Chapter Seventy-Three: The Background of the Photograph

"How could you not have thought of this? You absolutely must have considered it." Chang Ping casually placed the plastic bag containing coffee and sunflower seeds on the interrogation room table, tilted his head, and stared at Zhang Xiaoman's face with an unusually serious tone. "If you can't figure it out, then I won't be able to explain it. Before you interrogated her, only I had been in the room. Anyone would think I was the one who told her the time."

Zhang Xiaoman glanced at Jin Yue, who silently took coffee from the bag, then at Chang Ping, leaning against the wall, and decided to grab a handful of sunflower seeds. He peeled them one by one, placing the kernels on the table instead of eating them. "The innocent remain unstained, the guilty remain clouded..." He set down a kernel and grinned at Chang Ping. "So, did you tell her?"

"That's a problematic question," Chang Ping frowned. "Why would I tell her?"

Jin Yue picked up her coffee, took a gentle sip, and suddenly interjected, "It's so sweet..." She winked at Chang Ping. "But... I really like it!"

Chang Ping slapped his forehead, looking utterly defeated. "Seems like there's no way to clarify this. I should just go wash up and sleep, so I won't be suspected again later."

"Don't rush," Zhang Xiaoman immediately called after him. "Stay and chat with us. It's a long night, and with just me and her alone in here, aren't you worried something might happen?"

Chang Ping and Jin Yue snorted in perfect sync. Bai Chi, sitting next to Zhang Xiaoman, raised his hand, "Professor Zhang, I'm still here. I can be your witness."

Zhang Xiaoman rolled his eyes and squeezed out a kindly expression for Bai Chi. "Blank Slate, as I said before, you only need to quietly record my conversation with Jin Yue... Have you seen a typewriter? Just pretend you're an emotionless typing machine right now; anything else is none of your concern, understand?"

Bai Chi nodded uncertainly. "Should I record these lines too?"

"Yes, every single word. Don't skimp," Zhang Xiaoman cleared his throat. "These aren't confidences—write them all down in black and white."

Chang Ping yawned, looking exhausted. "You guys keep talking. I'm really going to sleep. I still have to check on that decomposed corpse later; there's plenty of work. Besides, some people clearly don't trust me, so staying isn't much use."

Zhang Xiaoman feigned ignorance, "Who? With your honest face, who could distrust you? Must be a problem with their eyes..."

"Their eyes are fine," Chang Ping sneered, "but their brains are questionable... Sometimes trust between people is so shallow. I barely leave, and they start acting right away—just trying to get rid of me."

"Why say that?" Zhang Xiaoman remained unfazed. "Maybe the timing just happened to be right. You're overthinking it... Stay, it's livelier with the three of us chatting."

Jin Yue blew gently on the steam rising from her cup, her cheeks faintly flushed, and smiled sweetly at Chang Ping. "Stay, otherwise people will say you're acting guilty, as if there's really something between us. I'm a widow who just lost her husband, and there's already too much gossip at my door..."

Chang Ping gave Jin Yue a meaningful look, glanced at Zhang Xiaoman's shrug, sighed, and dragged a stool far to the wall. "I really don't want to chat with you. I still have plenty to do, a mountain of evidence to sort and verify."

"Don't be so vague. We're all outsiders here, no need to hide anything. Isn't it just that you want to go play in the mud?" Zhang Xiaoman rubbed his nose. "No rush, you don't have to do it today—there's always tomorrow. You're young; time is on your side."

Jin Yue lowered her head, pausing for a moment in her coffee sipping, then resumed as if she hadn't heard a thing, continuing her elegant, slow tasting.

Chang Ping glanced at Jin Yue out of the corner of his eye, narrowed his gaze, and said solemnly to Zhang Xiaoman, "You're talking about time as if it'll last forever. Why don't you learn your lessons?"

Zhang Xiaoman and Chang Ping exchanged looks. Zhang Xiaoman sniffed, stood up. "Chang Ping, how did I offend you? Why must you stab at me? After all these years, why bring it up again?"

Jin Yue stared at Zhang Xiaoman, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

Zhang Xiaoman turned toward the wall, pressing a hand to his eye, adopting a melancholy pose. "It's nothing, really. Just, more than thirty years ago, because of something I said, it... fell apart..."

"What fell apart?" Jin Yue's brows furrowed, her face marked by confusion.

Chang Ping took up the tale, his tone grave. "Actually, you can't blame yourself entirely for the Saint Mary Sue split. Still, you should have learned from it. Some things are better left unsaid."

