A Pact Three Years in the Making  

The scene was chaotic.

An emergency doctor hurried in and officially declared Zeeshow Wong dead. Asthma seemed to be the cause, but the final confirmation was to be made by the coroner.

Forensics arrived, taking photos and collecting evidence. A stretcher was brought in, Zeeshow's body was covered with a white sheet, and carried away.

Highyang left and returned, ordering the area to be sealed off and initiating a thorough investigation of everyone who had been near the interrogation room.

Amidst the commotion, Mingyoo remained seated in the chair where Zeeshow had been, deep in thought. Wenjay stood beside him, almost able to hear the gears turning in Mingyoo's head.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mingyoo stirred and looked at the wall opposite the door. He asked Highyang, "What's on the other side of this wall?"

"Riverside Road. There's a coffee shop and an antique store," Highyang replied. "Why, do you think someone from outside killed Zeeshow?"

Mingyoo appeared thoughtful, scanning the wall again before shaking his head. "No, just making casual conversation. By the way, who had contact with Zeeshow from yesterday until now?"

Highyang pondered for a moment. "Besides me, there were three detectives, three clerks—I had them interrogate him in shifts—and then you."

Mingyoo nodded. "Make a copy of the surveillance footage for me. Keep the original sealed; someone from headquarters will collect it."

This was standard procedure for supernatural cases. Highyang personally copied the footage and handed it to Mingyoo on an encrypted flash drive, completing the handover.

"Do you need a statement?" Mingyoo asked.

Highyang shook his head, handing over a pre-written record. "The interrogation was documented. Just sign here; no need for an additional statement."

Mingyoo skimmed through the document at an inhuman speed, signed it, and said, "I'll leave you to your investigation. Call me if you need anything. I'll be staying at Maplewood Farm."

Highyang acknowledged, and Mingyoo stood up. Before leaving, he gave the wall one last glance and even touched it. Then he said to Wenjay, "Let's go home."

It was past noon, and a light drizzle began to fall. Wenjay drove out of Maplewood town and onto the road leading to Maplewood Farm. Mingyoo leaned back in his seat, gazing at the rolling mountains through the window, his expression somber, likely still pondering Zeeshow's sudden death.

"Why were you looking at that wall?" Wenjay suddenly asked.

"Huh?" Mingyoo turned. "What wall?"

"The one between the police station and the coffee shop," said Wenjay. "You looked at it several times and even touched it. Did you suspect someone on the other side used some sort of mystical martial arts to kill Zeeshow through the wall?"

Mingyoo frowned. "Why is your imagination always so wild? Should I use my powers to plug that hole in your head?"

Wenjay eyed him warily. "Are you trying to mess with me again?"

Mingyoo chuckled. "Mess with you? I'm not one of the Men in Black."

Wenjay got serious. "But seriously, do you have any suspicions? Because I think you should. I saw someone."

Mingyoo was taken aback. "What did you say? Who did you see?"

"A man," Wenjay recalled. "In his forties, an average face, dressed like a real estate agent or maybe a lawyer."

"Hold on," Mingyoo sat up straight, his expression stern. "Tell me everything you saw, don't leave out any details."

Wenjay gathered his thoughts and recounted the incident: "I suspect him for two reasons. First, the spot he chose was odd. Second, I felt that brain tremor you mentioned. I backtracked, and it was just before Zeeshow's 'asthma' attack. Too many coincidences. I think he's suspicious."

Mingyoo's previously gloomy demeanor lifted, and he eagerly asked Wenjay, "Did you get a good look at him?"

"More or less. I made sure to bump into him to get a better look."

Mingyoo let out a sigh of relief and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "When we get home, draw him for me. You're my lucky star; I might just marry you!"

Wenjay shivered. Mingyoo quickly added, "I'm just kidding, I'm very straightforward."

Wenjay's eyelids twitched. "I'm more straightforward than you."

The two men locked eyes, understanding each other's straight-as-an-arrow personalities. They turned away in unison; one continued driving, the other gazing out the window.

As they approached the house, Mingyoo suddenly asked, "Why didn't you mention this crucial lead at the police station?"

Wenjay retorted, "Why didn't you mention anything about touching the wall for so long?"

They looked at each other and shared a knowing smile.

By the time they got home, it was past 2 PM. As soon as Wenjay entered, Patton nearly knocked him over. He had forgotten to feed him in the morning. The thought of dog food reminded him of his own hunger. He asked Mingyoo, "What do you feel like eating? I'll whip something up."

