TTB C18

Chapter 18 

15 “I really didn’t kill him.”

Liu Yushu no longer wanted to die. Shivering, she climbed back from the rail on her own; once outside the guard, her legs buckled.

He Lin strode over, gripped her arm firmly, and pulled her away from danger.

Li Shang moved in as well; together, they brought her to safety.

Saved from the brink, Liu stood dazed, her gaze at He Lin a mixture of confusion and desperate hope.

He Lin hadn’t planned to say more, but under that look he met her eyes and said, carefully and clearly: “Believe this—none of this is your fault. You were born free.”

Her lone resolve had all been spent.

Slowly, Liu crouched, burying her head between her knees and hugging herself tight.

She curled into a small ball, soft sobs spilling from her throat.

He Lin signaled the nurse and Cheng Xiaoyi to come tend to Liu and ensure she stayed safe.

He stepped back with Li Shang toward the stairwell to give her space to break down.

Only then did He Lin pull a cigarette from his pocket, hold it at his lips, and glance sideways at Li Shang, who was watching him.

Knowing Li didn’t smoke, he took a few more steps away, turned his back, and lit up. He had barely drawn once when wailing broke out behind him.

It was as if the woman poured all her past humiliation into those cries; perhaps only like this could courage regrow, enough to face what came next—and to wager again, for the life she wanted.

Hearing her sobs, He Lin’s hand paused with the smoke; he did not turn around.

Standing behind him, Li Shang looked once at the woman weeping on the terrace, then back at He Lin’s tall, familiar back.

Different fates as they were, the three of them stood together in sunlight.

—

By afternoon at Yun City First People’s Hospital, He Lin led officers through the follow‑ups.

After they left the terrace, the light dimmed; clouds spread.

By dusk, rain finally fell—as if even the sky mourned for these women.

The hospital had a previous arrangement with Wan Hong—more than twenty oncology ICU aides were provided by her.

Most were women who had fled home; some had been reported missing by their families.

They preferred living here to going back. He Lin registered them, confirmed identities, and promised repeatedly that their whereabouts would not be disclosed.

He briefed Director Chen and used police channels to temporarily hold back the media.

Even so, the situation worried him. With Wan Hong linked to the case, these women might not be able to keep working here much longer.

If the hospital dismissed them, where would they go?

At last, both Wan Hong and Tang Ailian were brought to headquarters, placed in separate interrogation rooms.

It was nearly quitting time. The team agreed to work late for night interrogations and arranged dinners for both suspects.

After a short rest and evidence review, He Lin split them into two teams: Li Shang and Cheng Xiaoyi to question Tang Ailian; Wu Yunsheng and Fang Jue to interrogate Wan Hong.

He listened from the observation room, tracking both sides.

Room One moved faster. Cheng questioned gently and with care—no aggressive edge—while Tang cooperated fully, answering whatever was asked.

Li sat quietly, taking notes.

“On the 27th last month, Guo Mucun went to the inpatient wing,” Cheng asked. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t see him, but I heard after,” Tang said. “He must have heard I was at the hospital and made a scene, but he never got upstairs—security threw him out.”

“We pulled oncology logs,” Cheng continued. “On the afternoon of the 29th, you took leave and didn’t return until past midnight. Where did you go? What did you do?”

“I…” Tang hesitated, then raised her head. “I went home…”

The light was dim; the room carried that familiar heaviness.

On the cold interrogation chair, Tang’s body trembled, fear clouding her eyes. As if mustering great courage, she added softly: “I meant to see Guo Mucun. But I did not kill him…”

“What did you do there?” Cheng asked. “Please describe the whole process and what you saw.”

Tang’s hands twisted so tightly the knuckles blanched. “On the night of the 28th, Red Sister spoke with me. She said Guo’s scene at the hospital was dangerous—it might expose us. She told me to go home and talk to him.”

“I was terrified—begged her in tears not to send me. If he saw me, he might beat me to death.”

She pressed on, voice shaking. “I pleaded with Red Sister to move me somewhere else—I’d do anything. But she insisted it was my ‘family matter’ and I had to handle it—couldn’t endanger others.”

“When I refused, she threatened to speak to him herself and hand me over. If I didn’t want that, I should go voluntarily to talk it out. She promised if I settled it, I could come back to work.”

At that, Tang ducked her head like a wounded bird folding its wings.

“And then?” Cheng prompted.

Tang drew a breath. “On the 29th, I took leave in the afternoon. Thinking of facing him, I panicked again. I went to a supermarket and bought a fruit knife for protection, then waited near home. I hesitated for hours; by night, I bought a little food from a corner shop. Then I saw the liquor shelf…”

“I don’t drink. He drinks—and becomes someone else. I’ve always hated alcohol. But I thought—maybe if I had some, I’d have courage.”

“I bought a jin of Erguotou. I drank half in one go—my head went fuzzy, but I felt bolder. It was past ten; few people were below. The light was on upstairs. I took a deep breath, went up, and opened the door with my key. He never changed the lock.”

Her breathing quickened; fingers clenched with tiny joint pops—and her tale snagged.

“After you entered?” Cheng asked, frowning slightly. “What happened? Did you see him?”

Tang’s eyes unfocused, mingling relief and confusion—and something else. Her lips trembled. “I saw… Guo lying on the living room floor. He was convulsing… foaming at the mouth… telling me to help…”

A shudder ran through her, as if wrenching free of a vision. Reality snapped back. “I… I was terrified. Thought I was drunk and hallucinating. I curled on the sofa. I was afraid he’d hit me—afraid he’d touch me. I didn’t dare move.”

“Then the liquor hit harder. My head spun. I lay there—maybe I slept, maybe not.”

“When I was clear again, he was lying there, still. I jumped up, felt under his nose. No breath. Cold. Stiff.”

“I thought—maybe a heart attack. Maybe pills and alcohol together. I was horrified—but I also thought he deserved it.”

“My thought then—no one could know I’d come home. I saw his cup on the table, so I washed it. I mopped the living room floor. I wiped every surface I’d touched. Then, with a cloth in hand, I turned off the lights, locked the door, and left…”

“I took a cab back to the hospital in the night—pretending nothing had happened…”

She lowered her head like a child who’d erred, begging adult forgiveness. “I’ve been scared since. I regret not helping—but even if I called, he might not have lived. The ambulance might not have arrived before he died. If that’s a crime, I’ll accept the punishment.”

She broke down, swiping tears haphazardly. “But believe me—I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t do such a thing. If I were going to kill him, I’d have done it long ago—I wouldn’t have fled to suffer like this.”

In the observation room, He Lin listened with a deepening frown.

The autopsy said poisoning—plain homicide.

Emotionally, he hoped this woman wasn’t the killer. But as a detective, he had to remain cold-eyed and sift the truth.

These were her claims alone. She could be lying. Or she poisoned him while drunk and forgot. Or someone else did. Or a different truth lay beneath.

Still, some things were clear: first, she had returned that night—she was at the initial scene. Second, more than one party came that night, disturbed the scene, and cleaned the floor—that explained why it was scrubbed so clean.

He Lin exhaled slowly.

It seemed the truth behind this case was even more complicated than they had imagined.