Probe
“Hey, Dr. Lin, are you still here so late?” a colleague preparing to leave asked her.
Lin Yan turned on the desk lamp, set her cleaned lunchbox aside.
“Yeah, I haven’t finished my work yet.”
“Well, Dr. Lin, we’re going to leave now. Goodbye.”
Lin Yan nodded briefly, acknowledging the farewell.
After everyone in the office had dispersed, Lin Yan pulled open a drawer and retrieved a yellowed file, gently brushing off the dust from its surface.
As she flipped open the first page, her teeth gradually clenched when her fingertips skimmed over that line of small print.
Jiangcheng City Public Security Bureau.
Forensic Medical Autopsy Report.
Jiang Public Forensic Examination No. 23 (1994).
Next came a lengthy summary of the case and detailed autopsy findings. Even though she couldn’t absorb a single word, Lin Yan forced herself to digest it all, to the point where her eyes were bloodshot, and she tasted a hint of blood on her tongue from biting down hard on her teeth.
— On June 18, 1994, a sanitation worker in our city discovered an unidentified package of flesh while performing routine duties at the Fenyang Dock. Forensic examination confirmed it as human tissue.
As her gaze moved down, Lin Yan felt as though she had returned to that summer. Despite the scorching weather, with temperatures reaching 40°C, the blazing sun overhead, she stood outside the funeral home, inexplicably feeling a chilling sensation in her limbs.
The words those criminal investigators had spoken to her now appeared before her eyes in black and white.
— The fragmented flesh lacked a head, torso, bones, and more. DNA analysis confirmed the deceased as Chen Chu Nan, a senior high school student from Jiangcheng City.
Those three words pierced her eyes deeply. Lin Yan clenched her right hand into a fist, clinging to the table as if she were on the brink of drowning, breathing heavily.
She seemed to want to crumple, crush, and throw away the paper, but at the same time, she had to continue reading word by word. As she chewed through her overwhelming hatred, her eyes welled up with tears, almost uncontrollably, leaving water stains on the desk.
She covered her mouth with her hand and let out a suppressed cry in the empty room.
After a few deep breaths, she raised her head, forcing the tears back. Her fingernails dug into her skin as she struggled to regain composure, but her body continued to tremble violently. Her heart felt like it was being twisted, and the suffocating sensation made it almost impossible for her to catch her breath.
Time was running out, and she needed to quickly put the file back. Lin Yan frantically opened the drawer, took out a bottle of chewing gum, poured out a few pieces, without bothering to count how many, and shoved them all into her mouth. She washed them down with the cold water from the morning on the table.
She closed her eyes, took deep breaths, and composed herself before continuing to flip through the file. She wanted to see the photos taken during the autopsy at that time, but as she turned several pages in a row, there was nothing.
She turned the file upside down, and a few thin sheets of paper fell out, but there were still no photos.
This couldn’t be!
Under current law, autopsy examinations must be conducted in conjunction with criminal photography and video recording. The photographs taken are also supposed to be archived together with the case file.
When the case file is archived, the lead forensic pathologist signs off on it, the chief forensic pathologist signs off on it, the head of the criminal investigation team signs off on it, and it is submitted for approval and closure by the Public Security Bureau director before being placed under the unified management of the file department.
If any link in this chain has gone wrong, it’s not just a matter of not being able to switch a cat for a prince; it’s a major crime that could lead to the loss of one’s official position!
Who could it be? Who!
Lin Yan gritted her teeth and went directly to the end of the case file to find the name of the lead forensic pathologist responsible for the autopsy at that time.
Li Bin.
She quickly took a photo of this page with her phone, then organized the case file back to its original state, tucked it into the spacious pocket of her white lab coat, and got up to head towards the file room.
“Hey, not bad. In the time it took me to use the restroom, you’ve managed to organize so much.”
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Song Yuhang didn’t even lift her head. “I thought you’d vanished.”
Lin Yan scoffed, “Well, I’m that kind of person. In return for that meal you treated me to, I’ll reluctantly work an extra shift with you.” She then bent down slightly and picked up the stack of files in front of her.
“Are these all sorted out? I’ll put them back; otherwise, there won’t be any place to sit.”
Song Yuhang glanced up at her and replied casually, “Sure, you’ve been so busy taking things out that you forgot to put them back.”
Lin Yan turned and walked away, while Song Yuhang watched her retreating figure, lost in thought.
