Chapter 103: True Zhu

That day, what exactly did Chu Susu and Li Le’er talk about? Only the two of them knew. The only thing clear was that Li Le’er’s gaze shifted from surprise to confusion, then turned silent.

She stayed in the ward for nearly two hours before leaving with a heavy expression on her face.

Next to visit were Qiao Qian’s parents. The two elders’ hair seemed to have turned much whiter overnight, their eyes red and swollen. They supported each other as they came to see her.

The moment Chu Susu saw them, she could no longer hold back her emotions and burst into uncontrollable sobs.

“I’m sorry,” she said in broken sobs. “I couldn’t… talk her out of it.”

Chu Susu simply couldn’t bring herself to look up at these two elders who remained gentle even at a time like this.

They didn’t cry or make a fuss, nor did they blame her. They just sat quietly by her side and let out soft sighs.

“This isn’t your fault,” Qiao Qian’s father said. “We didn’t even know this child owed so much money…”

“It’s that we didn’t care enough about her usually.”

“We came here to ask what Qianqian said before she left.”

Chu Susu naturally wouldn’t refuse their request. After hearing her out, the two couldn’t help but shed silent tears.

Qiao Qian’s mother trembled as she pursed her lips, her face full of grief. “This child didn’t even leave us a single word before she went.”

Only then did Chu Susu notice something off.

At the time, Qiao Qian had only said on the phone that she hoped Chu Susu would pass on her apologies to Li Le’er and Zhou Xiaoying—she hadn’t mentioned her parents at all.

Normally, something like “please take care of my mom and dad” would be expected.

Moreover, judging from the elders’ reactions, Qiao Qian hadn’t called them separately or left any message, which was utterly unreasonable.

She had a good relationship with her parents, no major conflicts. With her choosing suicide, how could she not feel guilty toward them? Why would she leave without a word, leaving the two elders in such pain…

Chu Susu felt like she’d overlooked something abnormal.

Qiao Qian’s parents were kind people. Seeing she was still recovering in the hospital, they didn’t disturb her for long. After Chu Susu comforted them for a while, they took their leave.

“These next few days, we’ll handle Qianqian’s affairs first. We want to lay her to rest before the New Year, and there’ll be a small funeral next month. If your health improves by then, we hope you can come.”

Chu Susu committed that to memory.

“By the way, the police returned Qianqian’s phone to us.”

Qiao Qian had called Chu Susu before jumping, so her phone was naturally with her. For some reason, though, she hadn’t taken it with her when she jumped—instead, she’d left it on the rooftop.

Thus, the phone ended up with the police and was handed over to Qiao Qian’s parents as a keepsake.

“We’re not good with smartphones and don’t know the password,” Qiao Qian’s father said bitterly. “If you don’t mind, could you try unlocking it for us? We want to know if Qianqian left any words for us.”

Chu Susu didn’t know Qiao Qian’s lock screen password either, but at that moment, she couldn’t refuse them anything.

And so, she kept the phone.

In the police station, Chu Qingyang stared through the two-way mirror at the girl calmly sitting in the interrogation room. She silently took notes, saying nothing.

Han Xuan’s mental fortitude was undoubtedly exceptional.

Even an innocent person suddenly summoned by police would feel some panic, which would show in their speech, expressions, and micro-movements as they desperately tried to prove their innocence.

But none of that could be found in Han Xuan.

No matter what the police asked, she answered fluently without a single flaw.

“Captain Chu, what’s up?” the officer beside her asked.

He couldn’t understand why Captain Chu suddenly had time to concern herself with this case. Besides, the girl’s performance was impeccable, wasn’t it? Was it because her little sister had been injured that she was especially tense?

“This Han Xuan seems fine on the surface.”

Han Xuan’s statement to the police was that Qiao Qian had owed debts and tried to borrow money from her, but she hadn’t lent any, so Qiao Qian kept pestering her.

And that call before the incident was Qiao Qian apologizing to her.

This matched Chu Susu’s testimony—Qiao Qian had called two friends to apologize, which made perfect sense.

Chu Qingyang paused, then said, “Exactly, but doesn’t that make her seem a bit too perfect?”

A young girl in her early twenties being this calm wasn’t something you saw every day—it was quite rare.

“Captain Chu, she might just have a bit of a poker face. From the evidence, she has no suspicion.”

Chu Qingyang knew that was true, but after so many years as a criminal police officer, she’d never once felt this kind of inexplicable suspicion toward someone without any direct or indirect clues.

She just felt that Han Xuan was different from before.

The time they’d met in Susu’s ward, she had been gentle and demure. But now, Han Xuan seemed more like someone silent and aloof, keeping people at arm’s length.

An unbelievable thought surfaced in Chu Qingyang’s mind—

Could it be that Han Xuan only put on a facade in front of Susu?

