bookbashuk Chapter 20 The Old Researcher
Chapter 20 The Old Researcher
The morning light was blinding, and Cheng Song subconsciously squinted as he stepped out of his old apartment building. The lingering pain at the fracture site in his left arm had almost completely subsided; the ointment from Boss Rong and the recovery ability of a level 5 player had worked together to produce an effect far beyond what was expected.
At home, those seemingly ordinary black-rimmed glasses lay quietly in the player's backpack. In front of his parents, he didn't need the lenses at all; he preferred to maintain a minimal, purely ordinary state at home—a kind of psychological respite.
After stepping outside, he hesitated for a moment, then took out his glasses and put them on. The world behind the lenses instantly gained several lines of almost invisible, flowing pale blue data—the passive mode of the special extraction lens had been activated, continuously scanning the basic information of the surrounding environment with minimal energy consumption.
Just as I arrived at the police station entrance, before I even entered the courtyard, I was stopped by sharp-eyed Old Zhang.
"Hey, Cheng!" Old Zhang, carrying a large tea mug, leaned halfway out of the duty room window, his gaze lingering on Cheng Song's face before he grinned mischievously. "Why are you wearing glasses? I've never seen you wear them before! I heard you showed off your skills by subduing a thug in front of a beautiful woman on your blind date this weekend. Did you strain your eyes? Or is it that Teacher Li likes cultured people, so you're dressing up on purpose?"
Cheng Song paused, inwardly cursing "old gossip," but a helpless and slightly embarrassed smile instantly appeared on his face. He adjusted his glasses, saying, "Uncle Zhang, don't tease me. What 'hero saves the beauty'? It just means I ran into someone and yelled. These glasses..." He sighed, his tone becoming somewhat complaining, "Yesterday I went to... cough, to have coffee. The place was too dimly lit, and my eyes were blurry from looking at my phone. On the way back, the wind made them dry and sore. My mom insisted I was nearsighted and forced these glasses on me, saying they block blue light and relieve fatigue. But with my eyesight, I can see a mosquito flying five meters away, male and female. Wearing these is pointless." He shook his head as he spoke, looking like he was forced into this situation.
"Haha, your mom's just worried about you!" Old Zhang laughed, not pressing the issue. "But you look quite sharp in it, kind of presentable! Go on in, Old Wang and the others are probably talking about you!"
Sure enough, as soon as I entered the office, an even bigger offensive came down.
"Wow!" Old Wang, holding his ever-present thermos of goji berries, brightened up and raised his voice, "Who's this? Xiao Cheng? Why is he wearing glasses now? Did you go on a blind date this weekend and become quite the scholar? With that kind of air, he could be a university professor!"
Xiao Liu, who was drinking soy milk, almost choked when he heard this. He leaned over and looked Song up and down, saying, "Wow, Song, you look completely different in these glasses! You've gone from Officer Cheng to Teacher Cheng! Tell me honestly, is this the kind of glasses Teacher Li likes? You've got a very precise target!"
The other colleagues in the office also started laughing and chattering.
"Xiao Cheng, you're doing well now, you know how to market yourself!"
"You know what, he does seem quite convincing, very refined and cultured."
"Should I wear a Zhongshan suit for our next date? And bring a copy of the Spring and Autumn Annals?"
Cheng Song had anticipated this predicament. Unperturbed, he placed his bag on his cluttered desk, a wry smile on his face, and raised his hands in surrender: "Leaders, brothers, please spare me. My eyes are really a little uncomfortable, but my mom insisted I wear them, saying they're for radiation protection and fatigue prevention. I'm just being filial, obeying my mother's orders, it has nothing to do with Teacher Li."
His tone was earnest, his expression natural, and he even conveyed a hint of helplessness in a young person being overly concerned by their elders, perfectly portraying an ordinary young man whose image was being "forced to be changed by his mother." At the same time, under the guise of putting something down, his fingers seemingly casually brushed against the edges of several documents on the table. The faint light from the lens flashed beneath the lens, instantly revealing the document titles and key fields—mediation records of two neighborhood disputes, nothing particularly special.
"How did it go with Teacher Li? You showed off your prowess in front of her and subdued the thug, didn't she get tempted?" Xiao Liu persisted.
