Entertainment: A song that brought his deceased wife back to life.

This is a basement, at most ten square meters, with no windows, only the buzzing sound of an exhaust fan.

The plaster was peeling off, revealing moldy bricks underneath, and the air was filled with a damp, musty smell.

In the corner sat a mattress with only its springs remaining.

This is where Xu Qing sleeps.

The person who just sang on stage with a guitar worth a house lives here.

"Oh my god..."

A female reporter covered her mouth.

Tears rolled in the eyes.

Several instant noodle containers were placed on the ground.

It was all leftover soup base.

There wasn't even a single noodle.

The only electrical appliance was an electric kettle that had been used many times before.

The spout is chipped off.

"There's something here!"

A policeman pointed to the wall.

All the cameras turned to that side.

That wall.

It was covered with A4 paper.

Densely packed.

Let's take a closer look.

All of them are printouts of chat logs.

[Qingyu: The clouds in Dali are beautiful today, it's a pity you're not here.]

[Bluefish: The doctor said I need more surgery, but don't worry, I'm saving up.]

[Qingyu: I earned eighty yuan busking on the street today, and I bought you your favorite strawberries, even though they can only be displayed in front of the photo.]

Each sheet of paper was carefully sealed with transparent tape.

Prevent it from getting damp.

The very center of the wall.

It's a photograph.

That was a photo of two shadows together.

Next to it is that famous cartoon fish sticker.

The police carefully lifted the mattress.

There was a tin biscuit box underneath.

Rusty.

The packaging looks like it's from over a decade ago.

"What is this?"

"All of Xu Qing's belongings?"

"It must be all money, right? After all, writing novels is so lucrative."

The live stream chat was filled with speculation that the police officer was wearing gloves.

I gently pried open the box. There were no gold bars, no bankbooks, and no banknotes, only a stack of yellowed papers.

The police officer picked up the top one and showed it to the camera.

That was an "Application Form for Subsidy for Impoverished Students" from my elementary school days.

The handwriting is childish, yet neat and tidy.

[Reason for application: Father died in a car accident, mother left home, and there is no source of income.]

The next one is from junior high school.

[Reason for application: Orphan, surviving by collecting recyclables.]

High school.

[Reason for application: Need to pay tuition fees for temporary enrollment; working on a construction site during holidays.]

University.

[Reason for application: Student loan application not approved; need to work part-time to earn living expenses.]

This is hardly a treasure trove.

This is a living history of suffering.

The reporters fell silent.

Those who were just online criticizing Xu Qing for playing the victim have shut up.

Is this playing the victim? This is utter misery to the core.

The police continued flipping through the stack of applications, until they reached the very bottom.

There was a thick stack of fragments underneath; those were award certificates that had been torn apart and then pieced back together bit by bit.

【Three good students】

First Prize in Essay Competition

[Olympiad in Mathematics Gold Medal]

Every certificate has a footprint on it.

Those are the marks left by being stepped on.

Obviously.

This gifted boy did not have a good time at school.

Those bullies shattered his honor.

But it couldn't break his pride.

He picked up the fragments one by one, glued them back together, and hid them in the metal box.

This is his most precious asset.

"There's also a notebook here."

The policeman took a tattered diary from the bottom of the box.

Turn to the first page.

There was only one sentence written on it.

The handwriting is so strong it seems to penetrate the paper.

The world kissed me with pain, yet I responded with song.

But if Little Fish is gone, then this song is better left unsung.

The evidence room of the Municipal Public Security Bureau's Criminal Investigation Detachment was brightly lit.

The Bourgeois guitar, worth 1.8 million, was lying on the stainless steel table.

The police officer in charge of the inspection was wearing white gloves.

They moved very carefully.

This is evidence.

It's a treasure that's being watched by tens of millions of eyes across the internet.

The live stream was filmed through a glass wall.

This transparent case-handling process is also intended to quell public opinion online.

"Captain, there seems to be something in the guitar's soundhole."

The officer shook the violin case.

The sound of paper rubbing against wood could be heard from inside.

