Episode 3: Echoes of an Old Case / Death in a Bar / A Bloody Trailer at the Premiere

The night was thick as ink. Neon flickered in the distance, and inside the quiet apartment building all was still; the whole residential district was so silent it felt eerie, and a chill wind could not dispel the cold of the street below. Yu Mengge stood at the edge of the rooftop, the wind whipping his coat, its hem fluttering wildly like a curtain torn by fate, as he thought back over more than a decade of effort — in the end, nothing but a sheet of absurdity. His gaze pierced the darkness and fell on the quiet, wet street below, where the lamplight reflected off the rain-soaked ground, casting countless blurred shadows.

His fingers lightly touched the cold railing, as if touching the edge of fate itself; his heart was as heavy as the night, hazy and blurred. Fragments of memory fell like raindrops — the applause of his lifetime, the cheers of his fans, and those unbearable shadows. Who was pulling the strings from behind? Who had kept the truth so far away from him?

The world beneath his feet seemed to whisper, echoes circling over the empty rooftop, eerie and mocking. Yu Mengge closed his eyes. In his ears were only the wind, the rain, and, far away, a faint singing — the melody he had once sung, warm and lonely, like the whispering of a soul.

This was a game of death, and he had been chosen in humiliation, made into someone else's pawn. He would not accept it, he would not surrender — but today everything was already too late, and his life was about to end.

Then his body tilted slightly. He glanced back at the faces of those people; they were devils incarnate, and his hateful gaze would remember every one of them. Time and again he had tried to break free of their control, yet he could never get away.

He would not yield; he had never stopped resisting. Now he was about to leave this world. He was full of reluctance, and he did not want to die like this, but he had no choice — from the very beginning, it had all been a deception.

At that moment, time seemed to stop. Raindrops traced fine trajectories through the air, and light and shadow twisted on the wet street. The fall was not merely a body dropping; it was a life torn to pieces by fate. The night swallowed his figure, leaving only the cold wind and the sound of rain echoing through the empty city.

Those people stood in the shadows, wearing the smile he had seen before — the smile he could not speak of even unto death.

Some say that in the darkness, he was still listening to his own song, trying to piece together those scattered truths…

Chapter 1: Echoes of an Old Case

Several years had passed.

The fall of that year had been sealed away in the depths of the city's memory, and no one asked anymore what had really happened that day. Until one day, reports, forums and self-media clips brought the name "Yu Mengge" back into people's view. The wind and rain of that night seemed still to echo in their ears, as if reminding the world: the truth had never disappeared; it had only been blurred by the pressure of time.

Neon flickered at the café on the street corner; the damp air carried the smell of tobacco and rain. It was another week of the rainy season. People were still busy, enduring each day in exhaustion. A young man slowly pushed open the door, his gaze falling on a seat in the corner that carried a faint melancholy. His eyes were sharp, yet without a single ripple, like a blade that pierces people's hearts.

He did not know that the fall of several years ago had already, imperceptibly, changed the very air of this whole city, and was quietly tugging at everyone's fate. The mystery Yu Mengge left behind was like a melody in the night, low and lingering, waiting for someone to pick up the broken notes.

Qin Shaohua sat down and took out his laptop, his fingertips lightly brushing its cover, as if feeling a warmth that had never dissipated. For the past few weeks, the news had been reporting a bizarre case: a female star had suddenly fallen from a building, and her agent had also gone missing — and this was already the fourth suicide attributed to depression. Yet the entertainment circle cared nothing for their lives; soon another new star would take their place. Such was entertainment… He finished reading the reports, and the corner of his mouth rose in a faint smile. He did not know that in a dark corner of this city, a pair of eyes was watching him, and that a story about music, death and truth was slowly unfolding…

Chapter 2: Death in a Bar

A few days later, the city was still a blaze of splendour, all red lanterns and green wine, and people were immersed in extravagance and revelry. Those who were drunk had long forgotten the emotions suppressed for so long; for them, this was a kind of release. In order to forget these painful memories, people would rather sink into extravagance — that way, they felt, nothing had anything to do with them anymore.

A young man arrived at a bar and ordered a drink at the counter. He gazed at the psychedelic atmosphere and instantly felt full of vitality, completely immersed in the magical mood, his face wreathed in smiles. He picked up the cocktail that had been mixed, took a sip, set the glass down, and greeted the beauty beside him.

The young men and women were all immersed in the heated atmosphere, almost to the point of madness. On the dance floor, the young people cheered, screamed and raved. When the DJ pushed the music to its highest pitch, the stage lights flashed with lasers, bright one moment and dark the next, and the lead dancer twisted in an enchanting dance, drawing screams from the young crowd; the joyful atmosphere was submerged in the music.

At that moment, a man suddenly collapsed to the ground, white foam at his mouth, his whole body twitching a few times. But the people were still immersed in the frenzied dance floor and never noticed the man lying in its centre at all; they thought he was performing. About ten minutes passed before someone shouted: "Get up, stop acting…" He went forward and patted the man's shoulder, but the man gave no response and did not move at all. "Hey! Stop pretending, get up! This isn't a show!"

