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BLANK PAGE

  • Genre: Fantasy
  • Author: @kevin
  • Chapters: 6
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Age Rating: 18+
  • 👁 5
  • 5.0
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Annotation

The psychological well-being of minors has long been a subject of broad concern, yet one that is often overlooked. As a writer, one must possess the audacity of responsibility, candidly expressing the observed phenomena and their essence in works. Simultaneously, as a father witnessing the plight of minors, one should inherently harbor a heart imbued with empathy, understanding, and compassion for their experiences. In embodying both of these roles, Qin Ming also bears the weight of an additional professional identity. As a forensic expert in public security, he wields a keen analytical eye, dissecting and solving issues from a specialized perspective. He systematically distills the latent factors behind each tragedy, unveiling topics of greater societal significance. The audacity of responsibility, the heart of empathy, and the keenness of perception, respectively, represent the three tiers of art, method, and principle for a compelling book. When these three facets converge, it manifests in the presentation of "Blank Page." This book signifies Qin Ming's self-awareness of these threefold identities, imparting a profound sense of pressure upon us, the devoted readers. Qin Ming ruthlessly tears apart the thinly veiled curtains, allowing reality to permeate through the tattered seams, chilling us to the bone. However, the value of this book extends beyond merely bearing witness to reality. It is akin to hearing a melancholic tolling of a bell on a midnight cruise—carrying with it compassion and goodwill, enabling us to discern a thread of redemptive hope in the depths of a profound, dark night.

Chapter 1

A tightly sealed portal.

Two generations of solitary souls.

Perhaps it is the resonance emanating from this side of the entrance,

that veils all sounds from the other side.

Freedom, trust, privacy, desire, possession, sacrifice...

Behind each firmly shut household door,

I have witnessed an abundance of human tragedies.

How I ardently wish,

this to be the final lifeless form I encounter.

The individual who harbors the deepest affection for me in this world is paradoxically the one who suffocates me most profoundly.

By the tranquil banks of the Longfan River, a hushed symphony envelops the surroundings, leaving only the mellifluous murmuring of the flowing river.

Beneath the deep azure night sky, several clusters of clouds meander, intermittently veiling the luminous moonlight.

This stretch of the Longfan River, nestled between the remote Fanzixi Village upstream and the downstream Laowang Village, remains sparsely visited due to the absence of any practical pathways.

The riverbank, a small mound of earth, lies neglected and untouched, overgrown with various forms of withered vegetation, twisted and entwined by the winter winds. This desolate spot is known to the nearby villagers as "Ertupo."

On this particular evening, the secluded Ertupo seems to exude an unusual aura.

A beam of white radiance emanates from a powerful flashlight, piercing through the entangled vegetation and swaying in the darkness. The white light occasionally sweeps across the surface of the Longfan River, reflecting glimmering highlights.

Having just entered the first lunar month, the air remains bitterly cold, and dormant creatures still lie in hibernation. The only audible sounds along the riverbank are the rustling of shoe soles against plants.

"Goodness, if I had known it would be this difficult to traverse, I wouldn't have come."

"Meow."

Lao Liu, carrying a bundle of fishing rods, walks towards the riverbank. Simultaneously, he lifts his right hand, holding a plastic bucket, towards his back, where warmth escapes into the chilly air. He grumbles about the challenging path and the piercing cold of the night.

Lao Liu, a villager from Fanzixi, possesses no outstanding features, just an ordinary individual. He harbors only two hobbies in his life: fishing and raising cats.

Fishing not only satiates his passion but also yields tangible rewards, given Lao Liu's adept angling skills. The rare river catches fetch a good price in the market.

His love for his ten-year companion, a black cat, surpasses even that for his wife. The cat, not displaying typical feline independence, faithfully follows Lao Liu, knowing that a fishing trip with him guarantees a fishy treat.

The Longfan River is a significant tributary of the Yangtze, and strict fishing regulations are enforced in the vicinity after the ban on Yangtze fishing. Special patrols guard the riverbank daily, and patrol boats occasionally cruise the river. Their responsibility extends beyond banning fishing; even angling is restricted to one person, one rod, and one hook.

Lao Liu has been caught and admonished multiple times, even fined once, along the village's riverbank. However, one person, one rod, and one hook are unacceptable to him. This inefficient approach has robbed fishing of its charm. In Lao Liu's words, it's simply "unsatisfying."

