5

Though the others remained skeptical, Rong Qian believed—without question. The only uncertainty was whether the glowing descriptions in that biography had been exaggerated.

"By the way, Qian Qian," Chen Jia finally asked, "how did you even learn about Shen Yi's name?"

Rong Qian hesitated, unsure how to explain. She deflected instead. "Let's not talk about that for now. Based on what we've found, can you dig up any other information about him?"

"Why not just ask this guy directly?" Chen Jia said bluntly, clicking into the social media profile of Shen Shuhuai. "He wrote the article. There's an address listed—he must know something."

Rong Qian leaned in. The profile photo showed a kindly middle-aged man, around his forties, smiling gently. He didn't look anything like Shen Yi.

For a moment, Rong Qian wondered if he could be Shen Yi's son—but the bio showed he was unmarried, so she dismissed the idea.

Chen Jia continued, "Want his contact info? I can find it."

"Send it to me. Also… any updates on the case? It's been days since the news report—has no family come forward?" she asked suddenly.

Chen Jia shook her head. "Nothing."

Rong Qian fell silent, then said she wanted to see the remains again. Zhang Hao followed.

The corpse had been recovered in a formal suit and long coat, with a red scarf still clinging to the collar—suggesting the incident happened in winter. Forensics had estimated the height to be around 180cm.

But Shen Yi had been at least 187cm. It wasn't definitive—but something didn't quite match.

—

After a quick lunch at the station, Rong Qian made up her mind to visit Shen Shuhuai's villa.

The case was already strange enough. She didn't want Zhang Hao tagging along and asking questions she couldn't answer—questions she hadn't yet figured out herself.

So she took a taxi alone. Her own car was in the shop, the rear end totaled from the crash.

By 2 p.m., Rong Qian arrived at the luxurious Hillview Villas on East City Road. Following the directions Chen Jia sent, she stood at the gate of a grand estate.

She rang the bell. A moment later, a man in his forties appeared—just like the profile photo.

He wore glasses, but looked nothing like Shen Yi.

Rong Qian had briefly wondered if he might be Shen Yi's child, but the facts didn't support it.

The man unlocked the gate and asked, "Can I help you?"

"I'm Rong Qian. Criminal detective." She flashed her badge.

He gave it a glance, then nodded and invited her in.

Inside the villa, he led her to the sitting room and offered tea. While he prepared it, Rong Qian scanned the space.

The house was palatial. A sweeping staircase led up to floors she couldn't even count, the space gleamed with polished maple flooring, every corner echoing wealth.

Oddly, for such a large house, no one else seemed to live there.

"You live here alone?" she asked.

He chuckled, the wrinkles around his eyes deep. "Yes, but this isn't my home. I'm just looking after it for someone else."

He handed her a cup of tea.

She took a sip, then got to the point. "Have you seen the news reports from the last few days?"

He nodded. "I have. But I'm not involved in that."

"Do you recall anyone in your family ever going missing?"

He lifted his cup, took a measured sip, then said, "There was one. My cousin—Shen Yi. He disappeared at sea."

Rong Qian's heart skipped. "So you do know him! His stage name was Weilong, wasn't it? Then you must know why all records of him have been wiped clean."

She had hoped that finding Shen Shuhuai would bring answers.

But he shook his head. "I don't know. I only knew bits and pieces. He went missing when I was barely a teenager. I just remember, before he vanished, he asked me to look after his house."

Rong Qian froze.

This house?

"This is… Shen Yi's house?"

He nodded.

She took a slow breath.

"Miss Rong," he said, his eyes sharpening, "you came here asking about that case from the news, but clearly you know much more. Who are you?"

"I'm a detective," she replied calmly. "That's not in question. But I came here because I believe Shen Yi is connected to the body we found. And maybe… connected to me, too."

He frowned, confused.

His cousin had vanished decades ago. All records were erased. No one should even know he existed—so how did she know?

Rong Qian knew this wasn't going to be easy to explain.

But she tried.

She told him about the movie—the black-and-white film, the mysterious actor Weilong. How she'd found him. How she'd searched. How she knew.

Shen Shuhuai didn't seem shocked by the film part. "I have his movies too," he said. "That's not strange."

What was strange, however, was how she knew Weilong was Shen Yi.

And when he asked, she knew she had to tell the truth—even if it sounded insane.

She told him about the car crash.

About the photo disintegrating.

About waking up in the past… and meeting Shen Yi.

She expected mockery.

But instead, Shen Shuhuai looked at her with wide eyes. "That explains it… I knew you looked familiar…"

"What do you mean? You've seen me before?" Rong Qian asked quickly.

He stood and said, "Wait here."

He returned a few minutes later, holding an old, faded photo album. Sitting down beside her, he flipped through the pages.

Finally, he pointed to one.

"Isn't that you?"

Rong Qian leaned in—and gasped.

The photo was ancient. Black and white, soaked in time. In front of a vintage piano stood a woman in a white blouse and high-waisted work trousers, her belt cinching in a delicate waist.

She looked off to the side, brows furrowed, eyes filled with quiet worry.

There was no mistaking it.

It was her.

"Where did you get this?" she whispered.

"I found it when I was sorting through my cousin's things. It was in his room. That piano was his."

Something about the word remains made her shudder.

"Are there… any more of me?"

He shook his head. "Just this one. But I've seen it often, which is why you looked so familiar earlier."

"And the rest of these photos?" she asked, eyeing the album.

He handed it to her gently. "Old photos. You can take a look."

She flipped through it. Most were strangers. There were only a few pictures of Shen Yi—and even those were rare.

Holding the album brought a rush of memories. It reminded her of flipping through her grandfather's wartime photo collection as a child—nostalgic, intimate, haunting.

Then Shen Shuhuai said something that made her freeze.

"Miss Rong… you said you saw him after finding a photo. Could it be that the photo took you back in time?"

Hearing that suggestion from a middle-aged man nearly made her laugh.

Even I don't fully believe it, she thought. And you're saying it with a straight face?

But his expression was solemn. "I don't think it's that simple. My cousin's disappearance was always strange. Maybe this really is fate. And I believe… the woman in that photo is you."

Rong Qian blinked. "You don't think I caused his disappearance, do you?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't mean that. I just think… some things were never meant to be explained. And maybe… just maybe… you've been part of this all along."