Chapter 172: Death by Public Opinion

2022-05-20

We’ll never truly know if, in that moment when Hao Ren rushed to help, he was trying to do the right thing for the victim or if he saw it as a chance to make a name for himself. Just like we’ll never know if the things Zhang Bin said at the table were just drunken nonsense or a window into the darkest corners of his mind.

And honestly, we don’t even know where all those people who once cried out for the truth have gone.

Maybe what they wanted all along was never the real truth—just the story they hoped to see.

It’s been a week since Hao Ren left. Mary posted an explanation thread, but it got buried almost instantly in the endless churn of the internet. Compared to the viral video from before, her post revealing the actual story barely got any clicks.

It wasn’t because Mary lacked the skills or because we couldn’t afford to push the post. It was because, this past week, a famous celebrity passed away. This superstar had a reputation for being kind and down to earth. They died young, and the news swept the internet in a tidal wave of mourning.

Guan Zengbin looked at Aunt Li’s latest repost and said, “Aunt Li doesn’t even know this celebrity but she’s out here reposting all sorts of topics, acting like a superfan. But maybe it’s for the best. No one’s going after us anymore. Otherwise I doubt Gu Chen would even dare step outside these days.”

Suddenly I remembered the recent headline that flooded my social media: “Good Samaritan Attacked After Helping.” The photo attached showed Gu Chen grabbing Hao Ren by the collar. Just days later, though, no one was even mentioning it. The storm that erupted around Hao Ren a week ago had almost vanished from people’s feeds.

Gu Chen shrugged. “I would’ve forgotten all about it if you hadn’t brought it up.”

I let out a sigh. “The pace of things now is insane. People are used to it. One minute it’s news, the next, something bigger comes along and everyone’s moved on. As soon as something happens, the whole world knows about it. Maybe… maybe that’s how it’ll end. Forgotten.”

“Oh, by the way, Hao Ren just sent us an invite. His martial arts studio is finally having its grand opening tomorrow. He apologized, said the lawyer made him say those things.”

I shook my head. “Hao Ren really played this well. Barely waits for things to settle before delivering his apology. But the truth is, he’s not the one who killed anyone, so there’s no need to apologize—least of all to us. He just used this whole mess to make himself famous, that’s all. All he did was push someone else into the mud, permanently.”

Everyone fell silent.

Guan Zengbin said, “Hot topics always fade fast. Give it a bit, maybe a month at most, and it’ll be gone. Just like how no one talks about Hao Ren anymore or even remembers who Zhang Bin is. Does it even matter who was right or wrong? Maybe Zhang Bin moved to another city for a new start, where no one knows his name.”

“Go ahead, what else can we do?” I replied.

Early the next morning, we showed up outside Hao Ren’s martial arts studio. Firecrackers crackled as the place opened—today was the sixteenth day of the lunar month, considered a lucky date to start a business. There actually weren’t that many people around, not much of a crowd at all. We found Hao Ren at the door, with a wide grin on his face.

Seeing us, Hao Ren walked over on his own. “I know I messed up,” he said, “but maybe Zhang Bin needed a wake-up call. Look—I got my studio open without a hitch, and Zhang Bin, he’ll never make the same mistake again. Isn’t that a win-win? Lighten up. There’s hardly anyone here anyway. People forget fast. In a month, nobody’ll remember who I am, or who Zhang Bin was.”

As he spoke, Hao Ren pulled out fifty grand and handed it to us. “Give this to Zhang Bin for me. If I wanted him dead, he’d be long gone. It was Du Zigui who truly wanted to go after him. I stepped in to stop that.”

He shook his head, a bleak smile on his face. “If Du Zigui had gone after Zhang Bin, how would he have survived? As rotten as Zhang Bin could be, nobody deserves to die for it. Still, I had to teach him a lesson. Can you understand that? It’s what any father would do.”

“The fact that he’s alive at all is the greatest mercy I could give him.” Hao Ren’s eyes went distant. “You can call me good or evil, whatever you like. All I know is I’ve lived up to my conscience. A few days ago was the seventh day since Xiaoqi and Zigui’s passing—where we come from, that’s when the soul officially leaves. So with that, this whole story ends.”

Hao Ren turned and headed into his studio. “Take that cash to Zhang Bin. From now on, we’re even—nothing left between us. The affairs of the martial world should stay in the martial world. Mine are over. As long as you can live with your conscience and make life a bit better for your family, why not go for it?”

Without another word, Hao Ren walked away.

I stared up at the sign above the door, lost in thought.

