No time to die.– A criminal case spanning decades/Detective fiction.

One

In the winter of 2015, our law firm took on a legal aid case that was originally assigned to my colleague.

This was a case of intentional homicide filed in 2000. Due to the outdated technical conditions at the time and the lack of leads in tracing social connections, the case remained unsolved for over a decade. It was not until a month ago that a crucial clue emerged, leading to its resolution.

Given the conclusive evidence, the brutality of the crime, the victim’s voluntary surrender (though too late), and the absence of mitigating circumstances, our team had little room for intervention. The trial was essentially a formality.

The death sentence was given in the first instance, and without a second trial, it was soon reviewed.

My colleague temporarily had to leave for a business trip, so he entrusted me with the finalization of the case.

I have a lot on my plate, so I took it up but didn’t give it much thought—just caught up on the situation verbally, without even looking at the case files.

Until one day, a stranger stopped me at the law firm’s entrance and told me there was more to this case that needed to be explained right away.

I gave her a quick glance, thinking she was probably just bluffing, but still asked as I walked: “Are you a witness?”

This case was so old that there were no witnesses at the first trial. Who would’ve thought that after all the verdicts were handed down, a witness would suddenly appear?

But her reply caught me off guard: “No, I’m not a witness—I’m the evidence.”

What a strange thing to say.

I stopped and turned to look at her.

Her hair was disheveled, her clothes filthy, as if she had traveled a long and arduous journey before finally standing before me, dust and grime clinging to her.

Through the disheveled hair, I saw a pair of sorrowful young eyes, and an indescribable premonition arose in my heart.

So I took her to the reception room of the law firm.

“How should I address you?”

My name is Zhong Hui, I am 24 years old and currently studying in the United States. I just returned to China last month.

To prove she wasn’t lying, she showed me her ID card, her domestic undergraduate diploma, and proof of enrollment at a foreign university.

I glanced at him briefly—he was an outstanding student attending a top-tier university.

“Hello, Miss Zhong,” I returned the materials and cut straight to the chase. “I’m swamped today, but given the gravity of this case, I had to cancel the original schedule. We’ve got the entire afternoon. Could you walk me through how to present the evidence?”

“Thank you, Attorney Lu.” She shook her hair in a haphazard manner, her expression tense and anxious.

First of all, I’ve always believed that the world is full of strange things. From childhood to adulthood, countless secrets have been hidden around me. I keep trying to recall the past and piece together the puzzle, yet I’ve never managed to uncover the truth.

“Until now, I have finally obtained the true answer. This answer is crucial to this case, and I beg you to assist me.”

“Go ahead and talk.”

I did not realize the impact this case would have on me.

02

The Story of Zhong Hui (1)

It all started with my father and the fireworks factory.

I still remember my father, who was gentle and calm, with a steady and unassuming personality.

My mother married him at a very young age and soon gave birth to me. Their relationship was lukewarm, much like that of many ordinary couples, lacking passionate affection and consisting solely of mundane daily routines.

My father worked as a quality inspector at the fireworks factory in our county town, a technically demanding position. Given that this job might inherently be unpleasant, coupled with his stubborn and inflexible nature, he struggled to maintain good rapport with the workers.

Every day after work, while others would gather in small groups, my father would always be alone. A slender figure would appear at the village entrance, like a scholar with unyielding pride.

I once went to the fireworks factory to find my father, only to find him being beaten by several workers in a corner.

Compared to the burly, muscular workers, my father was too frail. Yet even when beaten to the ground, he would not beg for mercy.

I was very young and I was so scared when I saw my father being beaten that I cried.

The workers turned around and saw me crying, found it amusing, and stopped working, but they still surrounded my father and wouldn’t let him leave.

My father lay prostrate on the ground, his eyes reddening as he glimpsed me through the crowd’s gaps, avoiding my gaze entirely. To be beaten to the point of utter helplessness in front of one’s daughter is an utterly shameful ordeal.

The factory director’s son happened to pass by at that moment. With a few casual reprimands, he defused his father’s predicament. The workers, who had been wary of him, scratched their heads and dispersed with laughter, as if it had been a harmless jest.

The factory director’s son, named Chen Shu, was two years younger than his father. He helped his father to his feet, appearing as if he had lifted him up. His sturdy build made his frail father appear even more hunched beside him. The stark contrast between the two stood out vividly.

Chen Shucao glanced at me and said with a smile to his father, “How can someone so incompetent protect his wife and children?”

The father stood trembling and did not respond.

The disparity between them is not just about size.

Chen Shu, the only son of the current factory director, is the future successor of the fireworks factory. Born into a wealthy and influential family, he moves with such ease and composure in every gesture.

Our family was financially strained. My father worked alone and had an average performance at the factory; my mother, who was in poor health and also limped, required significant annual expenses for medical treatment. With no savings remaining in the household, every penny had to be carefully budgeted.

My father whispered his thanks, then limped toward me, took my hand, and walked away.

That day, my mother was cooking her signature scallion and egg at home. When I looked up, I saw my father, injured with a large black shoe print on his chest, dragging me down in dejection, holding my weeping little hand.

Upon learning the details, the mother was furious. While her husband was bathing, she limped to the fireworks factory and stood at the entrance of the vast workshop, demanding to know who had beaten her husband.

She spoke with a trembling voice and lacked confidence, yet she stubbornly refused to leave.

In the end, those people were never caught, but the factory manager stepped in and paid the compensation.

My mother was a housewife who rarely left home. Yet she had the courage to challenge the factory head.

After all, the fireworks factory manager wields considerable influence locally and is a prominent figure in the county.

The mother was brave once, but she regretted it afterwards.

A wise person cannot always remain rational. Only after navigating countless challenges can one realize that many impulsive choices ultimately converge to a predetermined outcome.

……

Let me tell you something about the fireworks factory.

The town where I was born is in the mountains, and the main industry is fireworks.

The fireworks factory is the largest in our area, dominating the market with numerous jobs and being a major taxpayer for the county.

The fireworks produced by the factory are sold nationwide every year, and locals love to set off fireworks for all kinds of celebrations.

But our family doesn’t buy fireworks.

Even though his father worked at a fireworks factory and had an exclusive deal on fireworks, he still refused to buy them.

Fireworks are too expensive and disposable, serving as a superficial luxury. With that money, it would be more worthwhile to purchase nutritional supplements for one’s mother.

I love fireworks and understand my family’s struggles, so I often run around the village to watch neighbors set off fireworks.

Although both are visible, the sensations are distinctly different. When one shares freely, it feels like inviting guests to one’s home; whereas observing others’ displays is akin to begging under someone else’s eaves, leaving a persistent sense of unease.

The boy next door once acted all high and mighty, blocking me from seeing his fireworks display. He said we were a poor family and would just take advantage of others.

I said, “If I don’t want to look, then I won’t,” and turned to leave.

I don’t care about these things. I think it’s good as long as the family is together, and poverty doesn’t matter.

But even this humble thought is mercilessly snatched away by heaven.

……

All this had been foreshadowed to me in the year I was five years old.

When I was five, one summer afternoon, my father sat under the eaves and taught me to solve the nine-linked rings puzzle.

This is an ancient puzzle game, more cost-effective than fireworks.

He demonstrated the solution step by step, guiding me through each step. Yet I lacked the aptitude to grasp it and showed little interest in learning, merely watching with disinterest until the end, still unable to comprehend.

The summer wind is scorching, and the cicadas ‘clamor is unbearable. I’m so sleepy, but Father keeps talking.

My father told me that the nine-linked rings are interlocked, but not a simple linear structure of one ring fitting into another. The rings are connected by ring rods, and the nine rings are stacked on a hollow ring handle, forming a complex structure of overlapping and interlocking.

The nine-linked chain puzzle is not solved starting from the first ring, but from the ninth ring, and is solved step by step from the back to the front.

He went on to say that sometimes life is like a nine-linked chain, with a series of unavoidable circumstances strung together like rings, leaving one unable to move forward. Only by untangling these interlocking links can one truly see the hidden, enduring essence that runs through it all.

My father was a voracious reader and often shared with me the mysteries of mountains, rivers, seas, the sun, moon, and stars, which I listened to with great interest. However, this time he spoke in a peculiar manner, uttering words that were utterly incomprehensible.

I was at a loss, but I saw him suddenly raise his head, his expression solemn and profound.

He spoke slowly, with only lip movements and no sound.

I was instantly sobered up and was scared to tears.

I don’t know what he said, I was just afraid of his expression, it wasn’t the expression of a living person.

At that moment, the father seemed completely alien, like a lifeless clay statue devoid of emotion.

This is the first bizarre thing I want to say.

In fact, due to incomplete brain development during childhood, individuals often fail to distinguish between dreams and reality. This peculiar phenomenon may merely be a dream, yet even dreams should not be dismissed. I have always believed that certain dreams can provide guidance.

Whether it was the scene’s eerie nature or some other reason, I’ve never forgotten it since I was five.

My father soon recovered and I quickly put it out of my mind.

Looking back, it was a sign.

……

At the age of five, I witnessed the most dazzling fireworks of my life.

That night, a few loud explosions jolted the entire town awake, leaving half the sky still bright.

Golden Crown Fireworks, Flower Crown Fireworks, Golden Willow, Shining Willow, Resonant Willow, Waterfall… And those that float down in the sky with red and green colored paper—these are the colored paper fireworks.

Countless fireworks of various shapes and sizes burst into the sky in clusters, mingling chaotically and competing to bloom across the night sky.

A dazzling display of colors and shooting stars filled the sky, accompanied by the thunderous roar of ‘bang bang’, the crackling sound of ‘crack crack’, and the deafening boom of explosions.

Flames flickered intermittently, their embers and smoke swirling into a thick haze that blanketed the sky, obscuring the clouds. Colorful paper fluttered wildly in the gusty wind, crashing against my window in waves with each gust, making a sharp ‘crack!’

I woke up from my dream and walked to the window, watching the dreamlike spectacle.

I was stunned for a while before I gradually came to my senses.

I couldn’t help crying when I saw such beautiful fireworks.

That night, Dad left and never came back.

……

It was a November night in 1996, three months before the Lunar New Year, when no one would light fireworks like this.

So it would have been an accident.

The explosion occurred at the Tangkou warehouse of the fireworks factory, which stores defective products. The warehouse is not located within the factory premises but is situated beside a river pond on the opposite side of the forest.

The site was an open area, typically used for destroying defective fireworks, and rarely visited. The warehouse explosion did not affect the surrounding area.

Only my father, apart from the factory manager, has the key to the warehouse.

The accident happened at 11 p.m., when most people were asleep. The explosion woke them up, and they ended up watching a spectacular fireworks display for no apparent reason.

People put on their clothes and went out to the river and pond to see what was happening, including my mother and me.

The mother limped and stumbled through the crowd, her voice choking up halfway.

Upon arrival, the warehouse was engulfed in raging flames, with waves of scorching heat surging from the inferno. The sky hung heavy with lingering haze, remnants of fireworks that had failed to ignite. The air reeked of gunpowder, its pungent odor making one’s nose feel both hot and sour.

The villagers restrained the mother, preventing her from advancing further. She collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by uncontrollable sobs.

The scene was quickly cordoned off and the fire was put out.

At the scene, police found a charred body, badly burned beyond recognition, but they soon got a lead from the crowd.

After locating the mother in the crowd, they briefly comforted her before beginning their investigation.

A young police officer surnamed Lu asked her, “When did your husband, Zhong Yueshan, leave?”

My mother said she left around ten o’clock, and he mentioned that a batch of defective products had been misregistered, so he needed to check it out.

The police asked why they were going so late.

My mother said she didn’t know.

The police officer pressed further: ‘You left at midnight without asking, and let him go like that?’

My mother said that I always listened to him and never doubted him.

The police were momentarily speechless.

The mother’s testimony was corroborated. It was common knowledge that the warehouse was managed by the father, and indeed, some had witnessed him heading alone toward the warehouse.

Apart from the father, only the factory manager possessed the key. However, the manager was playing mahjong at the time and was located some distance from the accident site. The key was never touched, as it remained on his waistband.

The answer seems to be on the horizon.

Lu the policeman’s gaze fell on his mother again, and he wanted to ask something else.

The mother cried and said, “Don’t ask anymore. I just want you to tell me that it wasn’t him who died…”

The police officer, a junior high school classmate of the mother, looked at her and sighed deeply.

He said you have changed.

……

The next day, the police officially identified the deceased through multiple identifications and examinations.

When I was five years old, my father was killed in that firework warehouse.

The cause of the accident was quickly investigated and it was an accident.

The Tangkou warehouse stored numerous defective fireworks that had not yet been destroyed. Some of these contained leaked propellant and explosive materials. Upon inspection, metallic dust was observed rising and floating in the air.

The father failed to notice that the cigarette butt was not fully extinguished, which led to a dust explosion and subsequently a fire.

The metal dust had already turned a dazzling array of colors after burning, yet the heavens still found it not beautiful enough. They decided to make it even more spectacular by letting the explosion topple the roof, sending all the fireworks soaring into the sky, and gathering everyone to witness the spectacle.

My father met his end in a horrific way under the dazzling fireworks. When the charred body was carried out, my mother, fearing I might be frightened, pulled me aside and covered my eyes.

But I still saw it, just a distant glance, and was greatly shocked.

The bizarre fireworks, the charred father, the endless night… I suppose this must be the end of the world. Otherwise, how could life go on?

I’m so numb that I can’t even cry anymore.

……

After the accident, the factory investigated the root cause.

Such safety incidents have occurred twice before, with injuries reported, as fireworks production is inherently hazardous.

But it did not happen in the middle of the night, nor was there such a spectacular scene.

So father, why did you go to the warehouse at midnight?

The workers at the fireworks factory all said that one night, their father went to the warehouse to steal fireworks. Unable to afford them, he tried to exploit his position to get away with it.

To prevent the fireworks he stole from going bad, he might even deliberately label qualified products as defective during work.

Once such a move is made, stockpiling a batch of qualified products in the warehouse and profiting from discreet sales at opportune times remains possible. After all, the factory manager rarely visits the Tangkou warehouse, whereas my father is the actual user.

If he had sought to act out of personal interest, he would have enjoyed the favorable conditions of timing, location, and public support. The outcome he now faces can only be described as a cruel twist of fate.

I am too young to know my father for more than five years, so I cannot say how much I know him, but I think my father would not do that kind of thing.

If my father really went to steal fireworks, it must have been for me. I love fireworks and often go to watch others set them off. When the boy from next door stopped me from watching, I pretended not to care, but when I got home, I was so wronged that I cried.

Seeing my distress, my father left the house in the middle of the night.

All this is probably my fault. I went to Xiao and thought about things I shouldn ‘t have, which hurt my father’s self-esteem and caused him harm.

I finally woke up to the truth.

At the funeral, I wept uncontrollably while gazing at my father’s portrait. Others only recognized my profound affection for him, unaware that it stemmed from guilt. I too dared not confide this to my mother.

The onlookers whispered among themselves, pointing at the father’s coffin. Their words carried an air of solemnity. The mother offered a few feeble retorts before gradually falling silent, her vacant eyes fixed on the coffin as she silently burned paper offerings.

I was there with my mother.

The boy next door wouldn’t let me alone. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear,’ Your father is a thief—he deserved it.’

I was so furious I trembled, scooped out a half-baked paper yuanbao from the fire pit, and hurled it at him.

The father died in a seemingly glorious yet most disgraceful manner, engulfed in the flames of agony and the gossip of others. That superficial radiance, that most dazzling fireworks, turned out to be nothing but a farce of magical realism.

Many people came to pay their respects, and Police Officer Lu also came.

He gazed at his mother’s anxious expression after losing her support, feeling deeply moved, yet could only urge her to recover soon, for there were still children to raise and she must regain her strength as quickly as possible.

When the factory director and his son entered the memorial hall, the surroundings fell silent.

The factory director, Chen Guang, is a middle-aged man in his fifties with an undeniable presence. His commanding presence commands respect without provocation, leaving everyone speechless when they see him.

This time, however, his expression remained relatively gentle as he carried a thick kraft paper envelope containing 30,000 yuan.

He patted his mother on the shoulder, sighed, and said:

I don’t care why Xiao Zhong went to the warehouse that night. In my heart, he is still a good boy, though he may have had unavoidable hardships. A single coin can defeat a hero; I believe Xiao Zhong is fundamentally not evil. Don’t concern yourself with others’ opinions. Take care of the child and live a good life.

As he spoke, he tucked the paper package into his mother’s arms.

Chen Guang feigned indifference, but in truth, he used this apparent magnanimity to openly admit his father’s theft.

The warehouse was destroyed, and people died. Without concrete evidence, he hastily concluded the matter.

But that is indeed the most plausible explanation—otherwise, how else could we account for the father’s behavior?

The father went to work place in his spare time and died due to bad motive and his own negligence. It cannot be counted as a work-related injury.

But Chen Guang still gave a not small amount of pension.

The mother held the heavy paper package, her pale face gradually turning red.

She lowered her head, her body trembling, her teeth chattering, until her entire frame sank, emitting a faint, inaudible sigh as if completely drained of life.

She whispered, “It was Yue Shan who did the wrong thing. Uncle Chen, you’re a kind-hearted person, and our family has wronged you…”

At that moment, an indescribable sense of despair overwhelmed me.

I heard the boy next door’s voice in my ear—let me tell you, your father is a thief, he deserves it;

I saw Chen Shu, Chen Guang’s son, squatting before me, and it reminded me of my father being beaten by workers at the factory and then being carried away by them.

I saw Chen Shu pull out a few firework sticks from his pocket and hand them to me, asking me to catch them. He said softly, ‘If you want to play with firework later, come to Uncle’s. He has plenty at home.’ It suddenly reminded me of how my father died in a firework explosion…

I finally couldn’t take it anymore and let out a shrill scream at the funeral, so sharp it sounded like the crack of gas, which startled everyone present.

—Is this child crazy?

—The child is pitiful and has been traumatized.

The whispers around them made Chen Guang’s face turn pale instantly.

My mother quickly realized and held me close, pressing my voice to her chest.

She gripped my back of the head with her palm, pressing my head down, and apologized to Chen Guang.

