Though Zhang Hao and Chen Jiajia didn’t believe it, Rong Qian was utterly convinced — she just couldn’t be certain whether the biographical account had been embellished in places.

“Oh right, Qianqian — how did you come across the name Shen Yi?” Chen Jiajia only thought to ask her now.

Rong Qian wasn’t sure how to explain, so she deflected and asked instead: “Let’s set that aside for now. Based on what’s here, can you find any other material about him?”

“Why not just go directly to this Shen Shuhuai person and ask?” Chen Jiajia said matter-of-factly, already working the mouse to pull up the account’s profile page. “Look — there’s an address. Since he’s the one who wrote the article, he must know.”

Rong Qian leaned over to look. Shen Shuhuai’s profile picture showed a man in his forties, with a warm smile and an easygoing air about him.

The location listed on the account placed him at the Haoyuan Mountain Estate villa complex on East City Road — a very well-known area, home exclusively to the wealthy and influential.

“Is there a contact number?” Rong Qian asked.

Chen Jiajia nodded. “I can find it for you if you want.”

“Go ahead — and send it to me later. By the way, has there been any news yet? The report has been out for several days and still no family members have come forward?” Rong Qian suddenly remembered to ask. Chen Jiajia shook her head. “Nothing.”

Rong Qian was quiet for a long moment, then felt a sudden urge to go look at the skeletal remains. Zhang Hao, seeing her move to leave, followed along.

When the skeleton had first been excavated, the deceased had been wearing a suit and overcoat, along with a red scarf — clearly indicating the accident had occurred in winter. The forensic team had also estimated the height: approximately 180 centimeters.

Rong Qian tried to recall Shen Yi’s height. He had seemed to be around 187 centimeters — quite tall. But she still couldn’t confirm at this point that this skeleton was his.

After lunch at the station, Rong Qian decided to pay a visit to Shen Shuhuai’s home.

But because the whole matter was so peculiar, she didn’t feel it was appropriate to bring Zhang Hao along — she didn’t want him learning too much, and she herself couldn’t make sense of it all yet. She was in no position to explain it to someone else.

So she hailed a taxi alone and made her way there. As for her own car — the rear had been badly damaged in the collision and was already at the repair shop.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, Rong Qian arrived at the Haoyuan Mountain Estate. Following the detailed address Chen Jiajia had provided, she made her way to the entrance of Shen Shuhuai’s property.

She pressed the doorbell and waited for a moment. A middle-aged man emerged — the very same face as the profile picture: Shen Shuhuai. He also wore glasses, though his features bore no particular resemblance to Shen Yi.

Rong Qian had initially wondered whether this person called Shen Shuhuai might be Shen Yi’s son, but the records indicated he was unmarried, so she set that thought aside.

Shen Shuhuai came out and opened the main gate, asking: “May I help you?”

“Hello, I’m Rong Qian — a criminal detective with the Public Security Bureau.” Rong Qian held up her badge. Shen Shuhuai glanced at it without much ceremony and invited her in.

Rong Qian followed him inside to the main hall. After Shen Shuhuai offered her a seat and began preparing tea, Rong Qian took the opportunity to look around.

The villa was magnificent — a long staircase soaring straight to the upper floors, like the interior of an exhibition hall, grand and ornate. She couldn’t even make out how many rooms existed on those upper levels. The lacquered premium maple wood flooring seemed to cast a soft glow across the entire space.

Yet for such a vast property, there was no one else in sight. Rong Qian asked: “Mr. Shen, is it just you living here?”

Shen Shuhuai smiled. Deep lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Indeed — though this isn’t actually my home. I’m just looking after the property on someone’s behalf.”

With that, he brought over a cup of tea and offered it to her with both hands. Rong Qian accepted with both of hers, took a sip, then asked whether he had heard about the news from a few days ago.

Shen Shuhuai nodded. “I heard — but it doesn’t really have anything to do with me.”

“In your impression, has anyone in the Shen family ever gone missing?” Rong Qian added the question.

Shen Shuhuai picked up his own teacup and took a sip before answering: “One person. He goes by Shen Yi — my cousin. Though he disappeared at sea.”

“So you do know Shen Yi!” Rong Qian’s eyes lit up. She leaned forward eagerly: “His stage name was Wei Long, correct? Since you know who he is, you must also know why all records of him were completely erased?”

Rong Qian had assumed that finding him would bring everything to light — but to her surprise, Shen Shuhuai shook his head and said simply that he didn’t know.

He said: “I don’t know a great deal about my cousin’s affairs. I was only a teenager when he disappeared. Though before he vanished, he did speak to me — asked me to look after his home.”

Rong Qian paused. This house — was this Shen Yi’s home?

