Episode 25: The No. 76 Art Gallery

Three days later, the whole city seemed shrouded in darkness, like a lost man unable to find his way out of a maze. When the sunlight came, that was the darkest moment — yet it could not stop those searching for the truth.

Qin Shaohua was leisurely at work in his office, dealing with the cases that had piled up over the past few days. He glanced over and saw Situ Hengyi, exhausted, asleep again on his sofa. He knew this case had wrapped itself around him and left him deeply oppressed. Facing a former colleague who had turned out to be a mole, with the police force infiltrated from within, he had barely been able to breathe these past few days.

He quickly finished the cases in hand. Seeing that it was still early, he got up and brewed a pot of coffee. An email arrived on his laptop. He opened it and found a photograph — Yu Mengge, alive, checking in at the No. 76 Art Gallery. He began to think through the whole thread of clues, assembling a web of connections in his mind.

An hour passed, and he had put together a complete chain of evidence. He picked up the coffee on his desk, took a sip, and, looking unusually calm, called out, "Officer Situ, wake up!"

Situ Hengyi was extremely alert. Hearing someone call his name, he immediately scrambled up from the sofa. Pulling himself together, he asked groggily, "Any leads?"

Qin Shaohua said coldly, "From the clues we've gathered these past few days, Yu Mengge was murdered as part of a premeditated plan, and the place where he fell may not have been the first crime scene." He turned his laptop around and pointed at the file on it. "According to witnesses, a police car was seen, there were gunshots, and Tianze's people were there too. There may have been more than two or three people present — perhaps seventeen. The police were there that day as well." He looked at him with a grave expression and analysed calmly, "I have a bold idea: Yu Mengge may have possessed important information, and he was killed to silence him."

Situ Hengyi thought for a few seconds, his expression unnatural, his eyes fixed on the assembled information, his brow tightly furrowed. "His phone is the key — and the seventh shadow. What exactly does it mean?"

"Didn't he write a song, 'The Seventh Shadow'? The lyrics suggest he went to a place where he saw many dark things, even death. That place is the art gallery."

The two looked at each other and said in unison, "The No. 76 Art Gallery!"

Just then, a piece of music sounded — Qin Shaohua's phone was ringing. He looked down and saw it was Qian Musheng calling. He answered. Qian Musheng had been in hospital for a few days and, after being discharged, was still reporting gossip news. Today he had received some shocking information, and he called Qin Shaohua at once, his voice full of anxiety. "Lawyer Qin, something big has happened! Check Weibo — it's trending..."

Qin Shaohua opened Weibo. An entertainment gossip story had made the headlines: Tian Sirong's scandals from her younger days had been dug up — she had married twice, and both husbands had died unnatural deaths, supposedly 'cursed' to death by her. She had inherited assets worth a hundred billion and was known in the industry as the 'capital widow'. She had allegedly used her resources to subject many male actors to the casting couch.

He scrolled through several pages, thought for a few seconds, and said coldly into the phone to Qian Musheng, "Someone deliberately leaked this. Someone wants Tian Sirong to shut up — or wants to humiliate her."

Qian Musheng sighed. "Lawyer Qin, this Tian Sirong holds the capital. She has a 'murder party' — she organises gatherings specially, inviting financiers and powerful people to watch." He paused for a few seconds, pressed the phone closer, and lowered his voice. "I hear from people in the circle that back then Tian Sirong was the host of the gatherings. Yu Mengge was chosen — they chose him."

A flicker crossed Qin Shaohua's face, but he quickly regained his composure and said calmly, "Keep digging up more gossip and scandals for me. The more bizarre, the more interesting."

With that, he hung up and turned to Situ Hengyi. "The police didn't find Yu Mengge's phone?"

Situ Hengyi shook his head. "I checked. There were no belongings at all. From the very start, the case was labelled an 'accidental fall from a building'. His phone may have fallen into their hands."

Qin Shaohua pondered for a moment, staring at the laptop screen, a trace of doubt in his eyes, and said coldly, "Your superior is in league with them. Aren't you afraid they'll suspect you? Lately you've been acting like a professional actor — you even fooled me."

Situ Hengyi glanced back at him and answered not a word, only gazing faintly at the photograph of the No. 76 Art Gallery. He narrowed his eyes, an indescribable strangeness about him, his fists clenched, as if once all the evil were uncovered, a storm would follow.

Night had fallen. The city's neon lights stretched like lengthened pulses, flickering in the darkness, looking utterly diseased — yet impossible not to draw close to.