Uncle Chen, you are our family’s benefactor, and I truly have no way to repay you. As for this money… I won’t refuse it. I’m leaving through the mountains, and I’m not very capable. Our orphaned mother and I do need the money. Ahui is still young and doesn’t understand things—please forgive her!

Then he took the firework stick from Chen Shu’s hand and said, “Brother Chen, I’m here to thank you on Ahui’s behalf.”

Chen Shu frowned at his mother and gave a nonchalant smile. The father and son left early.

Others watched the play and gradually left.

Only my mother and I, and my father’s coffin.

White mourning banners fluttered in the wind, while the air was filled with the lingering smoke of paper money. The fire pit was about to go out, and it was bitterly cold.

I was also held in my mother’s arms. The clothing on her chest was stuffed into my mouth, and I was gasping for breath.

The funeral arrangements for the father were thus completed.

Later, I stopped liking fireworks.

Fireworks are ephemeral, vanishing in an instant, leaving only swirling dust and smoke—the most desolate of all.

What’s more, every time I hear the firework explosions, it transports me back to that absurd and melancholic night in 1996.

03

As Zhong Hui reached this point, tears welled up in her eyes.

I said, “It’s a very moving story, and indeed quite bizarre.”

But I don’t recall any colleagues mentioning any connection to an explosion incident in this case.

Given that Zhong Hui’s account occurred in 1996, several years before the incident, I did not object.

Still, just to be safe, we should check the case file.

I walked to the door and called out to the intern to bring me the case file.

Zhou Hui’s gaze followed me. “Lawyer Lu, do you think my father committed any wrongdoing?”

I returned to my seat and said, “It’s pointless to ask me for my thoughts. I’ve only listened to the story from your perspective all along, so naturally, I see things from your point of view and empathize with you, believing your father didn’t do anything wrong. But if you think about it carefully, you’ll find some inconsistencies.”

“What’s unreasonable about it?”

The real question is, why did your father go to the warehouse in the middle of the night?

Clearly, you wanted your father to steal fireworks for you—even if it meant enduring pain and guilt, at least it would make his actions seem more justified. But it’s utterly unreasonable for him to do that for you. Did your family have any happy events during that time?

「 not have 。」

There were no celebrations during that period, and the Lunar New Year was still three months away. So why did he steal on that day? You might wonder: couldn’t he have just prepared in advance? That’s a reasonable possibility, but let’s set that aside for now. He stole fireworks for you—would you even dare to light them? The town was small, and neighbors and factory workers all knew your family couldn’t afford fireworks. Unlike ordinary goods, fireworks aren’t something you can secretly use behind closed doors.

If you set off fireworks, it would certainly arouse suspicion, especially among those workers who hold a grudge against your father. From your description, your father is a composed and intelligent man who would not fail to understand this principle, and such rash actions would be beyond his capacity.

Therefore, if your father did steal fireworks, it was likely not for your sake but for other reasons. The workers’ speculation about his motives is quite reasonable. As a quality inspector, your father misclassified qualified products as defective, stored them in the defective warehouse, and sought opportunities to sell them outside the county. —If this is true, he has committed a serious offense.

But if your father hadn’t been stealing fireworks, there wouldn’t have been any need to label qualified products as defective. Yet if he wasn’t stealing fireworks, what could he possibly be doing in the warehouse that night? If it was a good deed, why couldn’t he do it openly during daylight hours?

Zhong Hui said, “Lawyer Lu, my thoughts back then were the same as yours. Because we both found it hard to imagine how complex things could become in this world.”

“Alright, you go on.”

<section id=\”article-truck\”>04

The Story of Zhong Hui (2)

After my father passed away, my mother and I were left to fend for ourselves.

Lu, a police officer, was a junior high school classmate of his mother. He said his mother had changed a lot.

I have also heard about my mother’s past.

My mother left school at an early age and married my father when she was very young. Since they had not reached the legal marriage age, they did not even get a marriage certificate. However, in that era, such formalities were not considered important; a simple wedding banquet would suffice.

After my birth, my mother stayed at home to care for the household and raise our children, never leaving for work, embodying the quintessential homemaker.

But her experience is extraordinary.

From an early age, my mother exhibited a personality distinct from that of her peers. She was assertive and discontent with her current circumstances, constantly yearning to venture beyond the county town and explore the wider world, aspiring to transcend the confines of the mountains. Her academic performance was indeed commendable.

However, my maternal grandparents had low levels of education and limited knowledge, and their sole concern was to arrange a good marriage for my mother. My mother’s lofty aspirations posed significant challenges for them.

My mother is not only good at her studies, but also has a lot of ideas.

During a class, the Chinese teacher shared a little story: ostriches bury their heads in the sand when in danger, thinking others can’t see them, thus avoiding reality.

But my mother mentioned she had read about ostriches in extracurricular books. She believed that when ostriches encounter danger, their first instinct is to flee at 70 km/h. Moreover, ostriches are highly resilient; even if they can’t escape, they won’t back down but will confront the threat head-on.

The teacher denied her claim and told her to stop reading miscellaneous books. Since she had never seen an ostrich with her own eyes, she shouldn’t make up stories.

However, there are no wild ostriches in China, and no one has ever seen them. The teacher’s statement was also based on hearsay. The mother believed that the teacher should not casually deny her claim, as no one had concrete evidence to support it, and thus different viewpoints should be allowed to coexist.

The teacher was provoked by her and immediately lost his temper.

In that era, teachers were the ultimate authority, yet my mother refused to submit to them. Whenever the teacher made a mistake, she would point it out. When the teacher refused to admit it, she would persistently argue back, which was considered highly inappropriate behavior.

The teacher, considering her good grades, offered her a way out—just an apology—but she refused.

The teacher was humiliated and concluded that the mother lacked moral integrity, so he was determined to persuade her to withdraw. My grandfather had long opposed my mother’s education, and this situation provided him with an opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

In a fit of anger, the mother left home in the middle of the night.

Results I fell down the hill and broke my leg because of the dark and dangerous road.

The mother lay at the bottom of the hill all day before she was found by her grandfather.

The feeling of waiting to die was so desperate that from then on, the mother restrained herself and dared not show her face again.

The leg was later successfully reattached, but it left a residual pathological condition. To this day, the affected leg remains limping.

Just like until now, my mother is still timid.

Back then, to prevent her from getting lost in endless daydreams, my grandfather arranged a marriage partner for her and urged her to wed soon.

Originally, many families were interested in the mother. However, after she caused a disturbance at school, ran away from home, and broke her leg, the household became deserted.

People generally perceive mothers as having strong personalities, poor character, and being disobedient, especially when they are also missing a leg, which further affects their ability to work.

Finally, after much searching, I found my father.

My father was eleven years my mother’s, and our family was in a difficult situation. Fortunately, he was steady and down-to-earth, and had also received an education.

My father was a quiet man with little social skills. Though he had no plans for a blind date, he was dragged along by acquaintances. The moment he saw my mother, his eyes couldn’t leave her.

After marriage, the father treated the mother well. Following the mother’s childbirth, she became more docile due to the maternal effects induced by hormonal changes.

There was no grand romantic affair between them, merely a simple relationship of mutual companionship. The mother, having stayed at home for years, had become profoundly dependent on the father. Compared to the once bold and unrestrained girl, she was indeed a completely different person.

On the day when the father was beaten by the workers, the mother showed courage once, but that courage was based on a pretext, just like a fox borrowing the tiger’s might.

Though not a tiger and lacking authority, a father’s presence gives his mother security. Even when he’s humiliated by others, people still see him as a laughingstock.

I used to think that no matter how hard life gets, there’s no need to fear. With my dad and mom, we’re a happy family.

But that explosion destroyed my little wish.

After my father passed away, I was at a loss for what to do with my life.

Yet her mother, with an indomitable spirit, forced herself to pull herself together and muster the courage to step out of the house.

I sat on the ground, crying and throwing a tantrum, dragging my mother’s hand to prevent her from leaving. The departure of my father left me in a state of anxiety and uncertainty, fearing that I might lose my mother again.

Mother said, Ahui, we still have to get by.

The mother secured two jobs in succession: one at a breakfast shop and another at a tailor’s shop. The breakfast shop’s demanding schedule made it inconvenient for her to care for me, while the tailor’s shop required excessive eye strain and physical exertion, which was incompatible with her pre-existing poor physical condition.

And these jobs pay less.

The local fireworks industry was the most lucrative, with half the town’s population employed there. Thus, my mother eventually joined the factory as an assembly line worker, while I was admitted to its nursery.

My mother knew that I lacked a sense of security, so she always kept me close to her; she also slept with me at night and told me stories.

I often wake up in the middle of the night and sit up and look out the window.

The sky was utterly empty, yet I saw the fireworks again and burst into tears, as if it were a lingering afterimage.

After unsuccessful attempts to console me, the mother took me to the county town for medical consultation. However, the local physician, who does not specialize in psychological disorders, advised her to seek treatment at a municipal-level tertiary hospital and prescribed additional medication.

The mother shook her head and stated that administering medication at such a young age is inappropriate, and retaining such medical records is also problematic.

So the mother decided to do it herself.

She taught herself psychology from books, gradually developing her methods through our exchanges, and patiently guided me day after day.

No one knows a child better than their mother, and no one trusts their mother more than the child themselves. The mother’s direct psychological intervention holds certain advantages.

With the help of my mother, I slowly came out.

A year has passed.

Fearing that his mother, a widow with children, might be bullied, Grandfather arranged several matchmaking events for her, and she attended each one.

Yet my mother was scorned when she was still a maiden, now bearing me as a burden, having endured my father’s tragic fate, and with no respectable family to take her seriously—only lecherous men are particularly drawn to her.

My mother also sought emotional support, attending every matchmaking event. Others often criticized her, remarking that she appeared emotionally fragile yet possessed a strong heart.

I understand my mother’s lack of security, but I also strongly disapprove of her approach. Fortunately, the matter was eventually dropped, as most of the potential matches were insincere.

There was only one sincere relative whom I called Uncle Zhang. He was gentle and kind, sharing a similar temperament with his father; his circumstances were also favorable, as he engaged in the grain and oil trade in the town.

I had a fairly good impression of Uncle Zhang, but my mother and he never got to know each other.

After failed blind dates, many harass their mothers.

One evening, my mother came home from work and was followed by two idle loafers from the village as she walked.

They held back the mother from leaving, and she, already lame, could hardly break free.

I desperately pulled them, but was pushed to the ground; I got up and called for help on the road, but passersby were either in a hurry or laughing at the scene.

I was so furious that I wanted to confront Officer Lu, but it was too late. In tears, I ran home, grabbed a knife, and rushed back to the scene, determined to kill those two.

But when I arrived, my mother had already been rescued.

Or Chen Shu.

He happened to pass by and kicked the two lazy men into the ditch with his legs.

Chen Shu has helped his father and mother out of difficult situations. Though he may seem bad, he’s actually a decent person.

I had expected my mother to call him “Brother Chen” with the warmth of a funeral, overwhelmed with gratitude. But she didn’t even glance at him. With her head bowed, she straightened her clothes and walked away with me.

Come to think of it, Chen Shu’s kicking moves are so brutal that they’re downright terrifying to watch.

Perhaps the mother had long seen through the true nature of the Chen family and their son, and thus chose not to get entangled with them. Had it not been out of necessity, she would never have taken a job at the fireworks factory.

The fireworks factory may look glamorous, but the reality is far from it.

There was a mysterious disappearance of a worker at a fireworks factory in the town, with no trace of the worker found. Rumors suggest the factory management was involved in the case.

Chen Guang and his son Chen Shu wield significant influence in the local community. Chen Shu not only excels in self-defense but also maintains a henchman squad, making them a formidable force that no one dares to challenge.

Chen Shu’s intervention seemed well-intentioned, but in truth, he was merely fond of watching others fear him.

Fortunately, no one dared to bully the mother again after that.

The days went on like that.

In those years, the country’s development was changing rapidly, and the fireworks factory also expanded rapidly.

The annual surge in orders from across the country has outpaced the expansion capacity of the factory buildings. Mother and her team of workers are constantly working on the assembly line, their hands full with tasks.

Chen Guang, driven by ambitious aspirations, feared falling behind the times and thus accelerated the adjustment of his strategy. Chen Shu, meanwhile, frequently conducted market research, traveling extensively across the country.

The primary industry in our county town was fireworks manufacturing, initially dominated by a single factory with other small workshops operating independently. To meet the growing market demand, numerous small workshops sprang up like mushrooms after rain during those two years, working day and night without a moment’s rest to stay competitive.

The bustling scene is actually all supported by fireworks factories, with everyone working for them.

This is the result of the policy and the countermeasure.

Fireworks production is unsafe during summer due to extreme heat. Regulatory authorities mandate a mandatory shutdown in summer, and as a major enterprise, the fireworks factory will strictly comply with these regulations.

However, small workshops are a different story. Many operate without production licenses and are indifferent to regulatory requirements. They clandestinely produce in remote mountainous areas, evading detection by authorities and thus remaining unregulated.

That summer alone, I heard three explosions from the mountains. Each one sent shivers down my spine and made my whole body tremble.

Fireworks production has increased, requiring storage in warehouses, but warehouses cannot be built in time.

So the fireworks factory rented many self-built houses from villagers and converted them into warehouses.

Fireworks are inherently flammable and explosive hazardous materials. Storing them at home poses significant safety risks, and no one would want to pile them up in their own home.

But when the factory boss showed up with his henchmen to negotiate, no one dared to refuse. In the end, they not only got the lease but also negotiated a surprisingly low rent.

The boy next door’s family acted all superior toward us mother and daughter. When the factory workers showed up, they acted like sparrows. Eventually, they had to rent out most of the house as a warehouse.

My house is small, with only a living space and a cellar. The cellar is damp, so we couldn’t store fireworks, but we barely escaped the disaster.

But if you look around the whole town, this will eventually lead to trouble.

In early 1998, during the Lunar New Year celebrations, a loud explosion was heard from the neighboring house.

Then came the boy’s agonized wails.

He went to the warehouse to play with a small firework, but ended up in an accident.

He kept saying my father was a thief and mocking my mother as lame, which led to him being blown off his left leg in a firework explosion and ending up lame too.

Several households in the neighboring village also had problems—not from accidents, but from damp fireworks.

When the factory workers came to collect the goods, they found the merchandise damaged and proceeded to assault the villagers without explanation. The assault would incur medical expenses as compensation, but the villagers were also required to pay the cost of the fireworks. The compensation for the fireworks exceeded the medical expenses received. Ultimately, both the workers were injured and the villagers lost their money.

That year, the sky was always grey.

The exhaust from fireworks pollutes the air, and the smoke from firework tests obscures the blue sky.

When I walk down the street, I always catch a whiff of gunpowder—not just literally, but figuratively too.

Everyone was on edge with the sound of fireworks.

I once asked Officer Lu why the world had become so terrifying. The fireworks had killed my father, and it seemed they were about to destroy the entire town.

The Lu police officer looked dejected. He said he was just a small-time cop and couldn’t do much about many things.

He urged me to study hard, to pass the exams, and to leave the mountains with my mother for good.

We can leave, but Father can only stay here forever.

……

In 1998, I was 7 years old and had just started first grade, with a long way to go before I could leave the mountains.

Having experienced too many upheavals at home, my personality has undergone a dramatic transformation—now withdrawn yet craving others to engage me, leaving me in a state of psychological turmoil.

But my classmates are not willing to be my friend.

The town is so small that all my classmates’ parents know about my family situation. They find it too complicated and have their own children avoid contact with me.

No one ever invites me to any activities, and I never get to share the snacks.

I was ostracized by my classmates and barely noticed in class, though occasionally mentioned by the teacher for my good grades.

At dinner, my mother made my favorite dish—scallion-fried eggs—but I was in low spirits and had no appetite.

My mother asked me what happened.

So many things happened, but they were all trivial matters. I couldn’t begin to recount them, so I could only say that none of them liked me.

My mother sat down beside me and put her hands on my shoulders.

She said, “Does their liking really matter? No matter how popular you are, there will always be people who don’t like you. What’s the difference between being disliked by one person or a whole bunch? They’re just people we don’t care about anyway.”

These people will be replaced by a new group after you graduate from primary school, and another group will follow after you graduate from junior high school. Throughout one’s life, several such groups will be replaced. Only those who are truly important will remain. There is no need to overthink it; having a mother who likes you now is sufficient.

The mother’s gaze was resolute, and the warmth radiating from her shoulders was comforting. Her words held some truth, yet I remained unable to listen.

It’s hard to truly be in that environment and not care—I’m not the kind of person who can let go easily.

After a semester, I went from being a quiet person to becoming completely withdrawn.

When I couldn’t get a response from outside, I turned inward.

During class, I often get distracted, thinking how wonderful it would be if my father were still here.

Then, without realizing it, I was reminded of the winter two years ago—the explosion at the fireworks warehouse.

Perhaps due to the intense trauma I experienced back then, my body activated its self-protection mechanisms, causing me to forget those sensations and no longer perceive them as painful.

Yet a growing sense emerged that I had overlooked a crucial detail—something that occurred both before and after the 1996 explosion.

I keep thinking about it, but I just can’t remember.

The harder I try to forget, the more I obsess over it. The more I keep thinking, the more I end up going crazy.

For a while, whenever I was doing my homework at home, I could always hear a faint, rustling sound coming from somewhere, as if someone was hiding in the house.

The sound filled me with both dread and curiosity. I scoured the area for its source, until I finally halted at the entrance of my family’s cellar.

My family’s cellar is a hidden spot. I suspect the sound is coming from there, but I’m too scared to open that door.

Since childhood, I’ve been terrified of cellars. The darkness and claustrophobic atmosphere there make me feel suffocated just thinking about it.

How could such a place, which is only used for storing food, possibly hide from people?

I listened to the voice that was neither reality nor illusion, and was restless all day.

My mother noticed something was wrong again and asked me what was wrong. I told her the truth.

My mother also recognized the severity of the issue. She said I was too isolated and needed to stop overthinking. She suggested I go out more often to broaden my horizons and relax my mind.

My mother had mobility issues and was unable to take me out for fun. Fortunately, Police Officer Lu was on leave during those days, so she asked him to take me out for a day.

