This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Saturdead on 2025-02-08 01:05:46+00:00.


Iā€™ll never forget the last beer I had before I left Chengdu. It was this cheap poor-manā€™s-label kind of beer called Xuehua, or a ā€œSnowflakeā€. Itā€™s ironic, really. Such a unique name for something mass produced. The bottles are all the same. It all tastes the same. The most unique thing about it is the price. And yet, I havenā€™t had one for years.

Iā€™d like to say I left because of work, but thatā€™s only half true. The real truth is, as with most things, complicated. Bear with me ā€“ itā€™s a long story.

Ā 

Iā€™m a private investigator. Not really by choice, but a long set of circumstances. Being a private investigator in south west China is a bit of a grey area, but a job is a job. In many ways, the job picked me rather than the other way around. I was originally going to work in finance, on my fatherā€™s behalf, but he fell on hard times. He worked in foreign investment, but when the company had to downsize, he was the first to go. After that, I had to pick up whatever jobs I could to keep the family afloat.

I was supposed to be my familyā€™s pride and joy, but that never happened. I didnā€™t meet anyone to start a family with. I couldnā€™t keep up my studies and work at the same time. Every job interview failed, and I was passed over at every opportunity. Every time things looked like they were going my way, something would happen. An accident, a sudden twist of fate, someone changing their mind.

But there was a single stroke of luck that turned things around ā€“ I won a raffle.

Ā 

There was a small electronics store near Tianfu square that held it. I was just there to buy some batteries and a new alarm clock, but they had a sign-up where you could write down your name and have a chance to win a brand-new camera. A real fancy one, with a tripod, three kinds of lenses, a bag, memory cardsā€¦ the whole deal. I wrote down my name on a whim and didnā€™t think anything else of it. About a month later, I won.

That camera turned everything around. I took pictures of everything, and I got pretty good at it. I followed tutorials online, joined a couple of forums, and even entered a few contests; two of which I won. I dare say that being a photographer is my greatest quality ā€“ but itā€™s not the best profession. You donā€™t bring in a lot of money.

I did a couple of commercial shoots, portraits, and photo prints; but the real money came from other sources.

Ā 

It started with a man who needed proof that his daughter was seeing someone in secret. He needed photographic evidence to show his wife. It was all pretty sketchy, but heā€™d worked with me a couple of times and he knew I was trustworthy. I turned him down three times, but on the fourth time he offered me such a large sum that I couldnā€™t say no. So I did it.

Itā€™s surprisingly easy to find and follow people nowadays. I know, itā€™s creepy, but I was just doing it for the money. Iā€™m not a creepy person. That job turned out to be a dud ā€“ turns out she wasnā€™t seeing anyone; she was just a shopaholic. She blasted through her allowance on clothes and accessories. And not even the good ones! She hid most of it at a friendā€™s house.

But that opportunity sparked a whole bunch of other jobs. Mostly parents asking me to keep an eye on their adult children, but also a couple of spouses worried about infidelity.

That was most of my work for a long time. I was the eye in the sky. Iā€™d walked the streets of Chengdu since I was a kid; I knew them by heart. Didnā€™t matter if it was the busiest street on the Spring Festival, Iā€™d get around ā€“ no problem. I knew the best place to get bingfen in the summer, and I could make my way across town with my eyes closed. Itā€™d only take a heartbeat or two for me to spot a tourist in a crowd. Iā€™ve always had a good eye for noticing things that stand out.

But then I got a job. The biggest job Iā€™d ever gotten.

Ā 

Iā€™d been working as a private investigator for about six years when I got an e-mail. Theyā€™d heard about me from a common friend, and they needed to remain anonymous. Someone close to them had gone missing, and they were very worried about what might have happened. They had talked to the police, but there had been no progress, and no one was telling them anything ā€“ so they decided to look elsewhere. Specifically, to me.

Iā€™d never had a missing person job before, but I could hardly say no. No matter if I found this person or not, these people were willing to pay me a retainer fee ā€“ meaning it wasnā€™t just a chunk of cash at the end of the job, but an ongoing payment for as long as it took for me to find answers.

I thought about it and ultimately accepted. Iā€™d been working small jobs for years, but this time I could really help someone. It wasnā€™t just money.

Ā 

They sent over everything they had about the missing person ā€“ a woman named Lian. She was almost 80 years old and lived alone in the south part of town. Sheā€™d been gone for weeks, and the police hadnā€™t found any clues. Her close friends and family had, however, noticed something unusual.

