The bright light made it hard for me to open my eyes. I asked, "Who are you? What do you want from me? Are you with the armed police?"
The man did not answer my question directly. He simply said, "Who I am is not important; what matters is who you are. Things are coming to a close, and everything is about to be wrapped up. When the time comes, adapt as needed. He chose you for a reason. Remember your identity."
"Remember my identity? But what is my identity?" I replied. "I'm not even a police officer!"
He was silent for a moment before responding, "You can be, or you cannot be. In time, you will understand what I mean. Since I can go out, someone else can come in. Don’t you think that sometimes, certain actions are guided by invisible forces?"
In the end, I still didn’t know who this person was. However, I understood why Duan Jingliang insisted on bringing me here; it was likely not just because of some task assigned from above. The real reason was that this person wanted to have this conversation with me. But what did he truly want?
Would I encounter him again? If so, where would that be?
Midnight.
Dongxing City Public Security Bureau interrogation room.
"I used to sit over there," I said, looking at the unfamiliar inspectors across from me. "I never thought I would end up sitting here." I continued, "According to protocol, police involved in a case are generally not interrogated by their own precinct but rather by an external one. I've never seen any of you before; which police bureau sent you?"
One officer lightly tapped a file about me with his finger and spoke up: "Wu Meng, an orphan with a reclusive personality and few friends. Your biological parents are unknown. You were adopted by Warden of Qingcheng Prison and grew up alongside criminals, learning various criminal techniques—it's you, isn't it?"
I had no response.
The officer continued, "A previous IQ test indicated your intelligence quotient as 1; you're smarter than average but not exceptionally bright. You have Self-Blame Delusion and were transferred to the Special Operations Group a year ago before fully recovering from it. Over the past year, you've not taken your medication, so there are signs of relapse."
When it came to interrogation tactics, I had more experience than these individuals. During my year in the psychiatric hospital, I had read many psychological texts and understood that to delve into someone's inner thoughts and analyze their true feelings, one must first find a breakthrough point—and this person was currently doing just that.
"Just say what you need to say," I said. "No need for beating around the bush. You're all genuine; I'll cooperate with you."
The police officer nodded, closed the file, rested his arms on the table, and supported his chin with his hands as he looked at me. "Alright, you have agreed to our premise. Your Self-Blame Delusion has not completely recovered; under certain conditions, it is possible for it to recur. With this in mind, let’s discuss what happened in the underground space."
I replied calmly, "At that time, I heard a gunshot and followed the sound. When I arrived there, a person was lying on the ground. I first looked around; there was no one else, and then I checked the person. I realized that he was already a corpse. While I was examining the body, a handgun fell to the ground. During my inspection, Duan Jingliang came in with some people."
"You all know what happened next," I said.
The officer stared at me, seemingly trying to discern something from my expression. One of his fingers rubbed against another finger repeatedly. After a pause, he said, "So you mean that in a closed space with only one exit, you are not the Murderer, and the Murderer mysteriously vanished?"
I nodded and shrugged. "So there are two possibilities: first, the Murderer indeed escaped in a way we do not know; second, this person committed Suicide."
The officer chuckled and slapped the table. "I knew you would say he committed Suicide. But do you think a police officer who just got married and is still on his honeymoon would commit Suicide at such a time?"
His tone was authoritative, his voice loud and forceful. "If someone were to commit Suicide, they would press the gun against their Temple. If that were the case, there would be clear signs of gunpowder burning the skin around the entry wound. However, during the Autopsy process, we found no such evidence."
"And that makes it clear," he continued with an unfriendly tone. "The gun was not pressed against his Temple; according to firearms experts' analysis, there was at least a fifty-centimeter distance between the gun muzzle and his Temple."
As he spoke, he mimicked holding a handgun and pressed it against his own Temple. Then he slowly moved his hand outward until it reached about fifty centimeters.
We all watched his actions in silence until he finally spoke again. "You see, this is roughly a fifty-centimeter distance. But don’t you find it strange? If someone were to commit Suicide, why would they use such an awkward motion to do so? Do they have a mental illness that makes them uncomfortable even while committing Suicide?"
I had no response.
The officer continued, "So neither of your points can convince anyone. The Murderer wouldn’t mysteriously disappear from a closed space, nor would he commit Suicide for no reason. Given that you were the only one present at the scene, do you think your explanation can be convincing?"
I shook my head and emphasized, "It's not an explanation; it's a fact."
"Alright," he clapped his hands on the table. "Even if you can explain all of this away, there’s one thing you must clarify for us."
I furrowed my brow, realizing that after going around in circles for so long, the officer was finally getting to the point.
I nodded and said, "Go ahead."
He shrugged and then spoke, "Let me ask you, where's your gun?"
I knew he was getting to the crux of the matter. And honestly, I wanted to understand this too.
I replied, "It should be at the City Bureau."
"At the City Bureau?" He burst into laughter. "Are you kidding me? If your gun is at the City Bureau, then whose is the one left in the underground space? The number 98 should be your gun's serial number, right? The one that shot that police officer, along with the bullets inside it, all belong to you. There's no way you can cover that up."
The gun on the ground was indeed mine, but it was supposed to be at the City Bureau. I had no idea why it appeared underground. Moreover, it was my gun that killed that officer.
Suddenly, I recalled my conversation with the Mysterious Man not long ago. Sometimes, I really felt like my actions were being monitored by some inexplicable force, making it difficult for me to move freely. But who was this force, and what did they want?
Seeing me silent, the officer continued, "Don't tell me that gun wasn't taken out by you."
I replied earnestly, "According to regulations, a report must be filed before carrying a firearm; otherwise, one cannot simply take a gun. After an operation, there’s also a check on the usage of firearms and ammunition. Why couldn't someone have stolen my gun and framed me? You could ask the administrator if you think I'm that foolish."
I added seriously, "Moreover, this system is even stricter for me! I usually don’t carry a gun!"
"If I hadn’t asked, do you think I would be here?"
He sneered.
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