The solar system is broken

Someone died. But it wasn't Yimeng, but Lin Ying.

It fell from the teaching room of the laboratory to the downstairs.

The scene looked like a suicide.

A strange thing attracted the attention of the police. When Yuan Yuan, who had last contact with her, was summoned, there was only an old woman at home, his mother.

Yuan Yuan returned home, hugged his mother and cried, then went downstairs and drove out.

The poor old woman was so frightened that she cried out when she saw the large number of policemen.

This is intriguing. If you don’t feel guilty, why are you running?

On the other hand, as soon as the writer returned home and helped Kawahara put the mattress in place, a call came from the criminal police team, saying that he was being summoned to take notes.

When I arrived at the police station, I met an old acquaintance, Yimeng.

Yimeng looked at the writer with deep meaning, which made the writer a little confused.

When the interrogation began, a traffic policeman from Yimeng sat in the main interrogation seat, and the tall policewoman next to him became the transcriber.

"Are you curious why I'm here?" Holding a cigarette, Yimeng blew out a smoke ring at the puzzled writer.

The policewoman next to her covered her nose and said dissatisfiedly, "Smoking is not allowed in the interrogation room."

"That's from your criminal police team," he shrugged, completely ignoring what the female police officer said.

"Aren't you really curious?" He nuzzled at the writer, just like teasing a child.

"I don't want to know," the writer frowned. Apparently he didn't like the smell of cigarettes either.

"Okay," Yimeng curled his lips after feeling bored.

"End it quickly."

Yimeng calmly opened a folder, leaned sideways, and took a posture in front of the table.

"How did you and Lin Ying meet?"

"Play a game."

"What's the name of the game?"

"I don't know the name." He shook his head, "You can go check...forget it, I'll send you the link when I get back."

"I'm not busy with this. I'll just collect the evidence when the time comes."

A small pause, but no lie, probably privacy in the computer.

"When did you meet her, when did you leave, and what did you say when you met her?" He sighed.

"Around 2 o'clock to -3 o'clock, pi and sister." It is so concise that no information can be obtained at all, but it is a one-to-one correspondence, and there is no invalid information.

From 2 o'clock to 3 o'clock, that is, not present.

"Where did you go after 4 o'clock?"

"Insurance companies and furniture stores."

"Let's talk about pi...and your sister."

"Just a brief exchange on the error of the relativity experiment and the error of pi," crossing his fingers, the writer raised his eyes and glanced at Yimeng. It was obvious that Yimeng was not satisfied with the answer at all. It was still too concise and did not meet his expectations.

"We started with Taylor's formula..."

"Okay, okay, okay," Yimeng raised his hands in surrender. Mathematics made him feel dizzy.

"Tell me about your sister."

"She just told my sister that she was doing nuclear physics in South America. In fact, she was in a bad mood and didn't tell me much at all."

"Do you believe Lin Ying committed suicide?" Yimeng squinted his eyes and slowly leaned over from the hazy smoke.

"Um??"

"When her assistant opened the door at night, Lin Ying jumped directly from the upstairs."

Scan every detail of the writer carefully, lest you miss anything.

It's a pity that Yimeng didn't even notice the shock except for the surprise which was not easy to detect.

If it's not too cover-up, it's really too calm.

"So what do you suspect?"

"He committed suicide." Yimeng turned the folder over to a page and was about to hand it to the writer.

The female police officer next to her grabbed Yimeng's wrist and said, "No..."

"I think this child is not as fragile as you think."

This is a photo of the scene.

The deceased was face down, with his limbs spread out and his head bleeding. The background was the hardened ground.

There was an open fracture of the skull, and the contents of the skull flowed all over the floor, mixed with blood, and it was very bloody.

Even though the writer is of good nature, he can't help but feel the throbbing in his throat.

"The fatal injury was only a broken skull. He died of excessive blood loss, and there were no traces of the fight."

"It was his murder." He turned the photo over.

However, the photo of the tragic death kept floating in his mind, like a plastic garbage bag on the bottom of the sea that kept rising and falling with the ocean currents.

The writer's fingers and knuckles turned pale.

"Do you have a reason?"

The next words made Yimeng, a policeman, take a breath of air.

"The average skull can withstand a blow of 1,000 to 1,600 pounds, and the cheeks and sides are basically lower than the overall average."

"Especially the face can generally only withstand 260 pounds to 520 pounds of force (about 100 to 250 pounds)."

Of course, this is the intensity of damage, not the intensity of cracking.

"The photo shows a cracked skull, with at least a 10-centimeter-wide band of bone fragments. Based on her weight, it would take at least 20 meters to cause such damage to the body (in fact, 20 meters is as tall as a seven-foot-long residential building)."

"And the height of that classroom is no more than 15 meters, which is obviously unreasonable."

Calm down, so calm.

Most people's brains will basically shut down when they see such a bloody scene. But a writer can analyze it in such detail.

Yimeng put the cigarette butt on the interrogation table, and the tiny sparks were extinguished by him.

"You are indeed more sensitive than those... people from the Criminal Investigation Department." The contemptuous words reached his lips but he swallowed them.

The female policewoman glared at the senior and warned him to be careful what he said.

"So," Yimeng sat up after flicking the cigarette ashes from his body, "how do you know this?"

