Ch 59: Text Messages Across Time

Sun Xiaotao was forty-seven years old, about 172 cm tall. He had once been of average build, but in recent years, with a comfortable life, he had put on some weight. He no longer worried about food or money, his family was happy, and he wore a constant smile.

Hearing Lin Wu talk about Luo Xiaorong being dead, he looked concerned instead.

“Have you been under too much stress lately? Are you having some kind of episode?” he asked. “I’ve got some goji berries here. Take some with you when you leave, they help with sleep…”

As he spoke, he went to find the goji berries.

“On the night of December 17, 2004, you used some kind of excuse or pretext to lure my mother out. The factory was holding a celebration that day, everyone was busy, and no one noticed she was gone.

You led her toward the workshop. She probably sensed something was wrong and tried to leave. You knocked her unconscious. You took her into the workshop, preparing to kill her. At that moment, Qin Weidong appeared. He’s the other victim you left as a vegetative patient.

You were surprised. You couldn’t beat him, but he was worried about my mother. You struck him down. Then someone heard the noise and came over. You didn’t have time to finish what you started, so you ran.”

Lin Wu spoke calmly, watching him. “That’s roughly what happened that night. Some details might be off, but overall it should be close.

You’re a cautious person. You must have scoped the place out beforehand, checked the environment and nearby surveillance, made sure everything was foolproof before acting. That night you were probably wearing a black raincoat and rain boots, a mask, and besides the axe, you likely had a knife as well…”

In this ending, the killer hadn’t used a knife. That part was Lin Wu’s inference from the fifteenth ending, where his own death had occurred on December 5 in the same workshop. Without other variables, he believed the killer’s methods would not differ much.

Sun Xiaotao had initially seemed unconcerned, but at the mention of “raincoat” and “rain boots,” he paused briefly, then resumed searching for the goji berries.

“If you insist I’m the killer,” he said lightly, “then where’s the weapon?”

After the incident, the police had proposed three possibilities:

1. The killer stayed inside the factory after the crime, leaving the weapon there.
2. The killer stayed inside but smuggled the weapon out via trucks or transport vehicles.
3. The killer fled immediately and disposed of the weapon elsewhere.

When the police arrived, they quickly sealed all exits and investigated everyone and everything on site. The result: no weapon was found in the factory, none in any passing vehicles, and no suspicious drivers.

There had been about a thirty-minute window between the report and the lockdown. After a week of investigation, both police and workers concluded that the killer had likely escaped immediately, which matched typical criminal behavior.

“I was at the factory the whole time that day. I even helped the police secure the exits. I was among the first to be questioned,” Sun Xiaotao said. He had been near the gate and was one of the most thoroughly investigated people.

“If I were the killer, they would have found the weapon.”

“You probably disposed of it in the smelting furnace, or in the slag or scrap processing areas. That wouldn’t have been difficult for you,” Lin Wu replied.

That deduction came after he confirmed Sun Xiaotao as the killer. The steel plant spanned seven thousand acres, with thirty thousand workers. On the day of the incident, most people were gathered in the cafeteria or auditorium. Management twenty years ago had been lax, and with Sun Xiaotao’s familiarity with the environment and prior planning, the conditions had been ideal for committing the crime.

“By your logic, anyone could be the killer,” Sun Xiaotao said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not anyone. The victim was holding a pen cap.”

In this ending, Qin Weidong had managed to tear a pen cap off the killer. The police tested it for fingerprints, but it had likely been wet or heavily rubbed in a pocket. No second person’s prints were found. It was an ordinary cap with no identifying marks. It led nowhere.

Lin Wu had once obsessed over that pen cap, finding no clues, until the previous night, when memories from earlier endings returned.

He had seen that pen cap before.

“Divide a box of apples evenly among two or three children with none left over. What’s the minimum number of apples? Why did you write five?”

“Because two plus three is five.”

“Why are you adding? Count it out. How do you split five apples between two kids?”

“Then how do I calculate it…”

“Stop biting the pen cap, it’s filthy.”

…

That was a scene from the seventh ending. At the time, Sun Jinghui had been chewing on a pen cap while doing homework, while Sun Xiaotao impatiently taught him. The pen had been tied with string to the drawer in the gatehouse.

In that ending, Wang Jiahui lived, Luo Xiaorong died. From the seventh to the fourteenth endings, Luo Xiaorong often died in the workshop. Across those lives, Lin Wu had frequently visited the crime scene and grown familiar with Sun Xiaotao, often entering the gatehouse.

At one point, he had casually asked about the pen.

“This pen? The factory handed it out before the celebration. It writes well. I broke the cap, but it still works. Tied it on with string,” Sun Xiaotao had said.

He had strong personal boundaries. He disliked using others’ things and disliked others using his. That pen had been tied to his personal drawer. The factory had issued those pens for twenty years, and he had tied it there for twenty years.

