Rong Qian took a moment to untangle the chaos in her mind, then got out of the car with steady strides.
Walking into the station, she saw Squad Leader Zhou waving her over, saying: “Rong Qian, where’s that photograph? I heard about it from the evidence room — bring it out for everyone to have a look.”
Curious eyes all turned in her direction. Rong Qian said nothing, however. Her face impassive, she pulled out the license plate information she’d received and handed it to Chen Jiajia, who handled information lookups. “Jiajia, help me run this plate — who does this vehicle belong to?”
Chen Jiajia was still drinking her soy milk and set it down hurriedly at Rong Qian’s words. “What’s going on with this car?”
Rong Qian’s expression darkened. Noticing everyone’s eyes on her, she went ahead and told them about the attack she’d nearly suffered that morning.
As for the car accident, and the encounter with Shen Yi — she mentioned none of it.
Upon learning she’d been followed first thing in the morning by someone who was possibly carrying a firearm, Squad Leader Zhou immediately took it seriously.
This was no trivial matter. As a criminal detective, there was always the risk of being targeted by criminals — it was not something to be taken lightly.
Squad Leader Zhou asked her: “Rong Qian, do you have any leads?”
Rong Qian shook her head. “None. I’ve been on the job five years and haven’t made enemies of anyone, let alone an armed criminal organization. Right now I have absolutely no direction — the only approach is to start investigating.”
“Understood. Stay alert these days and try not to act alone. With so many colleagues in this team, are we going to be short of someone to watch your back? Here’s what we’ll do — I’ll have Zhang Hao stay with you. That way I can rest easy.” Squad Leader Zhou said his piece and glanced at Zhang Hao, whose expression had turned grave the moment he learned she’d been attacked.
Suddenly called upon, Zhang Hao startled for a moment, then said quickly: “On it!”
“Fine by me.” Rong Qian had no objections.
Zhang Hao sauntered over to her side, thumped his chest, and announced: “Sister Rong, don’t worry — I’ll protect you!”
Rong Qian gave him a sidelong glance. “You can’t even beat me. Where do you get the nerve to say that?”
Zhang Hao looked awkward, casting about for a way to save face: “I was going easy on you! You’re a woman — I can’t exactly go all out. Not to mention I…” The three words “like you” lodged in his throat and, no matter what, he could not make himself say them aloud.
“Not to mention what?” Rong Qian raised an eyebrow. He gave a dry cough and said under his breath: “Never mind.”
Rong Qian paid no further attention to whatever was going on in his head. Seeing that Squad Leader Zhou and the others had turned their focus squarely onto the matter of her attack, she went ahead and told them the photograph had gone missing.
She told a small white lie — that she’d been careless with it, and it had blown out the car window while she was driving; she had no idea where it had gone.
Squad Leader Zhou was indeed in no mood at that point to worry about something like that. He said, well, if it was lost it was lost, and didn’t ask any further.
Additionally, after giving the matter some thought, Squad Leader Zhou decided to put her fully in charge of the case, with Zhang Hao and Chen Jia assisting her in the continued investigation.
On one hand, this case only required identifying the deceased and waiting for family members to come forward. The workload wasn’t heavy and it was the perfect assignment to keep her from running around and getting into danger.
What Squad Leader Zhou didn’t know was that this case would, in fact, require her to run around — all the way back through time to the past to investigate.
And Rong Qian had been waiting precisely for these words. She had a whole heap of unanswered questions she needed to resolve.
Zhang Hao came over and asked: “Sister Rong, did you see the photograph? Can it confirm the identity of the deceased?”
At his words, Rong Qian paused. She’d nearly forgotten — but could that skeleton truly be Shen Yi’s?
Rong Qian couldn’t be certain. She didn’t answer him, but instead dragged over a chair and squeezed in beside Chen Jiajia, asking her to search for someone named Wei Long.
Zhang Hao stood behind her, curious. “Who is this Wei Long?”
“An actor — the person in the photograph.” Rong Qian kept her eyes on the screen, answering absently.
“Wei Long?” Zhang Hao rubbed his chin, thought for a moment, and shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
Rong Qian had expected that, with the station’s information network, they’d be able to dig up at least some trace of information — but Chen Jiajia searched extensively and came up empty, shaking her head.
Rong Qian drummed her fingertips lightly on the desk. She bit her lip in thought, then wrote a different name on a piece of paper.
Chen Jiajia looked at it. “Shen Yi? Who’s this?”
“I’d like to know too. Just search for now.” Rong Qian was eager. Chen Jiajia didn’t delay and typed the name “Shen Yi” into the computer.