"I have thought about killing a few people." He answered simply.

silence.

You said in front of the police that I want to kill someone, which is tantamount to provocation.

"About 5, including my sister."

Deadly silence. Pushing the limits.

"Okay, criminal intent is no longer within the scope of our investigation," Yimeng shrugged, "continue our tea party."

Although it was a question, Yimeng tried hard to make the conversation less depressing.

However, once the bloody photos are exposed, the writer will not relax.

"Do you think there is a possibility of Professor Lin committing suicide?"

The woman who was drunk and sober from time to time gradually emerged in the writer's mind.

Suicide? The writer shook his head. Although he only encountered such a woman once, he felt that she was dangerous and tough, not fragile at all.

"Well, has she said anything strange to you?"

weird stuff?

This really does exist.

"She is grieving for the impending destruction of physics, and has been praying for the fate of the light cone..."

The female police officer stopped writing. Is such a record really meaningful?

Yimeng waved his hand, "Keep it simple."

"Pi is repeated, it's probably a particle problem~"

She still didn't understand much, but it didn't prevent Yimeng from capturing a key piece of information. She seemed very sad.

"I suspect this is a classic secret room murder." Originally, the inquiry should not discuss the case with the person being questioned. But these rules are nothing to Yimeng. I am not from your criminal police team. I came to help and also

Who cares? "Her assistant opened the door to check and helped the criminal complete the last step of disguise. As long as the matter is restored to the time when the door was opened, all questions will be easily solved."

"Like time travel?" Surprise.

...

This idea may be every criminal's nightmare.

"Just move against the speed of light," the writer looked at the two stunned people and continued without blushing and his heart not beating. "Go back to time in the theoretical sense and use afterimages to..."

"Crack!" The interrogation transcript was torn by the tip of the pen.

"I think we are not that high level," Yimeng pinched his nose. The writer's brain circuit is different from his own.

"Oh," disappointed.

"What do you think of this method of killing?"

"In fact, as long as you wait for the autopsy results to come out and look at the time of death and the time of discovery of death, you can basically know whether it was suicide."

There are generally two methods for killing people in secret rooms like this. The first one is killing by internal agencies. This kind of basic cause of death is often easily identified as an accident. The second one is that the so-called secret room is not a secret room at all, just like a local time secret room.

Lin Ying's death is most likely the second one.

"Okay, that's probably all our problems."

When the writer handed over the photo, he saw a wound on the back of Yimeng's hand.

It's a kind of scratch, probably caused by something passing over it quickly.

"Your hands seem to have experienced some stories."

Taking the photo, Yimeng smiled crookedly, "Yes, a small friction does have the suspense of a novel."

"It's a smell of gunpowder, a touch of quarrel~"

The writer wheeled his wheelchair to the corridor, where another interrogation room about Kawahara continued.

[Inquirer: By the way, let me ask you a question: What did you do in the furniture store? 】

[Kuan Yuan: Buying a bed... (pause), do you want to talk about the content of the conversation? 】

[Inquirer: Try to be as detailed as possible.]

[Kawahara: I told the landlady that I wanted to buy an island-style tatami, but the landlady said she didn’t have one. 】

[Kuan Yuan (pause): I’m a little angry. Doesn’t China have everything? 】

There was a long pause.

[Inquirer: What’s wrong?]

[Kawahara: She said that there are no US troops stationed on the island. 】

Quietly and without sound.

[Asker: Zizizi (restraint)~]

[Inquirer: Sorry, please continue.]

[Kuan Yuan: Mr. Jiang then proposed to buy a vertical bed. 】

[Kawa Yuan (pause): Officer, your laughter is too loud...it’s a bit rude.]

[Interrogator: I’m sorry. You continue.]

[Kuan Yuan: Mr. Jiang asked if the bed would squeak.]

[Chuan Yuan: The boss lady said the quality is very good and it won’t make any noise even if my waist is broken.]

[Kawahara: (low voice) So shameful~]

[Inquirer: Hahaha~]

The writer touched his nose. Fortunately, Yimeng didn't ask so incidentally. Otherwise... he felt a chill in his body.

Looking at the sky outside through the iron window. It is quiet and safe.

Death is so close. It is a kind of leisurely sorrow, something between existence and non-being.

The writer pressed his heart and asked himself that it was not a simple fear, but a missing corner of his soul that could not be filled.

Tick ​​tock~tick tock~

In the south of the Yangtze River after autumn, the subtropical high pressure recedes, and a cold air mass from the north rushes down from the Mongolian Plateau and pulls on the land of the Jianghuai River. Thousands of miles of fertile soil is shrouded in this mist and rain.

Although the atmospheric turbulence caused by the attraction of meteors has increased, this climate that has lasted for thousands of years has not changed.

Outside the window, those melancholy drops of sycamore rain described by Chinese literati are still falling.

Even at night, it does not prevent it from falling.

The whole world is destroyed (note: dark is also dark), and the human cities on the swaying earth are holding together.

The sky is very clear, with a few lone stars, and the sycamore leaves outside the window are floating.

The clouds are light and the river is pale, and the raindrops are sparse on the sycamore trees.

The writer finally remembered some fragments of sentences, but these words had already been said by someone a long time ago.

...