"Old Wang," a music blogger watching the live stream, almost ate a nitroglycerin pill like a candy in front of the screen.

He spammed the chat with comments.

"Be gentle! Dude, be gentle! That's Brazilian rosewood! Don't shake it like you're rolling dice!"

Even if it's just a pile of waste paper, it's still waste paper with gold trim when placed inside that zither!

The police officers naturally couldn't hear Old Wang's wails.

He turned the guitar upside down.

Gently pat the back panel.

A tightly sealed kraft paper envelope slipped out.

It fell onto the table.

The entire room fell silent.

Everyone held their breath.

There was no recipient on the envelope.

There is no address either.

It only drew that simple line drawing of a little fish.

The words "Nautical Chart" were written next to it.

"Nautical chart?"

The criminal investigation captain frowned.

Where is Xu Qing going?

Do I need to draw a diagram?

He picked up the envelope.

The opening was sealed with glue.

He picked up the paper cutter.

Cut along the edge.

There were no bank cards inside.

There was no suicide note.

There was only one neatly folded letter paper.

The paper has yellowed.

The edges and corners are somewhat worn.

It had obviously been looked through countless times by its owner.

The captain unfolded the letter.

The handwriting is neat and strong.

This is Xu Qing's handwriting.

He cleared his throat.

Facing the body camera.

It was also facing the countless media cameras outside the glass wall.

Begin reading the above content.

"My little fish, you're awake."

"Do you still recognize the morning?"

Read the first sentence aloud.

The captain's voice trembled slightly.

This is not a letter.

This is a poem.

Or.

These are the man's ramblings to his deceased wife during countless agonizing nights.

Last night you said you wished the night would never end.

"Are those tears that gently slide down your cheek yours, or mine?"

"Didn't we already cry during that season of farewell kisses?"

The live stream chat stopped.

Just now, we were arguing about whether Xu Qing was a hater who was creating hype.

They all shut their mouths at that moment.

This kind of writing cannot be faked.

Every word seemed to be carved with the tip of a knife dipped in the blood of one's heart.

The captain took a deep breath.

Keep reading.

"My fingertips still remember your flustered heartbeat, and the gentle fragrance of your body, with a strand of long hair fluttering in the breeze."

"My little fish, are you awake? Do you remember the night?"

"You said this morning that you wished the dawn would never set."

"Is it his hand or mine that your long hair gently brushes against? Aren't you asleep?"

The text is becoming increasingly messy.

The logic started to jump around.

The psychologist watched from the side, his expression grave.

This is a typical dissociation state.

When I wrote this poem.

Xu Qing's mind could no longer distinguish between reality and illusion.

He felt that the little fish was right beside him.

I also felt that she was in a very far place.

I thought you would never change.

"My little fish, have you left?"

"A person leaves, disappearing beneath the snow-covered lake."

You once said that parting is for a better reunion.

"I chose this because I couldn't bear the sight of parting."

"My little fish, will you come back? Will you still recognize me?"

Read this far.

The captain's eyes reddened.

This tough and resolute man has handled countless murder scenes without batting an eye.

At that moment, I felt like there was a wad of cotton stuck in my throat.

You once said that time changes, but you and I remain the same.

"Is the person who walks alongside you your own heart or someone else's?"

"Haven't they already gone far away?"

"I'm still watching the sunset, watching my elongated shadow."

"My little fish, you're not coming back."

"I don't recognize you anymore, and I can't remember what I said before."

"What changes is time, and even more so, it is you and me."

"I am waiting for the dawn to break."

The last paragraph.

The handwriting became messy.

It appears that the person writing is trembling.

Or perhaps tears have soaked the paper.

"My little fish, shouldn't I go too?"

"I know the morning, and I remember you once said you wished the night would never fall."

"The tears that gently slide down your cheek are my tears."

"I cried in that season, but my fingertips still remember your frantic heartbeat, your gentle fragrance, and that strand of long hair fluttering in the wind."

"My little fish, where are you going? I've already set off."

......