Being Targeted by a Female Ghost [Criminal Investigation] - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Ghost Turned Hostage

The rope Zhang Zhuo used to tie her up was made of twisted bedsheets. The fabric was soft against the skin; “tied up” wasn’t quite the right word Qiu Chi looked more like she had been wrapped into a cocoon.

Only her head was exposed as she sat in the chair, looking quite dazed.

“Was this really necessary?” she hissed through gritted teeth.

Zhang Zhuo tucked in the last corner, not even looking up as she replied, “Yes.”

Qiu Chi: “…”

Having secured her captive, Zhang Zhuo pulled up a chair and sat across from her, staring. The pistol was still gripped in her hand.

She didn’t ask questions immediately, seemingly lost in thought about how to begin.

She rubbed her forehead, smoothed her hair a few times, and then turned to survey the architecture of the house—basically doing anything except talking.

The wound on Qiu Chi’s shoulder was covered by the bedsheet; though the bleeding had stopped, it still throbbed with pain.

She shifted her shoulder and struggled like someone with an itch they couldn’t reach. Unfortunately, the bastard had tied her too tightly; she couldn’t break free at all.

“Weren’t you asking for my cooperation?” she asked with a frown. “I’m cooperating now, so why are you acting like a mute?”

Zhang Zhuo retracted her gaze and refocused on the woman’s face.

This face hadn’t changed much from ten years ago—fair, clean, and still very beautiful. But the expression of impatience was worlds apart from the Qiu Chi of the past.

She had changed a lot.

In the old days, when faced with a threat, she would have been expressionless. Zhang Zhuo couldn’t help but wonder if she had the wrong person, but then again, how could two people in this world look so identical?

In ten years, she had only encountered this one. The possibility of a mistake seemed slim. Besides, the identity registered in the system was indeed Qiu Chi. Her public pen name, “Autumn,” matched her name, and her debut coincided exactly with the timeline from ten years ago.

Age, looks, timing everything lined up. But why… why did she feel like a stranger?

Zhang Zhuo felt that the current Qiu Chi her expressions, tone, attitude, everything—was like a completely different person.

Is this really Qiu Chi?

The scene at the door flashed through her mind, and she finally realized where the dissonance came from. The real Qiu Chi, even if she were pretending not to know her, would never have thought of trying to blind her with a fountain pen.

This Qiu Chi was more like a different soul wearing the same skin. A different… Qiu Chi who didn’t know her.

Zhang Zhuo’s hand in her pocket brushed against the cold barrel of the pen, and she sighed quietly to herself.

Between us, who is the one who should hate whom?

She pulled her hand out, suddenly stood up to move her chair, and sat directly in front of Qiu Chi. She went straight to the point: “Where were you at 4:30 AM this morning?”

Qiu Chi froze.

4:30?

She realized the officer was indeed here for the case. “At home, sleeping,” she answered.

Zhang Zhuo twirled the gun in her hand and asked, “So you’re saying you don’t have an alibi?”

Qiu Chi remained silent.

Taking the silence as a confession, Zhang Zhuo continued, “Then where were you at 9:00 PM on the 8th?”

Qiu Chi thought back. That night, just like early this morning, she had suddenly teleported somewhere else.

The moment she had regained her footing, she found a body. A male, looked to be in his twenties, splayed on the ground with a horrific expression. She had been startled, caught a glimpse of a security camera in the distance, and instinctively looked for paper. Once she found some, she hid by a wall and teleported back.

A few days later, she saw news of a “sudden death” online. But the report hadn’t mentioned her. She had been feeling lucky, thinking the police hadn’t noticed her presence. Now it seemed they had likely hidden that fact on purpose.

After a moment of deliberation, she gave the same answer: “At home, sleeping.”

Zhang Zhuo didn’t say much. She simply nodded and kept asking: “What about the 25th of last month? What were you doing?”

“Last month?” Qiu Chi curled her lip. “That was too long ago. I don’t remember.”

Liar.

She had actually teleported to a crime scene that day, too. It was another young man, same terrified expression, sitting bolt upright in the driver’s seat. The car had been parked by the shore, about ten meters from the water. She had bad luck that time—she teleported right into the range of the dashcam. Fortunately, she reacted quickly enough to keep her back to the camera as she circled the car, using her dress as a canvas to draw her way back.

“Is it that you don’t remember, or you don’t want to say?” Zhang Zhuo paused, her voice turning stern. “You’d better think carefully before you answer.”

Qiu Chi blinked slowly, her tone flat. “I don’t remember.”

Zhang Zhuo nodded. “Fine.”

She toyed with the pistol for a moment before suddenly speaking: “Since you don’t remember the 25th, I suppose you don’t remember anything that happened before that either?”

Before that?

Qiu Chi’s thoughts drifted back to September 20th—the day she was discharged from the hospital.

That was the first time she had activated her ability, and she had ended up in a pitch-black place. There were many people screaming. It wasn’t until someone bumped into her that she realized this wasn’t a dream or a hallucination, nor a side effect of her concussion, but the real world.

So, she had started screaming too.

