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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 10: Old Wang's Cigarettes
I made a bet!
These two words burned into my heart like a branding iron, bringing a sense of almost mad determination. When fear and despair reach their peak, what remains is either total collapse or a desperate fight for survival. I chose the latter, even though I knew it might just be another form of death.
The target: Old Wang. The taciturn old cop from the Criminal Investigation Team, whose eyes occasionally flashed with disdain.
But how could I approach him? How could I safely convey my message to him under the watchful eyes of Fang Huai'an and Captain Zhao, even if it was just a small test?
Should I charge straight up to him? No, that would be foolish; he was too big a target. Should I ask him out? I didn’t even have his phone number, and even if I did, would I dare to call? My phone was likely being monitored as well.
I felt like I was dancing in a room filled with infrared beams and pressure sensors; any wrong move could trigger the entire trap.
I forced myself to calm down and began analyzing Old Wang's "movements" and "possible contact points," as if preparing for a delicate surgical operation.
Over the past few days, aside from pretending to study those burglary cases, most of my energy had been spent discreetly observing people in the bureau, especially Old Wang.
He was indeed quite "solitary." He rarely mingled with others, preferring to hide alone in stairwells or corners of the yard during breaks to smoke. He seemed not to use the bureau's computers much; many things he still preferred to write by hand. His desk was in a relatively secluded corner, far from others.
This "solitude," in my view, could be due to his reclusive personality or perhaps... a deliberate form of self-protection?
Smoking! Yes, smoking was an opportunity!
I could pretend that my craving for nicotine had struck and "bump into" him at one of his usual smoking spots! Asking for a light or offering him a cigarette would open up a conversation and seem completely natural.
But where? The stairwell was too busy and unsafe. The corner of the yard? That was somewhat better, but it had an open view and could easily be seen.
Suddenly, I remembered that behind the office building, near the wall, there was a small abandoned Bicycle Shed with half its roof collapsed—nobody ever went there. I had caught a glimpse of it while familiarizing myself with the surroundings; it seemed littered with cigarette butts. Would Old Wang occasionally go there for some peace?
It was a gamble, but I had no choice.
As for timing? It couldn’t be during work hours; that would be too obvious. It would be best around lunchtime when it was almost over or just before quitting time when there were fewer people and everyone felt more relaxed.
I replayed the plan in my mind over and over again, considering every detail and every possible contingency. I knew it was likely just wishful thinking; under absolute surveillance, any clever scheme could easily fall apart. But this was the only straw I could grasp.
The next day, I carried a pack of cigarettes that had barely been touched, heading to work as usual, but my heart felt like it was holding a ticking bomb.
I spent the entire day restless, forcing myself to focus on the theft case files, but my eyes couldn't help but dart toward Old Wang's corner. He seemed unremarkable today, still silent and absorbed in whatever he was writing.
Finally, as the afternoon drew near to quitting time, people in the office began to pack up and trickle out, the noise gradually rising.
Now's my chance!
I took a deep breath, picked up the cigarette box, and pretended to casually stand up, making my way toward the back door. My palms were sweaty, and my steps felt unsteady, but I forced my expression to remain as calm as usual, even nodding at passing colleagues.
Once outside the office building, I circled around to the back. The setting sun cast long shadows of the buildings. I slowed my pace, scanning the surroundings with hawk-like vigilance.
No one.
I cautiously approached the abandoned Bicycle Shed. The air was thick with the scent of rust and dust. Sure enough, there were plenty of cigarette butts scattered on the ground, some looking quite fresh.
My heart began to race. Would he be here?
I slipped into the shadow of the shed, leaning against the cold wall covered in graffiti, pretending to admire the view. Then I pulled out a cigarette and placed it between my lips while searching my pockets for a lighter.
— I had intentionally left my lighter behind.
Just then, footsteps approached from not far away, slow and steady, crunching on fallen leaves and gravel with a rustling sound.
My nerves tightened to their breaking point!
I turned my head.
It was Old Wang!
He really came!
He looked just the same, wearing an old police uniform that had faded a bit, holding a crumpled cigarette pack in his hand, and walking towards me with his head down, seemingly unaware of my presence.
An opportunity!