Qin Shaohua tidied up the shredded paper, his notebook, and the chain of evidence he had just assembled. He draped his jacket over his arm and said in a low voice, "Let's go. The later it gets, the less attention we'll draw."

Situ Hengyi nodded without asking more. He knew Qin Shaohua's judgements were never impulsive. The two walked out of the investigation bureau building in silence, the night wind carrying damp mist against their faces.

Qin Shaohua had looked up a summary of the No. 76 Art Gallery: it mainly hosted art exhibitions, with artists from all over the world showing their work there. The gallery's origins were also rather peculiar — it had been converted from a bankrupt factory, and after the city planning, it was brought under the municipal art centre. No. 76 was one of its galleries, where well-known artists often came to exhibit their work.

The car drove along the elevated highway, the lights pulling out cold white shadows.

Inside the car, it was utterly silent.

Qin Shaohua suddenly spoke. "Don't you find it strange? Yu Mengge never liked taking photos in life, yet he deliberately left a check-in photo at the art gallery?"

Situ Hengyi gripped the steering wheel. "You mean... he was deliberately leaving a signal?"

"Perhaps more than that," Qin Shaohua's eyes sank until they no longer looked like eyes — a thin layer of ice. "He may have known he was going to die."

The words made the air freeze instantly.

Situ Hengyi slowly stopped at the intersection, the red light illuminating both men's profiles.

Qin Shaohua's voice was cold and merciless. "A dying message is for those capable of understanding it. Yu Mengge knew he wouldn't last long, so he hid everything in that song. 'The seventh shadow' is not a shadow — it refers to a witness. He saw something he shouldn't have seen."

The red light turned green.

The car set off again.

The art gallery stood in the old city district, surrounded by dense, dark, cold, sharp buildings, oppressive, like an ancient bone sunk into the deepest part of the city. No one went there at night; several streetlights were broken, and the whole road looked as though something had swallowed it.

The car stopped in front of the gallery.

The old upright sign bearing [76] swayed gently in the wind, like a silent eye watching them.

As Situ Hengyi got out of the car, his heart inexplicably quickened. He suddenly recalled that night in the psychiatric hospital, when Wang Xiaochen had said in a trembling voice, "Find seven, the seventh one... it's right there."

He looked up at the building — reinforced concrete, its exterior strikingly eerie. He had seen this very building in a dream, and it was exactly the same as in his dream. A chill ran through his whole body, and some inexplicable force seemed to be guiding him toward the final truth.

Qin Shaohua picked up the torch he carried with him, his tone as calm as a surgeon's. "Before we go in, let's be clear."

He turned to Situ Hengyi, his gaze sharp. "If there's really something in there, once we come out... it may change the whole direction of this case."

Situ Hengyi took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"—Good."

Qin Shaohua pushed open the rust-streaked side door.

The door panel let out a long groan.

Darkness rushed toward them like a tide. They went up to the second floor. All was silent — so silent it was a little frightening, even a little suffocating. Several eerie paintings hung on the walls. Moving further on, there was only darkness —

And the instant the light illuminated the gallery's main hall —

Situ Hengyi jolted all over.

There was something there.

Those 'works of art' had been arranged into some kind of... ritual.

As if awaiting a late-arriving witness.

Qin Shaohua raised his torch and shone it toward the very centre.

His pupils contracted sharply.

On the floor was a huge installation artwork, like some sort of altar. In the centre stood a broken human-shaped sculpture, and under the light, the sculpture's shadow split eerily into seven.

The seventh shadow —

Clearly did not match the direction of the light source.

As if... it had grown on its own.

Qin Shaohua said in a low voice, "Officer Situ — what he saw was probably more than just darkness."

Situ Hengyi did not answer; he only raised his torch and shone it deep into the corridor. On the wall were more than a dozen large installation paintings —

Blood red, ink black, and gold intertwined, like a mixture of a religious altar and a sacrificial ritual.

Every painting bore the same symbol:

An angel whose eyes were sewn shut with thread.

"Yu Mengge was here, attending the last private exhibition of his life," Qin Shaohua said quietly. "The message he wanted to convey was that this is where all evil begins."

In the silence, they entered the main exhibition hall.

In the centre of the hall stood a giant sculpture — a full three metres tall.

Like a mixture of human and deity:

One head, four arms, a hollow chest, and behind it, tattered wings. At the chest hung a black glass sphere, within which something seemed to flow... like ink, or like blood.

