Chapter Text
The notification arrived late in the evening. I assumed it must be an advert; surely my editor wouldn't be writing to me at such an hour? But when I opened the app and read the first line, my mouth dropped open. I couldn't have expected this. My email address was only with the agency that published my books and with my editor, and it is unlikely that they gave it to anyone else. But the proof was right in front of me, and it was impossible to ignore. I closed my mouth and, frowning slightly, began to read:
Dear Tai Pingchuan,
I am sorry to bother you. I don't usually write to authors, but your book, «The Psychiatrist Detective», really struck a chord with me. I wanted to express my gratitude and admiration for your gift. I know how important it is to hear kind words about one’s work, so I wanted to tell you this.
Sincerely,
Your reader
I reread the unexpected review several times before finally putting my phone down. I was overcome with emotion. On the one hand, I couldn't help but wonder how someone had gotten my email address. If a simple fan had done it to express their admiration, did that mean my secret wasn't so safe after all? It was unlikely that anyone would go to such lengths to find out the email address of the author of a little-known detective novel. Or it was not that simple, and X was behind this email? It wasn't the first time I'd encountered X knowing something unavailable to ordinary people. Could this really be a secret message? Or simply a display of information? But on the other hand, I was certainly flattered. I'm used to reading mostly critical reviews of my books, and kind words about my work were truly gratifying. Not that this was the first positive review I'd encountered. My neighbor, Yan Ke, had read «The Psychiatrist Detective» with interest and defended the book against my attacks. I also knew that Zhang Qiqi had borrowed it, and perhaps she'd liked it too. Thinking of Zhang Qiqi, I thought again of the strange note she'd left on the library copy of my book. The solution to the mystery was still far from me, and I decided to put those thoughts aside until tomorrow. I shifted slightly under the covers, finally curled up, and prepared to sleep.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and I heard Yan Ke's voice.
— Are you still awake?
— Of course not, — I replied discontentedly, pulling the blanket up higher. The knock caught me off guard and almost made me jump, and now I was a little angry at Yan Ke for startling me.
— Oh well, — Yan Ke muttered, and judging by the sound of his retreating footsteps, went to his bedroom.
Slightly surprised by the lack of the usual barbs, I lay there for a moment, staring into the darkness, and then, unexpectedly, reached for my phone. Opening the email app, I began typing.
Dear Reader...
The next morning greeted me with a cheerless, dim light. Yan Ke had already gone for a run and, perhaps because of what happened yesterday, didn't bother to wake me. I wasn't upset, as I hadn't had much sleep in a while due to the workload and all the mysteries surrounding Zhang Qiqi's murder and X's identity. So, after a leisurely stretch, I sat on the edge of the bed and swung both legs down. My phone buzzed. I suspected it was a message from Deputy Liao about Ma Lin's mother, the girl we were treating and who, by an unfortunate coincidence, had been my couple on a blind date. Indeed, that was it. He informed me that she was still in Hainan and would soon be flying to Nanning. I fiddled with the device and involuntarily checked my email. My inbox was empty, meaning my message hadn't received a reply. I sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if I really wanted to receive another message. And I answered myself honestly: I don't know. However, I knew a psychiatrist who said that when his patient replied that he didn't know what he wanted, he probably just hadn't fully formulated his request. Most likely he knew everything perfectly well. I thought there was some sense in this and began to analyze it further. Surely, this reader of mine simply wanted to express his emotions and had no intention of starting a dialogue with me. But if he had a opposite intention, it could be even worse - who needs to start a pen pal with a little-known writer-psychiatrist? While I was pondering this, Yan Ke returned from his run. His T-shirt was slightly wet, and he immediately headed for the shower. I didn't have time to ask him what he wanted to tell me yesterday, but by the time he came out, I had already forgotten all about it. He didn't say anything about me skipping my morning run, being in an elevated mood. Afraid of scaring off his positive attitude, I decided not to bother him either. We left for the hospital a little early, but traffic was slower than usual today. While waiting at the traffic light, I decided to ask Yan Ke why he was so happy, but he just waved me off.
— You better watch the road.
Indeed, the green light was already flashing brightly, but I stood rooted to the spot. I pressed the gas pedal a little harder than necessary, and Yang Ke was pressed back into his seat. He glared at me with displeasure. I tried to ignore him. We drove on without incident, but we were still about ten minutes late. Yang Ke quickly got out of the car and, without waiting for me, headed to the department. I pursed my lips, knowing he wouldn't see me anyway. Yang Ke tried to appear cool, but it was easy to piss him off, and sometimes his irritability wore me out. After sitting in the car for a few more seconds, I finally got out. Suddenly, someone called out to me. Turning around, I saw a man I could not have expected to meet there.