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Hua Pi: The Art of Yiying Mysticism
墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 1: The Girl in the Vacuum and an Old Computer
In our line of work, we are essentially the "information salvagers" of the city. We take jobs online, without any grand facade—just a shabby little "studio" in an old, crumbling residential building, with rent so cheap that it allows me to skip a few meals of instant noodles each month. If you ask me what I fear the most, it's not running into tough cases or encountering something unsavory—those things might exist if you believe in them, but I haven’t come across any in my years in this business.
What I fear the most is the "vacuum."
What is a vacuum? It’s that kind of case where you dive in only to find smooth walls all around you, with no foothold or handhold to grab onto. No clues, no motives, no witnesses, and even the missing person’s presence feels as thin as air. Investigating such cases feels like throwing punches in zero gravity—there's no force behind them, and it’s frustrating. Finding a lost cat or dog is better; at least you know the breed and color, and you can put up a “reward” poster on a telephone pole.
My name is Li Mo, a so-called "private detective" who hops back and forth along the edges of the gray area. This afternoon, the stock market was as green as if chives had turned into spirits. I was contemplating whether to stick with instant noodles for dinner or splurge on takeout when my phone rang. An unfamiliar local number.
“Hello?” I cleared my throat, trying to make my voice sound more reliable than my bank balance.
On the other end was a woman’s voice, trembling with suppressed sobs and panic: “Hello? Is this Li Detective? I found you online… My daughter, Xiao Ya, she’s gone! It’s been three days!”
“Three days?” My heart sank. An adult missing for three days could mean anything.
“The police… they said she’s an adult now and might just be out having fun; they told me to wait… But I know she wouldn’t do that! She’s not that kind of girl! Li Detective, please…”
“Please don’t panic,” I interrupted her; crying only hinders efficiency. “Where are you? Let’s find a place to talk in detail.”
Half an hour later, in my cluttered studio filled with case files, takeout boxes, and despair over life, I met this mother, Sister Wang. In her forties but looking much older with deep-set eyes and a waxy complexion, she seemed drained of all spirit. Her fingers were white from gripping an old canvas bag tightly. A typical family member's state—anxious, helpless, and blindly trusting in desperation.
I poured her a cup of warm water; she held it with slightly trembling fingers.
“Li Detective, please, you must find Xiao Ya… She’s my only daughter…” Another round of this opening line. I’m not cold-hearted; I’ve just grown numb to it. But work still needs to be done; I still need to eat.
“Sister Wang, don’t worry; I will do my best. Please tell me everything you know about Xiao Ya—the details before and after she went missing.” I took out my notebook as part of routine protocol; this official demeanor often helps frantic family members find some semblance of stability.
Sister Wang spoke intermittently. Her daughter Xiao Ya was nineteen years old and a freshman at a local ordinary university. According to Sister Wang, her personality was not just shy but “almost a bit withdrawn.” She had no friends or social life; usually either attending classes or spending weekends at home reading or browsing the internet alone. She kept to herself and would blush when speaking to strangers.
“She lived on campus even though it wasn’t far from home because she wanted independence. But she always came home every weekend—she was very well-behaved.” Sister Wang wiped her swollen eyes. “She came home last Friday; we had dinner together on Saturday. She was still quiet as usual; nothing seemed off. On Sunday morning, I told her I was going grocery shopping and asked her to stay home… When I returned… she was gone.”
“What did she take with her?”
"Phone, ID card, a few hundred bucks in pocket money... and, and a few changes of clothes that she wears often," Sister Wang's voice trembled. "It was just like... it was all planned."
A girl with social anxiety and a life so simple it bordered on monotonous planning to run away from home? It felt inherently wrong. Where could she go? Who would help her?
"Online romance? Or does she have any special friends she chats with online?" For today's youth, the virtual world often feels more real than reality.
Sister Wang looked bewildered. "I don't know... She always has her phone or computer in hand. When I ask, she says she's looking up information or watching shows. I don't understand those things..."
Ah, the wall of generational gap again.
"Does she have anything particularly cherished? Or has she been especially focused on something recently?"
Sister Wang seemed to be jolted awake, suddenly raising her head. "Things! Yes! That old computer in her room is gone!"
"Old computer?" Who among young people still treasures an old computer these days?
"Yes! It's a very old laptop, left by her father... Her father passed away early." When mentioning "father," Sister Wang's voice grew somber, tinged with an inescapable sadness. "He said that computer contained some of his research materials... I don't really understand what they were about, something cutting-edge regarding people and computers... I can't explain it well. Anyway, Xiao Ya cherished it greatly; she rarely used it but would occasionally boot it up to check on it and dust it off. This time she left home, and she actually took that computer with her!"
A relic from her deceased father. An old laptop containing "cutting-edge research materials." An extremely introverted girl had vanished seemingly without warning, taking with her something that held an unclear yet profoundly significant meaning.