"I don't think it's going to work out." Cheng Song said decisively, plopped down, skillfully turned on his computer, and began logging into the internal system. "I know my own limitations. He's a tenured teacher at a top elementary school with a bright future, while I'm just a lowly auxiliary police officer, my job is uncertain. I shouldn't hold him back." His tone was calm, with a touch of self-deprecation, which immediately pulled the teasing atmosphere back to reality.
Old Wang clicked his tongue and patted him on the shoulder: "You can't say that. Auxiliary police officers are still police officers, serving the people, which is honorable! Who can predict fate? But Xiao Cheng," he changed the subject, winking, "these glasses do make you look more composed, very good! Keep it up!"
Cheng Song's face immediately showed just the right amount of embarrassment and helplessness. He put down his bag and waved his hand, saying, "Uncle Wang, please don't make fun of me."
Old Wang patted him on the shoulder and said earnestly, "When it comes to relationships, it depends on fate and sincerity! You're hardworking, honest, and that's the kind of person young girls appreciate these days!"
"Exactly!" Xiao Liu chimed in. "Brother Song, send more messages, show more concern, ask how I am, sincerity can move mountains!"
Cheng Song just smiled sheepishly, stopped talking, and began to organize the seemingly endless pile of registration forms and receipts on the table. He was focused and quick, quickly shutting himself out of the gossip.
He knew that in government offices, especially local police stations, the more he hesitated and tried to explain personal matters, particularly relationships, the more likely they were to become long-term topics of conversation. It was better to openly admit from the start that "my mom forced me to" and "she doesn't like me," putting himself in a position of being "teased, a little embarrassed but with a good attitude," using self-deprecation and going along with the flow to defuse the tension. Once the novelty wore off, everyone would naturally stop bringing it up. This was a survival rule he had developed over several years—a seasoned veteran's guide to protecting privacy while maintaining a facade of harmony—don't take it too seriously, don't get angry, give a perfunctory answer, quickly change the subject, and then get back to work.
Safe, worry-free, and inconspicuous.
Sure enough, seeing him get down to business, Lao Wang and Xiao Liu exchanged a few more jokes before going their separate ways to do what they were doing. The office returned to its usual noisy and busy state.
Cheng Song adjusted his glasses, his gaze calmly sweeping over the information on the screen. He tried again to invoke the virus within his body, but the response was still like a stone sinking into the sea. He sighed inwardly, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he entered a document into the system.
The morning passed by in mundane routines. He helped a lost elderly woman contact her family, mediated an argument over air conditioner installation, and reviewed last week's patrol logs. Cheng Song worked quickly and steadily, occasionally adjusting his glasses, his eyes gentle, his words reasonable. When mediating between the two neighbors who were arguing heatedly, he grasped their core demands and bottom lines in just a few words. Even Old Wang, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, muttered, "That young Cheng, has he finally figured things out? His tongue's getting sharper, smoothing things over… cough cough, his ability to do ideological work is improving."
Cheng Song just smiled and said, "I learned it all from you, Uncle Wang. I've seen a lot, so I know how to give advice."
Only he knew that during the mediation, in the passive mode of the lens, he had seen the half-covered fresh scratch on the husband's neck, and he had also seen the wife's eyes unconsciously glancing at the more expensive brand-name air conditioner in the neighbor's house outside the window as she spoke. These subtle fragments of information allowed him to quickly get to the heart of the matter and steer the conversation toward "mutual understanding and compromise" in the least inflammatory way.
The special extraction lens provides not only assistance in combat, but also a keen ability to capture information in daily life.
As lunchtime approached, the pace at the police station slowed down slightly. Cheng Song was about to head to the canteen when Xiao Zhao, the clerk behind the call center, suddenly poked his head out and called out, "Brother Wang, Brother Cheng, there's an emergency. Should you two go run it?"
"What's up? It's lunchtime." Old Wang, holding a cup, slowly walked over.
"The Local History Research Office, the unit under the Bureau of Culture," Xiao Zhao pointed to the computer screen, "reported to the police that one of their senior researchers, surnamed Zhou, suddenly fell ill at work, was talking nonsense, said he saw something unclean, and was causing a scene. His colleagues were worried and called 120 and 110. There was no property damage or personal injury, but the person involved is quite agitated, so we need to go over and check the situation to help, in case anything goes wrong."
"Hysteria? Or is it just an old person's condition acting up?" Old Wang frowned. These kinds of police incidents aren't particularly serious, but they're also troublesome to handle. Usually, the police just need to go to the scene, take a record, assist medical staff and family members, and calm the person involved and those around them.
