TTB C20

Chapter 20 

17 “His own wishes matter a great deal.”

Early morning, inside the Missing Persons Division office.

He Lin asked Li Shang: “Here this early. Had breakfast?”

“Already ate, just got in,” Li said. “I copied some surveillance from Cheng yesterday and want to see if anything was missed.”

Those clips came from multiple sources and angles, needing close review that Cheng hadn’t finished.

He Lin moved beside him. It was the first time seeing a colleague this proactive—seemingly inexhaustibly keen on the case.

He Lin watched quietly for a bit, then said, “Copy me a set too.”

“Okay,” Li answered, quickly setting it up.

He Lin poured instant coffee; in the office, the scent mingled with tea.

Stirring his cup, he split tasks. “You cover the hospital feeds. I’ll take the city-eye cameras near Guo’s home. Mark any suspicious people or vehicles and save stills. We’ll collate after.”

Reviewing surveillance was a test of patience—monotony and repetition that could numb anyone.

But with someone shoulder-to-shoulder, even dull overtime felt less grinding.

Time slipped toward nine when Li said, “Captain, come look.”

He Lin grabbed something from his drawer and leaned in.

As He Lin drew closer, Li slid slightly aside to make space.

He Lin set a preserved plum candy naturally on Li’s desk.

Unlike last time’s ready acceptance, Li only glanced to identify it and refocused on the screen—intently fixed on the footage, ignoring the candy.

He Lin watched the screen while drifting an eye to Li’s reaction. Seeing the disinterest, the candy’s sweet-sour suddenly felt flat.

So—doesn’t like this one.

Next time, try the flavor he seemed to enjoy before.

The crisp clicks of Li’s mouse pulled He Lin back.

The footage timestamp was the evening of the 28th—the time Wan Hong had spoken to Tang—on the same rooftop where Liu later tried to jump.

The two women stood near the door, only their lower halves visible; attire and motion suggested the scene.

The camera, angled high and to the side, was distant—blurry.

Li zoomed, sharpened, and tuned color; details emerged.

“Here,” Li paused it, pointing. “See? Wan Hong handing Tang something.”

Under light, a small bottle with a glinting liquid was in Wan’s hand. Tang took it and slipped it into her pocket.

He Lin nodded. “Matches Tang’s statement.”

“And this,” Li pointed to the lower-right corner.

He Lin peered closer. A slim, person-shaped shadow lurked at the corridor edge. “Someone was in the hall—near enough to overhear.”

Meaning: beyond video, they might find an ear-witness.

Li continued, “On the 29th, shortly after Tang left, someone exited Room 1436.” He opened another feed.

The hallway bustled—it was dinner hour.

Among them, a figure in hospital clothing slowly stepped out of the room.

He Lin frowned. “1436 is VIP single—one patient. Her name is…”

An elderly, white-haired, irritable woman.

He groped for it.

“Yao Cui,” Li supplied.

He added, “It’s on the bedhead board. I saw it—VIP oncology, serious case, named Yao Cui.”

He Lin had glanced too, but it hadn’t stuck. He couldn’t help admiring Li’s keen eye and memory.

“I recall she was very ill,” He Lin said.

“Severe, but ambulatory—not fully dependent,” Li replied, opening more feeds from the inpatient wing.

The footage showed white-haired Yao swaying out of the room and taking the elevator. Small, fragile in the crowd—like a gust might topple her.

Exiting the lift, she nearly fell; someone steadied her. She blended with families leaving and got into a taxi.

Li explained, “Oncology has two night nurses. After afternoon rounds, with no special orders, they recheck every two–three hours. A side door stays unlocked for ease.”

During that window, Yao slipped out unnoticed.

“Wait—this same car appears near Guo’s place…” He Lin’s eyes lit. He pulled his notes, compared plates. “Yes—parked half an hour, then left.”

Li turned. “Likely she overheard Wan and Tang.”

He Lin’s reasoning quickened. “Yao shares a room with Tang—and shows up at the scene. Maybe both Wan and Tang told the truth: neither killed him—Yao did.”

The threads braided.

A new suspect surfaced.

But why?

They knew nothing of her—past or motive—a fog over the heart of it.

“One thing still nags,” He Lin said. “A late-stage cancer patient—barely steady—how could she manage this alone? Slip past staff and kill a stranger?”

“Call the hospital?” Li asked.

He checked the time and decided. “No—let’s go.”

Li was already on his feet.

He Lin habitually scanned the room and noticed—the candy on Li’s desk had vanished.

He paused, confirming it.

Li really was interesting. He Lin followed, already wondering what reaction the next candy might bring.

It was clock-in time; officers streamed in as He Lin and Li pushed out. In the hall, they met Wu coming in.

“Plan for today?” Wu asked.

“Hold for now—we’re checking a lead,” He Lin said.