That night was the first time Lin Yan had voluntarily stayed so late for overtime.
She rubbed her eyes, reviewed the case files, and transcribed the important details onto paper to hand over to Zheng Chengrui for summarization and organization.
The others were no different.
Such work was dull and tedious, and even Song Yuhang couldn’t help but stifle several yawns.
Duan Cheng ran out to the convenience store and bought them a large bag of canned coffee. He sat on one side, nibbling away like a small bird while his head bobbed slowly, and eventually, he slumped over the table, unable to get up anymore.
Outside the window, all was quiet, and on this autumn night, there was not even the sound of insects. The entire city’s Public Security Bureau was shrouded in darkness, with only this corner still illuminated.
Zheng Chengrui’s eyes were bloodshot from staring at the computer screen for so long. Fang Xin got up a few times to use the restroom, and the coffee in the plastic bag gradually diminished.
The last can ended up in her and Song Yuhang’s hands simultaneously.
Lin Yan was momentarily surprised but instinctively pulled her hand back. However, the other person pushed it towards her again and even opened the can tab for her.
“Here.”
She glanced over, but Song Yuhang had buried her head again, focusing on the files in her hands.
Lin Yan took a sip and then set it down to continue working.
Outside the window, the moon gradually descended to the west, and the eastern sky started to show a faint light. Even with the coffee to keep her awake, she couldn’t hold out any longer. Unconsciously, she ended up resting her head on the table, letting her thoughts drift back to the summer of 1994.
Song Yuhang got up, intending to return the last stack of files to the shelf. She took a few steps but saw Lin Yan sleeping soundly, so she turned back, removed her own coat, and gently draped it over her.
She continued her journey through the years, organizing the files in her hand into categories. However, she must have taken a wrong turn in the dark area ahead, where the lights were not turned on. Suddenly, she shivered all over.
Song Yuhang tightened her lips, continued further in, and stopped at the label for the year 1994.
Her fingertips brushed over these yellowed case files, inevitably picking up some dust. Finally—
She pulled out a case file from among them. The sealing thread on it was still intact, well-preserved, unlike the dusty files nearby.
Song Yuhang carefully bypassed the sealing thread.
“Chu Nan!” A woman’s frightened voice echoed from the reading room outside.
Song Yuhang set the case file down and rushed out.
Lin Yan lay on the table, trembling all over, her eyes closed, her face pale, and sweat-dampened hair sticking tightly to her forehead.
Song Yuhang placed her hand on Lin Yan’s shoulder. “Lin Yan? Wake up—”
Lin Yan suddenly jolted awake, wrenching her wrist away, and was about to exert force when she gradually focused on those light brown eyes.
Song Yuhang relaxed her grip, and there was a visible hint of concern in her eyes. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Lin Yan rested her hand on her forehead to steady herself. “No… Are they all gone?”
“Yeah, we’ve pretty much finished organizing. We have a meeting early tomorrow, so I sent them all home.”
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Song Yuhang went to the water cooler and fetched a glass of warm water for her. “Feeling unwell? Your complexion looks really pale.”
Lin Yan held the warm paper cup, and over her shoulders draped her own clothes, which still retained some warmth.
It was as if she had just fully emerged from that dream, and she managed a weak smile. “No, I’m fine. I’ll head back now.”
“Alright, then I’ll walk you out,” Song Yuhang said as she followed Lin Yan towards the exit.
“No need, I’ll have Old Lin come to pick me up.” Lin Yan stopped at the entrance of the city bureau, declining Song Yuhang’s offer with a meaningful look in her eyes.
Whenever she looked at her like that, Song Yuhang couldn’t help but recall numerous moments when they exchanged meaningful glances.
Her own unspoken thoughts were laid bare in front of Lin Yan, who had a knack for reading people, making her turn to dig a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and light one up.
“You didn’t smoke this often before.”
Lin Yan glanced at the cigarette pack. “Oh, it’s still Zhonghua. Why not go for the women’s brand?”
Song Yuhang laughed and waited for the car with her. “It’s too mild, doesn’t give me a kick. So, Dr. Lin, are you concerned about whether I smoke or not?”
A subtle exchange.
Lin Yan responded in kind, “It’s a professional habit. You can extract a person’s DNA from a cigarette butt, and DNA sequences determine a person’s aging, pathology, and time of death.”
