Chapter 074: Z's Anomaly

As soon as I opened the file, several photographs tumbled out. They were pictures of the victim’s corpse, and as Chen Fan had described, the images were enough to send a chill down one’s spine. The deceased was indeed the drunken man we had seen that day. In the photos, his stubble had grown even thicker than before, his face was dirty, and he looked utterly wretched.

His eyes were wide open, so round it seemed his eyeballs might pop out of their sockets. That expression suggested that, in the moments before his death, he had witnessed something truly terrifying. Not only were his eyes agape, but his mouth was stretched wide as well; the cold had cracked the corners of his lips.

Besides these details, it was his facial expression that stood out most. The muscles of his face were twisted in several places, making it clear he had been severely frightened before he died. Forensic and psychological theories suggest that the contortions seen in a corpse’s face—the expression—might reflect the state of mind at the instant of death.

Most people who die unnaturally do not have peaceful expressions; pain is the most common look. Though the victim in these photos appeared petrified, I refrained from jumping to conclusions. Human psychology and immediate reactions are immensely complex—an expression might reveal a person’s inner state, but the correspondence is not absolute.

Expressions can be feigned, and even genuine ones don’t always align perfectly with the true feelings inside. For example, someone who is happy might wear a blank face, might laugh, or might even burst into tears of joy. If this happens in everyday life, it is all the more unpredictable at the edge of life and death.

Chen Fan listened and shook his head, unable to imagine what other emotion than terror this expression could possibly convey.

I pondered this as I continued to sift through the materials he’d given me, but I couldn’t find any preliminary forensic analysis of the cause of death. As for the wound on the back of the head, the body had only just been discovered, so the hair had not yet been shaved; the messy strands obscured any view of the injury.

Chen Fan explained that everything had happened in a rush. By the time the body was brought to the identification center, dawn had already broken. He had managed to obtain only these few photographs before hurrying to find me. I gathered up the materials, saying we would have to wait to examine the wound. If we assumed the victim’s expression truly represented terror, then perhaps death had been instantaneous.

His features were exaggeratedly contorted, and human emotions rarely hold such an intensity for long. Shock and fear overlap but are not the same: fear can persist, but shock is generally fleeting.

If one is strict about definitions, the peak moment when fear suddenly spikes can be called shock. After that, it subsides; if one remains afraid, the feeling transforms into the more prolonged state of fear. The victim’s mouth was stretched so wide that even the corners had split, and his eyes were open to their limits—this is the expression typical of a momentary shock.

It is rare for someone to die in an instant. If death is a process, the victim’s expression should change, or at least not remain fixed in such a transient state. Yet this fleeting expression had been frozen on his face, which seemed to hint that death had come before he could alter it.

Chen Fan listened to my musings and asked, “So, he died instantly?”

“Not necessarily,” I replied. “His skull wasn’t shattered. Even a heavy blow to the back of the head wouldn’t typically kill instantly. And even if death did come in an instant, the facial muscles shouldn’t remain so tensed—there’s a period of relaxation after death, and rigor mortis doesn’t set in until about two hours later.”

Chen Fan was visibly perplexed by my conflicting hypotheses. I felt a headache brewing; not being a police officer, I couldn’t examine the body or the case directly, which made things much more difficult for me.

The film studios were located near the outskirts of the city. Even so, there was always a crowd—many people lingered outside, hoping for a glimpse of a celebrity leaving the set. After Chen Fan called Charlie, we waited a while longer. This time, Charlie didn’t deliberately delay and came out to meet us promptly.

As we walked into the studios, we discovered why Charlie had come so quickly. After some hesitation, he finally blurted out, “I heard something happened in the neighborhood last night?”

I nodded immediately. “Yes, there was a murder. Mr. Charlie, do you remember the drunken man I mentioned to you in the elevator last time?”

Charlie had previously admitted to seeing that drunken man in the underground parking lot and said he’d nearly run him over. Now, visibly startled, Charlie asked, “That man’s dead?”

I smiled faintly. “Why, do you have something to say about it?”

In truth, the first time I brought up the drunken man to Charlie, I sensed he hadn’t been entirely forthcoming. He hesitated, then, seeing the gravity of the situation, decided to be honest. He confessed that he had hit the drunken man. When I asked why, he explained that the man had previously found his way to actress Z’s doorstep.

The first time the drunken man appeared, he was still clean. Charlie and the bodyguards thought he was a paparazzo who’d somehow discovered Z’s residence, so they threw him out. They considered relocating, fearing the news would spread, but after a few days passed with no influx of reporters or photographers, they relaxed.

To their surprise, the second time, Charlie and Z returned by car to the underground garage and saw the drunken man again. That was when Charlie almost ran him over as he lay sprawled on the ground. The man seemed to be trying to approach Z, which angered Charlie, who then had the bodyguards rough him up.

For several days after that, they found the man repeatedly in the parking garage, but with the bodyguards present, he couldn’t get near Z’s apartment. Eventually, both Charlie and Z had had enough and were preparing to move, when suddenly the man stopped trying to go upstairs. Charlie found out that the drunk would often collapse in the garage, dead drunk.

Meanwhile, word had spread about intermittent power outages in the garage. The place was already gloomy; now, many people avoided parking there altogether. Charlie himself rarely went down there anymore. He said that the reason he’d asked us to wait below that day was because, walking through the garage, he moved very cautiously, afraid the drunken man—like a mad dog—might attack him.

When I asked why he hadn’t mentioned this earlier, Charlie replied sarcastically, “How was I supposed to know that drunk was so important to you? You never asked.”

I didn’t argue further. He had led us to where Z was filming.

Snow had fallen all night, covering the ground with a thin layer of white. Z was rehearsing a scene with a male actor, but within a few minutes the director called for several breaks; it was clear Z’s mind was elsewhere. The director was visibly frustrated but refrained from criticizing her directly, choosing instead to call for a short rest.

Charlie sighed, saying that ever since we had spoken with Z, she’d been in this state, and no amount of comfort seemed to help.

Z walked toward us, head down and dazed, as if she hadn’t even seen us, and went to sit off to the side.

I looked around; the film studios were rather dilapidated.

Charlie explained that because it had snowed unexpectedly the previous day, the crew had decided to shoot a snow scene, working late into the night. They were ordered to shoot again early the next morning before the snow melted, so Charlie and Z stayed at the studios.

Charlie added that when Chen Fan called him at dawn, everyone was sleeping in the studio’s temporary break room.

I signaled to Chen Fan, suggesting he check with the crew to confirm Charlie’s account. Chen Fan quickly found a pretext to slip away, while I and Charlie walked toward Z.

Before we could approach, Z suddenly stood up, gesturing with her hands and muttering under her breath. Her voice was low and fragmented, so I couldn’t discern her words.

A crowd began to gather. Suddenly, Z rolled up her sleeves, revealing her pale arms covered in horrific scratch marks…

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