Mingyoo quickly responded, "No, no, you work on the sketch. I'll cook."

Wenjay felt a surge of importance in the household—the master of the house was cooking for him!

Indeed, a man must have his worth!

"Alright, I'll be in my room sketching. I'll come down when it's done!"

Wenjay dashed to his room and began sketching on his laptop.

Slightly flat eyebrows, a narrow and straight nose, eyes with a hint of dark brown... What stood out the most was his mouth, with a small mole on the lower right side.

As the lifelike face materialized on the canvas, Wenjay stepped back to examine his "masterpiece." A sense of déjà vu enveloped him; even the faint, peculiar scent of the man seemed to linger in the air.

I've seen him before!

A flash of realization struck him like lightning. Wenjay closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, it was as if a lock had been opened in his mind, and memories flooded in like a deluge.

Las Vegas, three years ago, during the summer. He had seen this man!

Dizziness overwhelmed him. Wenjay sat down, trying to recall. It was the summer of 2028, just before his nineteenth birthday. A buddy from the neighborhood got a new car and invited him on a road trip to Las Vegas.

They stayed in Las Vegas for a week, wandering around the city during the day and, like everyone else, flocking to the casinos at night, hoping to turn their pocket change into a luxury yacht.

He must have encountered this man in one of the casinos. He was playing the slot machines for two straight hours, losing all his chips, and was about to leave empty-handed when the man handed him a coin.

Then, as if magic from Hogwarts had been cast, the long-silent machine erupted with cheerful music, and colorful lights blinked as a heap of shiny coins spilled out.

"Lucky you!" the man seemed to ruffle his hair and smiled. "Don't forget, this luck was brought to you by me. You're buying the drinks tonight!"

No, wait... something's not right. The memory became fuzzy here. It seemed like that wasn't what the man said, and the one who gave him the coin was someone else…

But who could it be?

The man's face was shrouded in a white mist in his memory, and he couldn't recall any more details. Wenjay paced around the room like a caged animal, trying to pierce through the mist, but to no avail.

A throbbing pain emerged in his temples. Wenjay rubbed his head in frustration when suddenly, the door creaked open and Patton strolled in, barking, "Woof!"

Dinner was ready.

Wenjay went downstairs with Patton. Dinner was served, and Mingyoo was dishing out rice. He pointed to the seat across from him, "Sit. Did you finish the sketch?"

Wenjay placed his laptop on the dining table and looked earnestly at Mingyoo. "Before I show you, I have a question. Please answer truthfully."

Mingyoo's eyes narrowed as if he anticipated what was coming. He sat down opposite Wenjay, "Ask away."

Wenjay was stern, "Let's get this straight. If you try to deceive me, I'll delete it, and you'll never find out who killed Zeeshow."

Mingyoo sucked in air through his teeth, seemingly in pain. After a moment, he said, "Fine, I promise."

Wenjay nodded and pulled out a thin red book from his pocket.

"Place your hand on this and promise, on the honor of chocolate chip cookies, that every word you say will be true and just."

Mingyoo's face fell – it was the Ultimate Cookie Recipe Book!

But Wenjay was dead serious.

Mingyoo felt like he must have done something terrible in his past life to end up with such a character. Reluctantly, he placed his right hand on the book and said, "I swear."

Wenjay seemed satisfied. "Three years ago, in Las Vegas, did we meet?"

"Yes."

"Did you give me a coin?"

"Yes."

"Why don't I remember it?"

"An accident," Mingyoo explained. "I was on an overseas mission at the time – I can't tell you the details, or we'd both end up in jail – the suspect was a mind-controlling murderer. During the arrest, he fought back, and some bystanders were affected by supernatural forces, losing some short-term memory. You were probably one of them."

Wenjay eyed him skeptically for a moment before accepting the explanation. "Alright, I believe you."

Mingyoo exhaled in relief. "Can I see the sketch now?"

Wenjay nodded and handed him the laptop. As Mingyoo was about to project the image onto a holographic screen, Wenjay suddenly asked, "Did I buy you a drink that night?"

Mingyoo looked heavenward. "No, you and your buddies stood me up. I waited for you guys at the bar for three hours. I even paid for that Tequila myself."

Wenjay shook his head regretfully. "Well, I did lose my memory."

"...Fair point," Mingyoo massaged his forehead, then his eyes lit up. "But don't forget, you still owe me a drink."

Wenjay slapped his chest like a true gentleman. "No problem!"