Psychological fragments

Fang Jue came to visit three days later.

I barely slept for those three days. The clinic was completely closed, and I locked myself in my house, spending most of my time lying in bed, staring at the faint patterns on the ceiling illuminated by the light. My mind was like a projector that wouldn't stop playing, replaying every detail of my five consultations with Lin Nian over and over again. Her eyelashes trembled slightly as she spoke with her eyes downcast, the wary look she gave me as she passed the archives, the nonsensical questions she kept asking me, and the casual "Maybe next time" she said to me before leaving the consultation room.

Will you come again next time?

I don't know. But a persistent unease lingers in my heart, like a bone-deep infection, vaguely telling me that this absurd, successive death is far from over.

On the afternoon of the third day, the doorbell suddenly rang.

A sharp ringing sound suddenly rang out in the house, which had been silent for three days. I was jolted awake, as if pricked by a needle, and jumped out of bed. I walked barefoot to the door and peered through the peephole.

It was Fang Jue. He still had that square face with strong features, dressed in an inconspicuous dark gray casual clothes, and was carrying a thick kraft paper file bag in his hand, the opening of which was sealed tightly, as if it contained some heavy secret.

I opened the door, and he stepped in, stopping in the center of the living room. His gaze swept over the tightly drawn curtains, the empty coffee cups on the coffee table, and the lingering smell of smoke throughout the room, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

"You live alone?"

"Okay." I nodded and closed the door behind me.

He didn't say anything more, sat down on the sofa, and placed the file folder he was holding on the glass coffee table with a dull thud. I sat down on the single sofa opposite him, my fingertips unconsciously gripping the armrest, my eyes fixed on the file folder.

"The autopsy results are in." He spoke first, his voice steady yet carrying an undeniable weight.

I didn't say anything, holding my breath and waiting for him to continue. My heart was pounding in my chest, and even my fingertips felt numb.

"Two bodies, two Lin Nian, the DNA comparison results are in—they are the same person."

My heart clenched suddenly, as if gripped by an icy hand, yet at the same time, a strange sense of "I knew it" arose within me. From the moment I saw those three minutes of eerie static on the surveillance footage that night, this absurd outcome had been subtly brewing in my mind.

"How is that possible?" I asked, my voice trembling without me even realizing it. "She died three days ago! I watched the forensic doctor lift her body into the ambulance, I watched the death certificate being issued. How could she be the same person?"

Fang Jue didn't answer my question directly. Instead, he reached out, opened the file folder, pulled out a piece of paper with a red stamp, and pushed it in front of me.

"Take a look at this first."

I reached out and took it, my fingertips trembling slightly as they touched the paper. It was a formal forensic pathology report, the bold font at the top piercing my eyes. It clearly stated: Deceased Zhao Min (pseudonym Lin Nian), female, 34 years old, time of death approximately 4:37 PM on April 20, 2023, cause of death: acute cyanide poisoning.

"Cyanide?" I looked up abruptly at Fang Jue, my eyes wide with astonishment. "Wasn't it sudden cardiac arrest? The first emergency medical personnel and the police officers who responded both said it was cardiac arrest!"

"Yes. During the first autopsy, the forensic doctor didn't consider poisoning." Fang Jue's tone became a bit somber. "There were no external injuries on the deceased's body, no signs of struggle, no lingering odor in their mouths, and no toxic substances at the scene. Coupled with your testimony at the time, everyone assumed it was sudden cardiac death. But when the second body was brought in, we requested a comprehensive toxicology test, and only then did we discover that both bodies had traces of cyanide in their blood."

"So... she was poisoned to death both times?" I stared at the words "cyanide poisoning" on the report, my mind buzzing.

"Not twice," Fang Jue looked me in the eye and corrected me, word by word, "It was once."

I was stunned for a moment, not understanding what he meant.