"Everyone else in the office is busy, only you two just got back. Go check on him, Brother Wang, it should be quick, won't delay your meal." Xiao Zhao clasped his hands together.
Old Wang looked at Cheng Song. Cheng Song nodded: "Okay, Uncle Wang, let's go take a look."
The police car drove out of the police station and through the slightly crowded streets at midday. Cheng Song sat in the passenger seat, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the street scene through the car window. The world behind his glasses flickered subtly with information in ways imperceptible to the average person—temperature differences, subtle changes in light refraction, the arrangement of pixels on a distant GG sign… The lens passively collected and processed everything, elevating his perception of his surroundings to a new level.
The office occupied two floors in a rather old-fashioned office building, the air thick with the smell of old paper and ink. The person who called the police was the office manager, a bespectacled, anxious-looking middle-aged woman.
"Officers, you've finally arrived! Please go check on Old Zhou, he... he's acting strangely!" The director spoke quickly, leading Old Wang and Cheng Song upstairs. "Old Zhou is one of our senior researchers, a man who has spent his entire life dealing with antiques and old papers. He's usually a very kind and composed person. He was perfectly fine this morning, organizing a batch of newly acquired photocopies of ancient books in the archives. I don't know what happened, but suddenly... he started talking nonsense, crying and laughing, and wouldn't let anyone near him!"
Several staff members had gathered in the hallway, their expressions a mixture of worry and unease. At the far end of the hallway, in front of a room with a sign that read "Special Collections Room," a medical worker in a white coat and two colleagues were whispering words of comfort to each other.
Cheng Song's gaze swept past the crowd and landed on the half-open door.
In that instant, an extremely faint aura, but one that did not belong to this world, gently pricked his neck like an ice needle.
Unlike the thick, cold, and cloyingly sweet scent of decaying flesh and blood that permeates decadent sects, this feeling is far more ancient. It's like the wood in a dusty shrine, year after year burned by incense and now completely cold; like a stone tablet buried deep underground, its inscription faded yet still standing tall; like the chanting of countless people in the same tone, repeated a thousand times, until only empty echoes remain.
Aged, stubborn, with an almost tragic sense of melancholy, and a hint of... resentment after being forcibly distorted and desecrated.
"Uncle Wang, I smell something strange. Is something moldy that's bothering the old man?" Cheng Song whispered to Old Wang, while seemingly casually glancing quickly through the door of the archives room with his bespectacled eyes.
Within the lens's field of view, there were no vibrant, corrosive patches of color, nor any distorted flow of energy. Only extremely faint, almost blending-into-the-background, dust-like grayish-yellow specks of light slowly drifted out from inside the door, quickly dimming and dissipating upon contact with the air.
"Make way, make way, the police are here." Old Wang pushed through the crowd to the door, trying to soften his tone as much as possible, "You're Mr. Zhou, right? We're from the police station. Please don't get agitated. If you're feeling unwell, let's go to the hospital and talk to the doctor so we can get you properly checked out..."
The archives were in disarray. Several open camphor wood book chests were scattered with yellowed papers and thread-bound books. A thin, elderly man with gray hair, wearing a gray Zhongshan suit, squatted with his back to the door, next to an open chest, his shoulders trembling slightly.
Upon hearing Old Wang's voice, the old man slowly and stiffly turned his head.
It was a face covered in wrinkles, as pale as paper. His eyes were vacant, his pupils somewhat unfocused, and the corners of his mouth twitched uncontrollably. His lips moved, uttering indistinct syllables: "Wrong... all wrong... that's not how it's used... can't... can't be like that..."
"Old Zhou, what did you say wrong?" Old Wang tried to take a step closer.
"Wrong!!" The old man suddenly became agitated, waving his hands wildly and knocking over a stack of books beside him. "That's the road! The road to survival! It's not... not the elixir! It's not the furnace! They've made a mistake! They've used the wrong thing!!" His voice was hoarse and tearful, but his eyes remained unfocused, as if he saw something else, something terrifying, through the people in front of him.
Medical staff rushed forward, preparing to take gentle restraint measures. Old Wang also helped to calm him down.