It wasn’t Hao Ren Martial Arts Studio—he’d called it Hao Ren Martial Arts and Skills Academy.

The “skills” part, at least, still remained.

Gu Chen eyed the stack of cash in my hand before speaking up slowly. “Do you think Hao Ren was lying, with those last words? Is he a good guy or not?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t know how. Most of the time, we see the world in black and white, when really, it’s anything but. People can be good and bad at the same time. Some things are never just white or black. The idea of a pure villain or spotless hero pretty much doesn’t exist.

But most of the time, we just forget.

Maybe the instant he decided to set Zhang Bin up, he was a villain. Maybe, just this moment, he’s a decent guy.

Hao Ren turned away, telling us it was settled—that we were finished. We took the fifty grand and set out to find Zhang Bin. Two weeks had gone by since we’d last seen him. After he left, there hadn’t been a single word from him, maybe he’d already left the city.

We checked Shunchang Daily Rentals, but he wasn’t there, either.

“Where the hell are we supposed to look? His phone’s shut off; maybe he’s already gone to start over somewhere else,” said Gu Chen, frowning. “He wasn’t from here in the first place—a total orphan. Doesn’t matter where he goes.”

I thought it over, then said, “Remember the old cheap apartments? Let’s check there. If he’s not there either, we’ll just return the money to Hao Ren.”

We headed out to the rundown rental in the outskirts where Zhang Bin used to live.

The door was locked from inside. These container-type apartments didn’t even have windows, so if the door was locked, someone had to be in there. Gu Chen knocked hard several times, but no one answered. Growing frustrated, he slammed the door—and to our shock, it gave way under his hand.

A heavy stench flooded out.

The sight that greeted us: a pair of feet, hanging in the air.

As sunlight streamed in, we could see the feet clearly—and whose they were.

It was Zhang Bin.

A rope was wrapped around his neck. He was gone.

The body had been there a while, but thankfully it was winter, so decomposition hadn’t gone too far.

We all stood in silence, unable to believe that timid, death-fearing Zhang Bin had really taken his own life. The container showed no signs of forced entry—he’d killed himself. The scared, desperate man we’d known, gone by his own hand.

Guan Zengbin stepped forward, examined the body and said, “Let’s take him back for an autopsy.”

The results came back.

Guan Zengbin reported without emotion, “Time of death was around 10 a.m. a week ago. Cause of death: hanging. We found no other fingerprints at the scene, which means…”

I finished his sentence. “It means suicide. The container door wasn’t damaged. I checked the bolt myself. Unless Gu Chen had broken it, no one could’ve opened that door from outside. That means no one else could’ve left after locking it. There’s another clue, too.”

“What?” they both asked in unison.

“He changed into new clothes before he died.”

“That matters?” Gu Chen asked.

I nodded. “For someone who’s decided to die, it does matter.”

“What does it mean, then?” Gu Chen pressed.

I glanced at the cold body. “It means he was saying goodbye to the person he used to be. All those groundless accusations—they really do cut to the bone.”

“What happens to the body?” Guan Zengbin asked. “He was an orphan. If no one claims him within a week, the university will probably take it for study. Most of the bodies I’ve autopsied ended up that way.”

That’s when it hit me—Zhang Bin was an orphan. Too bad he didn’t have someone like Hao Ren to look out for him. He’d always had to rely on himself. For some reason, it only struck me now. Before, I’d never considered that Zhang Bin was just as alone as Wang An or Fang Xiaoqi.

All at once, I remembered what Zhang Bin said, that last time.

His date of death was just hours apart from that of the celebrity.

A week passed with the body unclaimed; we’d long given up hope anyone would come. But fate is twisted—a week later, a girl showed up to claim it. She looked shy, dressed in old, worn clothes.

“I heard my brother’s body was here?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Your brother?” I asked back.

“Not my real brother,” she said, almost shrinking from us. “His name was Zhang Bin. I saw the report on TV, that’s why I’m here.”

I nodded, walking her toward the morgue. “How did you come to call Zhang Bin your brother?”

She answered softly, “He took me in when I was little. I was sick most of my life, in and out of the hospital.”

She lifted her shirt and showed me the scar on her belly.

“My dad gave me that when I was a kid. We could never afford treatment. Later, my mom was scared my dad would kill me, so she abandoned me.” She said it blankly, without any emotion. “We never had money. Only recently did my brother finally save enough for my surgery…”

At last, I understood. That’s where Zhang Bin’s money had gone—all this time, he was hiding for her. The person he feared being seen by—it was for her sake.