I quickly stepped forward a couple of paces, forcing a somewhat awkward and ingratiating smile on my face. "Brother Wang, could I borrow a light?"
Old Wang was startled by my sudden appearance and looked up sharply. A flicker of wariness and sharpness passed through his usually murky eyes as he sized me up. His gaze lingered on my face for a few seconds, as if assessing my intentions.
"The new forensic expert?" he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and marked by years of smoking.
"Yes, yes! I'm Qin Ming," I nodded eagerly, leaning slightly forward and offering my cigarette. "Brother Wang, I forgot my lighter. Could you lend me a flame?"
Without saying a word, Old Wang pulled out an old windproof lighter from his pocket. With a snap, he ignited it and brought the flame to my cigarette.
The flickering flame illuminated his weathered face, which bore little expression. I could smell the faint scent of tobacco on him, along with an indescribable aroma that spoke of time and repression.
The cigarette lit up. I took a deep drag, forcing myself to calm down.
"Thank you, Brother Wang." I lowered the cigarette and offered him my pack. "Brother Wang, would you like to try mine?"
Old Wang waved his hand dismissively, pulling out a cheap cigarette from his crumpled pack instead. He placed it between his lips and lit it with his own lighter. Then he leaned against the wall nearby, silently smoking without looking at me, as if I were just a passerby.
An awkward silence ensued.
This was not what I had expected. I thought he would at least ask me a couple of questions or engage in some small talk. But his complete disregard made me feel even more uncertain.
Was he wary of me? Or did he truly have no interest in me at all?
I couldn't just stand there! I had to speak up! Time was running out!
"Brother Wang," I leaned in closer, lowering my voice to sound like a junior seeking guidance. "I just arrived, and there are many things I don't understand... I feel that some of the cases here are... quite strange."
As I spoke, I fixed my gaze on Old Wang's profile, trying to find any subtle change in his expression that might give me an opening.
Old Wang paused momentarily in his smoking.
It was such a brief moment, almost imperceptible, but my heart leaped into my throat!
He was listening!
Yet he still didn’t look at me; he slowly exhaled a thick cloud of smoke that swirled around him, obscuring his expression.
"Strange?" he finally spoke again, his tone flat and emotionless. "Young people see everything as new when they first arrive; after a while, you get used to it."
Used to it? Used to the distorted truths? Used to the wronged souls who died unjustly?
"But some... clearly seem off..." I gathered my courage, lowering my voice even further so that only we could hear. "It's like... some accidents seem too coincidental, too perfectly arranged..."
As I uttered those words, my heart raced, feeling as if I were dancing on the edge of a cliff. I had laid bare a corner of my suspicions right before him.
Old Wang took a deep drag from his cigarette, the ember flickering uncertainly between his fingers. He remained silent for over ten seconds, that silence pressing down on my chest like a heavy stone, making it hard to breathe.
Then he turned his head and looked directly at me for the first time.
His eyes were no longer murky; they had become exceptionally sharp, like two cold knives piercing deep into my soul.
"Youth," he said slowly and deliberately, his voice low and chilling, carrying an undeniable warning. "Too much curiosity can kill the cat."
My blood ran cold in an instant.
Was this a rejection? Or a warning?
He looked at me, his gaze complex, as if he had a thousand words to say, but in the end, it only transformed into a barely perceptible sigh. He crushed the remaining half of his cigarette against the wall with force, extinguishing it, then turned away, wordlessly striding heavily toward the office building.
I stood frozen in place, watching his retreating figure, feeling a chill wash over me.
Had he failed? Or… had he actually said something?
"Curiosity killed the cat." This phrase echoed in my mind like a spell.
Just then, I suddenly noticed that where Old Wang had extinguished his cigarette, there seemed to be… a strange mark on the wall's dust?
It wasn’t the imprint of the cigarette butt; rather… had he quickly and discreetly traced something in the dust with his finger while putting it out?
My heart raced!
I hurried over and crouched down to examine it closely.
With the last rays of the setting sun, I saw that on that patch of dust, there was indeed a hasty, almost indecipherable scratch. It wasn’t a letter or a symbol; it looked more like…
An arrow?
An arrow pointing deeper into the Bicycle Shed, toward that darkest corner piled with discarded tires and broken wooden planks?!
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