Thus, he hatched a cunning plan.

This stretch of the river at Ertupo is unattended since the government acknowledges its inaccessibility.

Yet Lao Liu decides to give it a shot.

On this evening, he ventures into this desolate area, accompanied by his beloved five fishing rods and a cat. He even carries a large plastic bucket, prepared for a bountiful return.

Setting up the fishing gear, Lao Liu expertly goes through the motions—threading, hooking, baiting, scattering, casting. He skillfully completes the series of steps, placing the fishing rods and settling on a cold stone. He rubs his hands together, stomps his feet to defy the persistent chill, all the while using the principles of friction to generate warmth against the freezing air.

Illuminating the various floats with his flashlight, Lao Liu unknowingly starts massaging the black cat by his side. Unexpectedly, the cat is missing.

"Xi Xi! Where did you run off to?"

"Meow."

Lao Liu, with a beam of light waving around, searches the surroundings. Although the cat's fur easily conceals itself in the darkness, its reflective eyes soon expose its location.

It is close to the riverbank, but its focus seems to be elsewhere.

"Is there a dead fish by the river? It's inedible; come here!"

Reluctantly, the black cat turns around and heads toward Lao Liu. He lifts it, and the cat, too, provides warmth in return.

Within a short while, three sizable fish are already hooked, and Lao Liu is in high spirits. He doesn't even feel the cold anymore. Preparing to toss a small fish to the cat, he realizes the cat is missing again.

"Xi Xi!" Lao Liu calls out impatiently, shining the light towards the previous location.

Sure enough, the black cat is still there.

"What's so attractive there?" Lao Liu chuckles and decides to investigate.

Carrying a flashlight, he walks gingerly along the riverbank's stones. As he approaches, the light reveals a school uniform on the dark riverbank – blue with red and white stripes on the chest.

In this uninhabited area, how could there be a piece of clothing lying here? Perhaps it drifted down from upstream?

However, why is the black cat gnawing on a piece of clothing? What perplexing behavior is this?

Doubtful, Lao Liu continues to approach.

Indeed, it is a high school student's uniform. But it's not an ordinary one. Unlike a regular garment that would collapse without a body to support it, this blue school uniform appears filled. It looks as if someone is wearing it.

However, not entirely the same because, as the flashlight reveals, the uniform's collar lacks a head. Lao Liu breathes a sigh of relief, confirming that it is not a complete corpse.

Just as he moves a meter behind the black cat, the school uniform becomes distinctly visible. At this moment, Lao Liu clearly sees that the collar of the uniform does lack a head –

But there is half a neck.

There is no head on the neck, but from the cross-section of the neck, he can see the gleaming vertebrae and muscles, slightly whitened by water bubbles.

In an instant, Lao Liu's entire body is covered in goosebumps. He emits a scream, unlike any he has ever uttered in his life, and leaps back two meters.

Because of this terrifying scream, even the black cat is startled, its tail erect as it

jumps a meter high.

Lao Liu falls to the ground, feeling no pain in his buttocks. He widens his eyes, shivering uncontrollably, not from the cold weather but the terror within.

The headless body continues to lie peacefully on the riverbank's scattered stones, swaying gently with the water's push.

I sat in my petite chamber, facing the computer on the desk, where the teacher within was eloquently expounding on a mathematical function. Alas, not a single word found its way into my comprehension.

Retrieving the marred artwork from the wastebasket, I delicately spread it across the table. The entire canvas now resembled the wrinkled countenance of a centenarian, and the moist pigments had been smeared into obscurity.

It had been irrevocably ruined.

With measured deliberation, I tore it in two from the center, expertly kneading the fragments into a ball before consigning them to the garbage bin.

Today was Wednesday, a schoolday. However, due to the pandemic, post the Lunar New Year, we were all engaged in remote learning. Indeed, I was in the ninth grade, the second semester of junior high, with a mere three months left until the high-stakes entrance exam – the Zhongkao. Regardless of the circumstances, missing classes was not an option.

Rumor has it that classes would resume next week. I eagerly anticipated the return to normalcy, if only for the company of teachers and classmates. Unlike this household with only three occupants, each day here felt ominously quiet.

But such tranquility proved fleeting.

My mother, akin to a cat, would stealthily materialize at the doorway of my room or behind me. She had a penchant for these unexpected "ambushes," solely aiming to ascertain my activities.

