Chapter 299: The Abandoned Home

2022-05-20

“What is it?” Gu Chen asked.

I spoke up. “Mary, I need you to check into Jiang Xiaochun for me. I’ll send you some basic info soon. Focus on her relationships, especially any with men.”

“Got it,” Gu Chen replied.

I was about to hang up when Gu Chen continued, “We’ve also got some leads on Guan Zengbin. From what we know, after he was taken from Xingdong Village, he stayed at a hotel for a while. But from there, the trail goes cold. When I asked the owner, he did mention seeing someone in a mask.”

Hearing about Guan Zengbin stirred up a dull ache inside me. It’s been almost a month since he disappeared. In all that time, Wu Zui vanished without a trace—and we haven’t found a single clue. I can’t begin to guess what he’s up to or why he took Guan Zengbin.

Still, judging by how things stand, Guan Zengbin should be safe right now. Wu Zui wouldn’t have gone to such trouble to take him otherwise. Maybe it has something to do with who Guan Zengbin really is.

I fell silent. These huge questions hung over me, impossible to solve unless we track down Wu Zui’s whole crew. Like—what did my parents really do? What was their connection to Lai San twenty years ago? Is Wu Zui’s plan somehow tied back to him and their adoptive father, Shi Huacheng, and Zhao Mingkun?

But I also understood—none of this could be rushed. It’s already been over twenty years; I can wait a little longer.

I let out a sigh and told Gu Chen, “I’m trying to find my own way too. Maybe… maybe Zhao Mingkun isn’t such a bad guy after all. Who knows, we might even—”

“Wu Meng,” Gu Chen cut in. “I don’t know what you’re getting into. But I remember what you said to me in that cave back in Xingdong Village. You told me to trust you, and I do. Whatever you do, always remember who you are.”

His words warmed my heart. “I trust you too. Just leave Guan Zengbin’s rescue to you. But don’t act alone if things get risky. It’s been quiet for so long—that means he’s still safe. Keep that in mind, alright?”

“Understood!” Gu Chen promised. “I’ll send the address right away. We’ll get him back.”

“No doubt about it,” I said firmly.

Zhao Mingkun shrugged. “Why are you sticking up for me?”

“I don’t know,” I replied with a dry smile. “You know I don’t have many friends left.”

Zhao Mingkun looked like he wanted to say something else, but just then my phone chimed.

“Got the address,” I announced. “Let’s go see Deng Xuemei. However you look at it, she seems like the killer, doesn’t she? Motive, timing, method—they all match. Time for a visit, even if my guess is she won’t be home.”

We grabbed a quick meal and then Zhao Mingkun drove me to Deng Xuemei’s place.

It was two in the afternoon when we got there. Standing outside, it was painfully obvious—you couldn’t really call this a house. If I had to describe it, it was just a rough shelter built from stone and wooden planks, thrown together near a pile of trash.

From the outside, you could see the cracks everywhere. The air carried a foul stench that forced me to cover my mouth and nose. The whole place was about twenty square meters, no windows at all. I walked around, noticing how flimsy it all felt—most of the joints hammered together with boards.

The front door was made of thin iron, streaked with rust. As I got closer the metallic tang of rust filled my nostrils. The lock was completely seized up with corrosion—even if you had a key, there’d be no turning it. I tapped it gently and found the door slightly loose.

“Step back,” I told Zhao Mingkun.

He nodded.

I gave the door a solid kick. Metal clanged, the door shuddered, but it didn’t budge. Before I could try again, Zhao Mingkun stepped up and kicked it hard. This time, with a crash, the door popped open.

We’d barely stepped inside when the thick smell of mold hit us. With no windows, sunlight couldn’t reach in, so the whole place was suffocating and stifling. We waited awhile for the air to clear, then Zhao Mingkun and I stepped fully inside.

For such a tiny, twenty-square-meter room, it was crammed with stuff. Just inside, a stove was shoved up against the wall, its pipe snaking through the roof. The wall itself was covered in old posters, but years of smoke had stained most of them black.

Next to the stove sat a heap of coal briquettes. There had to be dozens, all piled in the corner. There was another pile of charcoal right beside it. A pot sat dusty on the stove, thick with cobwebs. Clearly, this stove had handled everything from cooking to heating.

