Chapter 33: You are the only Cheng Zesheng I know
Cheng Zesheng brought back the composition analysis table of the gunpowder residue. After analyzing the composition of the gunpowder residue and comparing it with the reference from He Wei, it was confirmed that the components were the same. This provides strong evidence for the theory of space-time folding and infiltration.
If previously it was just their speculation, now they could be certain that the evidence from both scenes indeed needed to be reattributed. They have to find out what belongs to each other to solve the case sooner.
The last time they separated the shoe prints, only a part was divided. The assumption was that the shoe prints with embedded stone patterns belonged to He Wei, while the remaining ones belonged to Cheng Zesheng. The separation of the evidence was relatively clear; there was no overlapping of physical evidence between the two scenes. It was easy to determine which evidence belonged to the other side.
He Wei held a box with the treasure in his hand, eating with relish. He saw a cellphone image in a transparent evidence bag, picked up a pen, and wrote: [Is this He Wei’s?]
[Yes, it’s broken. There’s no useful information, and only one image is intact.]
Cheng Zesheng took out his phone and opened the saved musical score image, placing it on the tea table. The phone appeared before his eyes, and He Wei looked down, suddenly frozen, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
The diary found at pianist Cheng Zesheng’s house had been brought to the station, but He Wei’s memory was excellent, and he could recall things instantly. After a few seconds of reminiscing, he told Cheng Zesheng that this was something written by another version of him.
Cheng Zesheng was taken aback: [Are you saying that this phone belongs to the Cheng Zesheng on your side?]
[I can’t be certain, as we haven’t found Cheng Zesheng’s phone. I suspected Cheng Zhenqing took it at the time, but now I realize it might have infiltrated over to your side.]
Cheng Zesheng looked at the simplified scene diagram and marked the location where the phone dropped: [It’s quite a distance from Cheng Zesheng. Did the killer kick it over here during a struggle with He Wei?]
[No matter how it got there, the content inside was written by Cheng Zesheng. That much is certain.]
He Wei glanced at the phone before continuing to write: [Impressive, even your parallel selves have the same phone as you.]
Cheng Zesheng picks up his own phone, realizing he didn’t pay attention to the model and color during evidence collection. After all, there were only a few major smartphone brands on the market, like Hua X and Apple X, etc. It was not surprising that at least two out of ten people on the street would be using the same model.
When they initially found the phone, there were no fingerprints on it. However, since it was near He Wei, it was naturally categorized as physical evidence. But the musical score inside was written by Cheng Zesheng. It was definitely a piece of evidence that came through the folded space from the other side. No wonder the traced numbers were all disconnected; it’s because they didn’t belong to this world. If a call could be connected, then that would be truly supernatural.
The physical evidence image from the phone was attributed to He Wei. He Wei wrote down the music score he just saw on the whiteboard, his index finger resting under his chin as he contemplated the potential special meaning of this particular excerpted music score.
Cheng Zesheng felt it was time to let him know, so he drew an arrow on the music score, pointing to a circular dial.
He Wei looked up at the quartz clock and instantly grasped the connection—it was piano music. He had learned to play an instrument for a while when he was younger—not the piano—but he had some musical sense. The tones in the music score note could be pieced together, revealing that it was not the usual hourly chime melody but rather the section for 12 o’clock.
To be honest, that musical segment wasn’t pleasing to the ear, and He Wei didn’t understand why it would be set like this. He thought it might have been a factory-set sound to differentiate the hours. Even though he had a diary with various musical scores, this unfinished composition had escaped his notice until Cheng Zesheng pointed it out.
[I can’t find any matching music here. Perhaps it’s not a song but some kind of code.]
Seeing the words on the whiteboard, He Wei’s first thought was of Morse code. However, Cheng Zesheng quickly informed him that they’d tried various codes, and none of them had yielded useful information. Perhaps it was not a commonly used type of code but rather a self-created form of secret language.