Since I couldn’t travel far in a day, Officer Lu had to take me to climb mountains in a neighboring county. Like our county, the neighboring county is also mountainous with similar scenery, but going out for a walk really helps me relax.

After returning home, my condition improved.

I know this is bizarre, but I don’t want to admit it’s auditory hallucinations.

At one moment, I suddenly had a bold idea.

Could those voices be from my father?

Is it the ghost of the father, or… the father is actually not dead?

The charred body from that year was burned beyond recognition—how could we possibly identify it as my father?

I told my mother my guess, but she told me not to think too much.

“Your father died—blown up by fireworks,” the mother said coldly. “You must move forward, not dwell on the past. Has your recent restlessness been because you’ve been thinking about this?”

I kept my head down and said nothing.

If Mom were like you, constantly missing Dad and unable to focus on work, deceiving herself, how could we mother and daughter survive? Ahui, stop dwelling on the past. You must concentrate on yourself and study hard to become strong.

I’m a stubborn person too. I just can’t accept it. “Why? Why did that thing just pass by like that? Mom, have you really let it go?”

That night in 1996 felt interminable. I thought the sun would never rise again. My father had died—this day must have been the end of the world.

Yet the sky still brightened, time didn’t pause for the father’s passing, flowing steadily as usual. Before I knew it, two years had slipped away.

Over the past two years, my mother held several jobs before ultimately settling at the fireworks factory, enduring daily hardships. I attended elementary school with excellent academic performance, yet remained profoundly unhappy. Currently, my grades have begun to decline.

After my father’s passing, life remains shrouded in gloom, just like the sky outside.

So how could that have just passed?

My mother looked at me deeply, seeming to want to say something but holding back, and finally sighed.

“A Hui, we have to go on living. This world doesn’t revolve around our family,” Mother said solemnly. “You must look forward, study hard, and live earnestly. Only when Dad sees this from heaven will he feel comforted. When you get into college and leave here, you’ll witness a bigger world. Go see the snow-capped mountains of Xizang, visit the great waterfalls in Argentina, or the auroras in the Arctic.

When you see those magnificent sights, you’ll realize how insignificant humans are. This world has its own laws of operation, and the fact that people cannot be resurrected after death is also a law of the world. Compared to the grandeur of the world, your naive thoughts are nothing but self-deception.”

I countered, “Those places you mentioned are just what you’ve read in books. You’ve never seen them with your own eyes. How can you claim those matters are significant while mine are trivial? I don’t care about worldly affairs—I only care about our family.”

Without waiting for her reply, I ran out.

Running to the door of the house, I couldn’t help but look back.

Seeing my mother hunched over in the twilight, her shoulders hunched and her face heavy with loneliness, I felt a pang of guilt.

I know my mother shoulders the entire burden of supporting our family, limping to the assembly line every day, too busy to even eat. I understand how hard it is for her.

Every time my mother taught me, she was always right.

But I don’t want to say goodbye to the past.

Over the past two years, I’ve noticed my mother has changed profoundly. She’s no longer the one who whispered dissent at funerals, nor the one who meekly accepted her pension. Most strikingly, she’s become nothing like the timid, fragile woman who once relied entirely on her father.

It was more like what I had heard from others.

Perhaps without support, she reverted to her former self.

She wants to leave here, she longs for the outside world.

She always reads books and listens to the radio in her spare time, using various limited channels to stay informed about the outside world. But with a limp, how far can she go?

Isn’t it a form of self-deception to escape the past, shun reality, and fixate solely on the future?

I have no problem with my mother being herself, but she can’t stop me from being myself.

I keep dwelling on the past, growing increasingly withdrawn and unable to escape my inner world.

But I was still young, and often an external force would unintentionally bring about a turning point.

It was a little episode in late 1998.

One day in December 1998, during a break, I was lost in thought when a voice suddenly called out from the doorway: “Zhong Hui!”

Startled, I looked up and saw the most active boy in the class running to my desk, holding a pretty box high.

The red box, adorned with a green silk ribbon, resembled a fairy-tale gift box. Its striking presence in the gray winter instantly caught the attention of the entire class.

Everyone exclaimed “Wow!” and gathered around.

The boy handed me the box and said urgently, “The security guard told me to bring this to you. He said it’s a gift someone gave you. Go check it out!”

“Quick, look!”

“Open it and take a look!”

Everyone was chattering away, urging me on. Driven by curiosity, they spoke as if they knew me intimately.

But I don’t have time to deal with these things—someone actually gave me a gift. Who could it be?

With the anticipation in everyone’s eyes, my heart pounded like thunder as I solemnly untied the green silk ribbon and opened the red box.

Inside is a delicate crystal ball.

At the center of the crystal ball sits a little mouse wearing a red scarf, holding a large piece of cheese and gazing up at the sky with a contented look.

With a flick of the wrist, snow would begin to fall from the crystal ball, like a dream.

It was the first time I saw something so beautiful, and I couldn’t believe it was meant for me—why me?

The students eagerly passed the gift around, afraid of damaging this delicate present, and after a round of passing, they carefully returned it to me.

The gift box also contained a letter with the note ‘For Zhong Hui, dear friend,’ which finally convinced me it was meant for me.

The letter said:

Dear little Zhonghui:

This is a Christmas gift for you. I wish you a happy and healthy growth!

Santa Claus

It was a gift from Santa Claus.

Before this, I had only heard of this holiday. Our small town wasn’t that cosmopolitan, and no one ever celebrated Christmas.

But I actually got a gift from Santa Claus—only I got it, and the whole class didn’t.

The students were very envious.

I carefully wrapped the gift box again, tucked it into my schoolbag, and took it home that evening to show my mother.

The mother was equally amazed, holding the crystal ball and examining it closely. She marveled repeatedly, saying she had never seen anything so beautiful before—something that could only exist in big cities.

The mother said that the only time she left the county town in her life was when her grandfather took her to the city hospital to have her broken leg amputated. Thus, her impression of the city was nothing but the cold, sterile hospital, the pungent smell of disinfectant, and painful memories.

The outside world she had dreamed of since childhood was all she had.

I think my mother’s perspective is still too narrow. Whether it’s a small town, a county town, or a big city, they’re all worldly. But this isn’t worldly—it’s Santa’s gift.

The mother seemed to be lost in thought and instructed me to keep it safe.

I joyfully placed it by my bedside and read it several times daily. Whenever I saw it, I felt my entire body filled with strength.

I gradually became more outgoing in class. My classmates started talking to me too, since I was the child Santa Claus had chosen.

Kids believe in Santa Claus, don’t they?

It was also a strange thing that happened to me, which freed me from the embarrassment of being isolated.

If one can live in the present, one will not be trapped in the past.

03

1999 was a year of preparation for the new century.

Especially in the second half of the year, the entire nation was immersed in a festive atmosphere, with a sharp increase in the demand for fireworks across major cities and various industries. On the final day of the millennium, the number of fireworks to be set off nationwide was incalculable.

Yet this year, so festive, our small town has become increasingly lifeless.

Fireworks factories are almost fully booked all year round. Chen Guang, with high morale, shouted the slogan— “Run at full throttle! Rush into the 21st century!”

The town’s main factory and the small workshops in the woods sprang into action, working around the clock. Production expanded further, and more fireworks were made.

Day after day, boxes of fireworks fill warehouses, then trucks haul them into the mountains to empty the warehouses again. The cycle repeats endlessly.

The whole town was suffocating under the pressure, while only the fireworks factory was making huge profits.

With increased financial resources, the Chen family expanded their influence significantly, effectively establishing themselves as local autocrats. Despite widespread dissatisfaction with their governance, a growing number of supporters continued to rally behind them. The principle of ‘the strong rule’ remains an inherent law of nature.

When things reach their extreme, they will inevitably reverse; when they reach their peak, they will inevitably decline.

At that time, no one could have imagined that their good days were coming to an end.

In September, despite the scorching heat, the small workshops in the mountain forests were bustling with activity when a group of visiting officials arrived in the town, accompanied by local county leaders.

The news spread quickly: a provincial inspection team had come to conduct a surprise check on fireworks safety production, but the situation was more complicated than expected.

Then, the provincial police arrived.

Our county town is nestled in the mountains, isolated and hidden in a mountain hollow, making it extremely remote. For years, this father and son have been oppressing the town, with little impact on the outside world.

However, the righteous ultimately prevailed over the wicked. As the saying goes, ‘Good news stays at home, while bad news travels far.’ Repeated misconduct significantly increased the risk of exposure, eventually alerting the provincial inspection team.

Their mission was specifically to target the fireworks factory, not only to inspect the production of fireworks but also to settle accounts with the actions of Chen Guang and his son.

When the provincial authorities come to inspect, the paper can no longer conceal the truth.

Chen Guang, the director of the fireworks factory, secretly supported small workshops without production licenses to manufacture fireworks, which led to multiple production accidents. His actions constituted the crimes of illegal business operations, producing and selling products that do not meet safety standards, and major accident liability.

In addition, Chen Guang and his son have been expanding their power and oppressing the people, committing crimes such as organizing and leading a criminal organization, intentional homicide, intentional injury, and provoking trouble.

Chen Guang was caught off guard by the attack and had to confess to the crime, while his son Chen Shu went missing.

Chen Shu has frequently conducted market research trips over the past two years. His last return to the county seat was six months ago, and he has not returned since. Perhaps he heard rumors while away, which made him hesitant to return.

During those days, police officers from the provincial authorities were patrolling the streets and forests, gathering evidence.

The villagers hid behind their doors, watching in silence, but the town sky had finally seen blue skies again after a long time.

Only when Chen Guang was hauled into the police car did everyone finally show their joy, which had been hidden in their hearts.

The era of fireworks factories ended on an ordinary day.

The fireworks factory has existed in the town for fifteen years. Over this period, from its establishment to its collapse, from a conscientious enterprise to a criminal organization, the vast factory buildings and numerous workshops across the hills have witnessed the entire process of Chen Guang’s expanding desires and the darkening of his conscience, as well as the joys and sorrows of many people in the town.

As the New Year’s fireworks soared into the sky, people couldn’t help but gaze at the factory that had once thrived but now stood desolate. They felt a surge of pride, yet also a wave of emotion.

But the rotten things will always stay in the past, and the new century will bring new atmosphere.

Chen Guang’s fireworks factory operated at full capacity, yet ultimately failed to make it into the 21st century.

02

But where is Chen Shu?

Long before the surprise inspection, the townspeople had heard that Chen Guang was searching for Chen Shu.

Chen Shu usually returned within two months after fieldwork trips, but this time he was away for an extended period with no updates.

Back then, information was scarce, transportation was underdeveloped, and train tickets didn’t require real-name registration. Finding someone nationwide was as difficult as searching for a needle in a haystack.

Chen Guang had been frantically searching for months with no leads, until the inspection team arrived. With their own affairs taking precedence, they had no time to track down Chen Shu.

Everyone assumed Chen Shu had gotten wind of the situation early and was afraid of getting caught, so this filial son fled first, leaving his father utterly confused as he waited for the inspection team.

The police were unable to locate him, and Chen Shu was subsequently listed as a wanted fugitive.

It wasn’t until a year later that people realized Chen Shu hadn’t actually run far away—he hadn’t even left the small town.

05

In the summer of 2000, torrential rains during the flood season poured down from the high mountains, relentlessly eroding the landscape day after day.

Several broken limbs were washed onto the main road, frightening passersby.

It was a brutal case of murder and dismemberment.

With minimal dismemberment, the remains were intact and buried close together. Following the path of rainwater runoff, the police searched the mountain and soon recovered several pieces, which could be pieced together to form a complete human form.

When my mother picked me up from school, we were walking along that road when we saw a police officer carrying a stretcher down the hill.

The remaining limb was reassembled onto the stretcher and covered with a white cloth, though some edges remained exposed—a sight that was deeply unsettling.

My mother quickly covered my eyes, just as she had done when the charred body was carried out.

But after experiencing the explosion firsthand, I’ve become more accepting of such scenes. Seeing the body didn’t shock me as much.

Just before my mother covered my eyes, I accidentally noticed the victim’s right hand peeking out from the edge of the white cloth, missing half of the little finger.

I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, but I remember the scene.

The police quickly identified the body, and the victim who was murdered and dismembered was Chen Shu.

The body had only one fatal wound, on the neck, inflicted by a common household knife.

The weapon used in the dismemberment was an axe for splitting firewood, which was also commonly used in households.

No weapon was found at the scene.

Based on the state of the body, he died two years ago.

Before Chen Guang was arrested in 1999, his son had already died.

After two years, the body of Chen Shu was finally brought to light. During these two years, countless storms and rains had swept through the mountainous area. This particular rainstorm lasted for several days, washing away the scene completely and leaving no viable evidence.

The area is densely forested with few people, providing ample opportunities for criminal acts, and the primary crime scene remains elusive.

In those days, the technological level was inadequate, and police investigations primarily relied on the victim’s social connections, conducting community visits and screening key individuals.

This investigative method was highly effective in rural areas in the past, as close neighborly relations allowed for the swift resolution of family disputes and old grievances.

But if you encounter a mass murderer, this method is ineffective because the perpetrator is not part of the victim’s social network.

In a neighboring province, multiple serial violent crimes occurred in a single city over several consecutive years. The victims had no prior connections, and their social relationships were minimal. The perpetrator carried out indiscriminate killings, a classic case of mass murder. Despite the discovery of the perpetrator’s fingerprints and DNA at the crime scene, and even after conducting DNA testing on over 100,000 individuals in the region, the case remained unsolved.

If evidence is sufficient in other cases, it is even more challenging to find evidence in this case.

The focus should still be on social connections, but another issue in this case is that Chen Shu’s social network is excessively complex and disorganized. After multiple rounds of investigations, many people harbor resentment toward Chen Shu, and there are plenty of individuals with motives, yet no concrete evidence has been found.

Last year, the provincial authorities conducted a crackdown on the case, which involved a wanted fugitive with a history of past offenses. The police took it very seriously and investigated the case meticulously, questioning numerous suspects, but ultimately nothing came of it.

No one knows how Chen Shu suddenly vanished back then or who he met in the end.

So this case has been on hold until now.

Lawyer Lu, the murder case you’re handling, which occurred in 2000, is the one I mentioned earlier.

06

Zhong Hui spoke at length, with many digressions.

I did not interrupt her and listened with caution.

I’d like to know when she’ll get to the point—specifically, the 2000 case I’m handling.

It was only when we reached the present case that I finally confirmed Zhong Hui was indeed a witness to it.

Because she knows a lot of the details of cases that are not public.

Particularly, she was aware that the corpse had not been severely dismembered, only divided into several large pieces, though not entirely so, with some smaller fragments still remaining.

The most significant specimen was the right half of the little finger of the corpse.

I said, “You go on.”

07

The Story of Zhong Hui (3)

In 2000, the body of Chen Shu was discovered in the mountainous forests of the small town. The police initiated an investigation but were unable to identify the suspect.

Time flies, and years have passed.

In 2004, I got into a junior high school in the county town. It wasn’t a top-tier school, but at least it was out of the small town.

I always remember what Police Officer Lu said to me, he told me to take the exam and leave here.

Although the county town is not far away from the town, it is also the beginning of the departure.

After Chen Guang was arrested, the fireworks factory downsized significantly. My mother quit her job and moved to the county town with me, renting a house near my school.

She soon landed a new job in the county town as an assembly line worker at an electronics factory, which barely kept our mother and daughter afloat.

For a long time, I couldn’t adapt to the life in junior high school.

The school is not considered a good one due to its poor learning atmosphere, and the county town is more open than small towns, offering students a wide variety of interests.

They skipped classes to play video games in arcades, gathered in the restroom to sing pop songs and smoke, with some boys getting ear piercings and girls dyeing their hair red… They spent their youth in all sorts of ways.

I couldn’t keep up with the trends and couldn’t connect with them, so I had to study hard and soon found myself isolated again.

Isolation quickly turned into bullying.

I got into trouble with a small group because I refused someone’s request to copy my homework.

After school, three or four guys cornered me, slapped me in the face, ripped my homework notebook, called me old-fashioned, demanded to style my hair, and ended up cutting it into a total mess.

After they left, I lingered outside for a long time, contemplating how to explain to my mother upon my return. Everything else was manageable, but hair could not be discussed.

In the end, it was definitely not hidden.

When my mother found out, she was furious. The next day, she took leave and came to my school to meet the parents of those students.

She stood at the teacher’s office door, her voice calm and gaze piercing, her hand trembling slightly—far more assertive than when she had challenged the fireworks factory workshop years ago.

The teacher did not dare to be negligent and immediately called all the parents.

Those classmates looked down on me, and their parents’ attitude was even more dismissive and arrogant.

The mother tried to reason with the parents, hoping they would discipline their child, but they said they couldn’t.

They thought their mother was overreacting, saying it was just children playing around and not a big deal, and were even reluctant to apologize.

No one heeded Mother’s accusations. They just kept their eyes wide open and spouting nonsense, each one insisting my new hairstyle looked stunning.

After a long standoff, the homeroom teacher intervened to settle the matter. They were required to pay for a haircut and the cost of their homework, so I could trim my hair and buy a new notebook. That’s how it was resolved.

I was bullied by my classmates, and my mother was bullied by my parents, but we really had no way to deal with them.

The mother was so upset that she refused to take their money, and they parted ways in a huff.

Those classmates were furious about my decision to contact my parents. Seeing my mother’s disability wouldn’t cause any trouble, they escalated their bullying, tormenting me over trivial matters while making it impossible to catch them red-handed.

I don’t know who heard about my past and spread the rumors, making my life even harder.

I have fought, I have argued, but no one listened, and I was forced to bear those undeserved calamities.

I felt both wronged and heartbroken. No matter how hard I tried to distract myself, I couldn’t focus on my studies as I once did.

So my grades have dropped again, and my mental state is getting worse and worse.

My mother saw it with her own eyes and felt deeply distressed. I know she has done her best.

Life is like this, many things we can not do.

I figured I might as well skip school and work at an electronics factory with my mom, so I could help ease her financial burden.

But just as this idea began to take shape, one day the world suddenly returned to calm.