My heart, which had grown cold due to the stock market crash, suddenly felt a tug. My intuition told me that this computer might be the only "singularity" in this case of disappearance.
"Do you remember what kind of research her father was involved in?"
Sister Wang strained to recall but still looked puzzled. "I think he was... a programmer? But not just any programmer. He used to talk about things like 'consciousness' and 'interaction'... quite cryptic. Later he started a small company, but within a couple of years, he... sigh. Xiao Ya never went into detail about the computer; she just kept saying it was very important, extremely important."
"Consciousness? Interaction? That doesn't sound like typical software development."
"Aside from the computer, were there any other abnormalities in her room? Was anything missing or was there something new that you hadn't seen before?"
"I... I'll go take a look!" Sister Wang seemed to have grasped onto a lifeline.
I got up and followed. The scene was something that needed to be seen. Xiao Ya's home was in an older neighborhood, a modest two-bedroom apartment. It was tidy, but the furniture was old, and the lighting was dim, giving the entire place a suffocating atmosphere.
Xiao Ya's room was even more… "clean" than I had imagined. A single bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. The desk was cluttered with books—literary classics and university textbooks—neatly arranged. On the wall hung a few Two-Dimensional Posters, the only splash of vibrant color in the otherwise sterile environment.
But it was too tidy. It felt less like a young girl’s room with her own little habits and secrets, and more like a meticulously maintained display case belonging to someone with obsessive-compulsive tendencies, or perhaps… like a scene that had just been thoroughly cleaned.
I paced around the room, my gaze sweeping over every corner—the desk, under the bed, the gaps in the wardrobe. I instinctively searched for any “disharmonious” elements. A crumpled piece of paper? A forgotten hairpin? Even a hint of unusual dust?
There was nothing.
Just as I was about to be unnerved by this excessive “normalcy,” my eyes fell on the trash can beneath the desk. Inside were only a few used tissues and snack wrappers. Frowning, I put on gloves and reached in to rummage through it.
At the bottom of the trash can, buried under some tissues, I felt a small handful of… ashes.
Blackened, fragmented paper ashes. Next to them lay a half-burned matchstick.
A chill ran down my spine as I looked up at Sister Wang. She stood at the door, anxiously watching me, clearly unaware of my discovery.
Someone had burned something here. And they had done so very carefully, leaving behind only this nearly invisible remnant. What had been burned? Why? Did Xiao Ya do it herself? Or… after her disappearance, did someone come to this room to “clean” it?
A cold shiver crept up my neck. The “cleanliness” of this room suddenly took on another unsettling interpretation.
I straightened up nonchalantly and turned my gaze back to the bookshelf. Besides those textbooks and classics, there were indeed a few books in the corner that seemed out of place. One on basic cryptography, another titled Group Behavior Pattern Analysis, and an older one with a yellowed cover titled Early Philosophical Speculation on Information Interaction. This combination… did not seem like typical bedtime reading for an ordinary introverted college girl. I picked up Group Behavior Pattern Analysis and quickly flipped through it. On the blank page of the table of contents, I saw an extremely small combination of letters and numbers written in pencil: “Alpha-7?” followed by a question mark.
Was it just doodling? Or some kind of code?
“Sister Wang,” I said, pointing at those books.
Sister Wang leaned closer, still looking puzzled. “These? They might belong to her dad? Or maybe she bought them herself… She always read a wide variety of books.”
I placed the book back where it belonged, feeling that strange sensation intensifying within me.
As I left Sister Wang's house, the sky had completely darkened. The old streetlights emitted a dim yellow glow, barely illuminating the path beneath my feet. The evening breeze brushed against my face, cool and refreshing.
This business felt off. Very off.
It was no longer just a simple "vacuum" case. The ashes in the room and that mysterious "Alpha-7?" were like two needles piercing through the once smooth surface, revealing potentially deeper and more dangerous secrets lurking beneath.
A girl living in her own world, carrying an old computer containing her father's "cutting-edge research," had burned something in the room before disappearing, all while studying group psychology and cryptography... What was she trying to accomplish? Or rather, what had she gotten herself involved in?
Returning to my shabby studio, I even forgot to make instant noodles. I sat in front of the computer, my mind a chaotic mess. That old computer had now become the center of all the mysteries.
Just as I was about to open a search engine and type in "Alpha-7" to see what I could find, a flicker of movement caught my eye in the shadow of the opposite hallway outside the window. It seemed like a figure had flashed by.
Was it an illusion?
I suddenly stood up and walked to the window, pulling aside a corner of the grimy curtain to look down. The ground below was empty, only the wind stirring a few fallen leaves.
But that moment just now—the feeling of being watched—was so real it sent chills down my spine.
It wasn’t an illusion.
I drew the curtain shut and walked to the door, repeatedly checking that the lock was secure. My heart raced a bit faster.
This case... was likely far more dangerous than I had imagined.
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