Chapter 51: What Ye Hong Wrote—No Need to Guess, It Involved Zhang Gou

It was obvious without asking that what Ye Hong had written was connected to Zhang Gou.

But the details? Those would have to come from Xu Jingfang.

This was a mother’s deepest stubbornness. After Ye Hong died, she simply couldn’t accept it, spending her days washing her face with tears.

Eventually, she began sorting through her daughter’s belongings and discovered Ye Hong’s diary.

Xu Jingfang wasn’t well educated— she’d only finished elementary school and could barely read—but she painstakingly copied down every character, then asked people around town what they meant, one by one.

To protect her daughter’s privacy, she never showed more than a single character at a time.

What she pieced together was straightforward enough.

Ye Hong wrote that Zhang Gou was harassing her. That day in his office, he’d touched her hand, and it had made her feel utterly disgusted.

Ye Hong wasn’t naive. She knew exactly where things were headed if it kept up, so she came home and asked Xu Jingfang if she could just stop going to school.

It was a cruel dilemma. On one hand, Zhang Gou’s sponsorship program was the only thing making school possible for her. On the other, his constant harassment was unbearable—and if she quit, her mother would be devastated.

Wasn’t there some perfect solution that could fix everything?

With her own limited means, could Xu Jingfang really not scrape together enough to send Ye Hong to college?

The answer, of course, was no. They were too poor.

Ye Hong suffered terribly once she faced the truth, but that alone wasn’t what directly led to her death.

It was only after Zhang Gou touched her that she finally realized why he’d picked her as his first sponsorship case.

Single-parent family. Father dead young. Mother scraping by on a pittance. The most vulnerable, the easiest mark.

Zhang Gou had been scheming all along.

“Any other evidence?” Zhou An asked.

“Yes, there is.”

Xu Jingfang rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper torn from the diary.

It was in Ye Hong’s own handwriting—the most crucial part: [I fought with Mom. Mom insists I have to go to school, but I still don’t want to see him.]

These were the last words Ye Hong ever wrote.

The next morning, she was dead.

The “him” in the diary was unmistakably a man, which could only mean Zhang Gou.

In other words, Ye Hong’s reluctance to go to school the day before stemmed from not wanting to see him.

Putting it together, it was almost certain Zhang Gou had arranged to meet her ahead of time.

No one knew what for, but the location was the school.

“That dog!” Zhou An balled her fists. “Letting him die would be too good for him!”

Meng Bai went quiet.

The truth was plain as day, but hard evidence? That was another story.

She could easily picture the odds of Ye Hong being with Zhang Gou right before she died at over ninety-nine percent.

But without proof, the police wouldn’t touch him.

“What’s the point?” Xu Jingfang muttered suddenly, her gaze vacant. “No one’s bringing our Honghong back.”

Meng Bai said nothing. She turned away, unable to bear looking at Xu Jingfang’s face any longer.

“Zhou An,” Meng Bai called softly. “Come here for a second?”

Zhou An walked over. “What’s up?”

“Should we head out?” Meng Bai suggested.

“Head out?” Zhou An blinked in confusion. “You don’t want to stay with her a bit longer?”

Meng Bai shook her head. “It won’t help. If we really want to do something for her, we need to find evidence and get Zhang Gou locked up.”

Zhou An made a face, her voice laced with helpless frustration. “I want to, but we can’t pull that off.”

“We can.” Meng Bai glanced back at Xu Jingfang, though her mind was on Ye Hong.

Ye Hong deserved better than this end.

“Xu Jingfang—” Meng Bai’s eyes softened with pity as she continued, “if you truly want justice for your daughter, you have to stay alive.”

Xu Jingfang looked up at her, a flicker of light piercing the haze in her dull eyes. “Justice? You mean it?”

Meng Bai nodded firmly. “I do. You said no one would believe you? We three do. And since we believe you, you need to believe in us. Don’t write us off as just kids who can’t do a damn thing.”

Xu Jingfang stared for a moment, then asked again, “You mean it?”

“Absolutely. We’ll come back in a few days. In the meantime, promise me you’ll eat, okay?”

Xu Jingfang didn’t reply, but the bag of savory pancakes Zhou An had given her sat right there in front of her.