A great many results appeared. Rong Qian went through them one by one, eliminating all irrelevant entries — but after searching for quite some time, she still found no information whatsoever about any person named Shen Yi.
Rong Qian refused to accept that there was simply nothing to find. Just then, she happened to catch a glimpse of a social media account on the screen belonging to someone named Shen Shuhuai, on which a short passage of text mentioned the name “Shen Yi.”
Rong Qian quickly told Chen Jiajia to click on it and go to the profile page. Chen Jiajia made a few clicks, only to discover that the article in question was password protected.
Anyone else would have been stopped there — but for Chen Jiajia, it was just a matter of wiggling her fingers.
In no time at all she had accessed the other party’s social media account and opened the article, which turned out to be a biographical entry. The subject of the piece was a man named Shen Yi.
The moment the article loaded, a black-and-white portrait photo appeared prominently on the page.
The instant she saw that familiar face, Rong Qian — despite having braced herself — felt her composure flicker for a brief, unguarded moment.
Unbidden, her mind conjured the image of him speaking to her, and of him fastening the watch onto her wrist — how he had taken her hand in his, and how, contrary to what she might have imagined, his hand had been warm and broad, lean yet strong, substantial and real.
Even in black and white, his appearance was strikingly distinguished: sword-sharp brows, bright eyes, luminous teeth, and features of precise, three-dimensional refinement. Even through a screen, one could sense the effortless grace and noble elegance that radiated from him.
He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, seated inside an automobile, his deep gaze directed outward through the window — as if bidding farewell to someone dear to him, his expression suffused with an unconcealed depth of emotion and tenderness.
“Wow, this man is something — a pity he was born in the wrong era. No way to see him in person.” Chen Jiajia sighed wistfully.
At her words, Rong Qian pulled her attention back. She looked at the caption beside the photograph: his date of birth and the account of his past.
Shen Yi. Stage name: Wei Long. Renowned actor.
Date of birth: July 24, 1956. Disappeared on May 4, 1988. Due to his disappearance and unknown whereabouts, he was declared dead after many years — having lived only to the age of 32.
Rong Qian’s eyes went straight to the dates. 1956 — born in 1956? Then what year was it when she had met him?
Rong Qian pressed her fingers to her brow and closed her eyes, casting her mind back to what had happened.
She clearly remembered: she had genuinely been in a car accident. That photograph had genuinely disintegrated in her hand.
And then, when she next opened her eyes, she had found herself face to face with Shen Yi.
Was it possible that the photograph had transported her back to the past?
And then, the moment the camera shutter clicked — she had been sent back? And time had been moved back by approximately five minutes?
Something like this — Rong Qian would never have entertained the thought in the past. But right now, this seemed to be the only explanation.
Chen Jiajia, still unaware of what was going through Rong Qian’s mind, read the biographical description of Shen Yi’s life carefully. When she finished, the look on her face was one of pure astonishment.
Chen Jiajia exclaimed: “A person like this actually existed? Harvard graduate at 18, a double master’s degree, fluent in seven or eight languages, accomplished at both piano and violin — and had won prizes at internationally renowned competitions in every one of them. His acting was the same — every film he appeared in was an award winner.”
And that wasn’t even all of it. The article further noted that at the age of six he had emigrated to the United States with his family, growing up there. His father had been a highly prominent business magnate — of immense wealth — so it could be said that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
It was just a pity that his father had died of illness at a relatively young age. Before Shen Yi was even twenty, he had stepped in to take over the family enterprise, which had been on the verge of collapse at the time.
Back then, he was acting in films while simultaneously managing the family company’s operations — and somehow, against all odds, he had grown the company into a publicly listed corporation.
Although he had grown up in America, his heart had always longed for his homeland — and he had indeed returned to the country.
Throughout his life, Shen Yi had devoted himself to charitable causes. What no one had known was that the fees he earned from his acting were almost entirely donated to charitable foundations, leaving very little for himself.
After reading through the entry, Chen Jiajia found herself skeptical.
If a person like this had genuinely existed decades ago, why was there absolutely no information to be found? And why had no one ever heard of such a figure in the history of Chinese cinema?
Especially when she searched for the films he had supposedly appeared in: in some cases, his scenes had been removed entirely; in others, the films themselves simply didn’t exist.
This led Chen Jiajia to speculate: “Could this all be made up? Maybe this person never existed at all?”
“I think so too — probably fabricated, right?” Zhang Hao had read through it as well, and his first instinct was disbelief. Where in the world would you find someone this perfect?
Rong Qian, however, having read it all, was quietly stunned. So he was this remarkable a person?