CH 264

Hongjing Library hadn’t undergone renovation and still retained the style from the early days of the country’s founding, with lush greenery and abundant flowers and trees.

In the early years, thanks to the assistance of certain social philanthropists, the library’s collection of books was rich, comparable to some provincial-level major libraries or renowned university libraries, especially in terms of periodicals, reaching an astonishing quantity.

Lin Chen held his hand as they entered the library. At the front desk, he let go and casually introduced him to the situation of the Hongjing Library and the reason for coming here to find periodicals.

Xing Conglian was taken aback, feeling that this matter sounded familiar.

Lin Chen quickly noticed and glanced at him, helplessly shaking his head. He took a step back, assuming an attitude of “if you know it, you handle it.”

Xing Conglian also felt helpless, so he stepped forward and showed his police officer badge. They were soon led to the collection of periodicals on the top floor.

As soon as the door opened, a unique and heavy atmosphere of volumes filled the air.

The hanging lamps lit up one after another, but they couldn’t fully illuminate the vast bookshelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. The collection of books was vast, like clouds, with only a faint glimmer of light coming through the windows at the top. Despite it being late summer, Xing Conglian couldn’t help but shiver from the chill in the air.

However, Lin Chen seemed unfazed and moved among the bookshelves like a fish in water. Soon, he stopped in front of the two rows of shelves belonging to the field of psychology.

Xing Conglian followed his gaze, looking up until the very top.

Each level of the massive iron shelves was filled with collections of documents, with different shades and conditions, some new and some old. It was evident that, relying solely on their strength, finding something like “30:1103-1126” from here was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

So he asked Lin Chen if they needed help but received a negative answer.

With his hands in his pockets, Lin Chen maintained a prolonged upward gaze. His profile was blurred in the massive shadow of the bookshelves. He seemed to be immersed in deep thought, but at certain moments, he appeared extremely alert. This made Xing Conglian feel as if he was competing with some unseen opponent. Although they had never met, the shadow was real.

Finally, Lin Chen spoke. “If these numbers truly represent references from an academic journal, then ’30’ stands for a certain year’s issue or volume of a publication, and ‘1103-1126’ generally represents the corresponding page numbers.”

Xing Conglian was astonished and couldn’t help taking a step back. “Are we supposed to flip through them one by one? There are just too many.”

Lin Chen glanced at him, and from his gaze, Xing Conglian realized his frustration.

“I might not be well-educated, but you can’t do this without me!” He quickly interpreted the meaning from Lin Chen’s eyes and retorted.

However, Lin Chen turned away without a word, leaving him with his back.

Xing Conglian widened his eyes, about to say something, but then realized that Lin Chen’s target was the few old computers by the innermost bookshelf.

Those computers were probably the oldest models one could find in the city, with heavy monitors and trackballs in the mouse. Post-00s would probably never have seen such huge devices.

But Lin Chen seemed to be familiar with them. He tapped on each keyboard, finding that none of the screens lit up. So he bent down and plugged in one of the computers, then waited with some delay for the even slower boot-up process.

Xing Conglian walked over and asked, “Why don’t we get Wang Chao to handle this?”

“Because it’s simple enough not to need him,” Lin Chen replied.

They waited for quite a while until the computer finally turned on.

Lin Chen opened a scholarly search software and casually entered the string of numbers. He sorted the documents based on the number of citations.

The computer screen was very dim, as if it was about to lose power, and then the page slowly unfolded.

Xing Conglian stood beside Lin Chen, looking down.

On the screen were densely packed paper titles, with “30:1103-1126” highlighted in red. These numbers mostly appeared in the references section, indicating that Lin Chen’s direction was correct.

Mortality associated with influenza and respiratory syncytial virus in the United States.

……

Communication system having unified messaging…

The papers covered various fields, but Lin Chen’s speed was very steady. He kept scrolling the pages up and down. During this process, Xing Conglian saw two papers related to psychology and wanted to stop Lin Chen. However, when he looked at Lin Chen, he noticed that his gaze was calm and composed. He decisively skipped those two papers, as if he had a clear goal and was just looking for something specific.

Due to Lin Chen’s clear direction and purpose, Xing Conglian had a bad feeling. Lin Chen seemed too familiar with this process, as if he had experienced it before.

The document library was extremely quiet, and only the desktop computer hummed softly. Xing Conglian felt as if he was watching Lin Chen enter another realm, and he couldn’t help but want to interrupt the process and pull Lin Chen out of it.

“How can you be sure that this economic paper is not what we’re looking for?” He pointed to a paper and asked Lin Chen.

“Because there is no hyphen between the keywords ‘1103’ and ‘1126’,” Lin Chen replied.

“What exactly are you looking for, and can I help? Is it possible that the paper you’re looking for is not in English but in French, Russian, Chinese, or something else?”

“No,” Lin Chen interrupted him, and his hand, which was dragging the mouse, came to a halt.

“Why not?”

“Because English is the most widely used language in the world,” Lin Chen said.

Xing Conglian really wanted to ask what it meant for a language to be the most widely used, but Lin Chen had already opened one of the papers and mumbled to himself, “Found it.”

—On the conflicts between biological and social evolution and between psychology and moral tradition.

The author was Doland T. Campbell1, and it was published in the <American Psychologist>2. Xing Conglian noticed that the publication date of this paper was 1975.