ā€œShe left her bag behind,ā€ the e-mail said. ā€œLian never leaves her bag behind.ā€

But it didnā€™t stop there. The only thing that remained in that bag was a list. It had dates, numbers, and nonsensical text. Something cryptic. This sparked something in me. As I said ā€“ Iā€™ve always had a good eye for when something stands out.

Ā 

For the first few days on the job, I took some time to get acquainted with Lianā€™s life. I walked the streets where she lived. I visited the closest shops and restaurants. But no matter where I went, no one understood who I was talking about ā€“ no one seemed to know her. Itā€™s as if Lian never left her home. How can someone never leave their home and still go missing?

While I couldnā€™t check her home without raising suspicion, I took some time to talk to her neighbors. They had nothing but good things to say. Lian was quiet and kept to herself. Most of them couldnā€™t even picture her in their mind. A couple of the older men were much more interested in talking about a caretaker that would drop by every now and then ā€“ a woman who was described as ā€˜pale as the moon, with the reddest lips youā€™ve ever seenā€™.

I couldnā€™t find anything about this supposed caretaker, so I had to pin that for later. I figured that maybe it was the caretaker whoā€™d hired me to begin with.

Ā 

By the time I got my first payment, I was stuck. Every track, every trace, led to nothing. Lian was a mystery. I didnā€™t know what to do. I figured I was about to lose this gig. I took a trip to the Tianfu square station and got myself a Snowflake. I usually saved them for after the job was done, but I figured Iā€™d cut myself some slack. And hey, I just got paid.

I was sitting at the edge of the fountain, looking up at the golden spiral. It stood out against the dark of the night sky like a string of golden hair. I thought that maybe reading that strange document in a new setting, with new light, might kick gears in my mind around. Cars raced past on the streets above. Tired workers rested their feet after a long day. Everyone was checking their phones, minding their own business. I couldā€™ve been naked, and no one wouldā€™ve noticed.

Well, except for one man.

Ā 

He was exceptionally well-dressed and had a beer of his own ā€“ a much more expensive brand. He sat down next to me, and I could see him swaying a bit. I think heā€™d had a few too many. I smiled at him and turned my attention back to the document as I finished my Snowflake.

ā€œYou shouldnā€™t take that home,ā€ he said. ā€œThatā€™s for work.ā€

ā€œExcuse me?ā€

ā€œItā€™s for work,ā€ he repeated, pointing at the document. ā€œYou shouldnā€™t take that home.ā€

ā€œYou know what this is?ā€

ā€œYeah,ā€ he nodded. ā€œFrom the plannerā€™s office. The archives.ā€

ā€œThatā€™s what this is?ā€

ā€œYeah,ā€ he smiled. ā€œItā€™s references. See?ā€

He pointed to the numbers and letters, letting out a long groan.

ā€œHere,ā€ he said. ā€œThatā€™sā€¦ forty years old, at least. Thatā€™s the archive, thereā€™s the security clearance-ā€œ

ā€œSo theyā€™re documents,ā€ I interrupted. ā€œCan I just go get them?ā€

ā€œOf course,ā€ he said. ā€œThatā€™s what that slip is for. How donā€™t you know that?ā€

I hurried away as he laughed it off. I couldnā€™t believe my luck. Once again, it felt like I was back on the right path. I was so unlucky about so many things, but sometimes things like this would fall out of the sky. Count your blessings.

Ā 

The next day, I went to the plannerā€™s office and asked them about the slip. I was scolded a bit for ā€˜taking it homeā€™, but I was free to check the documents as long as I left the paper slip behind. I didnā€™t mind ā€“ Iā€™d taken plenty of pictures of it. I had to sign in at the desk and accept the conditions of use, as well as leave my phone behind, but then I was free to look.

A middle-aged woman showed me to an archive room on the second basement floor. Row after row of poorly kept paper records in open-topped yellow boxes. I could almost smell the beetles feasting on forgotten protocols. One by one she showed me the documents Iā€™d requested. I donā€™t think she cared very much ā€“ it was all old news. None of the papers had any kind of security clearance.

I was left alone with a dozen files, all neatly protected with plastic folders and marked with pink strips of paper. Someone had gone to great lengths to keep these in good condition.

Ā 

At first I didnā€™t notice anything in particular. It was confirmations about everything from traffic signs to road maintenance ā€“ nothing fancy. A couple of notices about street cleaning and planting of trees. There were also meetinā€¦


Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1ikb30n/terms_and_conditions/