If engrossed in homework, her inquiries would be kindly tinged with embarrassment, offering snacks or beverages. However, if caught in the act of drawing, she would morph into an entirely different persona. Sometimes trembling with anger, at other times spontaneously weeping, her countenance altering the room's atmospheric pressure.

To prevent her emotions from intensifying, my response remained silence, accompanied by apologetic nods, a routine accompaniment to her unvarying "educational" sessions.

Since my earliest recollections, my mother wore a perpetual frown, seemingly never content. Despite possessing more material wealth than others, she failed to find happiness. Her incessant exhortations about the imperative pursuit of a prestigious university education, emphasizing the C9 and 985 rankings, along with postgraduate and doctoral studies, reflected her belief that only through academic accomplishments could one lead an extraordinary life. She attributed her own dissatisfaction to a lack of higher education, a perspective I found perplexing, as her life seemed rather comfortable from my perspective. In contrast, I endured ceaseless study, with no respite. In primary school, even brief escapades after class incurred her reproach. Upon returning home, I was confined to my writing desk, forbidden any movement, not even a restroom visit, lest she construed it as a deliberate attempt to shirk. If caught deviating from my studies, her relentless admonishments commenced, as though my life should be devoid of any pursuit beyond academics. It became increasingly exasperating, yet I dared not reveal my frustration, lest it worsen her emotional state.

Our household typically comprised three individuals: my mother, myself, and Sister Xiaohe, our maid.

I have a father, but his presence eludes me. For almost two years, he has not resided at home. The last time I saw him was a weekend before the Lunar New Year. He arrived, suggesting a camping trip, but my mother refused, citing the weather as too cold. The winter indeed bore no chill; what chilled was my heart.

My mother used to work, but she no longer does. Correction, she still does work – her job, overseeing my studies. She proclaimed my academic achievements as the fruits of her labor. Domestic chores fell to Sister Xiaohe, while she assumed the role of an ever-watchful eye. I wonder if, during her previous employment, she imposed similar harangues on her colleagues.

Lately, she insisted that my father's company was facing severe financial strain, compelling him to work overtime daily. To avoid disturbing us, he chose to reside at the office. I may not witness their disputes, but I fear they may be on the brink of divorce.

I refrain from pondering the tedious "Choose Mom or Dad" question. Observing my mother's apprehensive glances toward my father and her dependency on me, I will inevitably align with her. However, my father represents my sole semblance of freedom, a liberty I'm reluctant to forfeit.

The camping proposal's rejection was disheartening. I relished those outings with my father, the only occasions I experienced a taste of liberty. Last autumn, we ventured to Longfan Mountain, foraging wild vegetables and capturing wild rabbits, reveling in unrestrained joy. Regrettably, I was so engrossed in the merriment that I forgot to take photographs. Half a year later, those memories have blurred.

Hence, the idea of immortalizing that camping experience through art took root.

I derive immense pleasure from drawing, believing myself endowed with artistic talent. Once, I shared my artwork online, garnering thousands of likes and inquiries about selling. Alas, my mother disapproves of my artistic pursuits for reasons unknown.

Earlier, she mentioned visiting Xinhua Bookstore to purchase study materials, while Sister Xiaohe busied herself downstairs. It presented a rare opportunity. Swiftly retrieving my drawing board and paper from beneath the mattress, I recollected the camping scenes with my father and began sketching.

Whenever I grasp a brush, time evaporates, and darkness descends imperceptibly. Perhaps my intense concentration momentarily dissipated the vigilance against the eyes behind me, but I remained oblivious.

Suddenly, the teacher on the computer screen was reiterating problem-solving strategies, futilely asking, "Have you understood?" What can a camera comprehend? Truly ludicrous.

I gently touched my school uniform hanging beside the desk.

Blue ink had seeped into the fabric, transforming it into a somber hue. The ink had sullied the red and white stripes over my chest, directly above the heart.

I pondered whether Sister Xiaohe possessed the prowess to cleanse the stains. Even if she could, my heart wouldn't easily regain tranquility.

I have eaten to the point of fullness.

The food seems to have traveled from my stomach to my throat, making even breathing a bit difficult.

I think if I take a walk later, digestion should happen quickly, right?

