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墨書 Inktalez
Moving was merely an escape, a way to avoid the real issues at hand.
I needed to figure out what was truly going on.
Who was pulling the strings behind the scenes?
What were their intentions?
A name that I had deliberately ignored surfaced in my mind—A Chen.
Five years ago, a few friends and I ventured into business together. Due to poor decisions, we faced bankruptcy and accumulated a significant amount of debt.
To evade our creditors, we went our separate ways and lost all contact.
Only A Chen remained in the area.
He might know something.
On a dreary, rain-soaked afternoon, I found myself in a dimly lit bar in the old district.
The bar was filled with the musty scent of mildew and alcohol, the air thick and suffocating.
A Chen sat in the corner, nursing a drink, his gaze flickering uncertainly.
He looked more haggard than five years ago; dark circles under his eyes and unkempt stubble made him resemble a walking corpse.
"It's been a while," I said as I approached him and took a seat across from him.
He lifted his head, glanced at me with a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then quickly reverted to his indifferent demeanor.
"What do you want?"
His voice was hoarse, tinged with a hint of wariness.
"I want to talk to you about what happened five years ago."
I got straight to the point.
He fell silent for a moment, then picked up his glass and downed its contents in one gulp.
"It's all in the past. What’s there to talk about?"
"No, I think it’s not that simple."
I locked my gaze onto his eyes, speaking each word deliberately.
"Some recent events have made me question whether there are still repercussions from five years ago."
He suddenly lifted his head, a flicker of panic crossing his expression.
"What do you mean?"
"Someone sent me an anonymous letter and has been calling to harass me. I believe it’s connected to what happened five years ago."
I didn’t reveal everything; I was merely probing for his reaction.
He remained silent, staring down at the table, continuously swirling the wine glass in his hand.
The dim light of the bar cast shadows on his haggard face, making it appear even more somber.
The sound of rain pattered softly against the window, as if urging something to happen.
We sat in silence, the air thick with tension.
After a long while, he finally spoke.
"Do you remember Li Ming?"
Li Ming, our business partner from five years ago.
"Of course I remember."
I replied, a sense of unease creeping into my heart.
"He might be the mastermind behind it all."
My heart raced suddenly.
"What evidence do you have?"
"I have no evidence, just a suspicion."
He shook his head, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes.
"But I can't shake the feeling that he’s not as simple as we think."
"He's just a minor player; he couldn't possibly be the mastermind."
I countered.
"Perhaps."
He let out a bitter laugh and said nothing more.
I sensed that he was hiding something, but I didn't know how to press him further.
His gaze was evasive, his tone hesitant, as if he knew more than he was willing to reveal.
I decided not to rely on him any longer and to investigate Li Ming on my own.
I found Li Ming's address from five years ago; it was a rundown apartment building.
The hallway was dark and damp, exuding a putrid smell that made me feel nauseous.
In Li Ming's old residence, I discovered a mysterious envelope.
There were no markings on the envelope, but inside it concealed a blurry photograph and a bank card.
The photo showed a person whose face was indistinct, yet the bank card held a substantial amount of funds.
What could this possibly mean?
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