Good and Evil Chapter 97: The Car Accident a Year Ago, the ‘Suicide’ a Year Later

The stranger and more bizarre a case is, the more it suggests hidden secrets lurking beneath the surface.

Logging into a certain messaging software was a trivial matter for Lv Xing, who was well-versed in computers. Moreover, at the crime scene in Room 502—the study of the deceased, Tian Yang—the computer was still logged into his account.

As the page refreshed, the first login was Tian Yang’s account. After logging in, Xu Lang briefly scanned through the list of friends—several hundred contacts, though most were grouped together. A few were sorted into separate categories: family, colleagues, classmates, and one distinct group labeled “Her,” containing only one friend—Duan Yiling’s account.

Xu Lang sat down, grasped the mouse, and opened the chat window of Duan Yiling’s account. Indeed, there were numerous cryptic messages sent by Duan Yiling. Xu Lang had seen these chats before, but at the very bottom of the record, one line caught his attention:

“Born on the same year, same month, same day; died on the same year, same month, same day. Frozen, so cold, Duan Yiling!”

At first glance, the phrase seemed nothing out of the ordinary—mere melodramatic words reminiscent of sworn brothers or chivalrous heroes in ancient dramas or martial arts novels. Such words were once called “righteous vows” by the ancients. But nowadays, few spoke in such terms. After all, the world is unpredictable, plagued by natural disasters and human calamities. If a dear friend dies, would one truly follow him into death?

Yet, Xu Lang’s attention was drawn to the repeated phrase “Frozen, so cold,” which Duan Yiling had sent multiple times to Tian Yang before his death. Neither Tian Yang nor Xu Lang had understood the meaning behind these words. Moreover, the last message exchanged between them before Tian Yang’s death bore the signature of Duan Yiling—who had been dead for a year.

Xu Lang gripped the mouse, lost in thought. He felt as if he had overlooked something crucial, but what exactly was it?

At that moment, the team assigned to investigate Duan Yiling returned with news.

Following Ning Yanran’s instructions, they had investigated the car accident that killed Duan Yiling a year ago. The accident occurred near a bus stop in Mingwan Residential Area, where Duan Yiling regularly boarded and alighted. On the day of the accident, the bus was pulling over to the stop with about a dozen passengers and the driver aboard. As Duan Yiling stepped off and was about to leave the platform, one foot just reaching the road below, a runaway truck with failed brakes crashed headlong into her. The impact was fatal—her body was severed, the scene gruesome and horrifying.

The truck then collided with the tail of the bus, which had just started moving. The bus was pushed far along the road before coming to a halt. Fortunately, none of the passengers or the driver died, though some suffered serious injuries.

Upon their return, the team presented the police investigation files on the accident along with photographs from the scene.

Xu Lang flipped through the files and found the investigation meticulous and thorough, every detail interconnected. The conclusion was clear: the accident was caused by brake failure in the truck, and Duan Yiling was an innocent victim—the sole fatality in the crash.

The case was straightforward, the evidence complete, and the perpetrator duly punished and compensated the victim’s family. Everything seemed settled.

Yet, as Xu Lang prepared to examine the photographs, a sudden realization struck him. Duan Yiling’s death had occurred on September 22nd—the same date as Tian Yang’s demise a year later.

He reopened Duan Yiling’s case file. It plainly stated that she died at 6:15 pm on September 22, 2008.

He then located Tian Yang’s autopsy report, which recorded his death around 6 pm on September 22, 2009.

Though Tian Yang’s death time wasn’t precise to the minute, it was certain he died within that hour.

Two separate cases, different years, yet the same month, day, and hour. A pair of lovers, born on the same year, month, and day, who died exactly one year apart. Was there a connection? Could it truly be suicide?

Xu Lang shook his head. If it were suicide, who had been using Duan Yiling’s account in the year following her death? Tian Yang? If so, why? If it was an act of love-driven suicide, why did Tian Yang wait a whole year after Duan Yiling’s death? Why choose to stab himself in the heart with a kitchen knife—a cruel and agonizing way to die?