Over the few days Chu Susu spent in the hospital, Pipi had been looked after alternately by Chu Qingyang. But with police work keeping her busy, she’d coordinated with the hospital to bring it to the ward.

The doctors had allowed Chu Susu to get out of bed and walk, but she still needed to stay for observation, so she could only walk the dog in the hospital’s backyard.

After that day, Han Xuan hadn’t shown up again, and Chu Susu hadn’t called her name either.

Simple reason: Chu Susu felt it was best for both sides to take a breather.

She wasn’t the type to wallow in grief and be unable to pull herself out. She soon got herself together, though she still needed time to process it all.

Chu Susu spent a long time trying to unlock Qiao Qian’s phone, testing various birthday combinations, but all failed. One more try and it’d lock permanently, so she didn’t dare continue.

The police had tech to crack it, but Qiao Qian’s parents had chosen to take it back and give it to her precisely because they didn’t want outsiders seeing her privacy.

Bored, Chu Susu set Qiao Qian’s phone aside and went to the bathroom. When she returned, she saw Pipi curiously pawing at it, its claws swiping randomly across the screen.

Her heart clenched, and she hurriedly stopped it. “Pipi!”

But the little dog wasn’t panicked at all. Instead, it stuck out its tongue at her proudly, as if showing off.

Chu Susu went over and saw that the phone was unlocked. She looked at Pipi in surprise, not knowing how it had done it.

Well, unlocked was good. To prevent it from locking again, Chu Susu took out her own phone, ready to photograph the contents.

In the yellow notepad app, two bold characters stood out prominently.

—”Last Words.”

Chu Susu’s hand trembled as she tapped open the note. It was densely packed with several thousand words.

Qiao Qian detailed her encounter and relationship with Yu Zize, how she’d gotten into debt, and how she’d spiraled into despair. She also wrote confessions to many people.

For example, to her parents and family, saying she was unworthy of their upbringing; to her friends, saying she’d betrayed their years of friendship…

This was a proper suicide note from start to finish. Qiao Qian had included almost everyone she could think of, with her parents and family right at the top—proof she hadn’t lacked the courage to leave them even a few words.

This confirmed Chu Susu’s suspicions.

So why had Qiao Qian ultimately changed her mind and not sent this note?

Night had deepened, the clock hands nearing twelve. Chu Susu kept searching Qiao Qian’s phone for other clues.

Qiao Qian seemed to have wanted to leave minimal traces; she’d uninstalled WeChat before leaving, so chat records couldn’t be viewed.

Moreover, Chu Susu didn’t want to invade her privacy like that. In the end, the only useful thing was that one note.

She read it word by word for a long time but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

At that moment, Pipi, which had been sitting obediently beside her, suddenly stood up and let out a howl. Its fur all stood on end, as if facing a great enemy.

“Pipi, quiet.”

Afraid the dog would disturb other patients, Chu Susu quickly stroked its head.

Pipi stopped barking but remained arched and vigilant, guarding beside her.

At some point, the window had cracked open a sliver, letting cold wind pour in and slip through the gaps in Chu Susu’s pajamas, making her shiver.

The ticking of the second hand, usually faint, now sounded piercingly loud.

Midnight sharp.

Something in the air felt off. A chill rose from Chu Susu’s back, her neck stiffening.

She sensed something behind her, getting closer. But she was clearly leaning against the pillow on the bed!

“Susu.”

This call made Chu Susu realize it wasn’t her imagination.

With a vague premonition, she slowly raised her head—and witnessed the most horrifying sight of her life.

Hovering mid-air in the ward was a translucent figure, looking down at her. What it was went without saying.

“Susu,” the thing said. “Did I scare you?”

Chu Susu gaped, unable to utter a word for a long time. Her entire body was drenched in sweat, and in just a few seconds, her pajamas were almost completely soaked through.

“Qiao Qian?”

She saw it clearly—that face, nearly transparent as it was, was unmistakably Qiao Qian, who had jumped off the high-rise just a few days ago.

“It’s me.”

“You’re…”

“This is my soul,” Qiao Qian said.

Her figure flickered faintly in the unlit room. Without the moonlight, she would have been nearly impossible to make out.

If it had been anyone else, they probably would have been scared insane on the spot. But Chu Susu had been tempered by a thousand trials and quickly accepted the scene before her eyes.

“You…” She paused. “Haven’t you gone to reincarnate?”

Qiao Qian shook her head. “I’ll be staying for a while longer.”

“Why?” In Chu Susu’s understanding of mythological tales, if souls existed, she should have been taken away by the black-and-white constables.

“I have my own matters to attend to.”

Chu Susu didn’t press further. She simply lowered her head and let out a sigh. “So why… did you choose death?”

She could tell that the tone of Qiao Qian’s suicide note still carried a lingering attachment to the world.

Qiao Qian paused. “The reason I’ve appeared this time is to tell you…”

“Actually, I haven’t ‘died’ yet.”