“The custody clock…” Wu fretted.

“We’ll extend if needed,” He Lin said, then added, “Wait for our signal before moving.”

Li’s color was off—his ramrod posture slightly bent. He Lin noticed, said nothing, and drove.

In the passenger seat, Li worked a tablet—pulling Yao’s basics. “Female, 73, married; husband died when she was 68; son lives abroad. Educated—old-era bachelor’s; former office worker turned homemaker. No criminal record.”

“VIP room and private aide—means money,” He Lin said.

Li nodded. “Husband did well in business—assets and deposits. That’s all the file yields.”

Facts too thin to reveal a mind—or a motive.

“I remember she had surgery scheduled,” He Lin said.

Rush-hour traffic crawled; time bled away.

They reached the inpatient wing.

The hospital was its usual churn—patients, families, doctors, nurses in bustle.

Through the crowd, oncology, straight to 1436.

The door was ajar; the room empty.

Too late.

A nurse hurried over. “First surgery of the day—she’s in OR.”

A suspect and a patient—on the table, they couldn’t pull her out. She was in the building; there would be time. “Let’s talk to staff,” He Lin said.

Li readied his notebook.

The head nurse, busy, pulled a stack of charts as soon as she heard. “Room 1436? Frequent flier—Yao’s been admitted several times. Radical mastectomy in youth. Metastasis to stomach—total gastrectomy. Only liquids now—a little at a time—or she vomits.”

“Serious?” He Lin asked.

“Where isn’t serious here?” the nurse sighed. “Ambulatory, but her spirit is poor of late. We’ll see after the op today.”

“Other details? When did Tang start with her?”

“Prickly and picky. We tried several aides—Xiao Liu and Sister Wang—settled only with Auntie Tang,” the nurse said. “Last year, same room; Tang cared for her. This year—metastasis—back again. Admitted last month on the 10th—she requested Tang.”

He Lin prodded a faint hope. “Her husband—how did he treat her?” He knew nurses might not know—but asked anyway.

A headshake. “He died before she came to us. Son’s abroad—never visited.” Another sigh. “So…what use is money and a son, when old and sick?”

“Any oddities on the 29th?” He Lin asked.

The nurse thought, rifled a log. “Night shift complained it was nonstop—call lights everywhere—no break before 9 p.m.”

He Lin tried a few more questions; with little more to gain, they wrapped.

“Auntie Tang—she’s okay?” the nurse asked.

“She’s still cooperating,” He Lin said.

“Auntie Tang’s the best aide here,” the nurse murmured. “She saves us so much work.”

The station phone rang. The nurse answered; her face settled into a sober calm. “Understood. We’ll act.”

She turned back. “Teacher Yao is gone.”

He Lin had considered the possibility. Still—the flat finality hit.

They went down to the OR to view the body.

A white sheet masked her face; He Lin lifted it gently. A pale, thinned profile—confirmed deceased—by disease.

The attending shook his head. “Open and found pan-mets—nothing to do. We planned to close and go palliative—but she didn’t make it.”

Another doctor added, “Pre-op status wasn’t good. Her will to live was weak. We had no way.”

Back upstairs, 1436 had been turned.

Nurses, long inured, moved fast. Tang’s and Yao’s things were bagged; in under half an hour, the bed was disinfected and sheathed—like she’d never been there.

They searched—nothing of note.

Word spread; a few patients drifted past, peeking in, then moving away—faces dulled.

No one cried. No drama—just a leaf falling. Everyone was used to it.

Sunlight lay across the bare bed.

A woman in a hospital gown paused at the door. “Auntie Yao didn’t make it back.”

Li nodded politely.

Minutes later, she returned with a bag. “You’re the police? I’m next door. This is what Auntie Yao asked me to keep last night. She told me—if she didn’t return—give this phone and letter to whoever came.”

The bag held a phone, a sealed letter, a bank card, and small personal items.

“Anything else?” He Lin asked.

“No,” she said. “I guess she wanted you to pass it to Auntie Tang.”

He Lin knew what the letter likely was—an admission.

Yao had sensed death coming and knew the police trail would reach her.

He opened the letter—pages, dense script. Her last words—her confession.

After two lines, a spike of pain bored behind his eyes; he shut them and pressed his brow.

Li took it gently. “I’ll read.”

He Lin nodded. Even with much of the truth already reasoned, he wanted to hear the motive.

The bed was made; He Lin leaned against the sill.

Only the two of them, the room sealed in stillness. Outside—life. Inside—an island of hush.

Li unfolded the letter—hands careful; voice clean and even.

“Hello, Tang Ailian: By the time you read this, I should be dead.

Ordinarily, the dead needn’t mind others’ views. But there are many things I want to say to you.

It’s a bit embarrassing—when you cared for me, we barely spoke. But now, I want you to know who I am and what I have lived…”

He Lin sat, listening, eyes drifting to the bed—as if a white-haired woman sat there, telling her life.