However, she quickly realized the people were screaming because of her appearance. She stopped dead in her tracks, looking at a mirror on the wall covered in bloody handprints. The mirror reflected a woman with disheveled hair wearing a red dress. The dim lighting made her look like a ghost.

She approached the mirror to tidy her hair. That was when she noticed the male corpse in the corner. At first, she thought it was a prop, but a closer look revealed it was real.

She wanted to call the police, but her phone wasn’t on her. She tried to find a way out, but she couldn’t find an exit. During her search, she spotted a camera and slowly calmed down, realizing the danger. The body was still warm, meaning the death was recent. Her appearing out of thin air wasn’t normal; if she were caught at a murder scene, anyone would suspect her.

As she was thinking of how to leave, more screams headed her way. She fell again in the chaos, was swamped by the crowd, and somehow teleported back to the hospital.

A doctor had walked in then, bringing a cup of warm water from the dispenser. “What are you drawing?” the doctor asked gently.

Qiu Chi had been looking at the white paper in front of her, which was covered in a mess of tangled lines. She looked up at the doctor, wanting to report what she had seen, but before she could speak, she remembered what the previous doctor had said:

“The tests show you only have a mild concussion, though your external injuries are serious. I believe your memory loss is more likely psychological. You might want to try psychological counseling to see if we can find the root cause.”

Qiu Chi wondered: Was what just happened also due to psychological reasons? If I say it out loud… will I be locked in an isolation ward as a lunatic?

It took her only thirty seconds to decide. She calmly answered the doctor: “I’m drawing a crow.”

As she spoke, she used her pen to outline a crow around the black mess. The doctor blinked, watching her transform a jumble of lines into a lifelike crow with a few strokes. “Why did you think of drawing a crow?”

Her gaze drifted past the doctor to the distance, lying without flinching: “One was just perched on the windowsill.”

Coming back to the present, she looked at the detective and said, “Yes, I don’t remember any of it.”

Zhang Zhuo’s hand stopped. Her index finger happened to be resting on the trigger. Qiu Chi’s matter-of-fact expression made her feel a mix of rage and hatred, but she couldn’t show it; she didn’t want to seem like she cared too much.

Her thumb slowly rubbed the grip of the gun, and her gaze darkened. “Do you really think… that if you just keep denying everything, there’s nothing I can do to you?”

Without waiting for a response, she stood up and pointed the gun at the woman again. “Six times.”

Qiu Chi’s eyes widened slightly, not understanding.

“Six cases. You were at every single crime scene. Once you’re caught, you’re as good as dead.”

Qiu Chi frowned. “What six cases?”

In her memory, there were clearly only four. Where did the other two come from?

Zhang Zhuo’s lips curled downward. “Keep acting.”

“No, can you explain yourself clearly?” Qiu Chi asked.

“I have no comment on the cases. You just need to know that if you don’t talk now, it will be too late after tonight,” Zhang Zhuo said.

The words were cryptic—part threat, part warning.

“I’ll give you time to think. Whether you tell the truth or just wait for death, you only get one chance.”

Leaving those words behind, Zhang Zhuo holstered her gun and headed upstairs. She pushed open the door to the study, taking in the mess. She stepped over the paper balls and went to the computer.

It was password-protected. She thought for a bit and entered Qiu Chi’s birthday. Password Incorrect.

She hesitated, then entered the last digits of Qiu Chi’s phone number and hit enter. Incorrect.

She froze. Not the birthday, not the phone number… then what?

She hit enter one more time [without typing], and the clean, organized desktop appeared before her eyes.

Zhang Zhuo stared at the screen with a complex expression. She had found another piece of evidence that Qiu Chi was indeed Qiu Chi. But she wasn’t happy about it at all.

However, she didn’t have time to be unhappy. She focused and pulled up the surveillance logs, checking the footage around the villa starting from the beginning of last month.

Downstairs, Qiu Chi was also focusing on escaping.

Six cases? That didn’t match her information at all. The officer was right; she couldn’t just sit here.

She twisted her body while watching for movement upstairs. Just as she was about to loosen the bindings, the doorbell rang.

The words “Fate wants me dead” floated through Qiu Chi’s mind.

She couldn’t understand it. Since leaving the hospital, no one had contacted her except her editor’s frequent calls. Why was tonight so busy? Uninvited guests were arriving one after another.

In her panic, she toppled over, chair and all. The noise caught the attention of someone upstairs.

Zhang Zhuo hurried down, pulled her upright, and whispered a warning: “Don’t move and don’t speak. I’ll be right back.”

Qiu Chi glared at her, watching her walk toward the front door.

A moment later, she heard the door open, followed by a woman’s shout.

“Who gave you permission to do this?!”

Right after the words, there was a thud, like someone falling.

What’s happening?

She felt an inexplicable surge of tension.

Footsteps outside approached rapidly. A middle-aged woman with slightly curly hair and a sharp, stern expression suddenly appeared.

Qiu Chi immediately noticed the bulge at her waist—she had seen the same thing on Zhang Zhuo not long ago. She knew a pistol was kept there.

Great.

Another cop.

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