Cheng Song didn't immediately step forward. His gaze quickly swept across the room. Most of the scattered books were photocopies of local histories, genealogies, and rubbings of inscriptions. His eyes finally settled on a thread-bound photocopy with a tattered cover and the words "Taiping Jing: Jiyi" written in large traditional Chinese characters at the old man's feet. The book was open, and the pages were extremely thin, almost transparent, allowing one to vaguely see the blurred text on the reverse side and a simple line drawing that seemed to depict some figures and strange symbols.
The instant his gaze fell upon the book—
"Buzz..."
Deep within his brain, it was as if a very fine string had been gently plucked. It was a strong, targeted throbbing. The source was the Blacklight Virus, which was in a deep, dormant state of digestion. It seemed to have produced an extremely faint but real reaction to that book, or rather, to some kind of information that the book carried. It wasn't hunger, nor longing, but more like... a rejection of its own kind, or perhaps an instinctive resistance to being disturbed?
Almost at the same time, Zhou Lao, who was squatting on the ground and being supported by medical staff and Lao Wang, suddenly fixed his unfocused and empty eyes on Cheng Song's face without any warning.
The bewilderment and madness in the old man's eyes receded for a moment like the tide, revealing a chillingly clear-headed coldness beneath, and an indescribable sharpness that seemed to pierce through the skin and see into some kind of essence.
The next second, the old man suddenly broke free from the support of others, not lunging at Cheng Song, but with a speed that was inconsistent with his age and physique, he reached out and grabbed Cheng Song's wrist tightly!
That hand was withered and cold, yet incredibly strong; its nails were almost digging into the loose flesh.
"Young man..." Old Zhou's voice was extremely low and hoarse, yet exceptionally clear, without any of the previous ambiguity. His eyes were fixed on Cheng Song.
"There's...something on you..." The old man's breathing became rapid, and the brief clarity in his eyes flickered violently like a candle in the wind, a mixture of fear and urgency. "Something that can 'settle'...I can feel it...not much...but it's 'real' enough..."
He suddenly leaned closer, his breath hitting Cheng Song's face, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear him:
"Watch out... Huang Tian..."
Before he could finish speaking, the last glimmer of clarity in his eyes vanished completely. His whole body seemed to have been ripped out of its bones, and he slumped down, once again enveloped in confusion and fear, and began to struggle and murmur unconsciously.
The medical staff and Lao Wang quickly helped him up and prepared to give him a sedative.
Cheng Song stood there, the old man's cold, forceful touch still lingering on his wrist. His heart pounded steadily in his chest, but a chill crept up his spine.
"Beware of the Yellow Sky."
"Things that can be determined".
He slowly raised his hand, looking at the spot where the old man had scratched him, where several faint red marks remained on his skin. Then, his gaze moved down to the copy of "Taiping Jing: Jiyi" spread out on the ground, and then swept over the ancient books scattered around him.
"Uncle Wang," he began, his voice calm, tinged with a perfectly measured hint of youthful confusion and wariness, "this old man... has he gone mad from studying these ancient artifacts? This room seems rather cluttered; perhaps we should take a quick look to see if anything seems amiss? For example," he pointed to several scattered books on the floor covered in strange runes, "do these mystical things contain any forbidden content?"
Old Wang, who was helping the medical staff comfort Old Zhou, nodded upon hearing this: "Alright, Xiao Cheng, you have sharp eyes, take a closer look. These days, it's not uncommon for people to go crazy from engaging in feudal superstition."
Cheng Song grunted in acknowledgment and squatted down to examine the books and papers on the ground. He moved slowly but meticulously, his fingers turning the pages and his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the contents. When he turned to the book "Taiping Jing: Collected Lost Works," his fingers paused, and his gaze lingered on an old black-and-white photograph tucked inside.
The photo appears to be from the 1970s or 80s, showing a group of simply dressed, bespectacled, intellectual-looking people posing for a photo in front of a desolate field. In the background, the words "Julu" are faintly visible on a broken stone tablet. The photo itself is unremarkable, but on one person's face, a striking, crooked circle has been drawn in red pen.
Cheng Song calmly picked up the photo and flipped it over.
A line of small, slightly messy handwriting written in blue fountain pen came into view:
"This person should not be in the photo; no such person can be found in the team. Note by Zhou Shenxing, March 5, 1981."
Zhou Shenxing should be the real name of this researcher, Zhou.