Those classmates stopped targeting me, even avoiding me while walking and acting very afraid. Their parents also came to the school one by one to apologize to me, speaking politely.

For a moment, no one in the class dared to speak to me, a situation more extreme than isolation.

This is yet another bizarre thing.

I don’t know what happened, but I’m back on track.

Luckily, I haven’t told my mom I want to quit school and work at an electronics factory—otherwise, I’d be lectured again.

My mother always taught me to study hard and focus wholeheartedly on my studies.

She has high expectations for me, insisting I get into a top-tier high school and a prestigious university, and ideally, go abroad to broaden my horizons—so my life isn’t wasted.

My mother is not only high in demand for me, but also high in demand for herself.

She was not content with the factory assembly line and disliked doing repetitive work like a machine.

My mother is fond of learning and enjoys intellectual engagement. During her free time, she would borrow books from the county library to self-study subjects such as accounting and law. While doing housework, she would not idle but instead turn on the radio to listen to news or travel programs. She would also flip through my textbooks and even pick up a few English phrases.

She said that if I ever study abroad, she wouldn’t mind joining me for some fun.

By the time my third year of junior high was almost over, my mother had been transferred to work as a finance officer in the electronics factory department.

I did exceptionally well in the high school entrance exam and was admitted to a top-tier high school in our city.

In 2007, I was in my first year of high school, living in the city while my mother stayed in the county town.

After all, high school is a good school with a strong learning atmosphere, which is the environment I hope for. My classmates have good personalities and upbringing. No one knows anything about my family background, and they are all very friendly to me.

Of course, it is also polite and distant friendliness.

High school students have diverse and refined interests, while I remain a solitary problem-solver in this small town, unable to integrate into the group.

Students would naturally talk about their parents, while I lost my father and my mother is disabled.

During adolescence, my sense of inferiority became even more pronounced.

Due to the distance of my home, I had to live on campus and only returned home every two weeks. In those lonely days, I was constantly missing my mother.

My mother seemed to be aware of my predicament. In the second semester of my first year in high school, the lease in the county town expired, so she returned the rent and quit her job to move to the city.

She rented a place next to People’s Park, not far from my school, and got a job in finance nearby.

I switched to a day school routine, returning home for dinner every evening, followed by a walk with my mother in People’s Park.

My mother never missed a chance to educate me. Pointing to the cicada’s exoskeleton on the tree, she explained: “Caterpillars grow on trees until they emerge as butterflies, while cicadas must climb from the dark soil to the tree to shed their shells. Yet in the end, they meet at the same height.” Ah Hui, everyone’s life rhythm is different. You must stay true to your own pace and don’t let others define you.

She’s back again.

I understand the principle, but it’s easier said than done. I am human, not an animal. Animals rely solely on instinct, whereas I possess thoughts and emotions.

I often fail to heed my mother’s words, always finding myself contradicting her. Yet, no matter what, her presence gradually dispels the gloom in my heart.

However, there is a persistent sense of unease.

These past few years have felt like fast-forwarding—first moving to the county seat, then to the city, and now I’m going further and further away.

But the farther away from the town, the more intense the feeling of unease becomes.

Looking back, I realize too many strange things have happened—each with a beginning but no end. It seems there are many secrets hidden around me, veiled like a veil, unclear and elusive.

Whenever I asked my mother about the past, she would always dodge the topic, which made me increasingly suspect she was hiding something from me.08

08

The turning point happened in the summer vacation of the second year of senior high school.

That summer, my mother returned to the small town to clean the old house. She usually went back alone, as I was too busy with my studies.

This time I said I wanted to go together, and my mother agreed.

Returning to the home where I once lived, the familiar furnishings stirred my emotions, and I began to miss my father.

I walk back and forth in my home, from the front to the back, and I know every corner.

There was only one place I went into once when I was very young, and I never went into it again.

It’s my family’s cellar.

I fear the darkness and have never dared to enter the cellar since childhood. However, this time as I passed by the cellar entrance, I suddenly recalled hearing sounds at home several years ago, which seemed to indicate the presence of someone hidden somewhere.

My mother said I had hallucinations due to mental stress, but I don’t think so.

The sound came from the cellar. I didn’t dare to open the door to investigate back then.

Now I have grown up and am not afraid of the dark.

My mother was busy upstairs and didn’t notice me. I made up my mind, grabbed a flashlight, opened the cellar door, took a deep breath, and stepped into the darkness.

The cellar was dark and damp, so dark that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, with only the cold light of a flashlight illuminating a small patch of vision.

A damp and cold earthy smell came to me.

The steps below grew colder with each step, but it was summer after all, not bone-chillingly cold.

I stepped on the mud at the bottom, feeling no solid ground, and couldn’t hear my footsteps at all.

A sudden panic struck me, and I couldn’t help shivering.

The cellar is tiny, about four to five square meters. It’s completely empty, with just a small chair in the middle.

In the past, during winter, my mother would store sweet potatoes, radishes, and other vegetables in the cellar to extend their shelf life.

We later moved out, and the place remained vacant for many years.

I walked around the wall.

There’s nothing special about it—it’s just an ordinary cellar. After all these years, I can no longer answer the questions I had back then.

I walked around again and was about to go up.

Just then, there was a sudden ‘crack’ as I stepped on something hard.

It is very abrupt on the muddy ground without the sense of reality.

I picked it up and looked at it in the light of a flashlight.

The next moment, my mind was struck by a sudden, intense jolt.

I threw it away with a forceful swing.

For a moment, my heart was pounding like a drum, and I was so scared that I almost fainted.

It was a fragment of a human finger bone, specifically the little finger.

……

A scene I had seen once by chance immediately came to mind.

Eight years ago, on my way home from school, I saw a police officer carrying a skeleton down the mountain.

I saw the body’s right hand missing a half of a little finger from the edge of the white cloth.

Now, half a finger is in my cellar, and I can’t convince myself it’s just a coincidence.

The torrential summer rains that year had erased all traces, leaving no leads to trace social connections. The police interviewed numerous individuals, interrogated many, and searched countless households, yet ultimately yielded no results.

Chen Shu’s case has not been solved.

But who could have imagined that his death was somehow connected to my family…

I don’t know how I picked up that thing again, or how I climbed up.

I stumbled out of the cellar with my head spinning, the blazing sunlight blinding me.

When I came to my senses, I saw my mother standing not far away, watching me quietly.

I instinctively turned my hand behind my back, clutching the fractured finger bone tightly in my palm, too embarrassed to meet her gaze.

What happened in the cellar, Mother could not have been unaware.

How many secrets has she concealed over the years?

I was afraid to explore the answer to this question for a moment.

I noticed my mother’s expression was strangely unfamiliar, her lips hanging coldly, her demeanor solemn, and her eyes filled with sorrow.

I had seen my mother’s expression before, a feeling that was both distant and familiar…

At that moment, a dead memory came back.

I suddenly recalled a forgotten detail from the night of the 1996 fireworks warehouse explosion.

After waking up that morning, I watched fireworks by the window for a while before breaking down in tears. My mother then took me with her, joining the crowd to visit the Tangkou warehouse.

But I remember that my mother was not at home at first.

That night, as I stepped out of the room, I saw my mother coming in through the door from outside. She stood at the doorway, gazing at me with the same solemn and sorrowful expression.

She didn’t say much, but came over to help me put on my coat and took me out.

She was originally dignified and composed, but gradually grew anxious and choked up on the way. The neighbors all tried to comfort her, but in truth, she was merely putting on an act.

The scene of the accident was filled with the smell of gunpowder, but I had already smelled it before arriving at the scene.

The subtlest is the one that comes from the mother.

That was because the mother was in the Tangkou warehouse when the explosion happened.

I had this memory, but after seeing my father’s body, I was traumatized and stopped paying attention to it.

After the incident, I never doubted anything, yet my mother still interfered with the psychological state of a five-year-old child, urging me to forget it.

09

Now the mother came to me, looking at me with a complex expression, without saying a word.

With each heartbeat, an indescribable pain surged through me. I wanted to step back, but I held back.

I held my breath and finally managed to ask her, “Mom, did you do it?”

Did you do it?

The warehouse explosion incident, along with Chen Shu in the cellar…

My heart was in my throat as I stared at my mother, watching every subtle movement of hers.

Fortunately, in the end, the mother shook her head.

I breathed a sigh of relief, spread my palm, and showed her the fractured finger bone.

“Mom… tell me what happened…”

My mother sighed softly, pressing my fingertips down to make my hand clench again.

She said, “Let’s talk about it when we get home.”

We had no time to tidy up the old house. Mother locked the cellar and the door, then took me back to our city home.

That night, after I pressed her repeatedly, my mother finally gave in.

She said, “Ah Hui, every generation has its own burdens to carry. Your father originally told me not to tell you, fearing you might struggle to accept reality. Now that you’re older and have discovered this matter, I truly can’t keep it from you anymore.”

I suddenly had a premonition.

I suppressed my excitement, “Is Dad… still alive?”

The mother nodded.

The father did not die!

At that moment, all my years of suffering found an outlet, and I was momentarily overwhelmed by the overwhelming joy.

Human intuition is indeed remarkably sharp. Back then, I wasn’t wrong.

The charred corpse that was carried out of the warehouse was not my father.

Upon closer examination, the charred remains were burned beyond recognition. Given only their similar height and build, how could one presume he was the father?

Back then, I shared my guess with my mother, who scolded me and then changed the subject. Looking back now, I can’t help but feel I overreacted…

10

“Wait a minute, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

I couldn’t help but say this.

Miss Zhong, I am aware that you are indeed a firsthand witness to this case and have provided credible details. However, this does not imply that I will accept all your statements without question. I must emphasize that you are accountable for your statements and must provide evidence to substantiate them. Otherwise, it would be a waste of our time.

I just finished reviewing the case file. The victim in this case is Chen Shu, and the defendant is your mother. The evidence is conclusive, and your mother has pleaded guilty. Now you want to tell me that it wasn’t actually your mother who did it, but your father who survived back then and has been living under an assumed identity ever since?

Zhong Hui remarked, “Attorney Lu, in today’s era and within major cities, we all know that staged death is impossible. But consider this: it was 1996, a remote mountain town with no surveillance cameras or DNA testing. A person burned beyond recognition—such a deliberate act would undoubtedly mislead the police’s investigation.”

I asked, “Where is your father now?”

“I’ll continue speaking first.”

11

The Story of Zhong Hui (4)

On the very night she uncovered the cellar’s secrets, Mother laid everything bare.

The story begins with the father and the fireworks factory.

My father had a mediocre job at a fireworks factory back in the day, and he didn’t get along well with the workers.

He was well-educated and highly capable, working in technical roles, and Factory Director Chen Guang had always held him in high regard.

Back then, the regulatory authorities issued a summer shutdown order due to safety concerns about fireworks production during the hot season.

Despite having abundant market demand and a steady stream of orders, Chen Guang couldn’t bear the injustice of being denied profit opportunities despite his financial resources.

So he gathered three or four middle-level managers and skilled workers he usually worked well with, and discussed with them about setting up small workshops, with him providing support. His father was also among them.

The father refused to do this and declined.

Chen Guang did not insist, but he was not a good-natured person. He threatened my mother and me, demanding that my father not disclose the matter. My father agreed, and subsequently was expelled from the program.

Chen Guang did not delay his plan. He secretly supported and colluded with small workshops to ensure operations could continue during the summer. After a successful trial run for one summer without any issues, the initiative was carried forward to the following year.

The father considered this an act of self-destruction and attempted to dissuade him, but given the immediate interests of the fireworks factory, he knew persuasion would be futile. Moreover, Chen Guang had become excessively arrogant, exhibiting behaviors characteristic of a mafia-like figure with a tendency to escalate further. As a family-oriented individual, the father dared not engage in excessive involvement with him.

At that time, my father had a coworker named Qin Fang, who was quite decent.

Qin Fang was deeply frustrated by the unlicensed small workshops, and when he noticed their persistent operation, he began to suspect foul play.

He had asked his father, who said he was unaware but advised Qin Fang not to get involved.

His father’s response only confirmed his suspicion.

Qin Fang, with no family to rely on, lived alone without attachments, yet he faced no fear. Through covert investigations, he gradually uncovered the truth.

He gathered enough evidence to take out to report.

I also made a backup copy and entrusted it to my father for safekeeping.

But he couldn’t get out of the county.

12

The evening before the November 1996 explosion at Tangkou Warehouse had actually shown warning signs.

It was a memory I had forgotten, and now my mother has given it back to me.

That evening, while I was out playing, Chen Shu passed by and gave me two firework sticks along with a note asking me to deliver it to my father.

The note stated that a batch of defective products had been misregistered, and asked my father to check it out that evening.

Back then, I couldn’t read or understand anything, but I just felt that Chen Shu was so kind when he gave me fireworks.

I gave him the note as soon as my father came home from work.

After reading it, he went to the fireworks warehouse at night.

But I never thought it was a trap.

As soon as he entered the warehouse, he was knocked out from behind.

When he woke up again, his father found himself lying on the ground, holding a bloodied knife in his hand.

Next to it was the body of Qin Fang with his throat cut.

His father suddenly understood—Qin Fang had failed to escape. He had been murdered.

The person also tried to shift the blame to his father.

No doubt, it was Chen Guang’s arrangement.

Knowing his father and Qin Fang were close, Chen Guang suspected his father was involved too. That’s why he had Chen Shu orchestrate this scheme to eliminate both of them.

When the mother noticed her father hadn’t returned home for a long time, she grew concerned and went out to look for him.

When I arrived at the warehouse, I saw my father staring at the body on the ground.

The mother was startled, but she believed her father would not kill, so she soon came to her senses.

There’s no time to think things through now—immediately find a way to get out of this mess, or else someone will soon be sent to act as the so-called eyewitness.

Seeing the warehouse packed with flammable and explosive materials and noticing Qin Fang’s height and build were similar to his own, the father had a sudden, bold idea in a moment of desperation.

He removed his own clothes, pants, and shoes, put them on Qin Fang, then put on Qin Fang’s clothes, and finally scrambled through the fireworks in the warehouse.

Some fireworks’ propellant and explosive leaked, and a random flip stirred up metal dust in the warehouse.

After the arrangement, the father took the knife and the two of them left the warehouse.

He urged his mother to hurry home, then lit a cigarette and threw it into the warehouse ventilation opening.

13

The explosion was masterminded by my father, but the charred body was not his—it belonged to Qin Fang.

The situation was urgent, and the father couldn’t think too much; he had to get away first.

Then my father left the town under the cover of a spectacular fireworks display. My mother returned home, took me out again, and followed the crowd pretending to be deeply saddened.

Police recovered a charred body from the accident scene. The corpse was severely disfigured by the explosion, with the knife wounds obscured; it was also burned beyond recognition, making identification extremely difficult.

In the early days when DNA testing was not yet widely available, police could only identify the deceased based on multiple witness accounts, the victim’s height and body measurements, non-combustible items carried on the body such as keys, and clothing fragments found at the scene.

Chen Guang and Chen Shu should have been the ones who knew, but for some reason, they didn’t reveal it.

Everyone was certain the body was his father, and Qin Fang had vanished—this matter was thus closed.

I was too young and my parents didn’t want to involve me, so my father told my mother to keep it a secret.

The death of my father devastated me. At first, I thought he had gone to steal fireworks for me. But when Chen Shu handed me a firecracker stick at the funeral, I remembered that evening and realized the note might have been what called him to the warehouse.

I immediately cried out at the funeral.

Fearing I might expose Chen Shu and reveal what was never meant to be, my mother clung to me tightly, her hands pressing down to silence me.

After the incident, my mother repeatedly warned me not to tell anyone about Chen Shu asking me to pass on a note that day.

But my concern is not Chen Shu, but myself.

Had I not brought the note to Father, he would not have gone to the warehouse that night, nor would he have died. I was the one who caused his death.

I was consumed by guilt and self-reproach, unable to eat or sleep properly. When I finally managed to fall asleep, I would wake up startled in the middle of the night, seeing fireworks outside the window in my mind, and then burst into uncontrollable tears.

My mother was deeply concerned about me. To help me recover quickly, she studied psychology on her own and gave me daily psychological suggestions.

At that time, I was only five years old, with my brain still developing, and I couldn’t distinguish between dreams and reality.

My mother gave me psychological hints to treat real events as dreams, then fabricate non-existent stories to fill the gaps, constantly reinforcing these fabricated details to dilute the original memories.

In the end, I forgot many details of the day of the explosion. For instance, before the blast, Chen Shu had given me a note to deliver to my father; after the explosion, I encountered my mother returning from outside, carrying the smell of gunpowder…

It would be best to forget the explosion too, but the impact on me was so profound that it’s deeply etched in my mind—impossible to forget. Moreover, the explosion is a collective memory rather than an individual one, and my father did indeed die.

But no matter what, if the guilt toward my father eases a bit, I can gradually move on.

After starting primary school, I became isolated and withdrawn from my classmates, and began to frequently recall the incident of the explosion.

But I forgot some details and couldn’t figure out why, so I just had a few arguments with my mother.

During that period, I heard noises in my home, as if someone was hiding somewhere. I searched everywhere for the source of the sounds and found they came from the basement, but I didn’t dare to enter.

I asked my mother, and she said it was my nervousness that caused the auditory hallucinations, just like how I used to wake up at midnight and see fireworks in my mind before—neither of these were real.

But it is not a hallucination, but a real sound.

It was the father who came back secretly.

He stayed at home for several days. Having lost his identity, he had to conceal himself and could not reunite with his mother openly. Even I had to avoid him, so he could only hide in the most concealed cellar of the house.

My father could only leave the cellar during the daytime when I was at school. To reunite with him, my mother took several days of sick leave.

When my father returned that time, he came to visit my mother and to retrieve the whistleblowing materials Qin Fang had provided him years earlier.

Things that couldn’t be openly taken out in the open were secretly taken out in the dark.

My father was also concerned about my isolation at school.

When he left for the city again, he specially bought a crystal ball that was very popular in the city at that time, wrapped it as a gift for Santa Claus, and sent it to me anonymously.

He tapped into elementary schoolers ‘psychology, making me the child Santa chose — who wouldn’t want to be friends with the one Santa picked?

