Chapter 331: Anniversary of Remembrance

After this, the rest wasn’t ours to deal with. Once Rob reached Dongxing City he’d face the consequences he deserved. Gu Chen stepped back from the case, letting it go. No matter what happened, Rob would likely never see his mother again. If only, in that final moment, he’d thought about his mother—maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

With this case behind him, Gu Chen immediately dove into investigating Guan Zengbin. The man never seemed to rest, clearly determined to uncover Guan Zengbin’s whereabouts. Right now, the only lead we had pointed to that hotel on the outskirts of Xingdong Village.

But as the Locard Exchange Principle reminds us, every action leaves a trace. Even if someone hides it, the traces of that cover-up remain. After all this time, if we investigated carefully enough, we could still find what we needed.

I called Sister Mao, asking her to help me get a new SIM card. She mentioned after I left, people had investigated her—more than once. Our relationship wasn’t ordinary, so it wasn’t just by chance I’d taken her hostage while fleeing.

But looking back, my act fooled everyone. The surveillance footage caught me with one hand around Sister Mao’s neck, blood running down just like it was real. Nobody could tell it was staged.

It wasn’t much, but since that day, Sister Mao has been more cautious about it. It seemed like a small thing, but she warned me to stay careful. She’d leave the new card in a spot for me to pick up myself, and we’d do the swap three days out. Safer for everyone that way.

For Sister Mao to go this far made me feel grateful. Before this, our relationship was just mutual benefit—nothing personal. Sometimes the world is like that; until something happens, you never know who’ll stand by you.

Three days went by in a flash. Today was the day to pick up the SIM, but when I checked the date I suddenly remembered—it was also Lü Zhiqiu’s memorial day.

After getting the card, it was already afternoon. I pulled an envelope from under a trash bin; inside was the SIM and twenty thousand yuan in cash. I shook my head with a helpless smile—Sister Mao really was meticulous.

The sky was still light, not quite evening. So I turned to Zhao Mingkun and said, “Let’s visit Lü Zhiqiu. It’s still early, and after paying respects, this whole thing can finally end.”

“Yeah,” Zhao Mingkun nodded.

Zhao Mingkun gave me a ride on the motorbike, out to Lü Zhiqiu’s grave. By the time we arrived, night had fallen. A chill wind swept the empty park, and under the new moon, the shadows of weeds and tree branches rippled across us like flowing water.

The small hill stood there, silent and still. The path winding up was just as quiet. Neither of us spoke as we made our way to the top. We’d only waited here for Jiang Xiaochun once, knowing she was about to end her life. And now, we finally climbed that hill for ourselves.

I noticed the grass up here had been neatly trimmed. Keeping it this tidy wasn’t something you did in a day or two. Standing on the mound, a deep silence filled the air. From here, we could see out to a busy street beyond the park, headlights streaking past.

Moonlight bathed the tombstone. The grave mound, worn flat by wind and rain, looked almost ordinary now. Even the tombstone was weathered—so much so, the carved words were nearly erased.

I squinted to make out the inscription—Lü Zhiqiu’s Grave. On the side, in small letters: “With love, Chun.”

Staring at the grave, I couldn’t help but shake my head. If only we’d spotted this sooner—if just one of those twenty-two victims had seen this grave—they would’ve known who the real killer was.

But no one noticed. Lü Zhiqiu’s death never mattered to them. Nobody even investigated where her body was buried, much less read what was written here. Seven years went by, and probably only Jiang Xiaochun ever visited—talking to Lü Zhiqiu, again and again.

Zhao Mingkun bent down. When she straightened up, she was holding a single flower. I took a closer look—it was a sunflower.

“Check this out,” Zhao Mingkun handed me the sunflower.

A moment later, she added, “Sunflower.”

I nodded. “There’s no way Jiang Xiaochun left this. That means someone else did. But who would even know this is Lü Zhiqiu’s grave? When I think about it, there’s only one person left.”

I set the sunflower on the tombstone.

Watching me, Zhao Mingkun spoke quietly. “You said a phone alone couldn’t push Jiang Xiaochun to kill, right? Maybe a big part of it was to keep this sunflower growing—keep it safe. Funny to think, if we’d found this grave and seen those little words from the start, Jiang Xiaochun might not have needed to kill all those people.”

I just shrugged. “But we didn’t see it. We never got the chance. Seven years, and nobody paid attention—not one of them. If they had, would any of them still be alive?”

“There’s a piece of paper here,” Zhao Mingkun said. She’d spotted it beside the tombstone, weighed down with a small stone. It was clearly meant to stay put.

“If we hadn’t come, this page would’ve vanished in the wind and rain.” My voice was quiet.

“Who do you think it’s for?” Zhao Mingkun asked.

Suddenly I remembered the look in Jiang Xiaochun’s eyes. I saw again Lü Xiangyang’s silent figure leaving.

“It’s for us,” I said, no hesitation.

I picked up the piece of paper. I recognized the handwriting—it matched what I’d seen at Liang Mei’s house. So it was written by Jiang Xiaochun. Judging from the paper, it looked like a torn page from a diary. Zhao Mingkun and I read it by the light of my phone.

The page told the story of Jiang Xiaochun’s decision—to spend her life protecting Lü Zhiqiu.

Ten years ago, Jiang Xiaochun and Lü Zhiqiu were both sophomores in college. Even then, Lü Zhiqiu’s talents stood out. She excelled at everything. Lots of people resented her for it.

Still, trying to hold on to her friends, Lü Zhiqiu worked overtime to please them in any way she could. What she didn’t realize was that friendship should be built on equality—not servitude. They had her pay for meals, do their assignments, buy their lunches.

And every single time, Lü Zhiqiu would help. No matter how they treated her like a servant, she’d force a smile—making everyone feel like they could always count on her to do anything.

Lü Zhiqiu met the world with genuine kindness, but what she got in return was deep, bitter malice.

These people thought Lü Zhiqiu would never cry. They figured she was a fool, and everything she did was for herself anyway. How could she be sad if she was always smiling?

Right—she was always smiling. How could anything bother her?

But was Lü Zhiqiu really that kind of person?

Jiang Xiaochun used to assume Lü Zhiqiu must have come from a good family, raised well and loved. But when she finally visited Lü Zhiqiu’s home, she saw how wrong she’d been. Like herself, Lü Zhiqiu was unwanted, regarded as a burden.

Somehow, Lü Zhiqiu still found reason to smile. Jiang Xiaochun was drawn to that light. She’d liked Lü Zhiqiu even before. After learning the truth, her feelings only deepened. Now she understood—with a similar family, she just wished she could have lived like Lü Zhiqiu.

But then one day, everything changed. Jiang Xiaochun would never forget it—the day she went to the bathroom and caught the one who gave her hope, the one she looked up to, hiding in a stall and crying.

Jiang Xiaochun always believed someone as strong as Lü Zhiqiu—someone who always smiled—would never cry.

Yet in that moment, she understood: no one in this world can only smile and never weep. People save their smiles for others and shed their tears alone. That day, Lü Zhiqiu was so helpless and sad she couldn’t even bring herself to cry loudly.

Jiang Xiaochun hugged her from behind as Lü Zhiqiu turned around.

After a long while, Lü Zhiqiu sobbed and asked, “What do I have to do for people to like me? How can I make someone love me?”

Jiang Xiaochun didn’t answer. She just gently stroked Lü Zhiqiu’s hair.

In her heart, she swore: From today on, I’ll protect you.