“As a child, I was my parents’ only daughter—a lovely, innocent girl with a happy childhood.

I remember New Year’s once—an aunt, beaten by her husband, couldn’t come for dinner. The adults sighed. A granny said: ‘Her life is ruined. Choose the wrong person when young, and it destroys a woman’s whole life.’

I laughed then—thinking domestic violence far away. Thinking I wouldn’t be so unlucky. Thinking she was foolish—why not leave?

When I lived it, I learned the old woman’s truth.

Not every woman trapped in mire can pull herself free.

These are silent graves under the thin soil labeled ‘family matters’—burying generations of women.

I wasn’t the first. You won’t be the last.

I was an office clerk. My husband made furniture—wealthy. My son did well—emigrated.

People said I was blessed.

It was only the surface.

My husband was poised, faithful, a good earner. My parents approved.

Only my son and I knew who he was behind doors.

If anything crossed him—fists and feet.

We were his property, punching bags. He blamed us from every angle—every fault mine.

He knocked out three of my teeth, broke two ribs; one gastric bleed; a torn ankle ligament. The scars on my back? From scalding porridge poured over me. A piece of my skull is gone—soft to the touch.

My son lost hearing in one ear, broke his leg. He hates his father—and calls me, who didn’t resist, an accomplice. He left and never returned.

When he lived, I thought of killing him—more than once.

I wanted to flee—but couldn’t leave my child and aging parents.

Everyone counseled: marriage is the slow boil of rice and oil—like a frog in warm water. My ability to resist eroded. I lacked the courage to leave.

I lived on in fright.

I told myself: when I’m old, he won’t hit so hard; when he dies, I’ll be free.

That hope kept me alive.

On his bad days, each day whittled my flesh.

I numbed out—dulled.

At last he died—stroke. I felt no joy.

I found those years had carved deep marks in me.

He died—but I was already a wreck.

Old. Alone. No trust. Tempered to spikes. I couldn’t bear touch. I couldn’t chat.

My body had collapsed; pain returned again and again. The unseen wounds too: in dreams, I still saw him—waking in terror, shaking and weeping till dawn.

I realized—not only blood and breath can kill.

When he died, he killed the former me as well. I became a walking corpse.

For the scant years of ‘freedom’ after his death, I traded my life. It was not worth it.

‘If you endure, it gets better’—a lie others told me—and one I told myself.

My son wouldn’t return. I resolved to face the world alone.

Admitted, I needed an aide. The idea of exposing my scarred body made me tremble.

I cursed out one aide after another—to keep my dignity.

Until you. When you saw the scars on my back, you didn’t shrink away. You asked: ‘That must have hurt, didn’t it?’ Then you showed your palm—an old split to the bone.

I knew then—we shared a fate.

We had both been caged by men.

I wanted to understand you aides—to know you, Xiao Liu, Sister Wang—so many women—what you had lived.

From a nurse’s words and your whispers, I confirmed my guess: I was not alone.

Xiao Liu was me newly wed; you were me in midlife; and I was what you would be after years of compromise.

The cycle turns.

I was glad for you—you were braver than me—escaped the demon’s den. But I saw you weren’t happy either. The hospital was your new cage. You were lost—unsure of a future.

Then I heard: your husband caused a scene here. I overheard you and that woman talking.

That night, after you returned, I heard you cry on the companion chair.

I knew—for a kind soul like you—what you were asked to do was too hard. You couldn’t do it. That filthy man wasn’t worth your hands—or your soul.

I wanted to help you.

Lying in bed, I realized—though I couldn’t change my life, I might still change yours.

Something woke in me—my blood boiled.

I found the young woman I’d been. Life was not only waiting for death. I could help.

I was saving the younger me—proving I had lived.

I switched your medicine.

After you left, I went to your home using the address on your ID copy. The man opened.

I said I’d seen you—that I knew where you were—but needed cash.

He believed me—saw a desperate patient.

After haggling, he went for money. I dropped several dots into his cup.

We spoke for about half an hour.

Watching him drink, I felt light.

To keep you safe, I recorded my crime—on my phone—password is my birthday.

At the end, I killed a man—and became guilty. I took a human life. Even if he was rotten, I deserve hell.

But I do not regret it. I did the thing I’d wanted to do for decades.

Yet feelings are tangled. The man I killed was your husband—the man you once shared a bed with.

You may thank me. You may hate me.

But I think—you will remember me.

You cared for my life. I give you a death as a gift.

I hope you are free—before you grow old…

Yao Cui.”

Li finished; his voice had roughened.

They had their truth. Heavy—but a kind of completion.

He Lin remembered his dream—the woman plunging from above—like a young Yao—foretold by her past.

“I understand something,” He Lin said.