Later, when I started junior high school in the county town, I was bullied by a group of classmates. My mother went to the school to confront the teachers and parents, but the situation only worsened instead of being resolved.

It was my father who secretly threatened my classmates one by one with a knife, using violence to fight violence, which made them too afraid to bully me anymore.

14

I finally understand.

Many of the bizarre things that happened to me from childhood to adulthood were nothing extraordinary—they were all my father’s doing.

My father never left me, he was always there for me.

The strange sound at home was his.

He reported the fireworks factory.

He was the one who pretended to be Santa Claus and sent me gifts.

He is the one who protects me from being bullied again.

My father has always been by my side. He is a shadow that cannot be seen, yet the guardian who shields me from storms.

I was crying uncontrollably and I wanted to see my father immediately.

But my mother said, no.

The Chen family fell apart, and after all these years, my father still hasn’t dared to reunite with us.

Because he has other hidden agendas.

I lowered my head and looked at the bone in my hand.

Back in the fall of 1998, my father returned home for a while to obtain the materials needed for a report.

One day, an accident happened.

That day, while my parents were at home, Chen Shu suddenly came to visit.

Mother took a few days off, which aroused Chen Shu’s suspicion.

He barged in and went around the house.

He had a keen eye and spotted the cellar entrance.

Despite his mother’s objections, he opened the cellar door and walked inside.

Under normal circumstances, the frail father would have no chance against Chen Shu, but the cellar was so dark that Chen Shu was completely unprepared.

In the dark, the father grabbed a chair from the cellar and slammed Chen Shu to the ground, knocking him unconscious.

Then the father looked at the unconscious Chen Shu and was at a loss.

How should we conclude this situation? Should we simply send him away and wait for him to regain consciousness?

Father will eventually pass away. If we let Chen Shu go now, we can’t even imagine what Mother and I will face after his departure.

My father is a gentle and steady man. His wish is simple: to work diligently, take good care of my mother and me, and live a quiet yet warm life.

Yet fate repeatedly toyed with him, forcing him into positions he was ill-adapted for. He orchestrated an explosion, feigned death to become a spectral presence in the mortal world, and now was compelled to commit murder.

It is a terrible decision to kill, but sometimes people are driven to it as the only option left.

It was already in the shadows, and the prospect of plunging into even darker depths seemed more bearable.

In the cellar, the father killed Chen Shu, dismembered his body, and secretly transported the remains to the mountain over several days for burial.

The last two pieces of the body were also removed on the day the Lu police took me to climb a mountain in a neighboring county.

One year, I climbed a hill in a neighboring county and gazed into the distance toward my home, where the mountains stretched endlessly and the scenery was breathtaking.

I never imagined that on one of those mountains, my father—long gone—was being buried in his own fragments.

15

Chen Shu died like this, and no one noticed it for a short time.

On one hand, no one knew he’d come to my house, and on the other, he’d leave town every now and then to scout the market.

What was supposed to be an inspection turned out to be just a pretext. Tired of his father’s constant supervision, he’d splurge on money and vanish without a word for two or three months.

Chen Guang was swamped with work and didn’t think twice, assuming Chen Shu had left without a word. It wasn’t until two or three months passed with no word that he finally realized something was amiss.

……

I can’t accept my father committing murder and dismemberment, but given the circumstances, there was no other option.

In any case, the father is still alive, which is the best news.

My mother told me that my father didn’t want to involve us, so he decided to wait a few more years as a precaution. He said we’d only be safe once the statute of limitations had passed, and then we could reunite.

It’s only been 8 years, yet we still have to wait another 12 years until 2020 for the statute of limitations to expire—what a long wait.

The good news is that there is at least hope for the future.

In her final words, Mother said, “Your father was a man of integrity. When bullied, he never retaliated. People called him weak and incapable, but he always did what was best for us. His deep concern for us made him vulnerable, so he never dared to act rashly. Yet fate played cruel tricks… Ah Hui, in my heart, your father is the finest man. He has always protected us and our small town. He is a hero.”

Ahui, from now on, you must build confidence and never feel inferior to your classmates. Your parents love you—there’s no need to worry. Just focus on your studies and keep moving forward. Your parents will handle everything else, and in the end, everything will fall into place naturally.

After saying this, my mother took the bone fragment from my hand, saying she would take care of it and told me not to think about the cellar anymore.

I have some concerns, but more hope.

My father’s continued presence gave me tremendous encouragement. I no longer hesitated or worried about gains and losses. I’m no different from my classmates—just like them, I have parents who deeply love me.

Although we endure more hardships and trials than others, by gritting our teeth and persevering, we can ultimately reach a brighter future. Even when separated by distance, our hearts remain united.

I am determined to focus on my studies, redouble my efforts, and get into a good school. My father will surely be pleased to see this.

Over the years, he has accompanied me in my growth where I cannot see, and he must have had certain expectations for me.

I will make the most of my time and become better before 2020.

By then, I will be able to stand confidently in front of my father.

Tell him, Dad, my daughter has not let you down.

16

At this point, Zhong Hui lowered her head and remained silent for a long time.

I stated: “If there is evidence that the suspect evaded investigation after the case was filed, the statute of limitations would not apply.”

I admit I was a bit of a nuisance, and Zhong Hui did give me a cold look.

I added, “But if the suspect’s identity remains unconfirmed, it would be hard to determine whether they fled after the case was filed. That’s not the main point. You’ve already explained most of the previous doubts. Everything was actually done by your father. So are you trying to make him take full responsibility to save your mother?”

“Lawyer Lu, you seem to be biased,” Zhong Hui said irritably. “What do you mean by ‘I want to’? That’s a leading question.”

“I don’t have any prejudice, I have reasonable doubts,” I said. “Do you really believe in the so-called truth your mother speaks of?”

Zhong Hui stated: “From childhood to adulthood, I have always trusted my mother. Her words were invariably sound, though I often failed to internalize them. Mother inherently instilled in me a sense of security. Were there no unforeseen circumstances, I would continue to trust her until the statute of limitations expires.”

But now I can’t wait any longer. I have to face the reality. Lawyer Lu, what do you think my mother said wrong?

I remarked, ‘While her logic flows smoothly at first glance without deep reflection, closer examination reveals many unnatural and contrived details.’

“Say it.”

First, Chen Guang killed Qin Fang. There’s no need to go through the trouble of framing your father. He could’ve just been buried in some remote mountain and vanished without a trace. Killing someone involves entangling another person and deploying police forces, which creates unnecessary complications. For a mafia organization, this is far too cumbersome. Your father does know some secrets, but they’re not major ones. There’s no need to use such a roundabout approach to eliminate him.

Secondly, your mother claimed that Chen Shu gave you a note to deliver to your father, who only went to Tangkou Warehouse after reading it—this also doesn’t make sense. Both Chen Shu and your father work at the fireworks factory, so they could have met anytime. Chen Shu could have directly told your father about it instead of coming to your doorstep and asking a child like you to pass the message. You’ve already forgotten this detail. Chen Shu is dead, and your father’s whereabouts are unknown. This is a piece of information that only your mother has mentioned, unverifiable. It might not be fabricated but could have been embellished based on reality.

Third, on the surface, your father was killed in the explosion, and Qin Fang also went missing at the same time. Such a synchronous occurrence should not have raised any suspicion from the police, which is highly unreasonable. Even if Qin Fang was alone, it would not be entirely unnoticed.

Fourth, the Chen Guang father-son duo’s reaction is questionable. If Chen Guang had truly conspired to frame your father for the murder of the Qin faction, and your father staged this incident to clear his name, leaving only one body in the warehouse after two others were initially present, would they have accepted this as the truth? Your mother’s claim that they failed to expose the deception for some reason seems rather far-fetched.

“Indeed, the insider is blind, while the outsider sees clearly.” Zhong Hui said with a bitter smile, “Lawyer Lu, your questions will be answered one by one. Now I will continue my explanation.”

17

The Story of Zhong Hui (5)

When my mother told me the truth, hope was kindled in my heart.

My mental state has been completely renewed, becoming more confident and cheerful, and I have also studied more diligently. Both teachers and classmates have noticed my transformation.

My grades soared, and I even outperformed expectations in the national college entrance exam, ultimately securing a place at a C9 university in China.

The major of study is bioengineering.

My choice of this major was driven by personal reasons, yet I still couldn’t shake off my lingering unease about the cellar.

That was the first scene, and there was so much evidence inside.

During my undergraduate years, I twice returned to my hometown without my mother’s knowledge, collecting soil samples and bone fragments from the cellar for laboratory analysis.

The soil was soaked with blood, and even after digging two layers, it remained black. Although many broken bones had been cleared, there were still many left.

The land faithfully reflects what happened on it.

One time my mother came back and heard from the neighbors that I had come back alone.

She was furious and told me to focus on my own tasks without meddling in the cellar. She claimed the place was too messy to clean properly and would find a chance to fill it up, so I could concentrate on my studies.

I suppose this is the best approach, and filling it out is the optimal solution. Moreover, I genuinely cannot visit my hometown frequently, as no college student has the leisure to make regular trips back. Excessive visits would only draw undue attention.

So I put it down for now.

In my senior year, I earned the right to be recommended for graduate studies at my university due to my outstanding academic performance.

My mother supported my decision to pursue a master’s degree, but she advised me to apply to universities abroad.

This comes as no surprise to me. My mother has always harbored a desire to leave, and she has entrusted this wish to me.

From a young age, she urged me to study hard, aim for a prestigious university, and ideally, to study abroad and broaden my horizons—so I wouldn’t waste my life.

I really want to go further to see, but I don’t trust my mother alone.

My mother said she was not alone.

She gave me half her life savings, telling me to focus on my studies and not worry.

My tutor also supports me to study abroad.

Finally, I was admitted to a prestigious graduate program at a top-tier international university.

As my mother wished, I saw a bigger world and went further.

Before my trip abroad, my mother had prepared a large suitcase for me, filled with all kinds of daily necessities and food, showing great thoughtfulness.

At the airport, she repeatedly reminded me of the precautions for traveling abroad.

I repeatedly urged my mother to seal the cellar.

My mother said yes.

The boarding time is approaching, so we need to go through security quickly. There’s not much time left to say goodbye.

I said, Mom, I went in and will call you when I get there.

My mother nodded and told me to be careful on the way.

I have been living with my mother for more than ten years, and this is the first time I have left home so far.

As a child, I lacked a sense of security and was always clinging to my mother, afraid that she would leave.

Now in my twenties, I can travel alone and leave my mother.

I turned to walk towards the security checkpoint, when suddenly I heard a cry behind me.

I turned around and saw my mother crying.

She caught up with me, held my hand tightly, and kept saying she couldn’t bear to let me go.

I was momentarily at a loss, as the mother in my eyes was always emotionally stable and rarely showed any outward emotions.

I told my mom I’d pick you up abroad after settling in.

The mother lowered her head and pressed her lips together, calming her emotions for a long time before finally saying, “Okay.”

I let go of her hand, dragged my heavy luggage and turned to enter the security gate.

18

Upon arriving abroad, I experienced significant adjustment difficulties and frequently called my mother. However, after only a few words of conversation, my mother would invariably cite work commitments as the reason for hanging up the phone.

She told me not to keep in touch with her and to focus on my own life and self-care.

Her tone was calm, just like every time she had taught me before.

I couldn’t listen to her as always, and I just felt that my mother changed her face too quickly.

When my mother was taking me to the plane, she was still holding my hand and crying, but now she has quickly adapted to the days without me.

Before my departure, I was filled with anticipation for this foreign journey, with little reluctance. Yet it was only upon setting foot alone on the other side of the ocean that I truly felt the weight of loneliness.

Fortunately, I didn’t dwell on it for too long. At the new school, there were so many things to handle that forced me to quickly adapt to the new life.

My academic workload has been steadily increasing, and I’ve made many foreign friends. I’ve gradually found my own rhythm, juggling classes, experiments, and socializing with new friends every day, making my life incredibly fulfilling.

So I don’t miss my mother so much.

It had been two weeks since I last contacted my mother. When I shared my recent situation with her, she was pleased to hear that I was gradually becoming independent, and she was genuinely happy for me.

And so, half a year passed.

Due to excessive busyness and time zone differences, the frequency of communication between my mother and me has significantly decreased over the past six months. Whenever I do not reach out to my mother, she does not initiate contact with me.

One day, I was busy in the laboratory when I suddenly received a call from my mother.

Her voice had been long absent, and only then did I realize the last time we spoke was a month ago.

“A Hui,” Mother said, “I have something to tell you. Your father ran into a fellow townsman the other day and nearly got recognized. Though he now has a new identity, he’ll still run into acquaintances in this city. That’s why he’s planning to move somewhere far away. I feel lonely without him, and I want to be with him. What do you think?”

I said, “I think it’s pretty good.”

The mother continued, “Alright, we won’t renew the lease for the city house. Don’t worry—just make sure to eat on time, get enough rest, and take care of yourself. Your father and I are still discussing where to move, and there are many things to consider. Since we’re officially reuniting with your father, it’s safer to temporarily separate from you. I haven’t been in touch with you for two years now. I’m planning to change my phone number and will contact you once everything is settled. Don’t worry, Mom and Dad will handle everything properly.”

I was busy at the time and hadn’t fully processed the words, but the last sentence reassured me.

The tutor called me, so I quickly said: “Okay, Mom, you need to be careful. I’m doing the experiment and will be on the phone later.”

After a week of non-stop work, my research project has finally reached a milestone with promising progress.

I was in a good mood and wanted to call my mother to talk about how I was doing.

I only realized when picking up my phone that my mother had called me a few days ago, saying she was moving to live somewhere else with her father and would temporarily cut off contact with me.

When I tried to call my mother, I was told, ‘The number you dialed is disconnected. Please verify and try again.’

My mother is very strong in execution, and the old number has been canceled.

I could only wait for her to settle down and contact me with her new number. At that time, I didn’t think much about it.

I will continue my classes as usual for the next week.

But there is always a sense of unease in the heart.

I often glance down at my phone during class to check for any incoming calls from unknown domestic numbers, but the phone remains silent.

Every time I shift my focus to something else, within ten minutes I’m back to my phone.

Gradually, I found myself checking my phone more frequently, glancing at it every few minutes.

Several times my friends invited me to dinner, but I turned them down. I stayed alone in my apartment, staring at my phone in a daze.

My mother did give me a warning: don’t contact her for the next two years, as she’s planning to change her phone number.

But I didn’t expect her number to be canceled so soon.

She hasn’t even told me her new number yet. How am I supposed to find her now?

What should I do if she doesn’t reach out to me?

The city has stopped renewing the lease, and she hasn’t mentioned where she’s headed. So where should I go to find her when I return to my home country?

Is this total disconnection?

If it were a general person who went missing, I could still report the case to the police and locate the individual; however, since my mother and father were bound together, I was unable to report the incident.

I was so anxious that I felt dizzy and kept pacing around the room, trying to calm myself down.

I told myself it would be alright, not to worry, just wait a little longer, they need time to settle down in a new place.

I feel dizzy all day, glued to my phone and haven’t even eaten.

Then shift your focus and get some food first.

Open the fridge, and there are only eggs.

I stared at the eggs.

No onions.

I couldn’t help crying at that moment.

I haven’t had my mother’s signature scallion and egg stir-fry in ages.

I curled up on the sofa and cried at my phone.

After weeping for a long time, I was utterly exhausted and soon drifted back to sleep.

I fall asleep in reality and wake up in dreams.

The sweltering heat, the incessant cicada chirps, and the glaring sunlight made it impossible for me to open my eyes.

It was a summer noon when I was five years old.

My father sat under the eaves, teaching me to solve the nine-linked rings.

He demonstrated the solution to me, explaining each step in detail, yet I never managed to grasp it.

The father said that the nine-linked rings are interlocked, and the rings are connected by a ring rod, and the nine rings are stacked on a hollow ring handle, forming a complex structure.

When solving the nine-linked ring puzzle, one should start from the ninth ring instead of the first one.

He said that sometimes life is like a nine-linked chain, with many unavoidable events strung together like rings, dragging one forward step by step. Only by untangling these interlocking links can one truly see the hidden, enduring essence that runs through it all.

All this had been foreshadowed to me in the year I was five years old.

My father looked up, his eyes fixed on me, and his tone suddenly changed. He said another thing.

His expression was solemn and profound, not the kind one would expect from a living person, but rather that of a lifeless clay statue.

But I don’t feel scared anymore.

No longer afraid of his expression, I heard his voice.

His voice was anxious and stern.

“Ah Hui, you must save your mother!”

I woke up suddenly and rolled off the sofa.

Something is wrong. There must be a problem here!

I have always believed that dreams can guide people.

Although I subconsciously sensed something was amiss over the years, I remained reluctant to delve into the matter. On one hand, I placed too much trust in my mother; on the other, I subconsciously numbed myself to the reality.

Now I have to think about it!

I turned on my computer and booked the earliest flight back home.

I need to hurry home to check. Maybe my mother just changed her number and hasn’t left yet, so I might still catch her.

After a grueling ten-hour flight, my feet felt light and unsteady when I touched down.

I didn’t care about my exhaustion and immediately bought a train ticket, rushing home without a moment’s rest.

Finally home! The door lock still worked. I was overjoyed, opened the door, and called out ‘Mom’.

Mom, Mom…

I went to every room and called out ‘Mom,’ but there was no response anywhere.

I always feel that my mother will come out from the next corner and say, “You’re back. It’s time to wash your hands and have a meal.”

But there was nothing but a cold, empty house.

Mother has passed away, and it is too late.

The house was immaculate, yet dust had settled on the dining table and coffee table.

All the clothes are in the wardrobe, only one pair of shoes is missing from the shoe cabinet, the suitcase is there, and there’s still cash in the bedside table drawer.

If it’s really an emergency requiring immediate departure, why is the house so dusty as if it hasn’t been inhabited for three or four months?

If you’re really going to be away for a long time, why don’t you pack your bags?

I stood in the middle of the living room, completely lost my ability to think.

My mother disappeared from my world so suddenly.

I remember the year I lost my father. I was very young, and his departure gave me a great blow. I became insecure, anxious about gains and losses, and always afraid of losing my mother again.

