Discovery of Jinze

Jin Ze said that the recipient of the package was someone we both knew, and my heart immediately leapt into my throat. Who could it be? After all, the number of people Jin Ze and I both knew could be counted on one hand.

I looked at Jin Ze suspiciously, but he quickly said, “We’ve checked all possibilities and finally narrowed it down—the recipient’s name is Kong Wei.”

I was stunned for a moment, running through the name Kong Wei in my mind at lightning speed, but I had not the faintest recollection. So I asked, “Who is Kong Wei?”

Jin Ze gave me a gentle smile and replied, “You might not recognize the name, but you’ve seen him. Kong Wei is a detective in our department—the plainclothes officer who spoke with us outside the Mastiff Garden last time.”

At once, the image of that round-faced, quick-witted policeman surfaced in my mind. I remembered him. The day we arrived at the garden’s entrance, Fang Qinghe had asked if anyone had come by. That guy said no, not even a fly could get in. I’d thought then that he was boastful, maybe trying to impress his superior. I never imagined that he might be hiding a dark secret.

I immediately pressed Jin Ze, “Well? Have you detained Kong Wei, or are you still casting a long line, waiting for a bigger catch?”

Jin Ze replied, “Kong Wei must have sensed something was off—he didn’t come to work today. But we searched his home right away. Since he’s a detective, his anti-surveillance skills are excellent, so the outcome is uncertain. Still, we had to act. I came to get you because I want you at the scene.”

Without another word, I got up, hastily gathered my things, and left the station with Jin Ze.

On the way, I didn’t ask about Kong Wei. My mind kept circling back to the video I’d seen the night before—the one where someone with my face was shot in the head. Even though Jin Ze insisted it was fabricated, I couldn’t shake the unease. The image of someone who looked just like me being killed in an instant made my own head ache, as if I could feel the pain myself. It left me hollow, as though my head had vanished.

What puzzled me even more was, if the video really was faked, why would anyone go to such lengths? Surely he would know I’d eventually realize it wasn’t real. What was he trying to tell me?

Then I remembered Fang Qinghe having me wear corpse makeup during Xia Tian’s interrogation—and the way I was “killed” was a bullet through the forehead. Was that a coincidence? Or a deliberate arrangement?

Because I’m used to writing, my mind is especially prone to associations. I soon recalled another video Liu She had shown me—the surgery video. Suddenly, I wondered: was that one also pieced together? Maybe Liu She didn’t find it in some secret lair of Fang Qinghe’s after all, but the killer staged it for him, to guide him to me and have me see it?

In other words, that lunatic wanted to shock me with these videos, to create a visceral impact.

And why? There could only be two reasons. One, as Jin Ze suggested, was to help me recover my memory—he hadn’t given up on me.

Or, perhaps he wanted me to start doubting Fang Qinghe.

Lost in thought, I was startled when Jin Ze suddenly glanced over and asked, “Chen Mu, what’s on your mind?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just a bit nervous. I wonder if we’ll find anything on Kong Wei that can move this case forward.”

Jin Ze replied straightforwardly, “We should. If you set aside the adversarial roles of cop and killer, and look at things from that maniac’s perspective, you’ll see he’s actually put a lot of thought into you. He wouldn’t do anything meaningless to you. Since he left this clue, and went to such elaborate lengths, it must be important. It should help push the case ahead.”

Hearing this left a bitter taste in my mouth. If I had a choice, I’d want nothing to do with that psycho, but he refused to let me go.

But then again, “let me go” didn’t quite fit. From the killer’s viewpoint, he was helping me.

So my feelings were complicated. People are strange that way—even if we despise someone, when we learn they’re trying to help us, that hatred starts to warp.

A chilling thought suddenly surfaced—did I really hate that maniac?

The moment it arose, I shook my head vigorously to banish it. If I could, I’d have a hundred ways to bring him to justice.

Soon, we arrived at Kong Wei’s apartment, which the police had already sealed off.

Kong Wei was single, his place rented—a small bachelor’s flat. By the time Jin Ze and I arrived, the place had been thoroughly searched, every possible nook and cranny combed over, and there had been a major discovery.

In the toilet, they’d found a lot of ashen paper residue—someone had burned papers and dumped the remains in the bowl, but hadn’t flushed them all away.

There was also a pile of torn-up delivery slips in the trash. Kong Wei must have left in a hurry and hadn’t managed to burn them all. Clearly, he was hiding something.

But why would a detective have so many deliveries? Colleagues who knew Kong Wei said he was very frugal—rarely bought new clothes, hardly the online shopping type. So all these packages were definitely suspicious.

And the mention of packages made me think of the severed head deliveries I’d received before. Could these be connected?

While I pondered, Jin Ze moved about the tiny apartment, searching from beneath the bed to behind the bathroom mirror, missing no detail. But nothing else turned up. However, in the bathroom, he found a large oil drum filled with a sharp-smelling clear liquid—formaldehyde, perhaps, though the lab would have to confirm.

Once satisfied there was nothing more to find, Jin Ze seemed to recall something. He ordered all the officers out of the room, leaving just the two of us, and closed the door.

When the apartment was quiet, Jin Ze suddenly told me to lie down on Kong Wei’s bed.

Perhaps because of what that lunatic had put me through, I was overly sensitive—my body tensed, and I eyed Jin Ze warily.

But Jin Ze simply pressed a slender finger to his lips, signaling for silence, as if someone else might be in the room and we dared not alert them.

My heart leapt into my throat. Trusting Jin Ze had his reasons, I lay down quietly, holding my breath from nerves.

Jin Ze stood motionless at the bedside, his deep gaze sweeping the room as if searching for someone invisible, someone lurking just out of sight.

Whether it was just my imagination or something more, my back arched suddenly and a chill ran down my spine—I felt as though the room was full of people. Not just one, not just two or three, but many.

Earlier, with the place bustling with officers, I hadn’t noticed. But now, alone with Jin Ze and lying still on the bed, the pungent chemical odor in the air, I could sense them—dozens of unseen eyes, watching me from the shadows.

But where were they? Why couldn’t I see them?

Jin Ze turned to me and said, “Chen Mu, steel yourself.”

With that, he walked to the wall opposite the bed, sniffed along the surface, and placed his hand on the edge of the wallpaper. The paper was new, as if freshly hung—recently renovated.

Suddenly, Jin Ze tore the wallpaper down in one swift motion. When the hidden wall was exposed, every pore on my body seemed to burst open; cold terror flooded through me, and I felt almost suffocated.

The wall was embedded with eyes—countless eyes bulging outward, as if they were about to break free, their gaze sending icy shudders down my spine.

It was truly horrifying. I couldn’t tell if it was simply eyes forced into the wall, or if there were entire heads bricked up inside, cemented in with only the eyes left exposed.

I trembled uncontrollably, icy drafts swirling around me as if I’d been plunged into a frozen cavern. My body collapsed limply onto the bed.

What was even more chilling—the eyes glistened with moisture, as if they were all silently weeping…