“What?” Li asked.

“Others may have known,” He Lin said. “The head nurse said the ward was unusually busy—call lights constant—how else did staff miss a gravely ill patient leaving for hours?”

“To switch meds cleanly, someone had to keep Tang out and unworried. Hard for one person.”

“In the elevator, someone steadied Yao—another patient on the floor.”

“And the neighbor who held her phone…”

He lifted his gaze. He had asked how a frail elder did this alone. Now—perhaps she hadn’t. “It’s possible others in the ward covered her.”

Those visitors at the door had said goodbye without words.

In days together, some had learned what the aides had lived—what Yao was doing.

They might lack the will to kill—but they could signal where they stood.

“Or I’m reading too much,” he added. “Maybe Yao just asked them to distract the nurses; the rest was coincidence.”

“I understand,” Li said. “These details don’t alter the outcome. If irrelevant to the case, I won’t record them.”

Their eyes met—and held.

This was Yao’s choice—taking the sin alone—falling into hell with the man she killed.

They stood in long silence until He Lin rose. “Let’s go back.”

—

A twisted missing-persons case was closed.

The wife, Tang Ailian, was found. The husband, Guo Mucun, was killed by Yao Cui. Disposition neared its end.

Tang faced attempted-crime preparation. Given the history of domestic violence and Wan Hong’s manipulation, she would likely receive leniency.

He Lin gave her the letter; she wept uncontrollably.

Gratitude or resentment toward Yao—He Lin didn’t ask.

Either way, the shackles had been cut.

Wan Hong’s agency was shut; her crimes would be punished.

Pianyifang would learn life without her.

On the day Tang left, Cheng handled the paperwork; afterward, she was uncharacteristically quiet.

“At least it went smoothly?” He Lin asked over lunch.

Cheng nodded. “She told me—reading that letter reminded her who she’d been as a girl. She said she never imagined someone would kill for her. She doesn’t want to fail that person. She’ll live hard, enjoy freedom, and look at the world.”

At the table, they were silent a while.

In the afternoon, He Lin briefed Director Chen. After the case wrap, he asked, “About those aides Wan Hong placed…”

“Handled,” Chen said.

He explained: “The hospital spoke to each one, respecting their wishes. Those who want to stay can continue—now directly under the hospital. Dorms will be provided. Those who wish to leave can settle and go; deposits and balances under Wan’s contract will be paid to them as wages.”

“Many leaving?” He Lin asked.

“About half,” Chen said. “It’s a shock—they need time to decide their lives.”

“And their safety?” He Lin pressed.

“We sent female officers to counsel and give legal education—report every harm and keep evidence. The precincts were notified to issue admonitions to abusive husbands; patrols will monitor returning women to ensure safety.”

He went on, “We also looped in the Women’s Federation—they’ll take on the follow-up. For those seeking divorce, free lawyers and legal aid, plus documentation for the courts, to expedite.”

He sipped tea. “We’ve done what we can. The rest—up to their choices. We can protect for a while, not for life.”

“Understood,” He Lin said.

It was, for this case, as good an ending as any.

“One more thing,” Chen added. “Liu Yushu’s husband… got a call from somewhere—suddenly agreed to divorce.”

“Good in any case,” He Lin said.

After the briefing, Chen asked, “That Li Shang—he’s in your team? How is he?”

“Excellent—sharp mind, exceptional memory. He did a lot to solve this.”

“Good, good,” Chen smiled. “He’s rare talent. He’s still on temporary detail, I recall—treat him well.”

“Temporary?” He Lin frowned—Deputy Bai hadn’t detailed it.

“Old Bai didn’t tell you?” Chen said. “He’s on temporary assignment—no transfer of personnel file. The base won’t let him go lightly. Whether he stays depends on that side.”

He Lin paused—remembering Bai saying Li’s file wasn’t here. “He told me he might be recalled for ‘special matters’…”

“Short or long, stay or go—it’s a leadership call,” Chen said—and hinted, “His own wishes matter a great deal.”

Leaving Chen’s office, He Lin thought back. He hadn’t asked much of Li—Li demanded more of himself.

Well—apart from that 800-word self-critique.

He rubbed his brow. It was time to draw closer—talent like that didn’t come often.

Back at the unit, Li wasn’t at his desk. “Where is he?” He Lin asked.

“Finished the closing report,” Wu said. “Didn’t feel well—I sent him to the duty room.”

He Lin eased the door open. Li lay on his side—fringe damp with sweat, lashes low, a pale wrist outside the blanket, a hand resting over his abdomen.

He Lin tugged the blanket up.

The small motion woke him. Li’s dark eyes found him. “He Lin…”

He Lin’s heart jolted. He rose. “It’s fine—rest.” He turned quickly and stepped out.

In the hall, his pulse slowed. He thought—he should be able to persuade Li to stay…