The clue ultimately pointed to a dead man.
The table fell silent, leaving only the bubbling hot pot to fill the air with noise.
Xue Xuanqing broke the silence, saying, "Judging from the email, if this lead is genuine, the informant is likely a former employee of New Hope. He might have even witnessed the two cars leaving. But what was the subject line of his email again—'You think New Hope only started falsifying data today?' What does that mean? Did New Hope fake data back in the early days? And how is that connected to the two cars leaving?"
"That's exactly what he meant." Zong Ying, who had been silent for a while, finally responded, "So the key to this lead lies in whether New Hope actually engaged in data falsification in its early years and how that connects to my mother’s accident."
Xue Xuanqing frowned, tapping the tablecloth-covered surface with her knuckles. After a long pause, she asked, "Let me ask a few questions."
Zong Ying looked up. "Go ahead."
"First, your mother was the head of New Hope’s R&D department at the time. She would have known the entire drug development process inside out, including the data. Do you think she was the type to falsify data?
"Second, assuming there really was data falsification back then, how has this drug been on the market for so long without any issues? How did the regulators miss it?
"Third, even if Xing Xueyi’s car and your mother’s car left together that day, what does that prove? Did Xing Xueyi witness your mother’s accident? For all we know, they could have gone their separate ways right after leaving."
One question after another was laid out on the table, but picking up the chopsticks, they didn’t know where to start.
"So there’s a lead, but it might not be useful." Seeing Zong Ying’s silence, Xue Xuanqing quickly concluded, "The journalist who sent this to you was probably just as confused, so they forwarded it directly to you. It’s clearly meant to—what’s that phrase again?"
"Throw out a brick to attract jade," Sheng Qingrang interjected.
"Right." Xue Xuanqing responded with slight surprise, turning her gaze to Sheng Qingrang, who was calmly adding ingredients to the pot.
"Stop—" She immediately halted him. "You’re the guest today; no need to do the work yourself."
Xue Xuanqing stood up to call a server. Sheng Qingrang set down his utensils and glanced at Zong Ying, who was lost in thought. He didn’t offer words of comfort but simply stood to refill her glass of sparkling water.
Zong Ying snapped out of her daze and thanked him before tucking her phone back into her pocket.
The server re-entered the private room, and fresh ingredients were added one by one to the milky mushroom broth. Steam rose, filling the room with the rich aroma of food.
Though the late-night feast was tempting, Zong Ying had little appetite. Sheng Qingrang matched her pace, eating sparingly. Xue Xuanqing glanced at the two of them and realized the meal had been thoroughly soured by that anonymous lead.
But with so much food ordered—and none of it cheap—she couldn’t let it go to waste. So she dug in with determination and, unsurprisingly, ended up overeating.
Xue Xuanqing finished the mango pomelo sago in her bowl and, without even wiping her mouth, picked up her phone and forwarded an email to Zong Ying.
After a long delay, Zong Ying’s phone buzzed with a new email notification, but she ignored it.
Xue Xuanqing set her phone down. "I scanned an electronic copy of your mother’s case files and just forwarded it to you. Check your inbox."
Zong Ying immediately pulled out her phone and opened the email to download the attachment.The file hadn't finished downloading when Xue Xuanqing remarked from the side, "I skimmed through it while scanning. The footprints collected at the scene were quite chaotic, likely left by construction workers. Although the bloodstains showed signs of disturbance, according to the person who reported the incident, he was in a panic when he discovered the body, so the bloodstains were probably accidentally touched while trying to identify it. All the photos taken at the time are in there—you can take a closer look."
Zong Ying opened the attachments, scrolling through them one by one, her fingers trembling slightly involuntarily.
Having been in the field for years, she had handled numerous cases and witnessed far more gruesome scenes. But this was the first time she was seeing Yan Man's accident scene photos and autopsy images. As she flipped through them, a long-dormant fear slowly crept over her, the same feeling she had experienced years ago beside a pitch-black trash bin, listening to a distorted rendition of "Happy Birthday."
The Yan Man in these photos was disheveled and bloodied—nothing like the upright, clear-eyed Yan Man in her memories.
She pressed her lips together tightly as Xue Xuanqing continued, "Although there were minor signs of human interference at the scene, the starting and ending points of the fall were clear. Judging from the trajectory, there was no external force involved. Despite all the rumors circulating, the forensic report didn't explicitly state suicide—it was ruled as an accidental or voluntary fall, excluding homicide. Personally... I think the conclusion is sound."
Zong Ying's scrolling finger paused at a line on the screen that read:
"Due to insufficient evidence of homicide, the case will not be pursued."
After that, the investigation into the incident was dropped.
At that inopportune moment, a waiter asked, "Would you like any dessert to finish your meal?"
Xue Xuanqing pulled out her bank card and handed it over. "No, just the bill."
Leaving the private room and heading downstairs, they found the dining hall nearly empty, the piano music long silenced. Stepping outside, the wind had picked up.
Xue Xuanqing retrieved her car and insisted on driving Zong Ying home. She glanced at Sheng Qingrang and asked, "Where are you headed, Mr. Sheng?"
Sheng Qingrang replied, "I'll go with Miss Zong."
Xue Xuanqing fell silent at this, but remembering the apartment key Zong Ying had given him, she had no choice but to accept the reality that he was living with her at Apartment 699.