She tugged the little plastic bag closer, pinched off a piece, and popped it into her mouth. That was her answer.

By the time the three girls emerged from the rundown shack, night had fallen.

Zhou An still didn’t get why Meng Bai was in such a rush to leave. She’d wanted to spend more time with Xu Jingfang.

Meng Bai strode ahead, steps quick and purposeful. “Come with me. We’re going somewhere.”

“Huh? Where to?” Even Xu Zhou looked puzzled.

Zhou An hurried to catch up, equally baffled. “Yeah, where are we going?”

“I want to see if I can get us in to meet Miao Bai.”

~~~

Truth be told, Meng Bai had no idea if Miao Bai would even agree to see them.

She really should have checked first, but she couldn’t wait that long.

Hearing Xu Jingfang’s story had driven home just how much evil lurked in the world—and how woefully short the arm of justice often fell.

Some people were fated to die unjustly. The world wasn’t perfectly fair.

In a bitter irony, ninety-nine percent of folks went through life without ever crossing paths with someone like Miao Bai—a veritable god among mortals.

Which meant the wronged were just supposed to grit their teeth and take it? Swallow every injustice?

Meng Bai refused to accept that. Her conscience wouldn’t let her.

She saw herself as the bridge linking the divine to the ordinary, duty-bound to at least make the attempt, whether Miao Bai helped or not.

Under the cover of night, the three hurried along a narrow path. Meng Bai stayed silent the whole way, so Zhou An and Xu Zhou didn’t dare utter a peep.

Only when they neared the Old Courtyard did Zhou An finally stop and tug at Meng Bai’s sleeve. “You seriously come out here at night just to see her? Doesn’t this place give you the creeps?”

Meng Bai answered honestly. “It used to terrify me. Not anymore.” She reassured them. “Don’t worry—just stick close to me.”

The Old Courtyard exuded a chilling austerity. The rusty iron gate conjured up all sorts of eerie images.

With the barren surroundings, the thick cluster of trees, and the wind whistling through like approaching ghosts, it was the stuff of nightmares.

Meng Bai stood at the gate and rapped on it three times. “Miao Bai, it’s me,” she called inside.

Swish-swish—

The wind picked up.

But the door stayed shut.

Meng Bai tried again. “Yeah, I brought Zhou An and Xu Zhou with me. If you’re okay seeing us, open up. If not, we’ll head back.”

Zhou An felt a bit cold and rubbed her shoulders, shuffling with small steps toward Xu Zhou. She grabbed Xu Zhou’s hand and squeezed it hard, signaling that she was a little scared.

A rustling sound brushed past their ears, tousling their hair.

The three of them stood at the doorway for a few seconds.

The iron gate before them swung open as if pushed by an invisible force.

“My God—” Zhou An jumped in fright. “That’s so magical.”

Meng Bai let out a sigh of relief and took the lead, stepping onto the stone steps in front of the gate. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

The sky tonight was exceptionally dark, and the courtyard seemed smeared with ink. It was nearly impossible to make out anything.

Miao Bai stood in a very secluded spot. Dressed all in black, she blended seamlessly into the shadows—at first glance, no one would even notice her.

But Meng Bai spotted her immediately.

“Miao Bai!”

“Mm.” Miao Bai’s gaze slipped past Meng Bai’s shoulder, landing on Zhou An and Xu Zhou.

The two women felt her eyes on them and broke out in goosebumps.

Why did her stare feel so eerie?

Why couldn’t they bring themselves to look at her?

Why did she seem like some kind of specter?

It was Meng Bai’s voice that shattered the awkward chill. “Let me introduce you. This is Zhou An, and this is Xu Zhou.” She walked toward Miao Bai. “Come on, everyone gather closer. Otherwise, we won’t be able to see a thing.”

They had no choice but to draw nearer.

Zhou An kept her eyes glued to the ground, not daring to look up, while Xu Zhou stayed relatively composed and stole a glance at Miao Bai.

In the dimness, she could make out the soft contours of her face—far prettier than she’d imagined.

“Zhou An, don’t be scared. She’s not a ghost. See?” Xu Zhou’s voice was gentle.

Only then did Zhou An lift her head and truly look at Miao Bai. Even several meters apart, in the pitch blackness, she could glimpse the woman’s stunning beauty.