"Ah!" A piercing scream rang out: "Someone's dead!" At the sound, the crowd scattered all at once. The DJ's music stopped. The man lay on the ground without moving, his face pale, his eyeballs bulging round, his mouth open with white foam still at its corners, both hands clutching tightly at his own neck, his legs bent. "A ghost!" a woman beside him screamed: "Someone's dead!"

The crowd in the bar fled in every direction. Faced with this sudden turn of events, they were flustered and helpless; a stampede even broke out — some people were trampled and injured, and others were utterly at a loss. Someone — no one knew who — called the police. A cordon was pulled up, and the scene was examined… And in a corner, a black figure watched these panicking people, no expression on his face. He looked up at the searchlight above his head, casually let the wine glass in his hand shatter to the ground, pulled on his hat, turned and left.

Chapter 3: A Bloody Trailer at the Premiere

A week later, an entertainment gossip magazine announced the forthcoming new film "Next Stop: Tornado." To release this new film, Fang Jin had done a great deal of publicity, and he had also won sponsorship from several sources of capital. It was the most important film of his life: some two years in the making, with a total investment of over a hundred million, it was a major production, and he had invited a famous film actress to play the lead. It told of several women who meet because of an approaching tornado, and who gradually uncover the injustices women suffer in this society; the film follows four women of different ages and different professions who, because of a single shared event, come together, and from there unfolds the story of each of them…

Fang Jin also gave interviews to major media outlets, began promoting the film online, and communicated with audiences on site. Together with the principal creators, he held a meet-and-greet with the audience. As he was interacting with one audience member, she took the host's microphone, smiled, and said: "Director Fang, I hear you poured your heart and soul into this film. Mainly from a female perspective, it puts forward that women, as members of this society, sacrifice more, and it brings out the sharp problems women face in society?"

Fang Jin took the host's microphone, his face full of gravity, and said: "Women have given a great deal to this society. We should pay more attention to women's rights and interests — especially workplace harassment in the industry — rather than being met with society's indifference. I made this film mainly to call for attention to women, not to arouse pity."

Another audience member took the microphone. She gave a contemptuous smile and asked: "Director Fang, in your film all the characters try to stay alive… then in real life, have you ever let certain people go on living, too? You said you have seen several hundred corpses — is that true?"

Fang Jin's face changed at once, but he kept his composure; at a press event he could not let the media film him losing control. He changed his tone: "This society does have many problems. Your question, madam, goes beyond the scope of this film."

"Director Fang, don't misunderstand me — I'm just curious. What you did a few years ago — have you forgotten it all?" The audience member pressed him once more. Watching Fang Jin's face stir, as if she had achieved her purpose, she continued: "Director Fang, you may choose not to answer my question, but as long as you understand it in your heart, that is enough."

Fang Jin's face tightened. He stood up at once, gripping the microphone tightly in his hand, yet he could not answer a single word. He turned to leave; several security guards followed and escorted that audience member out of the venue.

This became a small interlude at the film's press conference. The audience present did not take the matter to heart; they thought the film industry needed a rousing moment, and that every press conference had its eccentric audience members.

Three days later, Fang Jin brought all the principal creators of "Next Stop: Tornado" to the film's premiere. Many media outlets and reporters came, as did many audience members; smiles hung on their faces — for them, being close to their beloved idols was a great honour.

The night was a deep blue-black, the city's neon flickering in the rain, as the eagerly awaited premiere of "Next Stop: Tornado" was held at Shenghua Cinema. The red carpet flowed like fire; several of the lead actors were resplendent, drawing cheers from the audience — being close to their idols was what the audience pursued.

The camera flashes were almost blinding. With a crash, a poster fell from the sky; it was a giant poster specially made by the organisers. But at the moment the poster fell, almost everyone present was stunned. The reporters kept filming, the media kept broadcasting, the audience was astonished, and even the viewers of the online livestream watched with unusual attention. Hanging before the giant screen was a memorial portrait of Yu Mengge — that smiling photograph, its smile so clean it was almost cold, as if he had never left people's sight, and had returned to the world once more in this manner.

On the screen, footage of him from his lifetime was playing. The audience cried out in amazement: "The Koi Boy — he's back—" For this artist who had vanished in a fall before everyone's eyes several years ago, to appear now in this way left everyone stunned.

Although he had disappeared from the public several years ago, no one knew what had really happened to him. But memory seemed to awaken people once more, and the viewers in front of the bullet screens kept flooding the chat:

"He's back!"

"The Koi Boy!"

"Xiao Yu, we have always remembered you!"

The host's voice rose high, so that those present would not feel so awkward: "This was a mistake by the organisers. This singer has always lived on in people's hearts! Now, let us welcome with applause the director of this film — Fang Jin!"

