Chapter 236: It’s Mine

I nodded, then said, “I’m certain there’s someone else involved in all this. If I’m right, Dongxing City won’t stay calm for much longer. Whoever took Guan Zengbin must be after something. From that angle, at least for now, she shouldn’t be in any immediate danger.”

But that’s only for now. Sooner or later, these people will show their hand and we’ll see what they really want.

Guan Zengbin’s been taken, and I’m now being treated as the prime suspect. I don’t even know if, when I get back, there’s any way to clear my name. Whether I can or not doesn’t even matter anymore—I’m already the one everyone suspects most.

Gu Chen apparently knew Duan Jingliang before all this—and now, Duan Jingliang isn’t even trying to stop me and Gu Chen from talking.

I kept going: “The second thing—I need a favor.”

Gu Chen looked at me, nodded and asked, “What is it?”

I hesitated for a moment, then said, “Let Sister Mao know what’s happening with me. I’ve introduced you several times, you remember her, right?”

Gu Chen nodded.

Everything was spinning way out of my control. I felt like nothing more than a chess piece being toyed with. But what if a chess piece could jump off the board? Maybe it could do something the player never saw coming. Since things are already a mess, I might as well stir it up even more.

That thought in mind, I stepped forward.

Someone behind me moved to block me, but Duan Jingliang stopped them.

Duan Jingliang said, “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. When you’re done we’ll take you away. In the end, the investigation’ll end up with your people anyway, you’ll see each other again. No need to act like you’re never coming back—it’s not that dramatic.”

I walked over to Gu Chen, leaned my head against his shoulder, and spoke softly, “Gu Chen, no matter what happens from now on, trust me.”

Then I stepped back two paces and gave Gu Chen a reassuring smile. He stared into my eyes, frowning a little, lips pressed tight. We locked gazes for a moment, then Gu Chen patted my shoulder and said, “Just remember who you are. Don’t let anxiety get to you.”

“See you then.”

With that, Gu Chen turned and told the rest, “We’re done here. Let’s wrap it up.”

It was 11:40 p.m., in some dark little room I’d never seen before.

Someone sat opposite me in the shadows. The lamp shone straight at me, so I couldn’t make out his face, but his voice was deep and worn with age. “Wu Meng, maybe we’ll meet again someday. Remember what I tell you today—you’ll hear my voice again. You and I are on the same path.”

The harsh light made it hard to keep my eyes open. I asked, “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer. All he said was, “Who I am doesn’t matter. What’s important is who you are. Everything’s coming to a head soon. When it happens, stay sharp. He chose you, and there’s a reason for that. Remember who you are.”

“Remember who I am? But what am I, really?” I asked.

He paused for a moment, then said quietly, “You’ll understand someday. If I can get out of here, then someone else can get in. Don’t you think some things always have invisible forces pulling the strings?”

In the end, I still had no idea who he was. But I understood now why Duan Jingliang was so adamant about bringing me here. It probably wasn’t just some order from above—this man wanted to say these things to me. But what exactly was he planning?

Would I see him again? Where would it be? And when the time comes, what kind of place would it be?

Midnight.

“I used to be the one sitting over there,” I said, eyeing the unfamiliar inspectors across from me, “Didn’t expect to be on this side for once. Normally, these cases get transferred out of town for questioning. I’ve never seen any of you before—which department sent you?”

The man across from me tapped a dossier about me with his finger. “Wu Meng, orphan, withdrawn personality, not many friends, real parents unknown. Sound right?”

I didn’t answer.

He continued, “An old IQ test put you at 120, a bit smarter than average but nothing special. You have Guilt Delusion. A year ago, you joined the Special Investigation Team before you fully recovered. You haven’t taken your medication in a year, so the signs are coming back.”

I’d seen enough interrogations to know I had the edge here. After a year in the Psychiatric Hospital, I’d read every psychology book I could find. If you want to get inside someone’s head, you’ve got to find the right opening—and that’s exactly what this guy was trying to do.

“Just say what you need to say,” I told him. “There’s no need to go in circles. Everything you said is true—I’ll cooperate.”

He nodded, closed the file, and rested his elbows on the desk, chin in his hands, staring straight at me. “Good. You agree to our premise: your Guilt Delusion isn’t fully resolved, and under certain conditions, you could relapse. With that in mind, tell us what happened in the underground space.”

I kept calm and said, “I heard a noise and followed it. When I got there, someone was lying on the floor. I checked the area first—no one else around—then I examined the person. Turned out they were already dead. While I was checking the body, the weapon fell to the ground. Right then, Duan Jingliang came in with his team.”

“The rest, you already know,” I said.

He kept staring, trying to read my face for any clues. He rubbed his fingers together for a moment, then asked, “So in a sealed room with only one exit, you’re telling me you’re not the killer—and somehow, the real killer just disappeared?”

I nodded and shrugged. “That leaves two options. One, the killer used some method we don’t know about to escape. Two, it was suicide.”

He laughed, slapped the table, and said, “Knew you’d say suicide. But think about it—would a man who just got married, still on his honeymoon, called back to work, really choose to kill himself right then?”

His voice was sharp and commanding, sounding like he’d done this a thousand times. “If a guy’s going to commit suicide, would he really position his hand at least half a meter away from his own temple?”

He pressed his hand against his head, then slowly moved it to about fifty centimeters away.

We all watched his demonstration. After a while, he said, “See? That’s about fifty centimeters. Doesn’t that seem odd to you? If someone’s going to commit suicide, why use such an awkward pose? What, is he mentally ill and felt the need to make himself uncomfortable even in death?”

I stayed silent.

He pressed on, “So neither of your explanations really hold water. How could the killer vanish from a sealed room, or someone commit suicide for no reason? Given you were the only one there, do you think your story will convince anyone?”

I shook my head and said firmly, “It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth.”