"The first 'Lin Nian' who died," he paused, then continued, "was cremated the day after the autopsy report came out. According to procedure, for bodies that die unnaturally, after a preliminary autopsy is completed and violent homicide is ruled out, the family can apply for cremation as soon as possible. He Xiuying submitted an application, and we approved it according to procedure."

He Xiuying.

Zhao Min's biological mother.

The aged female voice that told me on the phone, "She is mine, and no one can take her away."

"She applied for her daughter's cremation?" I blurted out, "Even before the cause of her daughter's death has been fully investigated?"

"Yes." Fang Jue nodded. "And it was the day after we notified her to identify the body that she submitted the application in a flurry of activity. The procedures were processed incredibly quickly. At the time, we just thought it was a case of an elderly parent burying their child—what mother would want to watch her daughter's body languish in the morgue? It all seemed perfectly reasonable. But looking back now..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but I understood instantly.

Looking back now, He Xiuying's haste in cremating the body wasn't out of grief, but rather to destroy evidence. To destroy any evidence that might be hidden in the corpse that could expose the deception.

"So the first one who died, her body is completely gone?" I asked, my voice a little hoarse. "Even her ashes were taken by her?"

"That's it." Fang Jue shook his head. "He was cremated cleanly, and He Xiuying took his ashes that same day. There's no way to trace them now."

I slumped back onto the sofa, feeling as if all my strength had been drained, my mind a jumbled mess. Countless fragments collided within me: two identical deaths, the same person's DNA, the first body hastily cremated, and He Xiuying lurking in the shadows.

"What about the second one who died?" I snapped back to reality and looked at Fang Jue. "If the first one who died has already been cremated, then who is the second one who died in my clinic?"

Fang Jue was silent for a few seconds, then tapped the file folder on the coffee table lightly with his fingertips. He then looked up at me with a gaze as sharp as a knife.

"It's her again. Zhao Min, also known as Lin Nian."

"What do you mean?" I didn't understand.

"What I mean is," he leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between us, and said, word by word, "the first person to die in your clinic wasn't her at all. Or rather, the first person to die was just a stand-in who looked exactly like her."

These two words were like a pebble thrown into my chaotic thoughts, creating ripples. I kept repeating these two words to myself, slowly digesting their meaning.

"You mean, someone died in her place? An identical twin who looked exactly like her, whose DNA could even fool her?" I immediately pressed, remembering the second possibility he had mentioned earlier.

"That's possible." Fang Jue nodded, then changed the subject, "But there's another possibility that's more likely—when she first died, she wasn't actually dead. She just used some method to make herself look like she was dead in front of you and everyone else. Then, three days later, she was actually poisoned to death in your waiting area."

I immediately shook my head, my tone filled with undisguised certainty: "Impossible. The first time she collapsed, I personally performed CPR on her. I felt her carotid artery; there was no pulse. She wasn't breathing, her pupils were dilated to the sides, and her light reflex was completely absent. That can't be faked! That was real clinical death!"

"Are you sure her heart stopped completely, or were you just too panicked to feel her pulse?" Fang Jue looked at me and threw out a sharp question that left me speechless for a moment.

I opened my mouth, but the confident "I'm sure" got stuck in my throat, and I couldn't say it no matter what I said.

The scene was so chaotic. My mind was completely focused on saving her, and I was on the verge of a breakdown, my fingertips trembling. I did put my fingers on her carotid artery, and I definitely couldn't feel a pulse. But was it possible that I was too nervous and looked in the wrong place? Was it possible that she had taken some kind of medication to lower her pulse and breathing to a level that couldn't be detected by instruments, a state of apparent death?

"Furthermore," Fang Jue didn't give me a chance to defend myself, continuing, "have you ever wondered why both deaths occurred precisely at 4:37?"

I looked up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"If it's a coincidence, then it's too much of a coincidence." His tone carried the extreme sensitivity to detail characteristic of a criminal investigator. "The same person, the same location, the same manner of death, even the time of death is exactly the same. This can only mean one thing—this timing was pre-planned."