My parents are always afraid I won't eat enough, but in reality, I can't eat that much. However, what can be done? That plate of ribs, my mom would have to alter five pieces of clothing at the tailor shop just to afford it. They insist I eat, and I have no choice but to eat with all my might. The more I enjoy the food, the happier they become.

Even though my parents say I've lost weight recently, all I can do is smile bitterly. With heavy daytime studies and the exhaustion of weekends and holidays, how could I not lose weight?

I'm not in a bad mood now, not because I've eaten too much.

Finally, the winter break arrived, but after only a few days, my parents are planning to send me for extra classes. My mom and dad mentioned that today at the tailor shop, they overheard two classmates' parents discussing hiring a teacher for home tutoring. The teacher clearly educates us about fair competition, so what's the point of secret tutoring? Other students may gain more knowledge and better grades through tutoring, but what about me? Should I also go for extra classes?

You should know, the cost of this home tutoring is 500 yuan per session. 500 yuan! My mom would have to alter 10 pieces of clothing or sew 100 zippers just to earn that! How can they afford such high tutoring fees?

So, I said at that moment, "I don't need extra classes."

My mom got worried, saying something about rowing against the current. Everyone else is getting ahead, and relatively, I'd be at a disadvantage. Well, yes, I know about rowing against the current, but our family can't even afford a boat! My mom seemed to see through my thoughts, choked up, saying she lacks the ability to provide a better educational environment for me. My dad sighed on the side, as if the end of the world was approaching.

Although I worry that classmates will surpass me through tutoring, at times like these, I bravely said, "I can rely on myself!"

Honestly, I'm not confident. In the third year of junior high, everyone is eyeing the first place in the class and the top ten in the grade. What can I rely on to maintain this ranking?

I know that deciding not to take extra classes will make my parents stay up all night again, figuring out how to earn more money. I truly hope my mom won't add more psychological pressure to my dad. He drives at the company during the day and works as a taxi driver at night. At 50 years old, enduring this, can he hold on?

Without a doubt, my parents are the people who love me the most in this world, but their love suffocates me.

I remember in the first year of junior high, the tutoring fee was 80 yuan per session. Four sessions a week were 320 yuan, over a thousand for a month. This economic burden was already quite heavy for my family. Still, my mom insisted that I attend like everyone else.

During that time, my dad, in addition to working as a driver for the insurance company during the day, took on extra jobs after work, often driving until 2 a.m., only getting 5 hours of sleep every day. I worried every day, fearing he might have an accident due to fatigue. My mom, in the tailor shop, worked on many tasks, and at night, she helped glue paper boxes for an extra one yuan per box.

For one session of my tutoring, my mom had to glue 800 paper boxes.

At that time, the weather was so hot that I didn't dare to buy an ice cream stick. One stick cost two yuan, and my mom had to glue 20 paper boxes for it.

Fortunately, I managed to get into the top ten of the grade with my efforts, a result that allowed my mom to relax a bit.

In this final exam, I only dropped one place, but she became anxious again. Unfortunately, this time, she couldn't find money to send me to extra classes. Everyone turned to secret home tutoring, and tutoring fees skyrocketed. My family faced an issue without a solution.

Since I was young, I've been the apple of their eyes, but our family's situation is a bit tough. Poverty doesn't affect my parents' love. Because they love me, they only find faults in themselves. Recalling, from when I was born until 15 years old, I've almost never been scolded by my parents. They only say they lack the ability to provide me with a good educational environment. They endure grievances all day outside and, when they return home, continue to endure them. I really feel sorry for them.

They tell me to study hard, defeat all opponents, make those who look down on us acknowledge, and rise above in society. In a family like ours, I can only become a "somebody" by getting into a good university, becoming a master's or PhD student. This way, I won't be bossed around by others.

I remember during the exam for junior high admissions, I marked the answer sheet incorrectly, resulting in a "pass" for English. They actually cried and began searching for reasons, saying they didn't care enough about me, blaming themselves for not noticing my carelessness, and so on. Later, they even borrowed books from the library about how to be more careful with children, which made me laugh and cry.

Since then, no matter what I do, I am cautious. After each exam, I check four or five times, afraid of a similar "tragedy" happening again.

I remember one time when I was helping out at my mom's tailor shop, an aunt and her son came. The aunt casually bragged that her son had just been admitted to Peking University. My mom immediately asked me to add that young man on WeChat, saying I should seek advice on study methods. I didn't even know him! But I knew this was my mom's way of showing love. So, I added him, but until now, I've never said a word. It's so awkward!