The car turned onto Middle Fuxing Road, heading toward Apartment 699, arriving just past midnight.
Xue Xuanqing got out first, followed by Sheng Qingrang, who opened the car door for Zong Ying and said, "It's windy—go on ahead."
Xue Xuanqing popped open the trunk, shooting them a glance before calling out, "Mr. Sheng, would you mind taking your bicycle out?"
Sheng Qingrang quickly went over to retrieve it, only to hear Xue Xuanqing lower her voice and say, "I don’t want Zong Ying getting dragged into danger or accidents because of you. As for the rest, I have nothing more to say. Goodbye."
With that, she glared at him, slammed the trunk shut, hurried back into the car, and sped off.
The quiet street was left with only Sheng Qingrang and the bicycle he had borrowed from Mr. Ye.
When Sheng Qingrang entered the apartment, he realized Zong Ying had been waiting for him in the dimly lit hallway.
"Wait a moment," he said, wheeling the bike to a corner of the hallway and parking it there. Almost to himself, he murmured, "Mr. Ye liked keeping it in that spot."
But there was no Mr. Ye in the apartment now. The fate of this unknown service staff member, like the futures of the other residents, had gone unrecorded—and thus remained unknown.The elevator seemed to be malfunctioning, so they had to take the stairs.
The stairwell was eerily silent and cold, devoid of any sound, as if the entire building was empty.
The two of them maintained a tacit silence, and even after returning to the apartment, they each busied themselves with their own affairs.
Zong Ying took a shower, took her medication, and then went to rest. Sheng Qingrang was the last to turn off the hallway light before heading upstairs.
No one could sleep.
Zong Ying lay on her side, flipping through the photos in the documents. The streetlight outside cast its glow through the sixteen-pane window, the intersecting grid shadows dividing her into fragments.
She sat up, holding her phone, and walked toward the living room. Just as she settled onto the sofa, she suddenly heard the sound of a typewriter from upstairs—the mechanical clatter of keys being pressed.
Zong Ying listened quietly for a while, then poured herself a glass of water and silently made her way upstairs.
A faint light seeped out from under the door.
She raised her hand and knocked. The typing stopped abruptly. Sheng Qingrang paused, then said, "Come in."
Zong Ying pressed down the door handle and entered. She saw him seated at a small desk beside the bed, a desk lamp illuminating the space. Next to the lamp sat a typewriter, the paper densely covered in letters.
She walked over and placed the glass of water beside the lamp, casually asking, "Still not sleeping?"
Sheng Qingrang replied, "Working on a document needed by the Municipal Council." He then looked up at her and cautiously added, "Miss Zong, are you unable to sleep because of that case?"
Zong Ying didn’t evade the question. "Yes."
Sheng Qingrang pressed further, "Because of that lead?"
Zong Ying said, "The lead is vague, but it’s stirred up a lot of speculation."
Sheng Qingrang recalled the series of questions Xue Xuanqing had asked at the dinner table and said, "Miss Xue mentioned that your mother was the head of the R&D department. Do you think she would have allowed falsification to occur?"
Would Yan Man have allowed falsification?
No.
That was Zong Ying’s answer. Privately, she had absolute trust in Yan Man, but she didn’t voice it.
At that moment, Sheng Qingrang suddenly opened his notebook, unscrewed the cap of his fountain pen, hesitated for a couple of seconds, then said, "Then let’s first assume that Ms. Yan would not have allowed falsification—"
With that, he began writing rapidly:
"Premise: Ms. Yan would not allow falsification.
"Did New Hope falsify data in its early years? → No → Contradicts the lead.
"Did New Hope falsify data in its early years? → Yes → Was Ms. Yan aware? → No → Contradicts the lead.
"Did New Hope falsify data in its early years? → Yes → Was Ms. Yan aware? → Yes → Did Ms. Yan intervene? → No → Contradicts the premise.
"Did New Hope falsify data in its early years? → Yes → Was Ms. Yan aware? → Yes → Did Ms. Yan intervene? → Yes → Was the intervention successful? → Yes → No falsification → Contradicts the lead."
He paused abruptly at this point. The dim glow of the desk lamp illuminated the handwriting in his notebook and the fountain pen in his hand.
He continued writing:
"Was the intervention successful? → No → Intervention failed → Did the failure result in an accident? Nature of the accident? Was Xing Xueyi involved? What role did he play in the accident? Motive?"
Zong Ying leaned in to look, instinctively narrowing her eyes. This was a different approach from Xue Xuanqing’s line of questioning—not necessarily airtight, but she saw a relatively complete path.
Just as Zong Ying was absorbed in thought, Sheng Qingrang spoke up. "Ruling out suicide, if you believe the lead is credible and worth exploring, then it’s possible your mother was aware of the falsification and tried to stop it, and as a result, met with misfortune. This Xing Xueyi would undoubtedly be a breakthrough, even if he’s already deceased."He screwed the cap back on the pen and set it down. "They say the dead take their secrets to the grave, but those like Xing Xueyi who pass away suddenly often leave their belongings intact—there's no time to destroy the secrets they'd rather keep hidden."
Suddenly, he turned his head, meeting her gaze. His voice carried the calm peculiar to the late hours: "Miss Zong, you're a forensic examiner. You understand this better than I do."
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