When those memories surfaced, all the details finally aligned.

Lin Wu had identified the killer.

“Uncle Sun, why did you kill my mother?” Lin Wu returned to the original question. He truly could not understand why Sun Xiaotao had fixated on Luo Xiaorong.

“Your mother is alive and well. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t know anything about this pen cap,” Sun Xiaotao said, pouring him water. “Everything you’re saying is hypothetical. The raincoat, the knife… you imagined all that. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

“It is strange. But if I told the police, with modern criminal profiling and data analysis, they could very likely work backward from these assumptions to identify the killer.”

“Really?” Sun Xiaotao’s hand paused.

“Yes.”

He moved toward the door. By the entrance stood a snow shovel, a broom, and a dustpan.

He picked up the shovel.

Lin Wu’s back was turned to him.

“You came alone?” Sun Xiaotao asked.

“Yes,” Lin Wu said, nodding without turning around.

The room fell quiet, lit only by a dim yellow glow.

Three seconds later, Sun Xiaotao opened the door. A gust of cold wind swept in as he stepped outside with the shovel.

“The gate’s frozen shut. I’ll go clear it.”

Over twenty years, the steel plant’s entrance had been upgraded from a sliding iron gate to a modern electronic one. The track beneath it could easily freeze over with snow and ice.

He jogged over and began shoveling. From where he sat, Lin Wu could see him clearly, bundled in a thick coat, working hard, his face flushed red. He looked like nothing more than an ordinary middle-aged man.

“Still very cautious,” Lin Wu murmured, a hint of regret in his voice as he took out his phone.

The phone was recording in the cloud. He had also prepared a final message. If Sun Xiaotao made a move, with modern forensic methods, he would be caught without fail.

But Lin Wu had expected this reaction. Whether guilty or not, Sun Xiaotao had always been an extremely cautious person.

“The snow’s heavy. Clearing this much is enough.” Three minutes later, Sun Xiaotao returned, breathing out clouds of white air. He tested the gate with the electronic key. It now opened and closed normally.

“The forecast says heavy snow tomorrow,” he said as he sat down.

“Light turning to heavy,” Lin Wu replied.

They chatted idly, the atmosphere gradually easing.

Then Sun Xiaotao suddenly said, “I’ve been thinking about your hypothesis. Big data and criminal psychology are powerful these days. But without key physical evidence or fingerprints, accusing someone like that goes against the principle of presumption of innocence.

Big data and profiling are just auxiliary tools. The fact that the killer hasn’t been caught in twenty years shows he has strong psychological resilience. Even with profiling, it wouldn’t lead to anything.”

As he spoke, his tone carried a faint trace of excitement.

“You’ve studied presumption of innocence?” Lin Wu asked, slightly surprised.

“I watch a lot of crime dramas. Picked up a bit here and there,” Sun Xiaotao said, a little embarrassed.

“That makes sense,” Lin Wu agreed.

Sun Xiaotao seemed to grow more engaged. “Earlier you asked why I would kill your mother. Of course, I didn’t. She’s alive and well. I haven’t killed anyone. I’m just following your line of thought.”

“Mm,” Lin Wu said. He had asked that question twice already.

“I thought about it. If someone were to kill your mother, maybe it’s because they found her annoying.”

“Annoying?” Lin Wu frowned.

“Yeah. Your mom… she’s not mentally normal. Why would someone like that be happier than ordinary people?” Halfway through, noticing Lin Wu’s expression darken, Sun Xiaotao quickly added, “I’m not saying that about your mom. I mean from the killer’s perspective.”

“Mm.” Lin Wu’s reply was light and flat.

“It’s been twenty years. No evidence, no leads. The person who attacked your classmate will probably never be caught…” Sun Xiaotao’s tone sounded concerned, but beneath it was a faint, hidden pride.

“Who says there are no leads?” Lin Wu smiled faintly.

“What leads?” Sun Xiaotao froze.

“Do you think the killer still remembers how that pen cap broke?” Lin Wu asked, looking straight at him.

“How did it break?” Sun Xiaotao’s brows knit as he stared at Lin Wu’s face.

Lin Wu pulled open the drawer and shut it again.

Inside was now a “new” pen, its cap intact, tied in place just as before, as it had been for twenty years.

He opened and closed the drawer a few more times, then pointed at the hinge.

There were two hinges. The upper one was in use. The lower one was broken.

“Wasn’t it this one?” Lin Wu asked, pointing to the broken hinge.

His thoughts drifted back to the tenth ending—

That day after graduating, he had returned to the steel plant, as he often did, and gone to the gatehouse.

“This pen’s not writing again!” Sun Xiaotao had complained, shaking it irritably. He removed the ink refill and tossed it away, rummaging for another.

“You’ve used this pen for a long time. Why not replace it?” Lin Wu had asked, glancing at the pen and its cap.