The applause was thunderous, yet empty — no one appeared. The host called out once more, but still no figure showed; the atmosphere grew a little awkward. The host called a third time, and still there was only silence. The chandelier above the stage suddenly flickered, and the sound of metal snapping cut through the quiet — clang!

The enormous curtain dropped abruptly, and a blood-drenched figure fell from the heights, smashing heavily into the centre of the red carpet. The arc of the spattering blood was like a beautiful scenic line; under the spotlight it resembled a black rose in bloom.

For an instant, the whole stage turned eerie. The audience below was also perplexed — was this one of the programmes the organisers had specially prepared to attract attention?

The host was so frightened by the sudden scene that she could not speak. This was not a special effect arranged by the organisers; this film was a literary drama, not a horror film. Her hands trembled as she held the microphone, stammering and incoherent: "We… are… quite… objective, this… film… may… be… our…"

Before she had finished, the staff present raised their heads toward the spotlight: a figure stood high above, looking down at them. One staff member stepped forward, reached out and touched the body lying on the ground, looked closely, and cried out in fright:

"Dead… some… one… is dead…"

The staff present cried out in alarm and fled in all directions. The host was terrified by the scene, while the media reporters seemed to smell news material; rather than retreat, they began reporting from the scene—

Some people in the audience screamed.

Some still thought it was a special effect.

Only when the face of that figure showed in the light did they see it was Fang Jin himself. He lay quietly on the ground, blood spilled everywhere, the red carpet soaked through; his eyes were wide open, his throat slashed across by a sharp blade, the blood soaking his shirt, his death extremely cruel. The microphone fell to the ground with a piercing echo that reverberated through the hall.

The screen behind the curtain lit up by itself, making everyone tremble with fear. A film trailer began to play, its voice low and eerie—

"What you owe him, who will repay it now?"

On the screen appeared Yu Mengge's face, gradually blurring into blood-red spots of light; images of him from his lifetime seemed to look on at this astonishing scene, and his singing echoed through the cinema.

The venue fell into chaos. The organisers, too, were frightened by this sudden turn of events and did not know how to cope, while every major social platform began discussing the affair, and the viewers in front of the livestreams flooded the chat:

"He's back!"

"We never forgot him!"

The entire screen was filled with netizens' messages; their long-suppressed emotions were released in this moment—

The audience fled in all directions, the flashes of phones scattered like a rain of stars; some cried out, some filmed, some stood still and did not move.

The red carpet was soaked with blood. Amid the flickering light, it seemed someone in the crowd whispered softly: "This is his revenge."

Yet no one in the crowd thought of calling the police. The first thing they thought of was making the headlines — forwarding the news headlines they had captured at the scene — caring nothing about why he had been killed. Curious people even opened platform livestreams, calling this incident "a ghost killing", "a vengeful spirit claiming a life"… In an instant, the number of people in the livestream rooms soared to over a million…

At that moment, sirens wailed. Several police cars, having received the report, drove in slowly and pulled up a cordon. The audience at the scene was held back by the police to give statements. Some could not bear the bloody scene and could not even speak clearly, trembling all over; some played detective, analysing the case, and sounded more professional than the police; and some were so frightened their faces turned pale — bloody scenes they had only ever seen in films, now seen with their own eyes; it left them thrilled and excited beyond measure.

The media reporters at the entrance were still filming; they wanted to seize the headline. Entertainment news was commonplace to begin with, and now there was such an explosive murder case — and they had received orders from their superiors to follow it continuously. As the camera shook, it vaguely captured—

On the screen behind the stage, a line of blood-red characters suddenly appeared: "Yu Mengge will be silent no longer."

One entertainment reporter had filmed the whole venue. He was visibly excited — at last he could make the front page — and said to a colleague beside him: "Don't you think it's strange?"

Another, a news reporter, took up his words, looking dejected: "It's just a murder case, what's so strange about it!"

Seeing how calm he was, the entertainment reporter said: "This is no ordinary murder — this is revenge!"

The news reporter turned his head, laughed heartily, and said: "You haven't been writing gossip news too long, have you!"

The entertainment reporter gave a mysterious smile: "A few years ago, Yu Mengge's death was very strange — could it be connected to money laundering behind the scenes?"

Seeing him analyse away, the news reporter smiled and said: "I think you're not suited to be an entertainment reporter; you'd be better suited to current-affairs news reporting."

Just then, a police officer arrived, wearing a dark denim suit, his hair wildly tousled, his skin dark, a credential hanging from him; his face was grave, his eyes sharp. He looked over everything that was happening at the scene, a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, then turned to the two reporters and raised his guard: "This scene is all sealed off. You reporters should not interfere."

He was the head of the Major Crimes Unit — Situ Hengyi, a rising star of the police force who had solved many a strange case. Having received the assignment, he had rushed over at once. When he arrived, the scene was in chaos; he could only first question the eyewitnesses, then screen them one by one — the killer might be among the people present.