TTB C7

Chapter 7

4  “How is it? You able to keep up with the notes?”

He Lin glanced over Li Shang’s notebook. His handwriting was fast, sharp, and precise—every key detail and timepoint mentioned by Tang Aizhu had already been accurately jotted down.

He Lin knew: once domestic violence happens the first time, there will inevitably be a second. Abuse always escalates.

Hearing Tang’s testimony, He Lin could almost see it—the fading light in a woman’s eyes, dying a little more with every blow.

She too had once been young, believing she married for love. Yet in the end, all she entered was a cage called “home.”

Perhaps one day she simply failed to escape, dying under her husband’s hand. Or perhaps fleeing from home was her final struggle for survival.

He Lin asked: “And afterwards?”

Tang scratched his thinning hair: “Afterwards… once she was healed, she came to my place, repaid the money she’d borrowed. Not long after… she disappeared. That was the last time I saw her.”

The story of Tang Ailian waned to silence.

He Lin pressed: “At that final meeting, did she seem unusual? Say anything odd—for example, plans, meeting someone, things to do?”

Tang shook his head: “We only spoke a few minutes. She handed me the money, rushed away like she had something pending.”

“What kind of matter?”

He hesitated. “Don’t know.” Two years blurred memory.

He Lin asked: “To your knowledge, any friends? Possible contacts?”

Tang faltered. “Since her child died, our contact dropped. She didn’t really have friends—not that I know. Else she wouldn’t have come to borrow from me out of desperation.”

“What about Guo Mucun?”

Tang sneered: “That man? I wish him dead. Likes drinking, maybe drank himself to death somewhere.”

With little else, Wu probed further, but drew blanks.

As questioning ended, Tang’s gaze drifted to the apartment interior. He asked, calculating: “If my sister is still alive, does this house remain hers?”

Wu Yunsheng saw through him at once: “We’re police. We handle cases, not property disputes.”

Tang signed the deposition reluctantly.

Escorted to the door by Fang and Li Shang, he spun back: “This house—my sister spent her life’s savings on it. She lived half her life in moldy walls with that man. At least this one place should belong to her.”

He Lin advised steadily: “Inheritance issues—you’ll need a lawyer and court. But honestly—the best way is finding your sister herself. Do that, and all else follows.”

Tang nodded vaguely and turned to leave—but suddenly froze in his steps. “Wait!”

He Lin leaned forward: “You remembered something?”

Tang frowned in concentration. “Yes… that day. After she repaid me, her phone rang. She answered. She called the other person… by a name. Sounded like a color? Like some kind of ‘sister’.”

“A color?” Fang blurted instantly: “Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet?”

Tang shook his head. “No. None of those.”

Wu guessed: “Gold? Silver?”

Li Shang offered: “Black, white, gray?”

No. Tang kept frowning.

He Lin thought a moment: “Red…”

Tang’s face lit up. “Yes! Red! Hong‑jie. Sister Red. That was it!” He even laughed, triumphant. “Follow that lead, you may get somewhere.”

He Lin: “Do you know what the call was about?”

Tang shrugged apologetically: “No. Only remembered the name itself. Already a miracle my memory dug out that much.”

Li Shang carefully circled the character for Hong‑jie—“Red Sister”—in his notes.

Not long after Tang left, the father of Guo Mucun arrived: Guo Ziying.

The old man, more than eighty, still walked briskly, spirit sharp.

Routine check followed: Li Shang registered his personal info.

But the man’s manner was that of an old street rogue: evasive, uncooperative. Some queries he ignored, pretending deafness—others simply brushed off.

When He Lin steered talk to Guo’s domestic violence, a flicker broke the old face. He snorted: “What man hasn’t hit his wife? Few slaps, what’s the fuss?”

He Lin’s expression tightened, brows furrowed. No surprise—such a father breeds such a son.

Li Shang too paused, gaze flicking upward.

Fang’s chest heaved, anger rising, until finally he muttered under breath: “Domestic violence is a crime.”

Correct words, but not the right timing—likely to sour the exchange. Wu tugged him subtly to settle him down.

The old man smirked at Fang’s indignation: “Then go sue me, boy. I’ve beaten my own wife many times. Let’s see you lock us all up—there aren’t enough jails.”

Sensing the tension, Wu smoothed things quickly: “Each case must be assessed individually. Let’s return to matters at hand.”

Old Guo sniffed: “You met Tang family first, right? Don’t believe their nonsense. My son may’ve quarreled with that wife, but their marriage was fine. Else why wouldn’t she divorce all these years, barren and still clinging on?”