Paternal love is like a mountain, maternal love is like the sea. Paternal love presses me so hard I can't breathe, and maternal love drowns me.

Since I can remember, studying has become my entire life. I don't care about social news, celebrity gossip, or any rumors in class. These are meaningless distractions for me. The only thing I care about is how to use my grades to defeat all my opponents.

The certificates covering the wall of my room are my achievements. But sometimes I have nightmares where these certificates grow wings and fly away from my house, leaving my wall and my heart empty.

I am very afraid, afraid of every potential opponent.

And now, my opponents are secretly taking extra classes.

Will they learn points that I don't know during these classes?

I'm very afraid.

However, just being afraid is not enough. At 15, I have never conceded to anyone. If you can afford extra classes and want to surpass me, that's okay; I also have my ways. I know the best way to resist extra classes is to practice. I need a large number

of test papers and review materials to improve my abilities. But for me, these test papers and review materials are also a significant expense.

Thinking about my dad staying up late to drive a taxi and my mom gluing paper boxes under the lamp, I know I can't add any burden to them. I should earn this expense.

Let's keep it a secret.

After lunch, I continued using my usual trick, telling my parents that I'm going to the library to study, and they happily agreed.

Our house is a resettlement apartment, with poor sound insulation. Every night, I can hear the snores of the uncle downstairs. In the afternoon, various noises in the neighborhood make people feel annoyed and upset. My dad and mom are aware of this.

The library is great, quiet, and free. My parents have no reason to refuse.

Being able to come up with such a lie also fully demonstrates my intelligence.

Oh, I have to take off my coat. Even though the weather is so cold that my hands and feet are numb, I must take off this piece of clothing and stuff it into my bag, so that no one sees it.

After all, this blue, red, and white striped style is easily recognizable as a high school uniform. If the boss knows I'm a high school student, he'll definitely kick me out without saying a word.

After taking off the coat, it's even colder, so I have to run to generate heat and warm my body.

There's no way; this is my only winter coat. If it were summer, I could wear a few skirts my mom made. But in winter, if I don't wear it, what can I wear?

Don't think too much. I looked at the library building towering to the east, turned and ran towards the west, without looking back.

While my mother went out to fetch water, I vehemently pummeled Duodai with my fists. It had been my companion for two years, and this was the first time I assaulted it, driven to extremes by my wretched mood. After the beating, remorse flooded over me.

Duodai is my teddy bear, a birthday gift from my old man during the year I transferred schools. It was a small consolation for the reluctant transfer. Despite my father's usual stern demeanor, this birthday present was remarkably in tune with my preferences. Duodai spent two irksome years with me in this unfamiliar ground-floor abode.

Before that someone appeared, Duodai was the sole listener of the innermost thoughts of my heart. Today, I genuinely didn't want to argue, yet my mother prattled incessantly, gradually shattering my good mood. It wasn't proper to quarrel with my mother, considering she lacked strong opinions; she was merely a mouthpiece for my father. Reflecting on this, I found it embarrassing that I dared to argue only with a messenger, not with the principal party. Yet, facing my father head-on is unwise; he can be ferocious when provoked.

Amidst my mother's ramblings, she brought up the matter of supplementary classes. Doesn't the country prohibit tutoring? Are these people daring to defy the country's orders? I'm furious. During winter break, my father insisted on me attending extra classes. I reluctantly agreed, perhaps due to the association with that someone. Haven't I cooperated enough? Is tutoring measured by frequency? School has already begun; is this endless tutoring necessary? Before, my father forced me to study the entire weekend, yielding no improvement in my grades. He believes diligence compensates for lack of skill, insisting that time spent will yield results. He doesn't comprehend effective study methods; he merely wants me to follow his commands. Too dictatorial!

Earlier, while I was debating with my mother, my father's voice echoed from the living room.

"Don't bother giving her extra classes; don't bother with school. Let her roam in society."

This statement lacks reason. If not tutoring, must I wander? In the spirit of avoiding direct confrontation, I compromised this time. It's not that I agreed to attend extra classes; I just chose temporary silence. Protesting authority silently.

I attended winter break tutoring mainly because that someone was there. Although the break was a washout, with no sports or activities, there were moments to chat and paint, making it bearable. Now, my father is pushing boundaries, arranging one-on-one private tutoring. Just the two of us, staring at each other? Or with an unfamiliar teacher? Ridiculous; that would be too awkward.