He Wei also attempted to decode it, but after fifteen minutes, he gave up. Like Cheng Zesheng, the internationally recognized codes didn’t fit, and the more obscure ones didn’t work either. Perhaps they truly need Cheng Zesheng himself to come back from the other side to fully understand and explain it.
As for why this piece of music had become the bridge connecting the two parallel worlds, it remained a baffling mystery. He had been speculating that the inability to communicate in the mansion yesterday might have been due to the lack of piano music as a guide. Since they’d discovered this key, it was worth trying it out the next time they were in the mansion; after all, practice leads to true understanding.
Recently, due to the need to organize the case details and the peculiar nature of communication between the two worlds only being possible after midnight, their morning routines have been getting progressively later. However, they were both quite conscientious and made sure to finish everything before 12 o’clock, as the “audio conference” after that is even more crucial.
But today, they have obviously exceeded the time limit. Cheng Zesheng noticed that it was only five minutes away from midnight and rushed to take a shower. He Wei wasn’t in a hurry and studied the photos on the whiteboard. There was one seemingly insignificant piece of evidence left at the scene—a glass marble.
This item bore Cheng Zesheng’s fingerprints, indicating that it should have fallen out of Cheng Zesheng and rolled under the couch. However, observing the layout between the two bodies, He Wei felt that this marble was more likely to have fallen from the deceased version of himself.
He Wei rubbed his forehead in frustration and gave a wry smile. This case was truly not something an ordinary person could handle. He prided himself on having a fast-thinking mind, but in the face of such a bizarre event, there were still many aspects he barely comprehended.
The doorbell rang, and He Wei went to answer it. The food delivery had arrived.
“Hello, this is your food delivery. If it’s convenient, please open the app…”
Cheng Zesheng’s voice interjects, “He Wei, lower the temperature on the water heater!”
“Got it.” He Wei replied, then looked back at the delivery guy. “Is there anything else?”
“… If you’re satisfied, please give a five-star rating.” The delivery guy looked utterly baffled; the room was eerily quiet, and he was wondering who he was talking to.
He Wei remained completely oblivious to anything amiss. After closing the door, he went to adjust the water heater and then placed the food on the table, waiting for Cheng Zesheng.
Five minutes later, Cheng Zesheng emerged with a misty aura around him. As he went to open the door, he remembered He Wei’s peculiar rule and stepped back to the bathroom mat, tapping his shoes to dry the soles.
When he came out, he noticed the food on the table and curiously asked, “You’re eating at this hour?”
“It’s a late-night snack. If you treat me to a meal, I should reciprocate,” He Wei said leisurely. “Give it a try, this place’s stir-fried rice noodles are really delicious.”
“…What?” Damn—He Wei— what delicious?
Cheng Zesheng’s mind is a jumble of conflicted thoughts. He Wei’s slightly husky yet cool voice repeated, “Stir-fried rice noodles, you’ve never had them?”
“I have.” Cheng Zesheng’s hand touched the bag. He noticed the food had disappeared and jotted down a note: Any financial transaction that involved him would result in his interaction with the item causing it to disappear, even if someone else delivered it.
Thankfully, the money on the whiteboard wasn’t handed over to Chong Zhen, or he’d have to buy another one.
Cheng Zesheng opened the bag and unintentionally caught sight of the message left on top: “Name: He Wei, Address: Future Domain 404.” Below that was a phone number. He opened the box, and the tantalizing aroma wafted into his nose. As he took his chopsticks and began to eat, a fleeting sensation crossed his mind, an almost ethereal thought that slipped through his grasp before he could fully comprehend it.
He Wei and Cheng Zesheng engage in casual chatter, discussing their meeting from yesterday and mentioning the presence of a friend at the scene. He asked Cheng Zesheng if he saw the friend in the mirror.
“No, it was just you,” Cheng Zesheng replied.