Deeper in, two beds were set against the walls, each still made up with bedding. Both sets of covers were pitch black with filth. When I brushed the blanket, a wave of cockroaches scurried out, making both me and Zhao Mingkun shudder with disgust. The smell of mold was overpowering, nearly choking us.

By the pattern on the sheets, I figured one bed belonged to Deng Xuemei’s father, the other to her. Between them was a little desk, littered with cups and odds and ends. There was a small bookshelf against the wall, still holding some school books—probably high school texts. The glass in the shelf was shattered, the books themselves thick with webs.

Beneath the beds, piles of junk and rotting trash took up every bit of space.

Other clutter sat around the beds—chamber pots, thermoses, washbasins, that sort of thing.

Anyone could see how tough life was for the father and daughter in a place like this.

Zhao Mingkun wiped his eyes. “If I ever die, I’m leaving all the money I’ve saved over the years to charity. Maybe if Deng Xuemei’s family hadn’t been so poor, things could’ve turned out so differently. Then Lyu Zhiqiu wouldn’t have had to help her, and she wouldn’t be seeking revenge now.”

I shook my head. “Best not to talk like that while we don’t know all the facts.”

I understood how Zhao Mingkun felt. His own past was a sore spot—just like mine. If he’d had a normal childhood or been adopted by an ordinary family, maybe his life would’ve taken a different path.

But what life dreads most is those ‘what ifs.’ People love to imagine better endings if only things had been a little different. But nobody wonders if things could’ve been even worse. What if you were born without a foot? What if you found out you had cancer suddenly?

It’s easy to believe you’ve got it worse than anyone else, but life always proves you wrong—there’s never a ‘worst,’ only worse. Reality has a way of showing you things can always get bleaker.

Bleaker like Deng Xuemei and her father—cancer-stricken dad, vanished mom. Maybe Deng Xuemei understands death better than most. If her father died a few years back, with no other family left, she’d have nothing holding her back. That makes her capable of anything—even murder wouldn’t seem so unthinkable.

I kept searching the place, but it was clear this house had been left untouched for a long time. No sunlight got in and the cold, damp air sent chills down my spine. “It’s obvious nobody’s lived here in ages. Still, the reports say they used to be a fairly well-off family. Looks like they only moved in after burning through all their savings.”

Zhao Mingkun nodded. “That means Deng Xuemei won’t be coming back. We should check out her work—she resigned not long ago. Maybe we’ll find some real leads there.”

“Yeah, that seems like the best option,” I agreed.

A broken-down home and two lonely souls—enough to bring anyone to tears.

“Come on,” I said, pushing through the stench. “Nobody’s lived here in so long, there’s nothing more to see. Gu Chen messaged me, said Deng Xuemei used to work at Gangtai Pharmaceuticals, a pretty big company. She only quit a few months ago—there has to be something there.”

Just as we stepped back outside, two elderly men in their fifties wandered over. They glanced inside at us, hesitated, looked like they had something to say but held back.

I showed my badge. “Don’t worry, we’re just here to ask a few questions. We’ll be on our way soon.”

One of the men scratched his head, eyeing my credentials for a moment. “Can’t make heads or tails of that. We just heard a couple loud bangs and thought something happened, so we came to check. If there’s nothing wrong, we’ll be off.”

“Do you live around here?” I called out as they turned to go.

Both men turned and nodded.

I pointed at the house behind me. “Do you know who lived here?”

“Sure,” one of the old men said. “We built this place ourselves—of course we know. It used to be Old Deng and his daughter. He died a few years ago, and she hasn’t been back since. The place’s been empty a long time. You searching for someone?”

“Not exactly,” I answered. “Just trying to learn a bit. Did you know Old Deng?”

“Sure, we knew him,” the old man said. “We looked after him as best we could in those days.”

I frowned. “What happened? Tell me about it.”

The other old man chimed in, “Old Zhang, let’s talk inside instead of out here.”

“Come on, Lao Li,” said the first man, “let’s go to my place. I’ll tell you everything.”

The old man bowed apologetically to us, then led the way.