She really wasn’t a ghost. She was a beautiful woman—an exceptionally beautiful one, at that.

No wonder Meng Bai was so utterly smitten.

“So, what do you want?” Miao Bai asked.

Her voice was clear and icy, as if her throat had been dipped in frost. The sound alone sent a chill down their spines.

“We want to discuss something with you,” Meng Bai said. She showed no fear, speaking with easy familiarity. “It’s really important, so we came without calling ahead.”

“Then speak,” Miao Bai said, slowly walking toward them.

Zhou An instinctively took a step back, then realized she was overreacting.

“I’ll be direct, then. You know about Ye Hong jumping to her death, right?”

Miao Bai said nothing, which Meng Bai took as confirmation.

“Today, the three of us went to see Ye Hong’s mother,” Meng Bai continued. “We found out that Ye Hong met Zhang Gou right before she died. We suspect he’s connected to her death.”

Zhou An cut in. “It’s not just a suspicion—it’s definitely him. We just don’t have any proof.”

Xu Zhou couldn’t hold back either. “Ye Hong was absolutely murdered by Zhang Gou.”

The three of them spoke in turn, and Miao Bai listened quietly before responding. “So, what exactly do you want?”

Meng Bai didn’t mince words. “We want your help to find some evidence. If we can get Zhang Gou thrown in jail, that would be perfect!”

Meng Bai had braced herself for some kind of response, but all Miao Bai said was a single word:

“Oh—”

That drawn-out “oh” made Meng Bai squirm uncomfortably.

But truthfully, Miao Bai had no obligation to help them.

Zhou An glanced at Xu Zhou, then at Meng Bai. Everyone fell silent, not daring to say another word.

The atmosphere grew deathly quiet, the whisper of wind through the leaves sounding unnaturally loud.

A few seconds later, Miao Bai finally spoke. “So, you want to clear Ye Hong’s name and right this wrong?”

“Yes!” Meng Bai exhaled in relief, thinking she’d finally gotten through.

But in the next instant, she met Miao Bai’s gaze—sharper now, laced with probing intensity.

“You sure?” Miao Bai pressed. She paused, then turned to Zhou An and Xu Zhou. “All of you sure?”

“Of course!”

Why wouldn’t they be? If Miao Bai agreed to help, everything would become so much simpler. Once they had evidence, putting Zhang Gou behind bars would only be a matter of time.

To their surprise, the next sound was Miao Bai’s sigh.

It was faint, but Meng Bai caught it.

“What’s wrong?”

Miao Bai raised her hand lightly, gesturing for them to huddle closer.

The three women complied without hesitation, clustering together.

None of them were as tall as Miao Bai, so she bent down to meet their eyes at eye level.

In a hushed whisper, she asked, “You really hate Zhang Gou, don’t you?”

Meng Bai nodded vigorously. “Hate him with every fiber of my being.”

“And you think Ye Hong was wronged?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then what if I told you…” Miao Bai’s voice dropped even lower, sinking into a tone that sent shivers through them. “What if I said Zhang Gou is just the tip of the iceberg? And Ye Hong too? Would you still want to fight evil and uphold justice?”

Tip of the iceberg.

A fierce gust of wind whipped through, burrowing into their ears like a whirlwind, its force almost tornado-like.

Meng Bai’s pupils dilated, her heart clenching hard. “What did you say? Here? In this small town?”

“Yes. Right here in this small town.”

Zhou An’s face went slack, too stunned to speak.

Xu Zhou frowned, voicing the heart of the matter first. “So you’re saying there have already been other victims? And there are people even worse than Zhang Gou out there—people we don’t even know about?”

Miao Bai nodded. “Most likely, yes. I’m still investigating.” She turned to Zhou An. “It started because of your disappearance. That’s what made me dig into all this.”

Meng Bai could hardly believe it. Things were far more complicated than she’d realized. “Who are the other victims? Do we know them?”

Miao Bai’s expression turned hesitant. “You know them, but I can’t say who just yet.”

“What about the suspects? Surely you can tell us that much?”

“Too many to count.” Even Miao Bai shook her head. “Conservatively speaking, at least ten.”