Its eyes were closed, as if looking down upon every person in the world, and as if arrogantly proclaiming its power. Behind it, the wings were studded with feathers — each feather made from an arrow's fletching.

Qin Shaohua stared at the sphere. "Doesn't it look like an eye?"

Situ Hengyi said coldly, "More like... a watcher."

The lights around the exhibits were very dim, so dim that every artwork seemed to breathe and writhe in the darkness, as if they were all living creatures — a chill ran through one's heart. The atmosphere was truly too eerie.

The floor was so polished it reflected the two men's shadows —

But the shadows in the light looked wrong, asymmetrical, as if pulled and twisted, unable to return to their true shape.

Situ Hengyi frowned and said with a wry smile, "Do modern people really like this kind of sinister art?"

Qin Shaohua looked around and sneered, "People who come to see an art exhibition would think they'd walked into the underworld. These artists love playing with such sinister things."

Qin Shaohua brought up the surveillance footage he had retrieved. Though the image was blurry, Yu Mengge could still be seen walking slowly through the hall, his face pale, as if he had noticed something.

He stopped before the giant sculpture and murmured something — but the surveillance had recorded no sound.

Suddenly, he turned around sharply, as if frightened by something. Then the image distorted, filled with static, and froze...

A full 22 seconds of blank.

Qin Shaohua frowned. "The system shows it wasn't a malfunction. Someone manually cut it out."

Situ Hengyi stared at the screen, a chill rising in his eyes. "He wasn't threatened — he was guided."

Qin Shaohua said coldly, "Guided where?"

Situ Hengyi slowly raised his head and looked deep into the hall. He recalled the dream — under Yu Mengge's guidance, in the depths of the darkness, a left turn, an empty room. He pointed ahead. "Over there!"

There was a narrow staircase leading down into the basement, like a gaping black hole. The deeper it went, the more suffocating it became, a chill spreading all around.

The underground passage stretched long, as if it had no end.

On the walls were dark murals —

They depicted a multitude of translucent faces, as if struggling, crying out, pleading, terrified, despairing in the water...

Qin Shaohua shivered with cold. "These paintings are too eerie..."

At the very bottom, an old wooden door came into view, marked with a striking sign: "M-17."

Situ Hengyi froze. He seemed close to his goal, yet still a distance from the truth.

This was the key code the Judge had exposed.

Qin Shaohua said calmly, "Do you think... someone performs rituals here?" He glanced around, a very bad premonition rising in him. He clutched the collar of his shirt, his eyes flashing blue, thinking: this place is not art — it is the root of evil.

Situ Hengyi did not answer. His spine went cold, and each step his legs took felt heavy. He swallowed, his torch shaking as it lit the way ahead.

He reached out and pushed the door open.

Behind the door was an empty room.

But on the walls all around...

They were covered in handprints.

Dried, dark handprints.

On the floor lay the remains of black candles. In the centre stood an overturned chair, with broken rope still clinging to its back.

Qin Shaohua gasped. "Are these... signs of someone being tied up?"

Situ Hengyi bent down and examined the surroundings. The place looked long abandoned, a layer of dust on the floor. He swept his torch across it, and a point of light caught his eye. He lowered his head and drew closer, picking up a tiny metal object from a corner of the floor.

In the light, it gave off a faint gleam.

It was a —

Silver needle.

Engraved on the tail of the needle were a few letters — the same silver needle as Fang Jin's and Shen Yao's. No — these were their silver needles. The Judge was imitating their method of killing —

Qin Shaohua looked at him, hesitated for a few seconds, and said in a low voice, "Situ, they are killing people — the 'murder party' — and more people will be killed!"

Situ Hengyi slowly stood up, took out a tissue, and wrapped the silver needle in it, his voice low. "Could this be the first crime scene?"

He looked at the walls covered in handprints, as if hearing something — as if the voices behind those walls were still crying for help. A chill ran down his back, and he stepped back a few paces, an inexplicable, invisible force guiding him to seek out the truth.

Qin Shaohua gazed at the handprints on the wall, his expression blank. He looked up at his surroundings and said calmly, "So what do we do now?"

Situ Hengyi took a deep, cold breath. The dark echoes spread through the room in waves. He clenched his fists and said in a low voice, "Lawyer Qin... what we just stepped into... is the 'ritual ground' they don't want anyone to know about."

He looked up toward the only exit.

"From today on — you and I are being watched."

Qin Shaohua thought it over. They had entered the art gallery so smoothly — he exclaimed in alarm, "This is bad. We've fallen into a trap. Let's get out of here, fast."