Whenever my mother went out to buy groceries, I insisted on accompanying her. When she had to go to work, I would drag her hand backward, sit on the ground, and throw a tantrum to prevent her from leaving.

No matter how much I would throw tantrums that year, Mother had to go out when she was supposed to. But no matter how long she was away, she would always return before nightfall.

But this time is completely different.

The mother said not to contact for two years. How many years are two years? Is it truly two years, or an indefinite imaginary number?

Or is the statement itself deceptive?

Will she contact me tomorrow or never?

I don’t know, my heart feels hollow, floating in mid-air with no anchor, only panic.

Mom, how could you bring yourself to leave me in such a difficult situation… What exactly happened?

In a hazy state, I felt a massive clock ticking backward hanging over my head, telling me that time was running out.

I can’t just stand by and do nothing.

I rummaged through my home for clues.

I dug up a bunch of old books—accounting manuals, English textbooks, and travel magazines that my mother used to read.

The past came back to me: I saw my mother’s silhouette working late into the night under the lamp to prepare for her accounting certification exam, her expression at ease as she mopped the floor while listening to the radio, and her animated face as she read vocabulary from my English textbook…

I kept crying, wiped it off with my sleeve, and continued to flip through the pages.

The things I dug up only brought back memories and made me even more miserable.

Until I found a notebook at the bottom of the drawer.

As I read through the entire document, a particular page caught my attention.

I jotted down the names of four people, along with their workplaces and addresses.

Two of them had uncommon surnames, but I recognized them instantly.

This is likely the contact information of the parents of those classmates who bullied me in junior high school.

When I was bullied back then, my mother went to my school to demand an explanation, but the parents just brushed it off. Later, those classmates escalated their bullying even more. I was so helpless that I even considered dropping out.

But then one day, my classmates suddenly grew afraid of me, and their parents came back to apologize to me one by one.

The mother said that the father had taught them a lesson for me. Is this really the case?

One parent works at the county post and telecommunications bureau, which appears to be the most stable job among the four. Perhaps after all these years, she is still working there.

So I grabbed my notebook and immediately boarded the bus to the county town.

Just in time before sunset, I arrived at the post office and waited for the woman to finish her shift.

She didn’t recognize me and only remembered when I finished.

“Hey, Yao, is that your mom?”

The woman’s expression was grim: “You’re asking me what happened back then—why don’t you ask your mother? Has your mother’s mental illness been cured?”

I gritted my teeth and said, “You’re the one with a mental illness! Clean up your mouth!”

“You think I’m cursing?” The woman glared, pointing at her head. “Your mother is insane—she said it herself, and there’s even a medical record to prove it.”

medical record ……

I searched my home and found no medical records.

She continued: “That day after I left work, she blocked me in the alley, threatening me with a knife. She said she was mentally ill and that killing was not illegal. If my child bullied you again, she would kill him. She even held up her medical records in front of me, insisting on showing them to me. I was almost scared to death. That look in her eyes was terrifying—she was just a madwoman.”

“This…” I shook my head repeatedly, momentarily at a loss for words, until finally uttering, “This is impossible. My mother… how could she have a mental illness?”

How could I know? You should ask her yourself. I was so terrified that I couldn’t even read the medical records, but she stood there with a limp, her hair disheveled, holding a knife—it was truly horrifying. Hey, how did you get away?

I didn’t hear her finish and ran away.

I ran all the way to the bus terminal, searching for each stop sign. Thankfully, the bus that used to run to the town was still in service.

After driving from the city to the mountains for an hour, we arrived at our destination, and it was already dark.

I ran to the gate of my primary school and found the gatekeeper.

The middle-aged guard eyed me warily: “School’s out. Who are you looking for? You’re sweating profusely. What’s going on?”

I swallowed hard and asked, “Where is that old man? The one who used to be the doorman here over a decade ago? I need to ask him something.”

The man said, “That’s my dad. He’s at home. I’ll call you. Don’t worry yet. Have some water.”

Call connected —

“Gift? What gift… Oh, you mean that red box with green ribbons? That was over a decade ago,” the old man said on the phone. “It was Police Officer Xiao Lu who brought it, for a young girl. He even said not to mention he was the one who got it…”

“Police officer Lu… Is that him?” I muttered, “Where is he now?”

“He’s still at the county police station, now the chief.” The guard checked the time. “It’s not off-duty yet. Go on, girl—you must have something urgent.”

“Right, I have an urgent matter to attend to. Thank you.”

I sprinted to the county police station and told the receptionist I wanted to see Officer Lu.

The front desk officer noticed my disheveled appearance and realized I was in trouble. He kept asking what was wrong, saying he could help me out.

I said you couldn’t solve it, so I had to call Officer Lu. Please help me get him.

My mouth felt sticky, my throat was hoarse, and I was raising my voice so high that I sounded almost hysterical.

The police took me to the reception room and then called for help.

Lu the police officer rushed over and, seeing my shocked expression, said, “Ah Hui, you’re back? Your mother… she…”

“My mom had an accident, didn’t she? Can you tell me where she is?”

The police officer hesitated and did not say anything.

So I asked him, “Was that Christmas present I got as a kid actually yours?”

This secret is less important than the higher-level secrets that cannot be spoken.

Lu’s mother asked me to buy it, the police officer said. I happened to be in the city for a training exchange at the time. She told me you were feeling down at school and wanted to surprise you to cheer you up and get attention from your classmates. So she asked me to get a nice gift in the city—one that looked like Santa’s present. I didn’t pick carefully; I just bought whatever was popular among the locals.

She is also a mother.

She openly told me not to care about others, but she knew I wanted friends.

I can’t think too much, I just want to find her.

“Where is my mother? Please tell me!” I cried.

The Lu police officer hesitated for a moment, sighed, and then spoke.

He said his mother was arrested.

One ordinary afternoon not long ago, the mother came forward and confessed to being the real culprit in the 2000 murder and dismemberment case. The police officer who received her initially thought she was joking, but her serious expression suggested otherwise. The officer promptly reported the incident.

Upon learning of the incident, Police Officer Lu initially refused to believe the report but proceeded to take the individuals out of custody as per standard protocol. The mother then escorted them to our family’s basement and identified the crime scene.

Police in Lu discovered a severed finger in a basement.

The on-site investigation revealed numerous bone fragments in the cellar, with the muddy floor soaked in blood. When the lamp was turned on, the entire area was pitch black.

DNA analysis confirmed that these bone fragments belonged to Chen Shu, the victim of the unsolved case from over a decade ago.

The mother was arrested on suspicion of murdering Chen Shu and is currently in custody.

However, why did Officer Lu find the little finger? That little finger was clearly discovered by me during my second year of high school. Later, my mother said she would handle it and took it away.

During my sophomore year, I returned to the cellar to collect soil and bone fragments, which was discovered by my mother. She instructed me not to interfere, stating that she would find an opportunity to fill the cellar. However, this delay persisted until my graduation in my senior year.

Before my departure abroad, I repeatedly instructed her to fill the cellar, yet she still failed to do so, and she preserved the cellar in good condition.

The mother had no intention of destroying the evidence or burying it in the cellar. She deliberately returned the fractured finger bone to its original position.

When the incident came to light, the townspeople were utterly shocked. No one could have imagined that a frail, lame woman—her mother—would kill a tall man and even dismember him.

The mother confessed to her crime and described in detail how she killed and dismembered the victim.

In the autumn of 1998, under his mother’s inducement, Chen Shu secretly came to my home. His mother made him drink strong liquor until he passed out, then dragged him to the entrance of the cellar and pushed him down the stairs.

She bound the man to a chair and confined him in a dark, claustrophobic cellar for several days, driving him to the brink of insanity. Then she killed him with a bone-scraping knife, dismembered his body with an axe and saw, and buried the parts in batches on the mountain.

During that period, my mother was on leave at home, not for reunification with my father, but to handle the body; the voice I heard at home was not my father, but Chen Shu.

My mother did all this alone. By day, she dismembered the body in the cellar, and by night, she wiped the blood from her face and hands, then cooked my favorite dish—scallion-fried eggs—and asked how I was doing at school.

After she had finished handling the body parts, she turned around and asked Officer Lu to bring me Christmas gifts from the city.

20

I have been with my mother since I was a child, but I never seem to have known her.

But my heart was surprisingly calm.

As the dearest person to me, I felt no fear even when hearing such a cruel crime. To others, she was a mentally ill person and a murderer, but to me, she was just a mother.

She is still alive and currently in a safe condition, which is a positive development. As for her alleged murder, there must be underlying circumstances involved. Given the remaining time, I can devise appropriate measures.

The police officer said: “This case has remained unsolved for over a decade. No one suspected her involvement until now. She has only admitted guilt, refusing to express remorse or disclose her motives. In other words, she merely provided an objective account of how she carried out the murder, omitting all subjective considerations.”

Her only mitigating factor was voluntary surrender, but such a thing is best done as early as possible. She delayed for over a decade before surrendering, and by then it was of little use. If she could point out the victim’s faults, it would have been more helpful. I, the lawyer, and even the prosecutor repeatedly asked her, but she ignored us all, as if she had no attachment to this world and was solely seeking death. She only begged me not to tell you, saying that telling you would do no good and only make you sad. But this matter is too big.

A sudden jolt of pain shot through my mind. “Where have we come to?”

The police officer couldn’t bear to see my expression, so he closed his eyes and said, “The trial has concluded. The murder and dismemberment were extremely cruel methods of committing the crime. After being on the run for so many years, he was sentenced to death in the first trial.”

What’s the problem? Chen Shu isn’t exactly a good guy, but killing him would be a good deed for the people!

Chen Shu was indeed not a good person and was even wanted by the authorities at the time. However, no matter how heinous a person is, if they are murdered, the truth must be uncovered. Because all people are equal before the law, he also has the right to be treated as a human being, and his right to life is protected by the law. He committed a heinous act and should be punished by the law, not illegally deprived of his life.

I get what Officer Lu meant, but when it comes to your own family, you can’t be so objective.

The police officer said, “Don’t worry. There are still two months left in the death penalty review process, so you have time. Since you’re back, take this opportunity to persuade your mother. She might not be able to bear seeing you.”

“She never wanted me to know. My sudden appearance might upset her. I still have time to figure this out.” Suddenly, I remembered the woman at the post office’s words. “Uncle Lu, did you know my mother had a mental illness?”

I understand your desperate desire to save your mother, but this approach is unfeasible. She lacks the capacity for such actions, as her cognitive reasoning is clearly impaired, having undergone forensic psychiatric evaluation.

“She doesn’t have it now, but maybe she had it before? You probably don’t know. I need to find someone who does.”

I said this and got up to go out.

“Who else are you looking for?” Officer Lu stopped me. “Ah Hui, it’s already late. You’re exhausted. Your body can’t handle this. How will you help your mother then? I’ll take you out for dinner now, then get some rest. We’ll discuss the rest tomorrow.”

When Lu the police officer mentioned this, I realized how exhausted and hungry I was. I’d been running all day without even catching up on jet lag.

I just see the clock on my head, which tells me to go faster, faster, so I keep running.

I steadied myself, remembering that Officer Lu must still know some things about the town, so I followed him to have dinner.

I wonder if my father is still alive. Did he pretend to die during the 1996 Tangkou Warehouse explosion?

After walking long distances and consulting many people today, I already had a premonition in my heart.

But I still want an exact answer.

“Uncle Lu, do you know Qin Fang?”

“Qin Fang?” The police officer Lu looked surprised when I mentioned his name. “He was a former worker at the fireworks factory, but he’s not related to your family. What do you want to ask him?”

“I heard about this person when I was a child, but I can’t recall the specific incident. I just wanted to ask.”

Qin Fang went missing in 1994. Many suspected Chen Guang was responsible, but with no evidence, it was only classified as a disappearance. It wasn’t until 1999, when the fireworks factory was raided, that Chen Guang’s subordinates identified the burial site. We then learned he had been dead there all along, and the estimated time of his death was around the same year he went missing.

“1994? How come I remember it as 1996…”

“It was 1994.”

“Really not 1996? Uncle Lu, please think about it carefully.”

Of course not. I hadn’t even graduated when Qin Fang went missing. I heard about it from my parents. You were just a few years old back then—how could you possibly remember the exact year?

Yeah, I was just a kid back then, so what kind of lasting impression could I possibly have?

According to the mother’s account, Qin Fang was killed by Chen Guang’s men in 1996 for reporting a fireworks factory colluding with small workshops. Subsequently, Chen Shu lured his father to the warehouse, knocked him out, and framed him for the murder. The father escaped by staging a fake death through an explosion.

Yet Qin Fang died in 1994, his body buried in the mountains and forests, vanishing without a trace until his body was discovered in 1999. This is completely unrelated to the 1996 warehouse explosion.

—So Attorney Lu, you’re absolutely right. This is exactly how the mafia operates. They act with utter impunity, showing no regard for the scheming of us ordinary folks. They simply kill and bury us without hesitation.

Qin Fang is dead, but it has nothing to do with my father.

His case and my father’s are completely separate matters, occurring two years apart.

21

I finally realized that none of them were my father.

The person who killed Chen Shu in the cellar was not my father; the one who protected me from further bullying was not my father; the one who gave me a Christmas gift was not my father.

Only the body after the warehouse explosion was really the father.

During my second year of high school, I stumbled upon the cellar’s secret. During the brief two-hour drive back from the county town to the city, my mother had already crafted the lie she’d spun for me.

As Police Officer Lu noted, I was still a child back then, and many events in the town left me with only vague impressions. My mother, being exceptionally cunning, manipulated time and fabricated non-existent information. By combining these with my childhood experiences, she distorted reality into a mix of truth and falsehood, exploiting my hazy memories to deceive me.

She had a thorough understanding of my psychological state and knew exactly what I was most inclined to believe. I was most willing to accept the notion that my father was not dead and that he was a good person. Consequently, she catered to my desires, making it easier for me to accept her so-called truth, diverting my attention, and focusing my focus on myself rather than pursuing further inquiries.

From childhood to adulthood, I often failed to heed my mother’s teachings, but that particular time I fully absorbed her words.

22

There is one more important thing in a mother’s lie.

She said it was her father who did it, but she brushed it off, and I didn’t press it further.

Uncle Lu, how did the fireworks factory collapse in 1999? Did someone bring the complaint materials to the provincial authorities, which then launched an investigation?

“No. If following the standard procedure, it wouldn’t be that swift. To expedite the process, one must generate substantial public opinion impact. In 1999, communication was underdeveloped and the internet hadn’t yet become widespread. Spreading a message was challenging, let alone creating significant public opinion influence.”

So how did you manage to influence public opinion outside back then?

There’s a clever trick to make this issue go viral in other provinces without even leaving the town. You’ve probably seen those colorful paper fireworks we often set off here. After the fireworks go up, not only do they rise into the sky, but also the red and green paper fragments fly everywhere.

At that time, fireworks from the factory were distributed to major provinces and cities. After local businesses and commercial plazas set off fireworks, many of the colored papers that fell were inscribed with concise descriptions of the factory’s crimes. The scandal surrounding the fireworks factory became widely publicized across the country during that period. Many people picked up these papers that had fallen to the ground and saw the details.

Although public opinion was quickly brought under control, it still caused significant impact. The provincial inspection team arrived unexpectedly at that time, and I only learned the reason later during an external exchange and study session. It must be said that the worker who tampered with the colored paper was quite clever and indeed put considerable effort into it.

“So… who did it?”

As I asked, my thoughts drifted back to a long time ago.

When I was in elementary school, my mother would often spend evenings buried in her desk, writing and drawing. She said she was studying the notes from the Party secretary…

Police in Lu stated: “I don’t know who did it. But in the entire town, I’ve only met one person with unconventional thinking—your mother.”

Back in my school days, she and I were classmates. Though she excelled academically, a heated argument with her teacher led to her expulsion. She then returned home to marry and retreated into seclusion. I once thought she had changed—yet perhaps she never did.

Yes, the mother has never changed, and the solutions she comes up with are not ordinary.

She did many things in silence, and with these things she shaped a father who did not exist.

But upon closer reflection, Father was not the type. He was steady and down-to-earth, with no particular taste for life. He had no interest in the fireworks factory—he simply wanted to live a simple, honest life.

Giving Christmas gifts, threatening people with knives, or reporting fireworks factories—none of these actions seem to be typical of a father.

My father had been gone for too long, and I could no longer recognize his features. In my mind, he had become nothing more than a vague obsession. I prided myself on loving my father deeply, but in truth, all these years, what I might have truly wanted was merely a feeling, an answer.

My mother understood my thoughts, but I couldn’t keep up with her train of thought, so I was left with no choice but to be deceived.

The police officer suddenly remembered something. “You said your mother had a mental illness. What’s your evidence?”

After careful consideration, I stated: “In the year my father passed away, I suffered a profound psychological trauma. My mother took me to the town for medical consultation, where the local physician recommended city-level treatment. However, my mother contended that I was still too young for such documentation and that psychiatric medication would be inappropriate. Ultimately, she resolved to study psychology independently at home, which unexpectedly led to my recovery.”

Looking back now, why was my mother so familiar with the consequences of psychotherapy? Why were there mental health books in our otherwise normal household? Our town didn’t have any available. The only possibility is that she had used them before and brought them back from elsewhere.

Officer Lu pondered for a moment and said, “That makes sense. If He Yao really had this kind of illness, it would likely have occurred after she was expelled from school. At that time, she ran away from home and broke her leg, which must have been a severe blow. If we could find her medical records from the hospital where she was treated, we might learn the details. But this shouldn’t be helpful in this case, as her current mental state is normal, and she has full criminal responsibility capacity.”

“Could it be useful?” I asked urgently. “My grandparents are both gone. Who else knows which hospital my mother was treated at back then?”

The police officer stated: “At that time, He Yao had withdrawn from school due to illness and had completed some formalities. Our homeroom teacher should be aware of the hospital where she underwent bone treatment. However, it is not necessarily known which hospital she received psychological care.”

That’s enough.

The fact that the mother suffered from mental illness was unknown to outsiders, which was undoubtedly deliberately concealed by her grandfather in an attempt to avoid affecting her marriage prospects. At the time, the mother had a broken leg and could not afford to visit multiple hospitals. It was highly likely that both the leg amputation and the psychological evaluation were performed at the same hospital, thereby further concealing the truth.

