Chapter 71: The One Who Holds Back the Darkness

2022-05-20

I thought I understood, then realized maybe I didn’t. The human heart is the hardest thing in the world to grasp. Five lives were lost, yet four new lives began. If you split sixteen million into four shares, that’s four million for each person. Four million might not be much in a big city, but in a small one, it could last you a lifetime.

That night Li Taida said he wanted to buy a house and live there with his mother. Zhao Erming dreamed of traveling the world. Lin Rou wanted to open a café. Zhang Xue longed to disappear somewhere nobody would ever find her. Now, with four million, they could make any of those dreams come true.

Night had settled deep and the stars blinked outside my window. Suddenly I recalled something—on the night we all shared our dreams, wasn’t it exactly two years ago today? Now, Zhou Guo was gone. Li Taida was behind bars. I wondered if the rest felt that odd twist of fate too.

Half the moon hung above the wall, moonlight spilling across the earth.

“Let’s go.” I gave Gu Chen a pat on the shoulder. “Tonight, I’m taking you to find that missing twenty million.”

“You think we’ll actually find it?” Gu Chen glanced at the darkness outside. “It’s pitch-black—where are we even supposed to look?”

We made our way to the rooftop of Yucai High School’s senior building, carrying a night-vision scope. If I guessed right, Zhang Xue and the others would be meeting here tonight. I couldn’t shake the feeling Zhang Xue played a key part in Zhou Guo’s death.

If it weren’t for Zhang Xue, I’d never have figured out what happened back then. Without her, I wouldn’t have known Zhou Guo’s way of tying knots either. Everything I had uncovered was because of what she told me. Was this part of Zhou Guo’s plan all along? But how could he have known we’d follow them here tonight?

As I mulled it over, Gu Chen gently tapped my shoulder and whispered, “Someone’s coming up.”

I took the night-vision scope Gu Chen handed me and peered into the distance. Sure enough, a few shadowy figures climbed up onto the roof. Looking closer, I saw it was Zhang Xue, Lin Rou, and Zhao Erming—only three of them now, Li Taida and Zhou Guo both missing.

The three faced each other but said nothing, their silence heavier than words. I watched Zhang Xue pull something out and hand it to the others—in the darkness, I could only make out thin cards. It hit me: bank cards. The sixteen million Zhou Guo bought with twenty million must have been split into four portions.

Had Zhou Guo planned all this out two years ago?

For a moment, they froze—then laughter burst out, wild and sudden. Tears followed soon after.

Zhang Xue seemed to explain something in a low voice. Then I heard Zhao Erming, hoarse and rough, shout into the night, “Zhou Guo, you lunatic!”

So Zhang Xue really did know Zhou Guo’s plan. Yet she never tried to stop him. I remembered her telling me she’d visited Zhou Guo’s home, so she must have known his mother had passed away long ago. But she’d claimed otherwise when we talked. She told me Zhou Guo’s mother was paralyzed, yet from the thick dust on the furniture, it was clear she’d been gone for years.

That meant this wasn’t just some solo scheme of Zhou Guo’s—it was both of theirs. Still, Zhang Xue didn’t seem like someone who would use Zhou Guo’s life to get her own dream.

Zhou Guo liked Zhang Xue, that much was obvious. Maybe everything he did was, in the end, for her sake. He must have wished we’d never look too closely at the others’ lives.

Across the way, Zhao Erming kept yelling and hollering. That kind of racket wouldn’t go unnoticed for long—sooner or later, it would attract the school security. Gu Chen, who couldn’t see far without the scope, nudged my arm again. “What’s going on? Did those students really get their hands on the twenty million?”

I wanted to say yes, but the words stuck in my throat. That money was traded for five lives. Gao Rui was always gentle, always did things for others. Even at the end, did he try to help someone else in any way he could?

Li Zhinan and Wang Yiman—two lonely souls. One chose to die alone, the other to leave a bloody mark behind. Both desperately alone—no one noticed, no one cared. At the end, did they think about the other kids left just as unnoticed—just as uncared for?

