Have you ever been scorned?
Perhaps everyone has moments of concealment; sometimes a lack of a smile when someone looks at you can feel like a severe blow to your heart and mind.
Clara is such a fragile person, always attentive to others’ gazes, sensitive yet irritable.
She has a temper far beyond her social class and desires far exceeding her bank account.
Once she steps into a situation thinking, ‘this can make a lot of money,’ it becomes difficult to escape the rut she’s accustomed to, unable to endure hardship, and without the opportunity to accumulate transformative skills. A daily negative cycle, likely until death.
They are called pitiable yet detestable, seeming to have had choices, yet appearing as the tiniest droplets under the societal waves, pushed and pulled around because they still hold some utilitarian value.
Clara doesn’t quite understand her own fate; she doesn’t contemplate these matters. In her mind, living and those subtle emotions are probably all there is.
This morning, she thought about her identity and considered her fragile self-esteem.
For various reasons, she chose her most respectable outfit from the wardrobe—modest, of good quality, clean and neatly worn, with her hair seriously combed.
Thinking of the handsome and gentle policewoman Jiayi, and seeing a photo of her in an old newspaper with a ponytail, looking smart and attractive, Clara also tied her chestnut-red hair up, revealing a stretch of her pale neck.
Feeling properly dressed, she then stepped into a pair of flat shoes and left the house.
In fact, she had not yet received a call from Officer Yi, but she worried that waiting at home for the call and then rushing to the police station would waste a lot of time. It would be more convenient to simply wait at the station, where Officer Yi, after finishing other tasks, was going to meet Meini’s family; they could leave directly from the station, how convenient.
…
Clara sat on a bench, watching the crooked tree outside the police station’s report window sway in the wind.
Under the cold air, even the evergreen trees had changed their green attire for orange and red.
By almost 11 o’clock, Clara and Yi Jiayi got on a minibus, rattling towards the Bay Area shanty.
“Prepare yourself mentally, Meini’s parents have a bad relationship with her. The last time we went to see them, we were turned away,” Jiayi sat by the window, wrapped in her thick plaid coat, talking to Clara while sniffling.
“I know, madam, Meini told me about it, her parents have disowned her.”
Jiayi nodded, these details were indeed mentioned in Clara’s recorded statements.
“Don’t worry, madam. Even if Meini’s parents don’t open the door, I’ll knock it down or kick it open. I know you detectives need to be civilized, but I’m not scared,” Clara said, thumping her chest vigorously, making her chest shake, then continued boldly:
“I’ll definitely get them to come back to the station with you and bring Meini back. I won’t make things difficult for you, madam.”
“Thank you very much,” Jiayi couldn’t help but smirk. Although many people in Dali Courtyard had said that Clara was moody during the recording of their statements, Jiayi now understood why those people both loved and hated her.
Clara had a bold and decisive air about her, reminiscent of the tough female characters Jiayi watched in Hong Kong dramas when she was a child.
When they arrived at the Zhao family’s shack, it was nearly noon, and the two of them walked one after the other over the dirt road.
Jiayi was prepared when she knocked on the door, but after talking to Zhao’s mother, she still felt sad.
Zhao’s mother still had an indifferent face when she opened the door. Hearing that the murderer who had killed Zhao Meini was caught, she merely uttered a faint “Hmm.”
Jiayi mentioned that Zhao Meini’s family could now take her body away, but Zhao’s mother paused for a few seconds, then decisively said:
“We have already severed ties with her, please let the police handle it. Whether it’s sent for an autopsy or cremated, there’s no need to inform us.”
Then, without waiting for Jiayi and Clara to react, Zhao’s mother slammed the door shut.
“Hey!” Clara snapped back to reality and tried to stop her, almost getting her hand caught.
Jiayi looked at the door in front of her, sighed softly, and turned her hopeful eyes to Clara.
However, Clara did not kick or bang on the door as she had said she would. Instead, the previously fierce woman covered her face, silently sobbing.
“…” Jiayi.
Just as Jiayi was thinking about whether to comfort Clara, the woman hastily wiped her tears with her sleeve, then spoke loudly to the door:
“Before Meini died, she wanted to open a fishball shop, did you know that?”
“She knew she hadn’t listened to her parents and had made a mistake. But she didn’t know how to do anything else, only how to make the fishballs and other snacks that her mom taught her when she was little. She told me, saying her mom’s fishballs were the tastiest, and she could eat 16 at a time, even more than her sister. She would always end up with a bloated stomach and then sit in her mom’s lap, having her mom rub her belly until she burped…”
“Meini also said that several families in the bay could make fishballs, but only her mom’s were the best because she had a secret recipe, which she only taught her.”
“She had saved a lot of money, and she was sure a fishball shop would make money. Then her dad wouldn’t feel embarrassed, and her mom would let her come home.”
“She told me a lot about her childhood, Meini really missed her parents.”
As Clara spoke, she choked up, and Jiayi too had tears welling up.
During the pauses in Clara’s speech, Jiayi thought she heard sobbing from inside the door, unsure if it was just the sound of the sea and the wind.
“I’ll go back with the officer to the station, and we’ll cremate Meini. Then I’ll place her ashes at your doorstep, and whether you throw them away or keep them, it’s up to you to give Meini a chance,” Clara said loudly towards the door, then turned to wipe the corners of her eyes and whispered to Jiayi:
“Madam, let’s go.”
