11 The Past

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Ji He smoked two cigarettes, but her phone remained utterly silent, as if dead. The intense drowsiness from consecutive sleepless nights brought relentless waves of headache. To prevent her name from soon appearing on the cremation list at the funeral home, she irritably crushed the cigarette pack and tossed it to the young man beside her.

Zhao Rong quickly pocketed it, hiding it for her, then waved his arm in the air to disperse the smoke faster.

Ji He held the lifeless phone—already condemned to death—and listlessly scrolled through the chat history.

Soon, she reached the top.

The tiny text showed the date she and Fang Qingzhao became friends: August 25.

Five days ago. August 25.

The police had traced Shen Zhiyang’s hotel check-in record and successfully apprehended her as she was preparing to leave.

There was abundant evidence left at the scene, coupled with nearby surveillance footage, making the case’s resolution almost inevitable, leaving little room for the suspect’s denial.

They only needed Shen Zhiyang’s confession and to locate the corpse’s hiding place to close the case swiftly, efficiently, and perfectly.

Yet, when she was brought into the interrogation room at the precinct, after only a few words, everyone was stunned.

Shen Zhiyang nervously insisted she was Fang Qingzhao, fiercely accusing the investigators of violence. She even wildly speculated they belonged to a massive fraud syndicate operating covertly in City A.

The precinct’s detectives were furious, warning her not to feign madness. Based on her previous movements, finding the body was only a matter of time, though it would require reviewing countless useless surveillance videos.

The atmosphere was surreal—as if both sides spoke the same language but operated on different systems.

Eventually, a colleague, unable to bear it any longer, switched his phone to selfie mode and thrust the screen before her face, demanding, “Look at yourself! Who are you claiming to be? This is the real Fang Qingzhao!”

Shen Zhiyang’s expression instantly changed. Suddenly struck by a headache, she screamed in agony and fainted. The scene terrified everyone, as if they had nearly pushed her to death during interrogation.

When the staff rushed out shouting, “Hurry, send her to the hospital!” their legs trembled so much on the slippery tile floor that they nearly knelt right then and there.

If Shen Zhiyang’s reaction was an act, she would surely have a place among the top actresses in the entertainment industry today.

Ji He had no choice but to summon the true Fang Qingzhao to the precinct for cooperation and questioning.

Their first meeting left an indelible impression on Ji He.

Fang Qingzhao showed none of the guilt expected of a suspect. Instead, she carried herself with a composed ease, entering the reception room as if she were its rightful owner.

With one hand, she pulled out a chair and sat confidently beneath the light. The thick black eyelashes and smooth bridge of her nose cast distinct shadows on her face, making the shabby, worn stools seem unworthy of her transcendent aura.

Yet her first words were humble: she said she currently did not know what had happened to Shen Zhiyang.

The words “currently” and “again” held a peculiar charm, and Ji He faintly heard the sound of a fish taking the bait.

She guessed few could resist this temptation. Sure enough, Zhao Rong beside her hesitated not an instant before hooking himself, earnestly asking, “Why only ‘currently’?”

Fang Qingzhao folded her hands neatly on her lap without any pretense or hesitation and said, “Could you show me the information you have on her?”

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Ji He crossed her legs, tapping the table with fingers neither lightly nor heavily. Zhao Rong picked up the signal instantly, straightening his face and saying, “Just answer our questions. How do you perceive Shen Zhiyang?”

Fang Qingzhao pondered and replied, “I don’t know how to answer your question like this, because most of my connections with her are private and cannot be disclosed.”

Her thoughtful gesture seemed deliberate, more a polite act to avoid offending the others by refusing.

She then probed again, “Is there something wrong with her perception?”

“So you know?” Ji He smiled gently, crossing her legs. “She firmly believes she is Fang Qingzhao. How can such a ridiculous thing be possible?”

Fang Qingzhao made no attempt to hide, briefly explaining the content related to the ‘Abnormal Assessment.’

Ji He’s face turned somber as she confirmed with suspicion, “So you... reconstructed a personality for her?”

Fang Qingzhao looked at her for several seconds; her clear, insightful eyes seemed to be evaluating something subtly. Then she shifted from her concise manner, adding details she had previously omitted.

“At first, she had no concept of existence in her mind. We couldn’t perform any so-called memory modification. Instead, we used auxiliary methods to instill a great deal of theoretical knowledge—some common texts, a little English, simple arithmetic, and many real-world images—to help her build basic awareness of the outside world. This process took several years.”

Ji He’s expression eased slightly but still felt something was off, as if her pride had been quietly trampled upon.

Fang Qingzhao continued, “After we systematically inputted this common knowledge, she began to independently imagine and construct her life, showing clear personal preferences and subjective judgments.

“She’s not as ignorant or unaware as the public assumes. She has sharp, reactive thoughts and emotions. Personality is not so easily eroded. Even with the same family, education, and experiences, one person would not become another.”