Pushing his doubts aside for the moment, Xu Lang examined the photos from Duan Yiling’s accident scene. The devastation was horrific. Her upper body lay sprawled on the platform, blood pooling everywhere, internal organs scattered around. Her delicate face was stained crimson, eyes wide with terror, mouth agape, blood trickling from the corner of her lips. Nearby lay a shattered pair of glasses.

Her lower body had been crushed under the truck’s wheels, flesh mangled beyond recognition, two bloodied drag marks trailing on the road.

Her upper and lower halves lay hundreds of meters apart, the scene ghastly beyond words. Even with years of police experience, Xu Lang was deeply shaken at first sight.

After reviewing several photos, Xu Lang fixated on one close-up of Duan Yiling’s face. The wider his gaze, the deeper his frown grew; his complexion darkened. The other officers exchanged puzzled looks, unsure of his reaction.

The photo showed her terrified eyes and open mouth, as if trying to cry out for help, but the accident came too suddenly. She never uttered a sound before death. Yet, in those fearful eyes, Xu Lang discerned a faint trace of reluctance and yearning.

After a while, Xu Lang suddenly asked Lv Xing, “Where are the photos of Tian Yang’s body?”

Startled, Lv Xing hesitated briefly before understanding and hurried off to retrieve the photographs of Tian Yang’s death scene, returning promptly to hand them over.

Xu Lang set aside the previous pictures carelessly and immediately found a close-up of Tian Yang’s face.

His eyes were wide open, mouth agape, blood trickling from his lips, but unlike Duan Yiling, there was no fear, no panic, no lingering attachment—only a sense of release.

Xu Lang’s frown deepened further. A thought emerged: Could Tian Yang really have committed suicide?

This planted a seed of doubt in Xu Lang’s mind, who had been convinced from the start that this was murder. Was his initial judgment clouded by bias?

“Brother Lang... what are you thinking?” Lv Xing asked, watching him stare at the two photos, his expression shifting constantly.

Lv Xing had worked alongside Xu Lang for three or four years and knew well how he approached cases. There was a saying among the detectives: when Xu Lang squatted down, the rest knew what he was about to uncover. Yet today’s behavior was unlike anything Lv Xing had ever witnessed.

Ignoring Lv Xing’s question, Xu Lang pondered for a moment before opening Duan Yiling’s account again. This time, he accessed her online space’s message board, scrolling through tens of thousands of comments.

The earliest and latest messages were filled with Tian Yang’s deep longing for Duan Yiling in the year after her death. Over the course of a year, he had left 364 messages—one for nearly every day—except the last one, the message for September 22nd, the anniversary of Duan Yiling’s death and the day Tian Yang himself died.

Upon this discovery, Xu Lang lifted his head and asked Lv Xing, “When you were investigating the scene yesterday, did you open the victim’s online space? Or notice any web pages on the desktop?”

Lv Xing hesitated. Usually, he worked in the office and rarely accompanied Ning Yanran’s team to crime scenes. Li Lei and Zhao Hua typically handled evidence collection at the scene.

Seeing Lv Xing’s silence, Xu Lang asked, “Where’s Li Lei?”

“Li Lei is...” Lv Xing had just started when Li Lei appeared in the detective division’s office, looking puzzled as he regarded Xu Lang.

“Li Lei, good timing. I need to ask—when you examined the study at the crime scene, did you check the computer?”

Li Lei, still unaware of Xu Lang’s new findings, was confused but trusted him implicitly, replying without hesitation, “Yes, I did. Why?”

“Was the computer on when you checked?”

“Yes.”

“Besides the photos of Duan Yiling’s death, was there a login to any messaging account?”

“Yes, and there were two chat windows open.”

“Two chat windows? With whom?”

“One was labeled ‘Ling’er,’ the other named ‘Lang Ge Detective Agency Customer Service,’” Li Lei answered truthfully.

