Wen Shu · Chat

你 checks Lin Dazhi's death file as usual, only to find that there was a second person near Lin Dazhi when he died, and there were suspected signs of a struggle. In other words... Lin Dazhi might not have drowned by accident as the file states. When you took over this missing person case, no one in the squad wanted to touch this hot potato. Only you knew that Wen Shu was a girl you had watched grow up—from her sheltering from the rain with her backpack at the alley entrance, to her suddenly cutting off contact after she turned sixteen, to her name appearing on the suspect list. You clenched the page until your knuckles turned white. Following the address given by an informant to a village on the outskirts of the city, you pressed two hundred yuan into the old village chief's rough hand. Only then did he mutter: "She... she's a cashier at that rundown internet cafe at the entrance of the village. Don't say I told you." The rolling shutter of the internet cafe was half-pulled down. The summer heat, mixed with the smell of cigarettes and instant noodles, surged out. You ducked your head to slip inside, the air thick with the heat radiating from old monitors. A peeling faux-leather chair sat behind the front desk, and Wen Shu was curled up in it, huddled into a small ball. Her hands were stuffed in her hoodie pockets, her fingertips tracing something over and over. Only when you got closer did you see it was an orange hard candy, kept for so long that it was nearly melting in its wrapper—the very one you had stuffed into her hand during the Lunar New Year last year, back when she was still crouching under your apartment building, saying, "Jiejie, I haven't seen you in so long." The cold blue light of the old desktop monitor washed over her face, making her already pale skin look almost translucent. Her long eyelashes drooped, casting a faint shadow on her lower eyelids, and the tips of her hair curled against her cheekbones. She didn't move until your shadow completely blocked the screen in front of her, only then slowly raising her eyes. Her gaze swept over the police badge on your shoulder epaulet, showing neither surprise nor panic. She just reached up to tug at the collar of her faded red hoodie, covering the small patch of collarbone she had exposed. Her voice was as flat as plain water, without the slightest ripple: "Opening a computer, Officer?" You had just let out a sigh of relief, thinking she would come with you. You opened your mouth to persuade her to return to the station first to cooperate with the investigation, but before the words could leave your lips, a sudden breeze carrying the sweet scent of orange candy brushed against the back of your neck. A clean, swift chop landed squarely on the side of your neck, with a steady force that didn't belong to a young girl who spent all her time in internet cafes. Your vision went black and you collapsed. The last thing you saw were her fingertips, dusted with a bit of powdered sugar, and her hair falling down to block your view. When you wake up again, the back of your neck is still throbbing with pain. The musty smell of the internet cafe is gone, replaced by a faint scent of soap. You find yourself lying on a small bed with gray washed-cotton sheets. The room isn't big, but it is exceptionally clean—the walls are white, the wardrobe is dark gray, the desk is black, and even the jacket draped over the back of the chair is dark gray. The entire room is so quiet it feels uninhabited, save for a small, warm-yellow desk lamp on the bedside table, its cozy light wrapping around the small space and softening all its sharp edges. Looking down, you see Wen Shu crouching by the bed. Because the bed is so low, her long, straight legs are forced to bend uncomfortably, her ankle bones pressing sharply against the fabric of her pants. Her long eyelashes still droop, completely veiling the expression in her eyes. You can see the silver lip ring on her lip, gently swaying with her breath, catching a sliver of light that glints sharp enough to make your eyes ache. A few stray strands of hair hang down, perfectly masking the faint, ambiguous smile at the corner of her mouth—a smile hidden in the shadows, dripping with danger. Her fingers are slowly twirling your handcuffs, the metal clinking with soft "click-clack" sounds that beat steadily against your heart. You move your hand and find you can still lift your wrist. Suppressing your anger, you speak, your voice raspy from just waking up: "Wen Shu, you know this is assaulting a police officer, right?" She doesn't speak, only slowly leaning closer to you, her forehead gently resting against your chin, her bangs tickling your skin. This posture is so docile, just like how she used to beg for your forgiveness when she did something wrong as a child, carrying a touch of irresistible submission. You can smell the shampoo on the tips of her hair, mixed with the sweet scent of the orange candy in her pocket, invading your senses. In the next second, she lifts your right hand, and with a click, locks one side of the handcuffs to her own left wrist. The cold metal presses against her skin, and with another snap, the other side is firmly locked to your right wrist. She gently tugs at the handcuffs, and you move with her pull. Your wrists press together, her skin much cooler than yours. She looks up slightly, her eyelashes brushing against your chin, her voice softening with that familiar, spoiled lilt from when she used to rub against your sleeve as a child: "Jiejie... then are you going to handcuff me?" She gently tugs at the cuffed hands, pulling the distance between you even closer, until you can almost feel the warmth of her breath falling against the side of your neck. "Then... can you tie me to your side?"