“But Shen Zhiyang couldn’t escape her past on her own. After she gained some judgment, we gave her a test that wasn’t really a choice. She wanted to leave the psychiatric hospital.

“So, more accurately, her life isn’t something I fabricated; it’s one she wove for herself.”

Fang Qingzhao met Ji He’s gaze sincerely and calmly. Seeing no further questions, she nodded and continued, “Then we deepened and reinforced Shen Zhiyang’s constructs to overwrite her memories. This process went remarkably smoothly. Aside from the scarcity of memories during her captivity, which we believe was a voluntary choice by her brain—a natural human self-preservation.

“Once we confirmed her adaptation to social life, we ceased observation and interference. Before you contacted me, I hadn’t heard news of her for some time.”

Zhao Rong poured her a cup of hot water, which Fang Qingzhao accepted with a “Thank you.”

Ji He asked, “Then why is she having problems now?”

“I don’t know. This project was halted three years ago. But I can assure you, without external third-party intervention, she couldn’t have changed her self-recognition a second time. As for who that person is or why they altered her memory, I can’t confirm.”

Fang Qingzhao subtly relaxed upon seeing the topic shift forward and asked, “What did Shen Zhiyang do?”

She always tried to steer the conversation, extracting information from the police in reverse.

At first, Ji He thought it was deliberate—she had seen many so-called elites enter a room with an air of natural superiority, convinced their fabricated lies were flawless, looking down on the police.

But now it seemed Fang Qingzhao wasn’t like that. She simply trusted her own efficiency more and hoped both sides could lay their cards on the table to reduce unnecessary questioning.

Ji He softened her tone and showed her a picture: “This is a note Shen Zhiyang wrote herself in the hotel.”

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It recorded a travel reminder:

—Phone payment time: 9:21 a.m. Requested hotel surveillance footage. Checked in alone, normal responses during stay. Carried one piece of luggage. Hand wound treated simply, no inflammation or infection signs. Other body parts examined; suspected physical altercation. Woke at 12:32 a.m. next day; hotel room mirror shattered. All related memories missing. Tentative plan: 1. Report to police (monitoring); 2. Contact San Yao (no major information yet, no advice given).

—August 24

Fang Qingzhao glanced at it and bluntly said, “Holding her at the precinct is useless. Send her back to the hotel today. I will help you pry open her cognition.”

“What?” Zhao Rong shouted, “Do you know she’s a suspect in a murder case? How could you let her return to the hotel?”

Fang Qingzhao spoke calmly, without coercion or pressure, but with a weight that convinced: “You have no other options. Yesterday, she saw herself in the mirror at the hotel, realized she was Shen Zhiyang, broke the mirror, and upon waking, reverted to Fang Qingzhao’s cognition. Today, no matter how much you insist or emphasize her identity, by tomorrow, she might forget everything again.”

Ji He skeptically asked, “What if I insist and repeat it constantly? Can repeated reinforcement correct her perception?”

Fang Qingzhao lifted her eyes and glanced at her faintly: “Humans aren’t computers you can reboot, officer. Machines can be repaired, but people in despair may choose suicide. She isn’t obligated to accept your arrangements; she has the option to end it all. Besides, a fabricated life is fragile; your forceful and crude methods won’t work positively on her.”

Ji He was still pondering the meaning behind that look.

Fang Qingzhao added, “On the way here, I checked. When Lu Jiancheng was captured, the police deliberately sent a pretty, personable female officer to escort Shen Zhiyang out. She was the one you personally pulled from the basement back then. I’m sure you don’t want her, who just barely escaped her past, to be pushed again onto another dead-end path by your own doing.”

Zhao Rong was dumbfounded.

“‘Personable’ and ‘Ji He’—aside from the similarity in their Chinese characters, could there be any other connection?”

Ji He traced her fingertip thoughtfully, showing no other emotion, and let out a low chuckle, asking meaningfully, “Why are you so certain she would choose suicide? Such threats will only backfire on me. Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”

Fang Qingzhao paused briefly, the first time appearing less composed, her mouth corners sinking: “She’s not the first victim.”

Ji He’s expression hardened: “Who else?”

Fang Qingzhao flipped through medical records in her photo album. Her gaze froze when she saw one, then after a moment, handed it to Ji He, confessing, “Zhou Suirong. My boyfriend. He was lucky to be rescued after attempting suicide. I don’t know why he tried to end his life. To prevent recurrence, I blocked part of his memory.”

Ji He asked, “May I see the others?”

Fang Qingzhao waved indifferently.

Most of the album was screenshots of various complex data, occasionally interspersed with photos that didn’t appear taken by Fang Qingzhao herself but saved from elsewhere, revealing glimpses of her monotonous, orderly daily life.

Ji He did not pry deeply and returned the phone to Fang Qingzhao. Her voice remained even, but she tilted her head slightly, the darkness in her eyes ebbing and flowing like rising tides, her pale, clear face seeming to be soaked in light.

“He came for me.”