“What was in the chats?” Xu Lang pressed.

“In the chat with Ling’er, I saw only one photo and two sentences.”

“What photo? What two sentences?” Xu Lang asked anxiously.

“The photo showed the deceased, Tian Yang, sitting in front of the computer, one hand on the keyboard, the other holding the mouse. Someone took the picture through the window.”

“Is it this one?” Xu Lang took out his phone, displaying the exact photo Tian Yang sent to Jin Enpei yesterday via messaging.

Li Lei nodded after viewing the phone, “Yes, that’s the one.”

Curious, Li Lei asked, “Brother Lang, where did you get this photo?”

Xu Lang didn’t answer but continued, “Were these the two sentences beneath the photo?”

Without looking at Li Lei, he opened Tian Yang and Duan Yiling’s chat window.

Li Lei peered over and confirmed confidently, “Yes, those two sentences.”

“‘Frozen, so cold.’ ‘Born on the same year, same month, same day; died on the same year, same month, same day. Frozen, so cold, Duan Yiling!’”

After a pause, Xu Lang asked, “What about the other chat window? Was the conversation like this?”

He took the phone from Li Lei and swiped to show the conversation Jin Enpei had screenshotted yesterday. Li Lei recognized it immediately and nodded.

Xu Lang fell silent again. Li Lei and Lv Xing exchanged confused glances. Seeing Xu Lang’s silence, Li Lei suddenly recalled something.

“Brother Lang, in the chat with your agency’s customer service, there was an unfinished message.”

Xu Lang snapped to attention. “What message?”

His sudden question startled both Li Lei and Lv Xing.

Li Lei calmed himself and slowly recited, “‘He’s here. I know who he is. He is...’”

Then he stopped abruptly. Xu Lang waited, urging, “Go on, who is he?”

Li Lei looked helpless. “I don’t know. The message ended there. I have no idea who he is.”

“He’s here. I know who he is. He is... He’s here. I know who he is. He is...” Xu Lang repeated the phrase like a broken record.

Frowning deeply, he asked, “Was the pronoun ‘he’ written with the single-person radical (他), or ‘she’ with the female radical (她), or ‘it’ with the roof radical (它)?”

“Single-person radical ‘he,’” Li Lei answered.

“Are you sure it wasn’t ‘she’ with the female radical?” Xu Lang confirmed again.

Li Lei thought carefully, then nodded confidently under Xu Lang’s expectant gaze. “Yes, definitely ‘he’ with the single-person radical.”

“‘He’ with the single-person radical?”

This clue complicated the already perplexing case. It meant that just before Tian Yang died, he had seen or thought of someone—a man. Otherwise, he would not have used the pronoun ‘he.’ Of course, mistakes happen, sometimes people type ‘he’ instead of ‘she’ in casual chats. But in that unfinished, unsent message, the pronoun ‘he’ appeared three times, all with the single-person radical.

This meant Tian Yang was unlikely to have mistyped. There was a third person involved between Tian Yang and Duan Yiling—a man who knew Duan Yiling and was familiar with Tian Yang. Who this man was remained unknown.

Since the identity of this ‘he’ was still a mystery, Xu Lang decided to investigate other leads.

After some thought, he asked Li Lei, “Besides the photos and the two chat windows, did you find anything else on Tian Yang’s computer? Any web pages?”

Li Lei pondered carefully but shook his head. “No, nothing else.”

Xu Lang pressed him again, looking into his eyes. “Are you sure? Think carefully.”

Li Lei paused, then shook his head again. “Really, nothing else.”

Disappointed, Xu Lang sighed. September 22nd was the first anniversary of Duan Yiling’s death. According to Xu Lang’s earlier review of Duan Yiling’s message board, Tian Yang had left daily messages for her—364 in total, one for almost every day after her passing, never missing a single day.

If Tian Yang truly committed suicide, why didn’t he write the final message and then die? Why was that last message conspicuously absent?