He Lin pulled focus: “Any clue on Tang’s whereabouts?”

No direct reply. Instead: “Alive or dead, gone nearly two years—her ID ought to be annulled. My boy missing now—house mustn’t leave our family. You solve it, I’m free of hassle.”

He Lin: “To find him, you must cooperate. Share facts.”

Old Guo shrugged: “If I knew, why bother police? But suppose that woman still lives—and committed crimes—she couldn’t claim the house, could she?”

His tone revealed no worry, no grief. All schemes. A shameless old scavenger.

He Lin answered calmly: “Depends on the crime.”

Only then old Guo dropped his sneer: “What if she caused my son’s disappearance?”

He Lin’s gaze sharpened: “Explain.”

Old Guo’s wrinkled grin turned chilling: “Two years my son searched. At first—out of love. Later—out of revenge.”

“Revenge?”

The old man spoke low, malice evident: “That woman ran away. That’s betrayal. My son vowed—once he caught her, he’d beat her half‑dead, lock her up. If in a bad mood, choke her—‘deserve it.’ He checked—wouldn’t even face death penalty. Do a few years, then free.”

The words curdled the air.

Fang’s fists clenched. Without Wu’s earlier warning, he’d have cursed outright.

The others’ faces hardened. They could tell—Guo had spoken seriously to his father. Not drunken exaggeration. Real intent.

The old man licked lips. “And just before he vanished, he told me—‘I’m close. Soon I’ll catch that bitch.’”

He Lin pressed: “Did he mention what clue he found?”

A shrug. “No. Didn’t say more. But unless you find him, I won’t let matters rest.”

After he left, Li Shang shut his notebook with a snap. His cold voice slipped: “Trash.”

He Lin tilted his head: “What?”

Li Shang answered calmly, eyes sharp: “Men who hit women—trash.”

His expression remained blank, voice flat as steel. He never lost composure like young Fang, but he had firm hates.

He Lin gave a grim nod: “True. If we find Tang Ailian, then at least this place stays out of that old bastard’s hands.” He asked lightly: “How’s your note‑taking?”

“I’ll organize the testimonies tonight,” Li Shang replied.

He Lin had already arranged a work laptop and tablet for him.

“No rush,” He Lin counseled. “Missing cases aren’t like homicides. They don’t resolve overnight. Solving requires peeling layers. Sometimes resting brings breakthroughs.”

He wasn’t against overtime when necessary, but believed in balance: when tired, stop. Seeming rest often refreshed new insight.

“Got it,” Li Shang said quietly—whether with sincerity or not, hard to tell.

He Lin asked once more: “Any investigative thoughts yet?”

Li Shang responded: “Next step—check the Milk Bandits, and this ‘Red Sister’. Also…it seems none of them actually care about Tang or Guo’s lives. Only about this apartment.”

“If not for the property,” he added, “this case might never have reached us.”

“Normal,” He Lin said flatly. “You’ll see it often. Only the closest kin or true lovers mourn the loss. To everyone else—it’s nothing.”

Cold words—but fact.

The sun had already dipped. Their workday ended.

Descending the stairwell, He Lin checked his watch. Off‑hours. “Alright—everyone worked hard today. Don’t worry about clocking out—go home.”

Wu headed straight out the gate.

Fang sighed: “Guess I’ll drive the car back.”

Seeing Fang’s reluctance—he lived nearby—Li Shang offered: “I’ll drive. I rent beside headquarters anyway, need to pick up my computer. Same route.”

Fang’s face lit up: “Brother Li reliable! Love you.”

Taking the keys, Li Shang asked He Lin: “Shall I give you a ride too, Captain?”

He Lin waved it off: “No. Metro line to my place. Direct.”

Li Shang’s gaze lingered on him—then back down only once He Lin was gone.

Fang meanwhile rattled off endless regulations about police vehicle use; Li Shang simply nodded: “I’ll remember.”

Sliding into the car, he drove skillfully. Alone, his mask of restraint slipped; calmness and detachment returned.

No GPS needed—memory sufficient. The white police sedan threaded agilely through peak‑hour traffic.

By the time he parked in the Bureau’s lot, into the fixed slot, only ten minutes had passed—without speeding.

Footnotes

ⁱ Red Sister(Hong Jie) (红姐): A nickname or alias. In Chinese underworld or gray circles, color+title (“Black Brother,” “Red Sister”) often signifies a code name or gang epithet.

² Milk Bandits: The previously introduced burglary gang posing as milk vendors, drugging victims.