Cheng Song's eyes narrowed slightly. He remained in a half-squatting position, blocking most of the view with his body. He quickly took out his phone with his right hand, pretending to check a message, but actually used the camera to silently and swiftly aim at both sides of the photo and press the shutter.
Then, he carefully tucked the photos back into the book, closed it, and set it aside. He continued to examine a few more books, all of which contained ordinary local historical materials.
"Uncle Wang, there's nothing particularly forbidden, just some old documents and some runes and patterns I don't understand. I guess they're just folk superstitions." He stood up, dusted off his hands, and said, "Perhaps the old man went too deep into his research and got stuck on some details. Plus, he's getting old, so he got confused for a moment."
Old Wang breathed a sigh of relief: "I think so too. Okay, let's leave this to the doctor and the company to handle, we'll just keep good records."
The subsequent procedures proceeded smoothly. Cheng Song, in cooperation with Lao Wang, made a simple on-site record and took a statement, focusing on noting that Mr. Zhou had "suddenly exhibited mental abnormality, possibly due to research stress or health reasons," without mentioning the copy of the *Taiping Jing* or the photograph. When they left, Mr. Zhou had already been injected with a sedative and had temporarily calmed down under the care of medical staff, though he would still unconsciously mutter "Wrong..."
On the way back to the police station, Old Wang was still sighing, "It's not easy being a researcher. Once you get into it, you can't get out and end up getting yourself into trouble. Xiao Cheng, you should be more careful when you read books in the future, and don't learn those superstitious things."
Cheng Song gazed at the fleeting street scene outside the window, hummed in agreement, and gently rubbed the cool edge of his phone in his pocket.
"Huang Tian..."
Was it the Yellow Heaven he was thinking of?
That book, *Taiping Jing*... Old Zhou's warning during his moment of lucidity... the person circled in red in the photo, the one whose identity could not be found... and the faint, antagonistic throbbing of the virus that should have been dormant within his body.
And, most importantly—when Zhou Lao grabbed him, did his statement, "You have something that can 'settle' within you," refer to a genetic anchor? How could an old scholar who studies local history, in a state of mental instability, be able to sense something within himself?
It was already afternoon when Cheng Song returned to the police station. He filed the dispatch record, found a secluded corner, took out his phone, pulled up the secretly taken photo, and carefully zoomed in to examine it.
The person circled in red in the photo stands at the edge of the group. His face is somewhat blurred, but he appears to be a man of medium build, wearing a blue Zhongshan suit common in that era. His expression is calm, even somewhat indifferent, which differs slightly from the slightly excited or curious expressions of those around him. Apart from that, there is nothing particularly unusual about him.
But the phrase "no such person found" is itself full of mystery.
Cheng Song pondered for a moment, then opened his friend list, found Boss Rong, sent him a front-facing photo, and attached a short message:
"Mr. Rong, today I met an elderly gentleman who does historical research. He suddenly had a hysterical episode, muttering 'Yellow Heaven' and 'Wrong.' There's a photocopy of this book, *Taiping Jing*, and this old photograph here. It seems the old gentleman had been studying this before his episode. You're very knowledgeable, could you help me take a look? Is this something from over there? How complicated is it?"
The message was sent, but it disappeared without a trace. Rong Shou seemed to be busy, or perhaps he saw it but couldn't be bothered to reply immediately.
Cheng Song wasn't in a hurry and put away his phone. He had patrol duties in the afternoon, so he needed to suppress these distracting thoughts for the time being.
However, as evening fell and he finished his patrol and sat down to eat a simple dinner at a roadside stall, his phone vibrated.
Rong Shou's reply arrived. It was only three lines long, but Cheng Song pondered it for a long time.
"Echoes from the cracks of history. Some things, even when they're completely dead, will resurface."
"You have the scent of a kind father, which easily attracts people like you."
"I suggest you avoid it, but if you absolutely must, be prepared to deal with the flood of collective memory."
"Damn it, I hate riddle people the most," Cheng Song cursed Boss Rong in his heart.
Echoes from the cracks of history...
A kindred spirit of a loving father...
The torrent of collective memory...
These seemingly unrelated things were subtly connected in his mind by an invisible thread.
Cheng Song slowly finished the last bite of his food, wiped his mouth clean, and scanned the code to pay. Night quietly fell, and the streetlights lit up one by one. He finished the last bit of soy milk, stood up, and his figure blended into the flow of people heading home from get off work.