He Wei nodded. “He can’t see you; I guess you probably can’t see him either. Next time, bring the clock along and come again. Bring a friend with you. Let’s test whether we can hear sounds when there’s piano music.”
Cheng Zesheng ate half of the rice noodles, being mindful not to eat too much before bedtime. He covered the box, tied the bag shut, and his gaze drifted over the food receipt. He shivered suddenly, finally realizing what that fleeting thought was.
He Wei’s phone number was one of the disconnected numbers that were extracted from Cheng Zesheng’s phone.
If that phone really belonged to pianist Cheng Zesheng, based on the current evidence, it was unlikely that He Wei doesn’t know him. Even if they were not intimately connected, appearing in the contact list would mean they were not strangers.
He Wei propped his legs up, leaning against the sofa as he continued flipping through the book on “Forensic Toxicology.” Cheng Zesheng approaches and speaks in a low voice, “He Wei.”
“Yeah?”
Identifying He Wei’s precise location, Cheng Zesheng bent down, his hands gripping the back of the sofa chair. He Wei instinctively felt a sense of pressure, as if a shadow had cast over him, enveloping and enclosing him in its grip.
The air carries a faint, cool scent of mint shampoo, intermingled with the rhythm of breathing—each inhale and exhale existing within an ambiguous proximity.
“You and Cheng Zesheng really don’t know each other?”
One could almost imagine the furrowed brow and the feigned seriousness in his expression at this moment.
He spoke casually, saying, “I don’t know him. The only Cheng Zesheng I know is you.”
——
Two of the numbers extracted from the pamphlet were unclear. After several attempts at combinations, they finally pinpointed the correct direction.
The person behind this number was a professional locksmith named Yang. As long as the price was right, he could open any lock swiftly and steadily. Within the locksmith industry, he was known as “Yang the Ghostly Locksmith.” Upon contacting him, they learn that some time ago, a young man had asked him to open a dial-type combination lock at the Fusheng Jinlong Garden. The offered price was quite high.
Yang the Ghostly Locksmith felt something was off once he arrived. The house was still in its original state, untouched and uninhabited. The man didn’t want the main door’s lock opened; he wanted the lock to the basement opened. Yang sensed ill intentions and wasn’t initially inclined to help with this lock. However, the man doubled the price, tempting Yang, who then reluctantly agreed to assist.
This particular combination lock was a custom product from overseas, distinct from the cheap locks that were commonly available. Yang the Ghostly Locksmith couldn’t crack it even after an hour of trying. The thought of failing on the spot caused him to break out in a cold sweat.
The man wasn’t in a hurry, nor did he pressure Yang. He even allowed Yang to return and come up with a solution. The down payment the man had given wasn’t reclaimed. Yang, rather than feeling relieved, became more suspicious. He kept a close eye on the man and discreetly took a photo of him. The money given by the man was left untouched, a precaution in case things went awry in the future.
The structure of the combination lock was complex, and Yang the Ghostly Locksmith nearly tarnished his reputation before luckily managing to crack it. The man added an additional five hundred yuan as a gesture of gratitude. Yang didn’t linger, swiftly collecting the money and returning. He glanced at the slightly ajar door, only seeing half a staircase leading downward.
After confirming the photo with Yang the Ghostly Locksmith, Yun Xiaoxiao indeed identified the man as Cheng Zhenqing, down to the exact clothing he wore.
When Chong Zhen heard the words “basement,” his scalp tingled with unease. “Damn, he better not have an armory down there, right?”
“I’m not sure. He doesn’t even have the key himself, which means not even Cheng Zhenqing knows what’s inside. But he knows it’s very valuable and that it can help him get out of trouble, so he was willing to take the risk and find someone to open it.”
Standing up, He Wei closed the files. “Go and get your gun and police equipment. Let’s meet at the parking lot by the east gate downstairs. We’ll aim to bring Cheng Zhenqing in today!”