1Was an American social scientist. He is noted for his work in methodology. He coined the term evolutionary epistemology and developed a selectionist theory of human creativity.

2A peer-reviewed academic journal published by the American Psychological Association. The journal publishes articles of broad interest to psychologists, including empirical reports and scholarly reviews covering science, practice, education, and policy, and occasionally publishes special issues on relevant topics in the field of psychology.

1975, that seemed quite ancient.

“Is this the one?” he asked uncertainly.

But Lin Chen had already taken out a ballpoint pen from his pocket and copied a series of numbers in his palm. Then, he shut down the computer and returned to the iron bookshelves, beginning to search through the thousands of bound documents using the labels.

Xing Conglian could barely keep up with this sudden change of pace. The library was so empty that he had to fill the silence with his voice. “Can’t we just download it directly? Do we have to go back to find the original?”

Lin Chen didn’t answer him but mechanically moved his gaze, scanning through rows of new and old books and magazines. Finally, he stopped at a certain spot.

“Is it here? Are we looking for 1975?” Xing Conglian asked.

But Lin Chen stood rigidly in place, opening his palm, glancing at the numbers, and then raising his head, but he suddenly froze.

Xing Conglian’s bad premonition grew stronger. He noticed that the ballpoint pen in Lin Chen’s palm was even soaked with sweat.

Following Lin Chen’s gaze upward, Xing Conglian looked at the row of <American Psychologist>: 1973, 1974, 1976, 1977…

1974, 1976…

He finally realized why Lin Chen was so tense. Among this row of journals, there was no volume for 1975.

Perhaps someone had taken it early, or there might be some other reason for its disappearance. But no matter what, the missing volume seemed to be related to the person who sent them the message to come here.

And the missing 1975 volume answered his previous question—why they couldn’t download the original directly.

Xing Conglian patted Lin Chen’s shoulder, and the latter trembled. He finally clenched his fist and said, “Xing Conglian, put on your gloves and take down these volumes.”

Lin Chen spoke while clearly padding his foot, using his fingertips to glide over several volumes from around 1975.

Xing Conglian didn’t know what Lin Chen was going to do, but he still found a ladder leaning in the corner as instructed, climbed up, and retrieved those few books.

The moment he pulled open the heavy periodicals, he understood why Lin Chen asked him to do this. It was another extremely precise judgment.

Among the four volumes he took out, the missing 1975 bound volume lay there.

In the light, dust floated, and the thick collection lay quietly in the space behind the books. Xing Conglian was motionless for a moment until Lin Chen’s voice awakened him.

“Did you find it?” Lin Chen asked.

Xing Conglian lowered his head, and Lin Chen looked up at him from below, his brows showing anxiety.

“It’s back there,” he said.

Lin Chen’s face turned deathly pale at a visible speed. Xing Conglian put the four volumes back in their place, climbed down the ladder, nodded at Lin Chen, and then looked at the desk by the window, gesturing for Lin Chen to go there and talk.

Lin Chen slowly dragged a backrest chair; his clothes were thin, and he sat down like an elderly person on the verge of death. The summer sunlight outside couldn’t warm him.

“Can you tell me what we’re going to find here?” Xing Conglian asked while pressing his gloved hand on the book.

“I don’t know,” Lin Chen replied.

“But you knew to come here, knew that a simple online database search wouldn’t work, knew how to find the exact paper with just a few numbers in this vast library. You even knew where this ‘missing’ periodical was hidden. I think you should know what you’re looking for here,” Xing Conglian asked very calmly.

“Perhaps I’ll find a word,” Lin Chen answered simply.

“What word?”

“Blind arbiters.”

“What does this word mean?”

“Blind arbiters can be translated as ‘blind arbitrators’. It has nothing to do with sports or politics and is commonly found in books about human morality and human evolution. It probably refers to the fact that the natural environment has no intention when selecting species. The work of nature is purely mechanical, so the role nature plays is more like that of a blind arbitrator.”

“I don’t understand,” Xing Conglian said straightforwardly.

“Because nature is blind, it is not as meticulous, cautious, and careful as early humans thought. We cannot find any sense of fairness and spiritual comfort in the blind nature. This also leads to a consequence…”

Lin Chen’s profound gaze shifted over, and even though it was a very dull and stereotypical academic topic, Xing Conglian couldn’t help but shiver along.

“What consequence?”

“So, both the formation of the natural world and the formation of human society are merely terrible accidents. The world has no ultimate purpose, no so-called order and reason, and of course, there is no ‘good’ or ‘evil’ that we humans create.”

Lin Chen stopped talking.

Xing Conglian thought of the “Moral Tradition” at the end of the paper’s title and also thought of the choice Lin Chen had made before. This association had no logical basis, but he didn’t ask further. Instead, he chose to open the journal in front of him and flip to page 1103.

The white paper reflected the dazzling sunlight, and each English character looked uneven. Before him lay an area he had never touched before; a territory belonging to Lin Chen.

Xing Conglian’s eyes quickly scanned the page and stopped soon after because he saw that someone had written a sentence in very small pencil letters within the book’s seams.

The handwriting was gentle, and the tone was like a whisper, but it made one feel like falling into an abyss.

—My Dear, did you make the right choice?

Someone asked like so.