Seeing my silence, my mother resumed her "prattling" technique, mentioning a tutoring fee of 500 yuan per session. They saved money from their frugal lifestyle to fund my tutoring. I never asked for their scrimped funds; they could spend without pinching pennies. Annoyed, with nothing to say, I put on my headphones.

But my mother's prattling, honed over a decade, possessed incredible penetration, reaching through my headphones. Even with them on, I could hear her saying I don't understand how to appreciate my parents. Everything is for my good; not getting into a prestigious high school means attending a vocational school. Going to a vocational school means turning bad. These words have worn my ears raw. What does it mean to be for my good? Going to a vocational school seems fine; I could learn skills, far better than unemployed university graduates.

Amid my mother's prattling, my phone vibrated. It was a message from that someone.

"Don't worry; I'll let everyone know what really happened."

This fool, I don't care about that incident, but he seems to take it to heart. Even more foolish than my Duodai; henceforth, I'll call him "Big Fool."

Feeling exasperated, my mother continued bothering me, while he added chaos. I couldn't be bothered to respond to his message; I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood up.

"Where are you going?" My mother, seeing me pick up my school uniform, knew I was heading out.

"Going to play some ball." I replied.

"A young girl like you, playing ball every day. What's that supposed to look like?" My father's fierce and domineering voice echoed again from the living room. Accompanying it was the sound of him slamming the teacup onto the coffee table.

My heart trembled slightly, but I thought I needed to endure this time. I shouldn't yield; holding onto the uniform, I walked to the living room.

I didn't turn to look at the old man on the sofa, but I could imagine his fierce gaze fixed on me.

"I'm going out to play some ball." I repeated, opened the door, and left the hallway.

Through the entrance door, I heard the old man scolding my mother again.

"All spoiled by you. A girl running around every day, what does that look like? She won't even make it to an ordinary high school with these grades! What will happen in the future? Physical education scores? Just a few points! What's the use of talking nicely to her? If she doesn't listen, give her orders forcefully; if she disobeys, beat her! I think this child needs a good beating! Girls should be managed by their mothers; if you can't manage her, you're responsible!"

What nonsense is this? Apart from bullying my mother and me, do you dare to bully others at work? Only at home do you dare to act tough?

I threw my clothes over my shoulders, walked out of the building's entrance, and felt lost. Since transferring to this unfamiliar city, everything feels different. They say big cities are good, but I don't see any advantages. My classmates bury themselves in studying, and during breaks, when I want someone to play ball with, no one responds. They have no idea what a joyful life is! I'm too lazy to say another word to them. It's been two years since I transferred, and I can't remember the names of my classmates.

Now, where should I go? At this hour, will the school security let me in? Big cities have stricter rules; the security guards are suspicious and hard to communicate with. If it doesn't work out, I'll say I forgot my homework. I'll run a few laps on the school field, break a sweat, and improve my mood. If someone is playing basketball, I can join them for a while.

I glanced at the school uniform in my hand; luckily, I brought it along. Because if I go to school, I must wear the uniform; otherwise, security won't allow me in. But I dislike wearing this unsightly uniform—blue base with red and white stripes. In the entire province, you can't find a more outdated uniform. But there's no other choice; I'll wear it. Anyway, it's nighttime, and no one will notice.

C9: The C9, or the Consortium of Nine, is an alliance of nine top-tier universities.

985: Refers to world-class universities that possess advanced standards and capabilities.

Chapter 2

The First Case: The Enshrouded Corpse in Tape

DNA defines our essence, yet it does not predetermine the individuals we are destined to become.

Our intrinsic nature remains immutable, yet the possibilities of our evolution are in constant flux.

The spring equinox of 2022 has passed, entering the latter part of March.

The pandemic continues to unfold, and everyone is constantly attentive to their health codes and travel cards, fearing the inadvertent contraction of illness.

Despite wearing a law enforcement winter duty uniform with a cotton lining, the cold weather persists. It could be the desolate nature of this location and its proximity to the water.

Remarkably, this is the first crime scene our investigative team has examined this year.

I go by the name Qin Ming, a forensic scientist. The complete title of our investigative team is the First Investigation Unit of the Forensic Identification Center

Heroes

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