Ma Liliang spent three years deceiving others, then finally ended his own life as a way to atone. If, before dying, he could help someone else, would that count as redemption?

But Zhou Guo was the saddest of all. His mother long dead, he wore a mask of indifference. Always cheerful in class, as if nothing could faze him. People like him hide the deepest scars. Zhou Guo chose death to give something back to the rest of us, hoping to bring this case to an end at his door.

So what should I do? Force the money back by calling it suspicious, crush their dreams and leave them with nothing? Or should I close this out with Zhou Guo and let it be? He did everything he could to launder that money, all so these kids could use it without drawing suspicion.

Besides, do I have any evidence? There’s no proof, no witness—where would I even file the report? Seems like these kinds of tangled, fearful worries are just part of life.

Do I really have the right to send these kids back to parents who hardly cared for them at all?

If punishment isn’t for dealing with the wicked, but restricting the good, what’s the point at all?

Once more, Gu Chen nudged me. “See anything yet?”

I shook my head, settling on closing it here. “No, I got it wrong. Those students aren’t involved. Mary said the money was sent overseas, and I guess that really was the case. I’d hoped we might actually track it down.”

Gu Chen saw my disappointment and clapped me on the back. “After that many deaths, the money barely matters anymore. As long as nobody else dies, maybe it’s time to close the file?”

But then Gu Chen frowned, clearly puzzled. “Honestly, maybe it should be the end, but how are we supposed to close the case? List them all as suicides? Or blame Zhou Guo for inciting everyone else?”

Suddenly I remembered that famous poem—some people die but never truly leave, some are alive yet already gone inside. Before a day passes in this huge city, the ones who took their own lives will already be forgotten, left in the shadows, except in the memories of those closest to them.

But even their loved ones wouldn’t know what these people did before they died—something truly remarkable. Half swallowed by darkness themselves, they still reached out from the brink, hoping to pull a few more from that same black void.

At dawn the next day, a letter arrived.

It was signed by Zhou Guo. He’d written it for us. An EMS courier—the type Zhou Guo must have chosen with care. If any other courier had been used, the letter would’ve arrived the very day it was written, and Zhou Guo might still be alive, none of this mess.

I opened the envelope to see what Zhou Guo wanted to say.

“By the time you read this letter, I should already be dead. I did everything. Those people took their own lives, and so did I. Maybe you still don’t understand—why would we all choose suicide? I can’t tell you that. It’s a secret between us.”

With Zhou Guo’s death, the twenty million was lost without a trace. We’d never get it back.

“This world is strange—the dead are sometimes more useful than the living. I never understood why some people would rather die before. If you’re brave enough for suicide, what could be so scary about living? But the truth is, there are things more frightening than death.

Some get separated forever from those they love. Some have what matters snatched away. Some weather lonely nights, others hide from their own guilt even under the brightest sun. Loneliness, solitude, depression—they all kill too.”

“Compared to living, dying isn’t nearly as hard. Only cowards take their own lives, sure. But even as we die, part of us hopes it won’t all be for nothing. Those feelings echo between us. Sometimes, I don’t get why I can see the darkness in others when nobody else can.”

“Over the course of a year, I could tell those four were thinking about suicide. Not once did anyone else notice. I realized it was because I’d had the same seed inside me. Only those who’ve felt it themselves can see it in someone else.”

“So farewell, world. Goodbye, Zhang Xue. Goodbye, Lin Rou. Goodbye, Li Taida. Goodbye, Zhao Erming. Farewell to this world. We just left first. The rest of you, keep living—carry my hopes and my dreams with you. Finish what I couldn’t do.”

“Your friend, Zhou Guo.”

Staring at that letter, I couldn’t help but remember something Guan Zengbin once said outside the classroom: Stealing potassium cyanide might’ve been the boldest thing Zhou Guo ever did.

But what Zhou Guo accomplished went far beyond stealing potassium cyanide—he stole something much bigger than that.