The hospital in question should be a general hospital. I am aware that my mother went to the city to receive the leg amputation, but there are several general hospitals in the city.

Thinking of these things, I feel very anxious and want to find my mother’s homeroom teacher immediately, but my body is really too tired.

I slept soundly in a town hotel and found my mother’s homeroom teacher’s house the next morning at the address given by Police Officer Lu.

The homeroom teacher is advanced in age, with graying hair that makes him appear older than his years, and his mind has also grown hazy.

Yet even in his confusion, he managed to utter a resolute answer with slurred speech.

“The Third Hospital… it’s the Third Hospital…”

I got the answer and immediately got up to go to the city.

But when I reached the door, the homeroom teacher called me back.

“Happy birthday, Yao…”

I turned around and asked, “What are you calling me?”

He Yao, you’re right. It was the teacher’s mistake. I’m sorry.

The homeroom teacher stared at me with a sorrowful expression, speaking clearly.

Because of that little thing, a student’s bright future was ruined, and he suffered a lot afterwards.

He looked at me with a longing, pleading look, hoping to get a response from me.

It looks pathetic.

I really want to go over and say to him, ‘It’s okay, it’s been so long.’

But why should I forgive on my mother’s behalf?

So I didn’t say anything and left.

I ran all the way to the bus stop.

After passing by the town’s breakfast shop and tailor shop, the auntie from the shop came out and called me.

They had worked briefly as colleagues with their mother, who had gone to a fireworks factory.

I didn’t have time to talk to them, just waved and kept walking.

After passing by the town’s grain and oil store, I spotted Uncle Zhang.

He was gentle and friendly, much like his father in temperament, and was one of his mother’s potential matches after his father’s death.

He also asked me about my mother.

I was in a hurry and didn’t want to say more.

Uncle Zhang said, “Your mother has been keeping something in her heart for a long time.”

I stopped and turned around. “What do you mean?”

Shortly after her father’s death, she started matchmaking. She claimed she was incapable and alone, insisting she needed a man. She said I was a good person, and I genuinely wanted to date her, but she soon found some excuse to reject me. Truth be told, she never really wanted to go on a blind date in the first place—it was all a show.

put on an act ？

What does it look like, and who is it for?

In my quest for the truth, my father’s image faded into the background, while my mother’s presence grew ever more vivid.

From childhood to adulthood, I never truly knew her. She presented herself in a monotonous way—a mother who loved lecturing others. Yet she seamlessly blended into my life, growing alongside me year after year.

Her presence was so natural that it lost its significance in my original life. I never imagined I would one day seek to understand her.

Now I piece together a more complete picture of her from various accounts, yet the more I learn, the more elusive she becomes.

What did she go through?

I rushed back from the county town to the city and arrived at the Third Hospital.

The mother’s medical records from that year are still within the retention period, but as patient privacy, I have no access to them due to the hospital’s refusal to assist with retrieval. The attending physician from that period has also passed away.

I pleaded, and the hospital understood my pain, but procedures are procedures.

have gained nothing 。

When I left the hospital, it was already dark.

I wandered through the city streets at night, utterly disoriented, gazing at the countless lights and weeping uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came from the distance. I was startled and looked around—it was fireworks.

Today is the Eve of the Lunar New Year. People gather by the river in small groups to watch the fireworks, with laughter and joy filling the air.

Only I, hearing the sound of fireworks, was filled with fear.

I listened to my heartbeat, thump, thump, thump, getting faster and faster.

Yet I didn’t flee. My gaze remained fixed on the fireworks in the sky, and I dragged my heavy steps along the river toward them.

People avoided me like ghosts.

With my disheveled hair and distracted mind, I must look utterly disheveled.

I came to a bridge under which I could no longer move, so I sat down.

I stared blankly at the river shimmering with fireworks, my mind in a whirlwind of fragmented memories, each moment flashing by like a carousel.

Mother, she pushed me farther and farther away—until I reached the age of independence, until I stood on the other side of the ocean, so she could quietly end it all.

On the day I was about to leave for abroad, my mother held my hand tightly and couldn’t help crying, saying she couldn’t bear to part with me.

When I entered the security checkpoint, Yu Guangzhong noticed his mother was still there.

She peered in from outside, tiptoeing, desperately searching for my figure lost in the crowd.

When visibility failed, he would sidestep, limping through one security checkpoint after another…

I tried to wave back at her, but the crowd shoved me, making me stumble and disappear from view. I could only keep walking farther away.

I thought to myself that it was all right, my mother was not alone, she was not alone.

But is she really not alone?

She was clearly alone.

My father had died, and we had been living together as mother and daughter.

At that airport farewell, I was still gazing foolishly at the unknown future, while for her, it was the final meeting—forever parting with her daughter.

I said I’d take her to the U.S. for fun, but she didn’t even respond.

She sent me away, and then she turned around to face her fate alone.

No matter how reluctant she was, she didn’t reveal a single word to me.

Finally, my father reminded me.

All this had been foreshadowed in the summer of my fifth year.

My father was solving the nine-linked puzzle when he suddenly looked up and stared at me intently.

His expression was alien, not the kind you’d expect from a living person, but I was no longer afraid.

I may have known subconsciously that my father had indeed passed away.

“Ah Hui, you must save your mother!”

My father’s words were like a command that suddenly struck me at the age of five.

I waved to my father, who waved back, and off I ran like a little horse.

I ran past the houses in my hometown, through the town’s breakfast shops, tailor shops, and fireworks factories, past the electronics factory, junior high school, and library in the county town, and through the city’s People’s Park and high school…

With each step farther, I grow a little older. For over a decade, year after year, I’ve run, all to find my mother’s figure.

But I can’t find her.

The father said that the nine-linked ring puzzle doesn’t start with the first ring, but with the ninth one.

And so I understood, and began to run back—back to my homeland, back to the city, back to the county, back to the small town, back to my original home.

Back to the beginning of time.

I untied the rings from back to front, until the very beginning of time.

What exactly happened on the night of the 1996 fireworks warehouse explosion?

Why did Father go to the warehouse that night?

Why did Mother come back from the warehouse?

That was a story only they two had lived through, only they knew. The father had passed away, and the mother refused to speak of it.

I crouched under the bridge arch, listening to the deafening firework explosions, my eyes tightly shut.

Dad, just remind me one more time.

Please help me again! I really can’t figure out how to solve the nine-linked ring puzzle. How do I open the last ring?

Dad, what happened that night?

At the river’s end, clusters of fireworks burst into the sky, their reflections dancing on the water’s surface, turning the entire world into a kaleidoscope of colors.

Amidst the deafening roar of fireworks, I fell into a painful slumber.

So I woke up in a dream in 1996.

I was lying in bed and my mother tucked me in.

She sighed and muttered to herself, “What’s going on? Why hasn’t your father come back yet…”

I didn’t think much about it at the time, but in a daze, I suddenly remembered something that happened during the day.

“Mom.” I opened my eyes. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

「 What’s up ？」

Before night fell, I was out playing when Uncle Chen from the fireworks factory passed by. He gave me two firecracker sticks and a note asking me to pass it on to you.

When I got back, I put the note on the table and forgot about it. Mom, did you see the note? What was written on it?

“No, I didn’t see the note,” the mother said in a daze.

“Then you’ll have to look again…” With that, I dozed off.

I was too young to read at that time, so I had no idea what Chen Shu had written.

That wasn’t the first time Chen Shu asked me to deliver a note to his mother—there had been one before.

These memories were later forgotten due to the mother’s psychological intervention.

Lawyer Lu, you’re absolutely right. It was indeed unreasonable for Chen Shu to ask me to relay the message to his father.

What Chen Shu wanted to convey was actually the mother.

This is completely contrary to what my mother said.

Something must have happened between the mother and Chen Shu.

23

“Lawyer Lu, I’ll explain the rest later. Right now, please help me!” Zhong Hui pleaded urgently.

After some thought, I asked, “Would you like me to meet He Yao and ask her about the truth of 1996?”

“Yes,” Zhong Hui nodded vigorously. “I can form a rough hypothesis based on the sequence of events, but it still requires verification. Only my parents know what actually happened in the warehouse in 1996. My father is no longer with us, and my mother is the only one who knows the truth. Please meet with my mother and ask her. Additionally, we need to retrieve her medical records from the Third Municipal Hospital from a much earlier period.”

I sighed and said, “I promise you, but the outcome is unlikely to be as you wish. Retrieving the medical records is straightforward, but the crux lies in the events of 1996—your mother would never disclose them. What she was willing to say was already stated long ago; why delay until now? Her sole intention is to seek a death sentence.”

No, she wasn’t driven by a desire for death, but simply indifferent to it. If she had truly wanted to die, she would have gone to the extreme, leaving no room for leniency. In that case, she wouldn’t have turned herself in—instead, she’d have let others discover the evidence and file a report, like pretending to ask someone to fill the cellar and having an assistant find the missing half of her little finger there.

“Mom won’t say anything. She just knows that no matter what she says, it’s meaningless—so much has passed, everyone involved is gone, and there’s no evidence. Since she’s not afraid of death, there’s no point in saying more. The sentence has already been handed down, and for her, it’s all over. She might not refuse to speak. Attorney Lu, I’m sure you can handle this.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

“Out of caution, please do not disclose that I have returned to my home country and met you,” Zhong Hui reminded.

24

The matter concerning Zhong Hui was temporarily concluded. I arranged for her to stay at a nearby hotel and contacted the detention center to request a meeting with He Yao the following day.

That night, I went through the case file twice more. It felt like a quick read, since apart from the cold, hard evidence, there was hardly any substantive content.

I contacted Lu Lingyi, the former colleague in charge of this case, to discuss today’s developments with him.

When the call connected, I asked him where he was going on a business trip.

He mentioned a place name, and it turned out to be the small town where Zhong Hui’s hometown was located.

I said, “I thought you were on a business trip for another case, but it turned out to be this one. Xiao Lu, I remember you said this case was hopeless back then.”

“It was for another case, but since this town is nearby, I stopped by to check it out.” Lu Lingyi paused, sighing deeply. “I truly couldn’t accept this. At first, I thought there was no hope—evidence was irrefutable, the murder was brutally cold-blooded, and He Yao remained completely silent, offering no clues. I thought I had no other choice but to accept it. But after the trial, I felt deeply distressed. I kept thinking I still needed to investigate further.”

People don’t act solely on reason. Old Lu, you know what? He Yao struck me as eerily familiar, reminding me of another He case three years ago. I instinctively felt people with this surname were extraordinary. That defendant was sentenced to death for murder. Despite mitigating circumstances, he refused to confess and only revealed the truth three days before trial, even terminating his contract with me. When I later sought evidence, I discovered it had been destroyed—permanently erased after fifteen years. He had no attachments, only a desperate will to die. His actions were utterly ruthless. I could only help with his funeral arrangements.

But He Yao is different. She confessed to the crime and has a daughter. I can’t believe she was completely blank-eyed when facing death.

Lu Dingyi then recounted that after his meeting with Officer Lu, the latter proposed a new direction. He Yao might have been diagnosed with mental illness at the Third Municipal Hospital over a decade ago. Although it was uncertain whether this had any relevance to the current case, further investigation into the defendant’s family circumstances and upbringing could provide valuable insights, which would serve as supplementary material for drafting the sentencing investigation report.

He said they were preparing to leave for the Third Municipal Hospital.

The new direction of Lu Police should be inspired by Zhong Hui. Zhong Hui relentlessly pursued her goals until she hit a wall and then sought help from judicial authorities. She remained trapped in her own world, believing she was fighting alone, unaware that many others actually wanted to assist her.

In summary, I no longer need to go through the hassle of retrieving medical records; I only need to meet with He Yao tomorrow.

The next morning, I went to the meeting room at the detention center.

While waiting for He Yao, a text message from Lu Lingyi arrived on the phone, confirming that the medical records from the Third Hospital had been retrieved.

After reading the text message, I was utterly shocked—it contained information far more critical than we had anticipated.

The corridor’s end echoed with unnatural footsteps. A gaunt woman limped toward me, dragging her feet with deliberate slowness and solemnity.

—Wait, are you already here? I haven’t even had time to process the new information.

My heart suddenly raced. I glanced down at my phone, then looked up at the woman, lowered my head again, and set it down, steadying my nerves.

I need to talk to He Yao as a lawyer who has only seen the case files. I have never met her daughter, nor have I seen this text message.

I’m a little nervous.

25

He Yao sat opposite me.

She was slender and emaciated, with a slightly arched back but an upright posture; her features exuded a dignified beauty, her face still youthful, yet her eyes held a calmness akin to that of one who has weathered countless trials.

After a brief self-introduction, I first verified the case facts with her according to the normal procedure and informed her of the death penalty review process.

When it comes to the facts of the case, He Yao merely states the time, place, and methods of the crime objectively, without any explanation or evaluation, and thus contains no subjective content.

After learning about the procedure of the review of death penalty, her expression was still calm, and there was no sign of joy or sorrow.

He Yao’s expression finally changed when I said,’ The court is obligated to notify your immediate family before executing the death penalty.’

She said: “I have cut off contact with my immediate family, so there is no need to notify them.”

I said, “The court will do its best to find her, but there’s nothing we can do if we can’t. I heard you have a daughter, right?”

He Yao did not answer.

I decided to cut straight to the chase: “Hey Yao, the trial is over—essentially, everything’s settled. But I’m left wondering: could you really kill someone without any reason?”

“Since you have nothing else to say, let’s wrap up this meeting,” He Yao said, preparing to stand up.

“Listen to me,” I said solemnly. “The trial phase of this case was handled by another lawyer. The verdict has been handed down, and during the death penalty review stage, he transferred your case to me. My responsibilities are minimal, and your death sentence will have little impact on me. I already have many tasks to attend to, but I’ll take the time to understand your motives—not out of curiosity, but for your own sake.”

“Thank you, you don’t need to worry about me,” He Yao said, adding earnestly, “This case is too old. Even if I mentioned the motive, there’s no evidence to back it up. The people involved back then are no longer around. It’s pointless to say it now—it won’t change anything. Why bother? Would you really believe empty words?”

I said: “At this point, you should look at this issue outside the legal framework. None of us believe it’s okay, but at least one person will believe it—that is your daughter.”

He Yao looked up and stared at me.

I think it should work.

“Don’t worry—we haven’t found your daughter,” I said, suppressing my racing heart. “Let me guess: You’ve been pushing your daughter to adulthood, hoping she’d leave you behind to live on her own, so you could finally face your destiny. You wanted to leave quietly, keep her from knowing who you really are, and stop her from coming back. You must have made arrangements—either cutting off her mother-daughter bond or lying to her. If it was the former, there’s no point in talking further. Let’s end this meeting now.”

He Yao did not respond, but remained seated without moving.

“So you lied to her, didn’t you?” I asked clearly. “Then I ask you—was your lie convincing enough? Could it make her believe you completely, and never look for you again?”

Of course, it was not perfect, and her two lies were both rushed.

The first lie claimed Zhong Yuanshan was still alive, but Zhong Hui had never seen her father or spoken to him for years. Over time, this would inevitably raise suspicions. By 2020, when her so-called statute of limitations expired, the lie would be exposed without a fight.

The second lie was that she would relocate with Zhong Yueshan and, as a precaution, sever all contact with Zhong Hui until the situation was stabilized. Such an excuse was purely intended to temporarily placate Zhong Hui, who would inevitably develop suspicions over time. In fact, Zhong Hui’s suspicions were aroused within mere days.

I know a lot about them, even if I can’t say it, I can guide her.

He Yao hung his head and did not answer me.

I believe you’re a devoted mother who handled everything well before this incident. But let me be clear—your current approach is utterly irresponsible. You’re simply avoiding her, trying to end your life while she’s still unaware. Have you ever considered what will happen after you die? Your lies may deceive her temporarily, but they can’t deceive her forever.

Once she realizes the truth, she’ll go mad searching for you and uncovering the truth. If your case had gone unnoticed, it might have been worse. But this case is too big—everyone in your town knows about it. Now that you’re arrested, the whole town knows. When your daughter returns to her hometown, she won’t even need to ask; the neighbors might tell her directly.

By then, do you want your daughter to believe the truth everyone’s spreading—that your mother is a monster who kills and dismembers people without cause—or do you want her to know you have a secret?

You tell me the truth. No evidence is no problem, we don’t believe it is no problem, but we can help you convey it to your daughter. She doesn’t need evidence, she will definitely believe her mother.

At least let her know that ‘my mother is not a bad person’. Sometimes, the reason for your departure is often more important than the fact that you have left.

I have the confidence to say this.

Having fabricated the first lie, He Yao understood better than I did that her daughter Zhong Hui still couldn’t come to terms with her father’s death years later. What mattered more was whether her father was the culprit stealing fireworks, so she crafted an image of a heroic father for her daughter.

He Yao was silent, and I waited nervously for her reply.

Finally, she gave in: “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

I clutched my phone, recalling the text message I’d just read. I already had a hunch.

The medical records indicate that He Yao left home in the middle of the night after being persuaded to withdraw, and it was not a case of breaking his leg by falling down a hillside.

She was raped en route.

This was the root cause of her mental stimulation in the past.

26

He Yao’s account

Lawyer Lu, the facts I’m about to share serve no purpose other than to rekindle my pain.

If you meet my daughter Zhong Hui after my death, please tell her with discernment.

Since childhood, I have longed to leave the mountains and refuse to spend my whole life in a remote county, living a life of emptiness and monotony.

I believe I am a valuable person who can rely on my own efforts to succeed, get into a university in the city, and make a difference.

To my parents, my worth was measured solely by my appearance. They feared I would vanish without a trace once I left the small town, and all they wanted was for me to marry a respectable family quickly and bring home a substantial dowry.

In 1990, I was forced to drop out of school for arguing with my teacher, which just happened to fulfill my father’s wish.

They were cutting off my way, and I couldn’t bear to stay in that house any longer. In a fit of rage, I fled the house at night.

I walked all the way to the deserted mountain path, only to realize I was being followed—by then, it was too late.

The man rushed over, covered my mouth, and restrained me from committing any inappropriate acts.

