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Oil Painting
墨書 Inktalez
"Is this it?" Zhou Fan turned around, his gaze scrutinizing, as he asked steadily.
He stood tall, his casual attire unable to conceal the sharpness of his demeanor. At this moment, his brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes were fixed intently on the screen, as if trying to discern something from the still image.
As the client of this incident, Wang Anyi, the most renowned art dealer in Xicheng, could only nod helplessly, a hint of fatigue and resignation on his face. "This is the footage you requested from last night."
Wang Anyi was fifty-three years old. In China, this age was considered to be entering old age, yet if one overlooked his graying hair, anyone would think he was around forty.
He carried himself with an upright posture, exuding elegance and composure in every gesture—clearly a person accustomed to high positions and controlling the situation. Wang Anyi was recognized as one of the most successful businessmen in Xicheng; his establishment, Xiyan Pavilion, had branches worldwide, and its annual revenue was enough to command respect for the elderly man before me.
However, what puzzled many was that despite his thriving business, this man stubbornly kept his headquarters in Xicheng, which made the local government pay special attention to him. Thus, I found it quite perplexing that he sought out Zhou Fan this time.
"How is this possible?" I looked around; the exhibition room of Xiyan Pavilion was enclosed by tempered glass, allowing a clear view of the paintings displayed inside.
I reached out to gently touch the cold glass, feeling its solidity and thinking that attempting to break in through a window would be akin to chasing a dream.
That said, the only way into this exhibition room from outside seemed to be through the long corridor lined with oil paintings. However, the computer playing last night's footage in front of Zhou Fan contradicted all of that.
The footage showed a quiet corridor—there seemed to be nothing wrong with it—but I knew it had been set to 320 times fast forward.
Zhou Fan crossed his arms and stared at the screen without blinking; his focused expression suggested he was trying to see through the image.
Yet until the staff opened the store in the morning and hurriedly ran out again, that corridor remained as silent as distant mountains depicted in traditional Chinese paintings—nothing else, nothing else!
This indicated that no one had passed through that corridor last night. But what about the stolen painting?
How did that portrait, said to be the most valuable in the country, vanish without a trace?
Wang Anyi shook his head and sighed softly, indicating that he was just as clueless.
Zhou Fan casually turned off the computer monitor with a swift motion, then turned around with his hands casually tucked into his pockets and asked, "Could someone have tampered with the camera program?"
"Impossible. The main unit of the camera equipment is locked in another room, and I personally hold the key," Wang Anyi replied. He pulled out a small key from his pocket and waved it in his hand. "Due to its specific model, there is currently no technology in China capable of duplicating this key, so the authenticity of this footage is beyond doubt."
"Then could it be an inside job?" Zhou Fan tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
Wang Anyi looked up at the young detective before him, his expression serious as he said, "I trust my employees."
Zhou Fan smiled, a hint of apology in his grin, suggesting that he was merely asking out of curiosity.
"But I still don't understand why you came to me instead of the Xicheng Police," Zhou Fan said, bending slightly as he gazed at a landscape painting standing by his feet. His fingers lightly tapped against the edge of his pants as he asked nonchalantly.
"Because it's a matter of great importance, and I have serious doubts about the capabilities of the Xicheng Police."
I frowned inwardly, recalling Sister Yin's fiery temper; if she heard such comments from him, the consequences would be unimaginable.
"Oh." Zhou Fan stood up and brushed off nonexistent dust from his clothes. "Is that all the clues you have?"
"That's all I can provide," Wang Anyi said apologetically, lowering his head slightly with his hands clasped in front of him.
After all, relying solely on this useless footage to solve the case was undoubtedly too difficult.
"Can I take a look at the display room myself? Maybe I can find some clues," Zhou Fan said, his eyes sparkling with eagerness, as if he could hardly wait to uncover the truth.
"Well..." Wang Anyi hesitated for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her gaze. "Alright, but please be careful. Some of the paintings have already been reserved, and if they get damaged, it will be hard to explain."
Zhou Fan immediately began his investigation. He squatted down to examine the gaps in the floor closely and then leaned against the wall, gently tapping it in an attempt to find hidden mechanisms.
However, it seemed to me that he was somewhat distracted, occasionally glancing out the window with a hint of confusion in his eyes.
Wang Anyi stood at the entrance of the display room, arms crossed, showing no intention of leaving. Her gaze closely followed Zhou Fan's every move.
Fearing that I might disturb important evidence, I refrained from participating in the investigation and could only idly observe the surrounding paintings.
Xiyan Pavilion was a building filled with Chinese charm. The oil paintings inside resembled British medieval castles sketched against a backdrop of rich ink wash landscapes. It created an overwhelming sense of dissonance while simultaneously delivering a profound emotional impact.
I strolled gently, admiring each painting as my fingers lightly brushed against the frames, savoring the essence of art.
I also glanced at the walls around me; they were made of well-fitted wooden panels, but I couldn't rule out the possibility of hidden doors.
However, after Zhou Fan systematically checked everything, I realized that my assumption was incorrect.
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