Chapter 34: Suburbs

The taxi sped along the highway to Nanjiang City’s eastern suburbs, the urban sprawl giving way to desolate sights.
High-rises faded into dilapidated factories and abandoned farmland, then into vast, overgrown wastelands.

Ten minutes later, a massive, silent complex loomed on the horizon.

Nanjiang International Education City—a failed dream from a decade ago, now a blight on the city.
Once a star project backed by the government and real estate tycoons, it promised a sprawling education hub: kindergarten, schools, a university prep, and an international exchange center.
Top faculty, cutting-edge facilities, a provincial benchmark.
Land prices soared as buildings sprouted.
But a corruption scandal shattered the funding, toppling officials and leaving the project a decaying skeleton of concrete and steel, eroding in the elements.

The taxi stopped at the complex’s edge.
The driver glanced at Jiang Yuxin and Yin Qingle like they were lunatics.
“Why come to this ghost town in broad daylight?” she muttered, then floored the accelerator, vanishing down the road.

Jiang Yuxin stepped out, her face expressionless, scanning the ruins.
The concrete towers stood like tombstones, their hollow windows like countless eyes fixed on the intruders.
The wind howled through cracks, stirring dust and dead leaves, the silence thick with apocalyptic desolation.

Yin Qingle trailed close behind, clutching her phone anxiously.
The screen showed her last message to Yin Xiran—“Received,” from thirty minutes ago.
No word from her sister or Chen Dongyang since.
Her unease grew.

“Jiang, do you think Xiran…”

“Worried about them?” Jiang Yuxin glanced back, her tone hinting at Yin Qingle’s naivety for following her here.
Didn’t she realize her own situation was the most precarious?

Yin Qingle, oblivious to the subtext, nodded.
“Xiran’s capable, but she can be impulsive…”

“Worry is useless,” Jiang Yuxin said coldly, looking away.
“Your sister’s ability makes physical attacks ineffective. Even strange entities would struggle against her. And with what that guy said…”

She trailed off, walking deeper into the ruins.

Yin Qingle thought the silence would persist, but Jiang Yuxin spoke again, her voice sharp.
“Yin Qingle, when would someone choose to commit suicide?”

“Huh?” Yin Qingle blinked, startled by the heavy question and Jiang Yuxin’s rare use of her full name.
Jiang Yuxin’s pale profile stood stark against the gloomy sky.
Hesitating, Yin Qingle whispered, “When… you’re completely hopeless. Life feels meaningless, with no light left. Death becomes… relief.”

Jiang Yuxin didn’t react, instead reciting facts.
“Li Wenbo, 63, retired but rehired as a library administrator. Two years from full retirement. No kids, a nephew in another city he barely contacts. A loner, no conflicts, a routine life—library, home, cheap Erguotou from the corner store, drunk alone.”

This was the surface of Li Wenbo, gleaned from the administrator’s mind.

“A man whose life was a stagnant pool, no ripples for decades. Why would he suddenly choose suicide? What could rekindle ‘despair’ in a numb heart?”

As she spoke, Jiang Yuxin ventured deeper into the complex, Yin Qingle hurrying to keep up, phone still gripped tightly.

“Jiang, aren’t we going to the suicide scene?” Yin Qingle asked, eyeing the desolate surroundings.
“Why are we here?”

Jiang Yuxin stopped, turning to her.
Her deep eyes studied Yin Qingle.
“Why do you think this isn’t the ‘first scene’ of his ‘suicide’?”

Yin Qingle’s breath caught.

Jiang Yuxin didn’t wait for a reply, her mind drifting to the administrator’s memories.
A chaotic flood of trivial thoughts, but Jiang Yuxin could sift through them like a machine.
Finding a single clue in a sea of memories was just a matter of time.

As she thought, her mental power linked with Yin Qingle’s.
In an instant, she filtered the fragments from the administrator’s mind—details even the woman might’ve forgotten—and pushed them into Yin Qingle’s consciousness.

—

Meanwhile, in the library’s archive room.

Chen Dongyang and Yin Xiran froze after reading Jiang Yuxin’s message.
The staff’s footsteps had faded, and their awkward moment had passed.

A faint blush lingered on Yin Xiran’s face as she pocketed her phone.
“Jiang’s onto something. We need to move.”

With a click, she unlocked the archive room door, and they slipped inside, closing it softly.

The room was darker, thick with dust and paper’s dry scent.
Towering shelves loomed, stuffed with archive bags, leaving little space.
A red surveillance light blinked in the corner.

Chen Dongyang pointed at it.

Yin Xiran flicked her finger, and the camera turned smoothly to face a blank wall.
“Done,” she said, satisfied.

They searched, but the disorganized files made finding Li Wenbo’s records near impossible.

“Maybe there’s no paper trail,” Chen Dongyang said, frustrated.

Yin Xiran’s eyes landed on a dusty desk with an old computer, its keyboard less grimy from use.
“Modern methods it is.”

The computer hummed to life, loading a blue-grid interface.
Her fingers danced across the keys, code flashing rapidly.

“What are you doing?” Chen Dongyang asked, awed.

“Testing our luck,” Yin Xiran said, focused.

“Found it,” she announced soon after.
The screen showed the library’s database.
Entering “Li Wenbo” pulled up his search records.

“Last month,” she said, pointing, “he repeatedly accessed Nanjiang City news from 2004 to 2009, focusing on ‘campus,’ ‘missing,’ ‘suicide.’”

Chen Dongyang’s heart raced.
The clues were converging.

“What was he digging into?” he asked.

“No clue,” Yin Xiran said, clicking deeper.
Red 404-Record Not Found errors flashed.
“Manually deleted. The murderer beat us here.”

The trail died.
Silence fell, broken only by the computer’s hum.

Yin Xiran pondered their next move.
Chen Dongyang scanned the room.

Drip.

A faint sound, like water hitting the floor, cut through the dry silence.
It felt alien, wrong.

“Did you hear that?” Yin Xiran stood, alert, eyes darting toward the sound.

No answer.

She turned, heart lurching.

Chen Dongyang was gone.