“Some theoretical studies also suggest that DNA determines whether you’ll like someone at first sight.”
Lin Yan snorted, “It’s elusive. Liking someone at first sight probably boils down to primal instincts.”
A car approached in the distance, its headlights piercing through the mist. Song Yuhang stubbed out her cigarette. “Your ride is here.”
Lin Yan returned the coat she had draped over her shoulders and prepared to leave. Before she departed, Song Yuhang asked her one final question.
“Who is Chu Nan?”
Under the stairs, Lin Yan’s expression shifted like a kaleidoscope, and in just a minute, the full spectrum of human emotions played out in her.
No words were needed, as Song Yuhang had already understood the answer.
She took a step back, waved a perfunctory goodbye, and said, “See you tomorrow.”
Lin Yan didn’t utter a word, got into the car, and watched as the streetlights flowed past her vision. Gradually, Song Yuhang’s face disappeared.
In the rearview mirror, the last glimpse was of her crouching at the street corner, lighting another cigarette.
Back at home, Lin Yan, after taking a shower and drying her hair, walked out. She retrieved another phone from the study’s drawer and made a call. “Hello? Can you help me look up someone? His name is Li Bin, and he served as the lead forensic pathologist at the Jiangcheng City Public Security Bureau fourteen years ago.”
* * *
“In the past year in our city, a total of 2,752 adolescents died by suicide. Their ages ranged from 11 to 18 years, with a majority being females. Even after excluding factors such as family issues, academic pressure, and conflicts with teachers and students, there are still over a thousand cases where the cause of suicide cannot be determined.”
Song Yuhang, dressed in a police uniform, stood before the large screen and spoke confidently. “So, we used statistical data to summarize common characteristics among these suicide cases.”
“First, most of the deceased had introverted personalities and were not good at socializing.”
“Second, they came from complex family backgrounds and had experienced varying degrees of long-term bullying or exclusion from their peers.”
“Third…” She paused slightly, looking up. “They all left their own suicide notes at the scene.”
Below, there was a murmur of whispers, and Zhang Jinhai raised his teacup, taking a sip, his brows furrowing into a “川” character.
“Fourth, there were no eyewitnesses during the suicides, and there were no biological or physical evidence left at the scene besides the deceased.”
If the first two points were based on personality analysis derived from statistical big data, the latter two points did indeed raise significant doubts.
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However, Song Yuhang continued, undeterred.
“Fifth, when reviewing these case files, the most frequently occurring words were ‘ocean,’ ‘white whale,’ and ‘liberation,’ with a repetition rate approaching seventy-five percent.”
Song Yuhang clicked on the PowerPoint presentation and enlarged a graph on the screen, which was colored predominantly in red.
This was prepared by Zheng Chengrui during his overnight work. The two of them exchanged a glance, and Song Yuhang nodded slightly in gratitude towards him.
“Additionally, it’s worth noting that during the investigation of the ‘He Miao’ case, we also found similar patterns in her notebook, and these same images have appeared in the current case.”
Song Yuhang clicked the pen, and two nearly identical pictures appeared on the large screen.
“Regardless of whether it’s a coincidence or not, the high frequency, high suicide rate, and the fact that most of the victims are adolescents in these cases should indeed be a cause for concern.”
“Psychological suggestion varies in strength, and the effectiveness of it cannot be controlled by a person’s will. For instance, some people, after discovering their pale complexion, go to the hospital for a check-up, only to be diagnosed with cancer. The suggestion works, and they lose hope, eventually succumbing to illness. On the other hand, some individuals remain optimistic, engage in physical activities, and lead a healthy lifestyle, unaffected by such suggestions.”
“In principle, the effects of psychological suggestion cannot be consciously controlled by individuals, but if someone deliberately creates certain circumstances…”
Song Yuhang observed her speaking confidently in her police uniform, standing among the crowd. Her demeanor exuded confidence and vitality, and a subtle smile played on her lips.
“For instance, if a teacher tells you that you did much worse in this exam compared to the previous one, you might start to question if you’re truly not intelligent enough. Over time, even if you’re not inherently unintelligent, your subconscious may make you feel less smart and less capable. This is what we call deep psychological suggestion, or psychological induction.”
After delivering this long explanation, Lin Yan felt her mouth dry and parched. She picked up a glass of water from the table and took a big gulp, wiping her lips afterward.