Huayu: This director is pretty strong.

Chapter 117 Tianjin Bell Tower, the False Path Left by Liang Qinian

The black Passat stalled.

The raindrops pounded on the car roof, making a dense and deep sound.

Chen Yan pulled out the key, pushed open the car door, and muddy water soaked the soles of his shoes. A chill crept up his trouser leg and into his bones.

"The Old Clock Tower".

Wu Gang got out of the car from the other side, holding a crowbar in his hand, which was dark and shorter than usual.

Ten meters ahead, a brand-new aluminum alloy fence blocked the way.

On the construction site fence, a blue sign with white lettering gleamed from the rain: "Danger building under repair, entry prohibited."

The date on the document is three days ago.

Something's not right.

Wu Gang walked around the fence and stopped at the southeast corner.

"The paint is freshly applied, but this metal frame is an old product from twenty years ago."

He pointed to a string of blurry white paint numbers on the inside of the support rod: MH-1982-07.

"The serial number of the first batch of construction teams of Minghai Group".

Wu Gang's voice sounded muffled in the rain.

"Lu Haiming is dead, and the team has long since disbanded, unless—"

Chen Yan continued his sentence.

"Unless the person who takes over doesn't even spare these scrap metal."

Wu Gang said no more, inserted the crowbar into the seam of the fence, his arm muscles tensed, and the sound of metal twisting drowned out the sound of the rain.

The fence was torn open, with a gap about half a person's width between it and the fence.

Chen Yan squeezed in sideways.

A whiff of musty air mixed with quicklime filled my nostrils.

He turned on his flashlight, the beam piercing the darkness, sweeping across the rubble, and finally stopping at the wooden door leading to the basement.

The door was half-open, with a broken nylon rope hanging from the hinge.

Chen Yan rubbed the broken edge; the cut was neat, indicating it was made with a knife.

He pushed open the wooden door.

Amidst the harsh scraping sound, a staircase covered with a thin layer of puddles extended downwards.

The basement was piled with several empty paint buckets and rotten tarpaulins.

The flashlight beam swept across an overturned paint bucket, and behind it, in a crack between the bricks, was a blue soft-shell cigarette box.

Chen Yan walked over, picked up the cigarette box, opened the lid, and found three cigarettes inside.

He pulled out the first one, crushed it, and it was tobacco.

The second one, too.

He picked up the last one.

The cigarette feels harder to the touch, and there is no brand logo on the filter.

Chen Yan tore open the cigarette paper; the filter was hollowed out, and inside was a half-sheet of film rolled into a thin tube.

On the Beijing-Tianjin Expressway.

A red Santana sped through the night.

Zhou Man gripped the steering wheel, her phone tossed on the passenger seat, the screen still lit up. A newly received text message caught her eye: Tianjin A·X2198, Passat, the target has entered the old clock tower site at No. 14 Laochang Street, HQ District.

The sender's signature was a distorted red cross made of symbols.

Zhou Man dialed a number.

"Editor-in-chief, I caught up with Chen Yan. He's on his way to Tianjin. Yes, he's made a move."

A tired voice came from the other end of the phone.

"Zhou Man, are you crazy? This is a police case, what are you, a reporter, getting involved for?"

"Wherever he goes, that's where the news breaks."

Zhou Man hung up the phone and floored the accelerator.

The basement of the clock tower.

A faint red light illuminated the cubicle.

Chen Yan used tweezers to hold the half-sheet of film and immersed it in the developing solution. The chemical smell of the solution filled the small space.

The outline of the image gradually emerged in the liquid.

An interrogation room of less than ten square meters.

Liang Qinian sat in a chair with his hands handcuffed to the edge of the table. His shirt collar was torn. There were no injuries on his face, but the veins on his forehead were bulging. His eyes were staring straight out of the camera.

In the lower right corner of the photo, there is a faded red bow hair clip on the table.

That was what Liang Qinian's sister wore on her head on the day she had the accident twenty years ago.

Only Chen Yan understood this signal.

"He's giving directions."

Chen Yan's voice was very low.

"The people who control him need him to release this photo to lure me here."

Chen Yan walked out of the cubicle and removed the red light bulb.

"Film edge number: Kodak-5219-408, a reel of old-style film negatives."

"In the entire city of Tianjin, only the Hongqi Photo Studio on Laochang Street still uses this thing."