“Miss Rong, you just asked me about the accident case in the news — and yet you also know about my cousin. May I ask what, exactly, you are?” Shen Shuhuai studied her with a measured, appraising gaze.

Rong Qian spoke gravely: “I am a criminal detective — you need have no doubt about that. The reason I came to find you is that the gentleman named Shen Yi may be connected to a disappearance case from decades ago — and potentially, he may even be connected to me.”

At those words, Shen Shuhuai’s brow furrowed. He was at something of a loss.

His cousin had disappeared decades ago, and every trace of his existence had been wiped clean.

By all logic, no one should have known he existed — so how did she know?

Rong Qian understood this was complicated to explain, but she laid out what she had discovered the previous night all the same.

Upon learning that she had come to know of Wei Long’s existence through a film, Shen Shuhuai had no reason to doubt that — he had his own disc copy of that film as well.

But there was still one thing he couldn’t understand: how had she come to know that Wei Long was Shen Yi?

Hearing him raise that question, Rong Qian knew there was no avoiding it. She told him everything that had happened that morning.

She had already steeled herself to be treated as a lunatic — but to her surprise, upon hearing that she had actually met his cousin, Shen Shuhuai wore an expression of quiet astonishment and said softly: “No wonder you felt so familiar to me the moment I saw you…”

“What do you mean? You’ve seen me before?” Rong Qian, realizing he wasn’t dismissing what she’d said, pressed him eagerly.

Shen Shuhuai stood up, told her to wait a moment, and went upstairs. He returned with a well-worn, faded photo album.

He sat back down and immediately flipped through it, searching for a moment, before pointing to one of the photographs and holding it out for her to see: “Take a look — is this you?”

Rong Qian looked — and once again, her face filled with astonishment.

Because this photograph was from an even more distant past. The image was a grainy black-and-white shot, steeped in a rich atmosphere of history.

In the photograph was a vintage piano, and standing in front of it was a woman — wearing a white button-down shirt and utility trousers, her belt cinched tightly, her waist so slender that two hands could easily encircle it.

Her gaze was directed somewhere to the side, her brow furrowed, her eyes carrying a troubled, anxious expression — as if she were worried about something.

Rong Qian didn’t even need to look closely. She could tell immediately: the woman in this photograph was herself.

“Mr. Shen, where did you get this photograph?” Rong Qian asked at once.

Shen Shuhuai made no attempt to conceal anything, answering honestly: “I found it when I was sorting through my cousin’s belongings. It’s a very old photograph — and the piano in it is the one in my cousin’s room.”

For some reason she couldn’t quite name, hearing him say the word “belongings” made Rong Qian feel a subtle, unsettled discomfort.

“Other than this one — are there no others with me in them?” Rong Qian stared at the photograph for a moment before asking.

Shen Shuhuai flipped through and shook his head. “Just this one. I’ve looked at this photograph many times over the years — so when you mentioned it just now, it came back to me right away.”

“And all these other photographs — who are the people in them?” Rong Qian badly wanted to take the album from his hands for a proper look, but he kept it held close and she couldn’t very well snatch it.

“They’re all very old photographs. Feel free to look if you’d like.” Shen Shuhuai extended it to her, taking great care given the age of the album, for fear of damaging anything.

Rong Qian accepted it with both hands and quickly flipped through the entire album. They were indeed all old photographs.

But there were very few of Shen Yi — only a sparse handful. The rest were of people she didn’t recognize.

Paging through these old images, Rong Qian was struck by a sense of familiarity — it reminded her of childhood trips to her maternal grandfather’s rural home, sitting with him and looking at the photographs he kept from his time fighting in the Korean War. The same deep, heavy sense of history washed over her now.

“Miss Rong, you said earlier that it was a photograph — one you and my cousin had taken together — that led to your encounter with him. Could it be that the photograph transported you back through time to the past?” Shen Shuhuai ventured the question.

Rong Qian found it somewhat amusing to hear this kind of speculation from a middle-aged man.

She herself was still half-convinced it couldn’t be real — and yet here he was, already arriving at that conclusion and finding it entirely plausible. He went on: “Miss Rong, I believe this matter is not so simple. In truth, the circumstances surrounding my cousin’s disappearance all those years ago were very strange — and it may genuinely have some connection to you.”

“You don’t think I’m the one who caused your cousin to disappear, do you?” Rong Qian said, half-amused and half-incredulous.

Shen Shuhuai shook his head, meeting her eyes with a look of complete sincerity: “That’s not what I mean. Only — many things that happened back then were genuinely difficult to explain. Perhaps some things are fated, and the hand of fate reaches across time. Miss Rong, I believe the person in the photograph is you.”