“I’m used to it. Just change the refill.” Sun Xiaotao disliked switching things out. New pens from the factory went home. The old one stayed in use.

Lin Wu had nodded, then casually asked, “How did the cap break?”

“I was thinking about something, stuck it in the hinge, kept fiddling with it, and snapped it.”

That had been long ago, shortly after the pen was issued.

…

“That was twenty years ago. A pen cap alone can’t prove you’re the killer,” Lin Wu said calmly. “But with modern trace analysis, if they find metallic residue on the fracture that matches the hinge, it could overturn the original presumption of innocence.

Then the investigation would restart, centered on you. Your relationships across departments, whether you helped monitor boilers or accessed places where a weapon could be destroyed, surveillance footage from that time… all of it still exists.

With current technology, more details can be extracted. You’re careful, but you couldn’t have avoided every camera. Once they establish your movement toward the second workshop, everything can be pieced together into new evidence.”

He held Sun Xiaotao’s gaze.

Twenty years was a long time, but the evidence had been preserved well. That lower hinge had barely been used since it was replaced, leaving mostly natural rust. With modern methods, comparisons could easily be made.

“How… how is that possible…” Sun Xiaotao stared at Lin Wu, unable to comprehend how he knew about the hinge.

Beep, beep—

At that moment, the sound of police sirens came from the distance, growing closer and closer.

“You called the police?” Sun Xiaotao’s tone had lost all its earlier ease.

“Mm.” Lin Wu admitted it. He had called while the man was outside, but even if he hadn’t stepped out, Lin Wu would have found another way. Before coming here, he had already contacted a colleague. Even if he died, someone would report it.

“I’m not the killer. And the killer won’t be caught.” Sun Xiaotao tried to steady himself. He was just a gate guard, just an ordinary middle-aged man.

“The killer won’t be caught,” Lin Wu said evenly. “At least, not here.”

“…What?” Sun Xiaotao was clearly caught off guard.

“Because he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to roam free for twenty years,” Lin Wu said, each word deliberate.

As his voice fell, the clock on the wall pointed to 10:12, and the scene shifted once again—

Lin Wu slowly closed his eyes.

If nothing changed, Sun Xiaotao would be arrested in this ending. But as he had said, the man did not deserve twenty years of freedom.

Whether Sun Xiaotao had acted just now didn’t matter.

Whether the police were called didn’t matter.

Even if he wasn’t the killer, it didn’t matter.

Because after regaining his memories last night, Lin Wu had already decided to reset the ending.

No matter what happened tonight, everything would change again. Everything he had done just now was only a precaution.

If nothing changed twenty years ago, and he died in this timeline, the killer would still be caught. That would be the worst-case outcome.

Clearly, the man hadn’t acted.

But what happened twenty years later no longer mattered. What Lin Wu needed was a new outcome twenty years ago.

…

As the scene shifted, Lin Wu did not reappear in the Xuhu Hotel, but in a high-end hospital room.

He lay on a hospital bed, wearing blue-and-white striped patient clothes, a phone in his hand. The heating was on full, and two professional physics books sat on the bedside table.

Lin Wu: ???

He hadn’t yet received the new memories and felt disoriented.

Just then, a nurse with a sweet smile walked in. “How are you feeling today? Any discomfort or pain in your leg?”

Lin Wu looked down. His left leg was in a cast, faintly itchy.

“No…” he said.

“Mr. Qin is outside. He’ll be in shortly. I’m on night duty tonight, so if you need anything, just press the call button,” the nurse said before leaving.

Lin Wu was still trying to process which “Mr. Qin” she meant when the door opened again.

A thirty-seven-year-old Qin Weidong walked in, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up, holding a glass of warm milk.

“I heated this up. Do you want to drink it now or later?”

Compared to the previous ending, this Qin Weidong looked composed, relaxed, with a familiar ease reminiscent of the nineteenth ending.

“What’s wrong?” Qin Weidong noticed Lin Wu staring blankly and sat down at the bedside, pulling him into an embrace and placing a light kiss on his forehead.

Lin Wu: !!!

“Not feeling well?” Qin Weidong asked, sensing something off.

Lin Wu reached out and pinched his face. It really was Qin Weidong, but—

“I think… I don’t have the memories of this new ending,” Lin Wu finally said.

Before, at specific moments, he would regain the memories of his current life. But now, his memory stopped at before December 17, 2004, plus the previous twenty-one endings.

Clearly, this was the twenty-second ending—but at the moment it refreshed, he had lost his memory.

So he knew they had been close in high school… but why were they this close now?

When had they started living together?

Had Sun Xiaotao been caught?!

He had no memories of this timeline at all.

Simply put—

He had lost his memory.

He had lost everything between December 17, 2004, and December 17, 2024.

He… had amnesia.

✧˖°.──⋆⭒˚.⋆💌⋆⭒˚.⋆──✧˖°.