Chapter 35: Memory

The taxi sped toward Nanjiang City’s eastern suburbs, the urban sprawl giving way to desolate factories, abandoned farmland, and finally, vast wastelands.

Ten minutes later, the skeletal remains of Nanjiang International Education City loomed into view—a failed dream from a decade ago, now a decaying scar.
Once a hyped-up project promising a world-class education hub, it collapsed amid a corruption scandal, leaving behind crumbling concrete towers.

The driver stopped at the complex’s edge, eyeing Jiang Yuxin and Yin Qingle like they were insane.
“Why come to this ghost town in daylight?” she muttered, then sped off.

Jiang Yuxin stepped out, her face impassive, scanning the ruins—silent tombstones with hollow windows like watchful eyes.
The wind wailed, stirring dust and leaves, the air thick with desolation.

Yin Qingle clutched her phone, its screen showing Yin Xiran’s last “Received” from thirty minutes ago.
No word from her sister or Chen Dongyang.
“Jiang, do you think Xiran…”

“Worried?” Jiang Yuxin cut in, her tone sharp, as if questioning Yin Qingle’s naivety for following her here.
“Your sister’s abilities make her nearly untouchable physically. Even strange entities would struggle. And with what that guy said…”

She trailed off, moving deeper into the ruins.

As silence loomed, Jiang Yuxin spoke again.
“Yin Qingle, when would someone choose suicide?”

Startled by the heavy question, Yin Qingle hesitated.
“When… you’re hopeless. Life’s meaningless, no light left. Death feels like relief.”

Jiang Yuxin didn’t comment, instead reciting facts.
“Li Wenbo, 63, rehired library administrator. No kids, a distant nephew, a loner. Routine life: library, home, cheap liquor. A stagnant existence. Why would he suddenly feel ‘despair’ enough to die?”

Yin Qingle followed, uneasy.
“Jiang, aren’t we going to the suicide scene? Why here?”

Jiang Yuxin stopped, her eyes piercing.
“Why do you think this isn’t the first scene?”

Yin Qingle’s breath hitched.

Jiang Yuxin’s mind drifted to the administrator’s memories—a chaotic flood, but she’d sifted through it.
Finding a single clue was just a matter of time.

Her mental power linked with Yin Qingle’s, pushing fragments of the administrator’s memories into her mind.

—

Yin Qingle felt an alien rush, memories flooding in—vivid, yet not hers.

Scene One: A week ago, afternoon.
The administrator passed Li Wenbo’s tool room, books in hand.
The door was ajar.
Li Wenbo, hunched and dull, stood by the window, clutching a paper.
Sunlight through dusty glass cast shadows on his pale, bloodless face.
His hands shook, barely holding the letter, lips moving silently.
Fear radiated from him, chilling the air.

Amplified by Jiang Yuxin’s power, Yin Qingle “heard” his suppressed whisper:
“He’s back… He’s back…”

Scene Two: Days ago, morning.
The library was quiet.
The administrator, sorting expired magazines, spotted Li Wenbo in the newspaper section—unusual, as he rarely left his work area.
He stood, frantically flipping through yellowed newspapers, his movements desperate, like a drowning man grasping for a lifeline.
His eyes scanned each word, searching, yet terrified.

“Master Li, what are you looking for?” she asked.

He flinched, turning sharply.
Panic faded to his usual indifference.
“Checking old news,” he mumbled, clutching newspapers and hurrying off.

Scene Three: Night, janitor on duty.
The library was empty, fluorescent tubes humming.
Passing Li Wenbo’s dark tool room, the administrator heard sobs and pained whispers through the door’s crack.

“…Retribution… It’s retribution…”
“…I can’t escape… Should’ve known…”
“…All dead… Why… All dead…”

Startled, she knocked, thinking he was ill.
The sounds stopped.
After a pause, Li Wenbo’s voice came, feigning calm: “Just a nightmare. I’m fine.”
She left, uneasy but dismissing it.

Scene Four: Yesterday afternoon, before his death.
Li Wenbo requested half a day off, claiming he felt unwell.
His face was ashen, lips chapped, eyes sunken, sleepless.
The administrator approved.
He staggered out, but instead of heading home, he hailed a taxi.
He paused, glancing back at the library with complex eyes—resentment, fear, determination, relief?
He told the driver something and left.

—

Jiang Yuxin severed the mental link, letting Yin Qingle process the memories.
“Twenty years ago, Li Wenbo wasn’t a library administrator. He was a dormitory manager at Nanjiang No. 2 Middle School.”

Yin Qingle froze, realization dawning.
That’s why Li Wenbo was the second victim.

“He knew about the murder, or part of it,” Jiang Yuxin continued.
“He saw or heard something but stayed silent out of fear. That silence became his lifelong nightmare, his depression’s root.”

“The letter he got a week ago was a threat from the murderer, saying ‘I’m back,’ maybe demanding something or just tormenting him. It shattered his fragile defenses.”

“He tried to save himself, searching old newspapers for clues from that year to counter the threat. His whispers in the tool room were his guilt battling his survival instinct. ‘All dead’ likely meant the girl in the wall and other unknown victims.”

Yin Qingle listened, dazed.

“Finally, he gave up, choosing to meet his death,” Jiang Yuxin said, gazing into the ruins.
“Yesterday, he took that taxi. You saw it. He told the driver his destination.”

“With my ability, I can amplify every detail in a memory—sound, lip shapes.”
Her lips curved slightly.
“I know where he went.”

She pointed at the abandoned complex.
“He told the driver: ‘Master, go to the eastern suburbs, Nanjiang International Education City.’”