"Don't be so tactful. I'm clear on it—it's all my fault..." Zhang Xiaoman shook his head sorrowfully. "In '91, that winter came later than usual. I went to Saint Mary Sue on a case, happened to meet their leader, Old Ye, at a barbecue stand by the road. We hit it off instantly—like we were old friends. After two skewers of grilled kidneys, Old Ye sincerely asked me how to stop the distant Beautiful Country from targeting Saint Mary Sue..."

"As detectives, aren't we here to solve problems for others?" Zhang Xiaoman continued. "I looked at the city covered in goose feather snow and said, 'Saint Mary Sue has no tears. Endure, and the storm will pass; take a step back, and the sea will open wide. There's always tomorrow.' I told him a few old stories, like sleeping on sticks and tasting gall... Old Ye gripped my hand, tears in his eyes, said, 'No wonder they call you Professor Zhang the wise. Whatever you say, I'll do.'"

"Every family has its troubles," Chang Ping sighed. "Even an honest judge can't resolve domestic disputes. You shouldn't have meddled."

"True, but I was young and reckless back then, didn't understand these things..." Zhang Xiaoman coughed. "I patted Old Ye's shoulder and said, 'It's simple—send out a decree, tell those old brothers who joined up: we can't support the family anymore, it's time to split. The far-off Beautiful Country sees this and thinks, 'I haven't even made a move, and they're dissolving themselves.' A rabble, so they stop caring about Saint Mary Sue.'"

"Old Ye's eyes shone like bulbs," Zhang Xiaoman pressed his lips together. "He praised my wisdom. We were so happy, we grabbed two jars of Daughter Red, drank them dry. Old Ye, drunk, said he was going home to handle his wife—it’s their tradition, so I didn’t stop him. I drank two more jars alone, passed out in a snowbank for the night... Who knew, when I woke up, the Saint Mary Sue Federation was gone; only Goose Country remained."

Bai Chi suddenly chimed in, "Isn't that just breaking up?"

"Not quite," Zhang Xiaoman looked truly sad. "Being forced to split is completely different from dissolving on your own... So, ever since then, I remind myself," he paced over to Jin Yue, who still looked puzzled, "to always act swiftly for justice and revenge. Never wait for tomorrow—who knows what tomorrow may bring..."

Jin Yue bit her lip, stared at Zhang Xiaoman for a few seconds. "What are you really trying to say?"

"Tonight I’m angry, intent on swift justice..." Zhang Xiaoman pulled a blood-stained photo from his pocket and slapped it on the table. "All the money I’d saved went down the drain, but that’s not the worst of it. Money’s a bastard, you can always earn more... The real issue is, someone plucked my one cherished hair, and left only this photo behind..."

Jin Yue glanced at the photo on the table, pupils contracting, forcing herself to remain calm. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Someone told me," Zhang Xiaoman pointed at the girl in the photo, "this girl is you. So, I want to ask you: who is that boy?"

"How could this be me?" Jin Yue held the photo next to her cheek. "You must be going blind, Professor. The girl in the photo has short hair; I have long hair. Besides, when I was her age, I was chubbier, my face rounder... If you don’t believe me, ask Officer Chang here. At most there’s a resemblance, but it’s definitely not the same person."

Zhang Xiaoman turned to Chang Ping, his tone even. "Is that so?"

"How can I say?" Chang Ping pursed his lips. "They say a girl changes eighteen times as she grows, and your photo is so faded—who can tell who’s who? Also... shouldn’t you hand this photo over to the evidence department? Keeping it in your pocket, what’s that about?"

"Sentimental value," Zhang Xiaoman sniffed, feigning a choked voice. "After all, my yellow hair is gone. It was his last gift to me—keeping it as a memento..."

"That's not how it works," Chang Ping shook his head. "Everything has to follow protocol. Or do you want to be invited for tea at the prosecutor’s office?"

"I’ll hand it in when I’m done," Zhang Xiaoman turned and stared intently at Jin Yue, his expression dark. "You’re sure this isn’t you in the photo?"

"It couldn't possibly be me," Jin Yue pointed at the timestamp in the lower right corner. "I’d already moved to City A by then, and the photo’s background is the community park behind Purple Smoke Elementary in Green Vine City..."

Zhang Xiaoman tapped the table rhythmically with his fingers. "So, what you’re saying is... my yellow hair was plucked for nothing?"

"Professor Zhang..." Jin Yue’s gaze was icy. "You stay up late just to talk to me about one hair?"

"I’m petty, maybe to you it’s just a hair, but to me it’s a life-and-death grudge..." Zhang Xiaoman straightened up, exhaled a heavy breath, then shifted his tone, his gaze sharp as a blade toward Jin Yue, pointing at the photo on the table. "The photo is so faded... how did you know it was taken in the community park behind Purple Smoke Elementary in Green Vine City?"