Fifteen minutes later.

A white van was parked in front of a dilapidated store. Faded ID photos were pasted on the glass window, and the three characters "Photo Studio" on the sign were incomplete.

Chen Yan pushed open the door and entered, a stale smell of medicine wafted over him.

Behind the counter, a bald old man was examining stamps with a magnifying glass.

Chen Yan slapped the half-sheet of film onto the counter.

"Who has developed this type of film in the last three days?"

The old man looked up, adjusted his reading glasses, and picked up the film to take a look.

"A policeman surnamed Liang said the film was damaged and only half of it could be developed."

The old man put down the magnifying glass, his voice trembling slightly.

"He took the photos and even asked me if the clock tower nearby was going to be demolished."

"and then?"

Chen Yan leaned forward and gripped the edge of the counter.

Before I could answer, someone came through the back door and called him away.

The old man pointed to the backyard.

Wu Gang stepped over the counter and kicked open the back door.

A narrow alleyway stretches into the distant ruins.

In the rain, a figure in a black raincoat flashed at the alley entrance and turned into it.

"stop!"

Wu Gang roared and launched himself into the rain.

The man in the black raincoat ran at great speed across the slippery cobblestones, quickly leaving a considerable distance behind after just a few turns.

Wu Gang chased after him relentlessly, his feet splashing through the puddles, sending up muddy spray.

At a corner, the man in the black raincoat stopped, turned around, and threw a handful of iron pellets.

Wu Gang turned his head to avoid it, and the iron shot hit the wall behind him with a crackling sound.

In that brief delay, the man in the black raincoat had already scaled a low wall and disappeared into the deeper darkness.

Wu Gang chased after them to the wall and saw a silver aluminum alloy roll of plastic film lying next to a pile of garbage.

As he walked back, raindrops dripped from his hair.

"Couldn't catch up, very professional skills."

Wu Gang handed the film reel to Chen Yan.

"He left it there on purpose."

Chen Yan unscrewed the tube lid; inside was no film, only a crumpled strip of paper.

He unfolded the note; the handwriting was messy, heavily scribbled with a ballpoint pen: Don't trust Liang Qinian; he betrayed you once.

At the end of the writing was a bright red, twisted cross, the ink spreading across the paper.

Chen Yan clenched the note tightly.

He recalled his past life, where his film project was leaked at the last minute, causing it to fail.

At the time, only a handful of people knew about the core plan.

Liang Qinian.

The thought flashed through his mind for only a second before he extinguished it.

He stuffed the note into his pocket and turned to walk towards the door.

The screeching sound of brakes tore through the rain.

A red Santana was parked across the entrance, its headlights so bright they made it hard to open one's eyes.

The car window rolled down, and Zhou Man, holding a camera, pointed the lens at them.

"Director Chen, are you wandering around the old city of Tianjin in the middle of the night to experience life for your next film?"

The flash went off, freezing Chen Yan and Wu Gang's figures in the stark white light.

Chen Yan ignored him, opened the car door, and sat in the passenger seat.

The van started up, and Zhou Man's Santana turned around and followed. Two white beams of light were fixed on the rear of their cars, never leaving each other's side.

"The bait has been taken."

Wu Gang glanced at it in the rearview mirror.

Chen Yan didn't say anything; he took out the newly developed photo.

In the photo, Liang Qinian's index finger is pressed on the red hair clip.

The direction the index finger is pointing is where a piece of paint is missing from the corner of the table.

The missing part is shaped like a crooked cross.

St. Mary's Hospital.

"Go to the hospital."

Chen Yan put away the photos, clutching the bloody key that had been cut out of Lu Haiming's stomach in his hand.

"Whether it's true or not, we must settle this score today."

The van sped toward the entrance of the emergency building, its tires leaving long black tracks on the wet, slippery paving stones.

Chen Yan pushed open the door and rushed into the hall.

No one is empty.

Only the pager behind the service desk emitted a piercing dial tone.

He walked to the elevator and pressed the down button.

The elevator doors slowly opened, revealing the cold gleam of the metal interior.

Basement level.

Morgue.

At the end of the corridor, a red cross on the double iron gate gleamed dully in the dim light.

Chen Yan walked to the door and inserted the rusty key into the lock.

"Click".