I struggled desperately to escape, which angered him.

He pushed me to the ground, placed my ankle on a stone, and then stomped on my calf, followed by several more kicks, until he broke my leg and was able to commit the violence.

I was in such excruciating pain that I wanted to die, yet I forced myself to open my eyes wide and, through the moonlight, made out his face.

Chen Shu, son of the director of a fireworks factory.

The townspeople had gone to bed early, but he was still out idling.

He saw me, and evil thoughts arose in his mind. He followed me all the way to the mountain path, raped me, and even broke my leg.

After that, I dragged my lame leg and couldn’t get out of the county town I wanted to leave for a long time.

27

Later, my father found me on the mountain.

He delusively demanded that Chen Shu take responsibility for me and marry me, but Chen Shu merely acted on a whim and would never marry me.

The father dared not insist, for the firework factory was a perilous venture. If the balance wasn’t carefully maintained, the entire family would be in grave danger.

Chen Guang stepped in to settle the matter privately and ordered Chen Shu to reflect on his actions, forbidding him from indulging in women again.

The case was not reported and ended there.

The townspeople were unaware of the incident, only knowing that I had run away from home in the middle of the night and broken my leg.

Later, my father took me to the Third Municipal Hospital for leg amputation, where I was hospitalized for a period of time.

The doctors at the third hospital noticed that my mental state was abnormal, so I was referred to the psychiatry department.

The psychiatrist conducted an examination for me and provided substantial psychological support. Due to my poor physical condition, she did not prescribe any medication.

After the leg was successfully repaired, I returned to the small town and ceased to seek further psychological care. Prior to my departure, the psychiatrist provided me with a substantial collection of psychological literature.

My parents worried about my marriage prospects, so they immediately arranged a match for me in town. After several rounds of matchmaking, I eventually married Zhong Yueshan, a worker at the fireworks factory.

After marriage, I dared not go out frequently and remained at home. Yue Shan treated me kindly, unaware of the hardships I had endured, and simply remained honest and supportive, gradually helping me overcome my psychological trauma.

I’ve always felt guilty for marrying him without telling him about it.

……

The turning point happened on the day when Yue Shan was beaten by the workers.

When he was beaten by workers at the factory, I couldn’t stand it and stormed straight to the fireworks workshop. I rarely went out, let alone headed that way.

I regretted it after that trip, because I saw Chen Shu in the factory.

Chen Shu gave me a half-smile, making my skin crawl. It was like being reunited after years, suddenly realizing I was still here.

I rushed home and didn’t dare to go out again.

But Chen Shu has already set his mind on me.

He was wary of his father. Chen Guang, aware of his past transgressions, forbade him from indulging in sensual pleasures, yet the more he suppressed it, the more he yearned for it.

As he passed through our village, he spotted my daughter playing outside and handed her two firecracker sticks, asking her to pass a note to me since she couldn’t read.

The note said:

Arrive at Tangkou Warehouse by 10 PM, otherwise inform Zhong Yueshan.

I fear Yue Shan will be heartbroken upon learning this, and I have no other recourse.

After falling asleep at night in the mountains, I took his keys and went to the Tangkou warehouse.

I endured tremendous physical and emotional pain, and once again, I gave in.

Subsequently, I experienced mental fatigue and lived in constant anxiety. Yue Shan noticed something amiss and repeatedly questioned me.

In the end, I told him the cause and effect.

That night, Yue Shan squatted by my doorstep, smoking for a long time. When he returned, he held me close and said not to worry—he would figure it out.

But I know I can’t think of anything right now.

Then the second note arrived.

My daughter was too busy playing and forgot to give me the note, so she just left it on the table when she came back.

I was busy in the kitchen and didn’t notice it at first, but Yue Shan spotted it when he came back from work.

At 9:30 p.m., Yue Shan mentioned he needed to attend to some warehouse matters and would check in.

I didn’t think much about it, but I was constantly uneasy when trying to put my daughter to sleep.

Before falling asleep, my daughter remembered what had happened earlier. She said Uncle Chen had left me another note, but she couldn’t recall where she had put it.

I had a bad feeling and searched the house, only to find a knife missing.

Finally, they found a crumpled note in the trash bin, which read—

Come to Tangkou Warehouse by 10 p.m., or I’ll have your daughter come.

Chen Shu is a beast.

Yueshan saw it and took the knife.

28

When I arrived at Tangkou Warehouse, I found Yue Shan lying there, covered in wounds, on the verge of death.

Chen Shu was not there, and the knife was taken away.

Yue Shan was too frail to stand a chance against Chen Shu, and was ultimately cut off his sword in the fight.

Chen Shu, realizing he had committed murder, rushed back to find someone to handle the aftermath. Meanwhile, I arrived at the warehouse.

Blood gurgled from the mouth of the mountain. He clutched my hand tightly and, with his last breath, said, “Don’t worry, go home quickly…”

I cried and said, “It was my fault that I hurt you, I failed you…”

I didn’t cry when Chen Shu dragged me into the woods, when he trampled my leg, or when he raped me. But when I saw Yue Shan collapse in a pool of blood, I wept uncontrollably.

I will not submit to this again. I swear to make Chen Shu pay for his blood debt.

But when you think about it, how difficult it is.

The weapon was confiscated, and I was the sole eyewitness to this homicide. Given the technological limitations at the time, I could not have imagined other evidence. So, if only my testimony remains, can it ultimately lead to Chen Shu’s conviction?

As the wife of Yue Shan, how much weight can my testimony carry?

The rape incident occurred years ago, which was later settled privately without reporting to the authorities. Had I reported it, the lack of sufficient evidence would likely have resulted in neither justice being served nor Chen Guang being appeased, ultimately causing harm to his entire family.

In this small town where a father and son run a fireworks factory with absolute control, filing a formal report through standard channels would not only fail to secure justice for Yue Shan, but also put my mother and me in grave danger.

Chen Guang could find a scapegoat to take the blame for Chen Shu, while Chen Shu only needed to sit in silence and reflect at home.

But we, the orphans and widows, cannot withstand their means of revenge.

I held Yue Shan’s body, utterly desperate and at a loss.

At that moment, I noticed Chen Shu had left cigarette butts at the scene, along with the warehouse overflowing with flammable and explosive materials.

At that moment, I was blessed with a revelation and came up with a solution.

That cigarette butt allowed Chen Shu to accept what was to come with ease, even bringing him a sense of relief.

I will help him with the aftermath.

I ransacked the warehouse’s fireworks, sending metal dust swirling into the air and triggering a dust explosion. The blast then set off a chain reaction, causing all the fireworks in the warehouse to explode.

I blew up the body of Yue Shan to cover up the knife wounds on his body.

I used an accident to conceal the true cause of death of the person I loved, in order to paralyze the murderer.

At the same time, he also hides his motive of revenge in the future.

Only when they are less vigilant will I, fighting alone, have a better chance of success.

After the incident, they smeared dirt on Chao Yueshan, and I accepted it.

I said Chen Guang was my benefactor, and gratefully accepted the compensation.

I quickly moved on to meet other men.

I had to work two jobs before I got into the fireworks factory.

I did this on purpose.

Through the details of daily life, I want everyone to know I have no resentment toward the fireworks factory. I’ve let go and accepted Yue Shan’s death, now embracing a new life.

I spent two years cleaning up my motivation for revenge.

Chen Shu, wary of his father, had always approached me discreetly, so no one knew of my past relationship with Chen Shu.

Chen Shu and I are two people with no connection.

Consequently, two years later, I murdered Chen Shu without anyone detecting the clues; another two years passed before the body was discovered, yet no one suspected any connection to me.

The police never considered my family as suspects.

After my husband’s passing, I struggled to make ends meet with my daughter. For years, I kept my head down and didn’t cross paths with the fireworks factory—not to mention Chen Shu even came to my rescue when I was in trouble.

In the last two years, the fireworks factory intensified its oppression on the people, and half of the town’s population probably hated Chen Shu, a hatred that was very equal.

A long line of suspicious people stood at the front. My family had no ties to the fireworks factory, yet we received some favors. Being vulnerable orphans and widows, we barely made a dent in their eyes.

Under the technological constraints of that era, concealing the motive for the crime years in advance could temporarily evade legal consequences.

But I have killed someone, and I have a burden in my heart. I know I must face judgment.

My daughter is still young and dependent on me, and I don’t have time to face death.

I will stay by her side until she no longer needs security, until she grows old enough to walk away from me and no longer needs my company.

I can then safely turn back and walk along the path I came to, back to the past.

I sealed the cellar and protected the scene.

Counting down the days until the day it finally opens.

29

After hearing He Yao’s story, I felt very heavy-hearted.

He Yao always looks forward to the future in front of her daughter, but her eyes are not on the future.

She was trapped in 1996 forever.

She concluded, “Lawyer Lu, you need not feel burdened after hearing this. Since I have committed murder, I can face the retribution of death with equanimity. Should you ever meet my daughter Zhong Hui, omit certain details and provide a brief explanation—this will spare her from guilt. She fears nothing more than remorse.”

But crucially, my objective is far from simple. I pursue the truth not merely to convey it to her daughter after her death, but to overturn the death sentence while there is still time.

As He Yao pointed out, the content she shared lacks evidence. So how should we interpret these claims?

It is universally acknowledged that Chen Shu is a notorious criminal and a wanted fugitive. Even if he is beyond redemption, he retains the right to be treated as a human being. He Yao’s unjustifiable use of cruel means to kill him must be held accountable.

But if Chen Shu had infringed upon He Yao, then the victim Chen Shu had obvious fault, infringed upon the defendant’s legitimate rights and interests, and the defendant He Yao could take this as an opportunity to reduce the sentence.

The only evidence now is the medical records.

The medical records do confirm that He Yao was raped at the time, but medical records are medical records, not police reports, and they do not explicitly state that the perpetrator was Chen Shu.

If the case had been reported initially, the police would have retained the information. However, no report was filed at that time.

The time has passed so long that all the people involved are gone—He Yao’s parents are dead, and so are Chen Guang and Chen Shu.

What other way could we prove that Chen Shu was the one who raped He Yao back then?

If there is no evidence to prove that Chen Shu raped He Yao, then it cannot be proven that the victim was at fault.

This cannot be regarded as a basis for recommendation of lenient sentence.

I was deeply troubled and could only relay the truth He Yao had told Zhong Hui.

After hearing this, Zhong Hui smiled with a sense of relief.

Lawyer Lu, the final bizarre twist is that I didn’t even know what the problem was when I already knew the answer.

「 what do you mean ？」

This was all thanks to my father’s mysterious reminder. He told me,’ Ah Hui, you must save your mother.’ Why did he say that? With my mother imprisoned, what power did I have to save her? I pondered for a long time, until suddenly a revelation struck me. I rushed home to retrieve the bone fragments and soil I had collected in the cellar years ago, brought them to my undergraduate university, and asked my advisor for help. After all, I was also a student of bioengineering…

After obtaining the answer, I was shocked yet still harbored doubts, as I needed the truth to verify it. Thank you, Attorney Lu, for uncovering the truth and validating the answer for me.

Zhou Hui’s words gave me a vague sense of something, though I couldn’t quite grasp it. I pressed further, “What exactly is your answer?”

Zhong Hui said, “Do you remember when I first said I wasn’t a witness, but evidence?”

What is the difference between witnesses and evidence?

The witness is a natural person, and the subject is subjective statement; while the evidence is objective object, and the subject is objective evidence.

If a person becomes a witness, it means that the person is an objective existence and can provide objective evidence.

At that moment, I finally understood.

30

The rest of the process was carried out step by step.

After Lu Dingyi returned, we immediately activated the emergency intervention mechanism, submitted the new evidence and defense opinions to the Supreme People’s Court as quickly as possible, and prepared a detailed sentencing investigation report.

One month later, the Supreme Court of China decided not to approve the death penalty, revoked the original judgment and sent the case back for a new trial, because the new evidence had a great influence on the sentence and new criminal facts had appeared.

When He Yao arrived at the court, her gaze was filled with confusion. I avoided her eyes.

During the trial, the prosecutor raised objections to the new evidence—specifically, He Yao’s medical records from 1990 at the Third Municipal Hospital—arguing that these records only demonstrated the defendant’s sexual assault that year, but could not prove that Chen Shu was the perpetrator.

Then I applied for a summons to call witness Zhong Hui to testify in court.

The moment she heard the name ‘Zhong Hui,’ He Yao’s body trembled violently. She stared at me in disbelief before slowly turning her head. There she stood—her daughter, who should have been far away in a foreign land, approaching step by step and now seated as a witness.

“Ask witness Zhong Hui to state the facts of the case as you know them.”

Zhong Hui stated: “Dear Judge, I am Zhong Hui, born in 1991, and I am 24 years old this year. I hereby present the facts of the case as I know them. In 1990, when my mother was only 13 years old, Chen Shu sexually assaulted her. This inflicted severe psychological trauma on my mother, which was the victim’s major fault and also served as the true motive for her committing the crime in this case eight years later.”

I wasn’t born in 1990, but I know that event actually happened, because I’m He Yao’s daughter…

She paused.

“She is also Chen Shu’s daughter.”

The scene was suddenly filled with whispers.

Subsequently, I produced a paternity test report and presented it to the court.

This is the paternity test report issued by the Public Security Forensic Identification Center. Through DNA identification and comparison, the conclusion confirms that Chen Shu is the biological father of Zhong Hui, thereby proving that Chen Shu had a sexual relationship with He Yao. Based on Zhong Hui’s age, it can be deduced that He Yao was under 14 years old when the sexual relationship occurred.

I looked at He Yao, her eyes lowered, her expression showing no surprise. She knew Zhong Hui was Chen Shu’s child.

I continued: “Additionally, we identified several healthcare professionals who were employed at the Third Municipal Hospital at the time. Due to the complexity of He Yao’s case, they still retained memories and provided testimony. It was confirmed that He Yao had indeed suffered sexual assault. They initially intended to report the incident to the police, but He Yao’s family strongly urged them to refrain. Considering various factors, they ultimately decided against reporting the case.”

One month after He Yao was hospitalized, the hospital discovered her pregnancy. Due to her poor physical condition, which made abortion surgery impossible, and her deteriorating mental state, the hospital was concerned about potential psychological trauma and thus did not disclose the pregnancy to her. Only her parents were informed, and the medication regimen was adjusted accordingly. Chen Shu raped the 13-year-old He Yao, resulting in her pregnancy. The child she gave birth to was Zhong Hui.

The Criminal Law of the People’s Republic of China stipulates that the rape of a minor girl under the age of fourteen shall be deemed as rape. The victim’s conduct was clearly at fault, thereby enabling the defendant to commit the criminal act. Therefore, leniency is requested.

The defendant voluntarily surrendered and truthfully confessed to the criminal acts. Although the surrender occurred fifteen years after the incident, which was indeed late, this does not imply a lack of remorse. Concerned about her young daughter’s lack of care, the defendant raised her to adulthood and independence before surrendering. For over a decade, she has consistently protected the crime scene and preserved evidence. Therefore, we respectfully request the court to consider the defendant’s voluntary surrender and repentance, and grant leniency in sentencing.

Based on the investigation of Lu Lingyi and Lu the police, I further analyzed the family environment, social environment and education experience of He Yao.

The defendant is a first-time offender with no prior criminal record. Our field investigations confirm that the defendant has always exhibited good character. The defendant’s family and social circumstances indicate that the criminal act was influenced by external factors rather than malicious intent. The motive for the crime was rooted in specific circumstances and not extreme malice. We respectfully request the court to exercise leniency in sentencing.

Of course, there is still a plot of aggravation, mainly because the defendant carried out the crime and then dismembered the body in order to temporarily cover up the crime.

The final presentation was soon to begin.

He Yao hung his head and did not speak for a long time.

The courtroom was so silent that the sound of a needle dropping could be heard. Everyone was waiting intently for He Yao to speak.

But she hesitated several times.

Zhou Hui looked at her anxiously and finally could not hold back.

She said with a sobbing voice—

“Mom, why don’t you speak?”

You seem to have no attachment to this world. Are you truly without any attachment? For all these years, you raised me to adulthood—was it just to abandon me at the very last moment?

Mom, why did you keep this from me? Why did you go to such lengths for me? I’m just the daughter of a rapist… Even if you couldn’t have me terminated, you should’ve abandoned me after birth. But you didn’t. You loved me all along. Now, fearing I’d be devastated to learn I’m not your daughter but the child of a bad man, you hid it from me and gave up your chance to live? Dad’s been gone for years—I can’t even remember his face, let alone anyone else. The only one I care about is you.

“Mom, you’re only 38 years old, still so young. Your daughter hasn’t taken you to see the snow-capped mountains of Xizang, to see the great waterfalls in Argentina, or to see the Northern Lights. The most beautiful things in this world that you’ve always dreamed of, you haven’t even seen yet. How can you bear to leave like this…”

Don’t leave me alone. I can’t live without you. Mom, please try your best, okay?

The mother, sitting in the defendant’s seat, was in tears.

Finally said: “Okay.”

32

The case has been a rollercoaster ride, but now it is finally over.

It all began with the 1990 massacre. He Yao emerged from the trauma with severe injuries, becoming timid and weak, refusing to resist.

Until the day her beloved died, she lost all support and finally became herself again, determined to fight to the end for her husband and daughter.

The new criminal facts, namely the explosion crime committed by He Yao in 1996, were not prosecuted by the prosecutor due to insufficient evidence.

Even if that is the real motive of He Yao.

Finally, the court fully considered the criminal motive of the defendant, the fault of the victim, the circumstances of voluntary surrender and the attitude of confession, and sentenced the defendant He Yao to death with two years’ suspension of execution for intentional homicide.

This means that as long as He Yao does not commit any intentional crimes during his probation period, he will automatically be reduced to life imprisonment after the two-year term.

Life imprisonment is not a life sentence. If the person is actively reformed and behaves well during the sentence, there is a chance to get a sentence reduction or parole, and thus be released early.

This is still a very long time, and it is the price she has to pay for her crime.

But no matter what, as long as people live, they have hope and expectation.

Life is precious and so rare, yet so many beautiful scenes remain unseen.

Fortunately, they still have a long time ahead.

End of text.

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