Jiayi turned her head back to stare at the tightly shut wooden door and nodded.
….
….
When Jiayi returned to the office after handling the body handover process for Clara, Fang Zhenyue just happened to come in from the police station’s front desk with a parcel.
“Brother Yue, whose package is that?” Liu Jiaming peeked around curiously.
“My mom.” Fang Zhenyue hadn’t been home for a long time, and his family, unable to get him to visit and always missing him at his place, resorted to mailing things to his police station.
“Wow, from mom, huh? What did she send? Open it up, let’s see?” Liu Jiaming peeked around curiously.
“Call her mother-in-law,” Fang Zhenyue gave Liu Jiaming a look, demoting his generational rank jokingly.
“Heh heh.” Liu Jiaming touched his nose, not daring to call him dad without anything to eat.
After opening the package, Fang Zhenyue found a neatly square little box with a note on the side.
Liu Jiaming, being rather informal, leaned in to see, and seeing that Fang Zhenyue did not stop him, he read aloud: “Thank you to the policewoman who saved your life, this is a gift from your dad and me.”
“Ah, is it a gift for Eleven?” Sanfu, hearing it was for the one who saved Brother Yue’s life, realized it must be Officer Yi Jiayi, who shot and killed Ye Yongqian during the Baojin Bank heist.
“Ah?” Jiayi, who had been sighing over Zhao Meini’s matter, also had her attention diverted and gathered around Fang Zhenyue, “What is it, Brother Yue?”
Uncle Jiu, sitting at his desk drinking tea, also came over with his little teacup, slurping as he walked.
With everyone’s attention, Fang Zhenyue took out the small box and casually handed it to Jiayi, “It’s your gift, take a look yourself.”
Jiayi met Fang Zhenyue’s gaze, seeing his smile, she took it without ceremony.
After taking it, she sat in her chair, cleared her throat, and announced, “I’m going to open it now.”
“Hurry up!” Liu Jiaming laughed, urging her, “Why the suspense?”
Jiayi chuckled, promptly lifted the lid, and inside the delicate velvet box lay a dark green jade pendant carved into a ruyi (a symbol of good fortune and protection) shape.
Under natural light, the jade exhibited a soft, appealing luster, looking exceptionally appealing.
Jiayi leaned in, somewhat nervously asked, “This isn’t too expensive, is it, Brother Yue?”
“It’s definitely not as expensive as my life, just keep it.” He tossed the packaging into the trash can, patted her head casually, and then added:
“Tu Guisheng donated a small police car to the force, said it was specifically for Major Crimes Team B. Madam has already gone to handle the registration, and soon we’ll be able to use that car anytime. If someone needs it urgently, taking off the siren and using it privately a few times shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s a good thing. Shall we go celebrate at Yi Ji tonight?”
“Wow, Tu Guisheng is really generous.” Gary rubbed his hands in anticipation; he always rode in Brother Yue’s car during deployments, maybe now he’d also have a chance to touch the steering wheel?
“Aren’t you, Eleven, the only one in B Unit who hasn’t got their driving license yet?” Fang Zhenyue walked to the whiteboard, erasing the writing on it while asking.
Holding the beautiful pendant that could dazzle anyone, Jiayi looked at it against the light, looked at it backlit, thrilled to the point of wanting to jump, suddenly named, she quickly turned around and stood at attention, seriously replied, “Yes, Brother Yue.”
“Shall we learn it?” Fang Zhenyue suggested.
“Yes, sir!” Jiayi responded loudly as she hung the pendant around her neck.
The jade pendant, green and oily, fell inside her collar, heavily settling just below her clavicle, feeling cool and smooth.
Rubbing it between her fingers, it warmed up, and then she tucked it back under her clothes, feeling sleek and smooth. She grabbed it through her clothes, immensely liking it.
She walked briskly to Fang Zhenyue’s side and said shyly, “Brother Yue, actually, I can’t really say I saved your life. When we in the serious crime unit go out on missions, looking out for each other is expected. I really don’t deserve this gift…”
She had always been taken care of by everyone; they were all officers, protecting each other’s backs, how could it be considered a ‘life-saving grace’? It was all part of the job.
Fang Zhenyue turned around and saw Jiayi, embarrassed while clutching the jade tightly. He couldn’t help but laugh, “In this line of work, there was already a lot of disapproval. It’s all over the big TV screens; if it weren’t for your shot, both Sanfu and I would have been gone. That’s the truth. It’s a gesture from my parents, just accept it peacefully. If you ask me, since it’s saving my life, the gift is too insincere.”
Fang Zhenyue thought for a moment, then spread his arms wide, “It should at least be this big.”
“Haha, that big?” Sanfu couldn’t help but tease, “Are you planning to gift a jade statue of Guan Gong?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Fang Zhenyue nodded.
“Wow, Brother Sanfu. Both Brother Yue’s parents have given gifts, where’s yours?” Gary teased.
“Would dedicating myself be okay?” Sanfu puffed up his chest, “A talent, a young genius.”
“Brother Sanfu! Why would you repay kindness with ingratitude?!” Jiayi immediately protested.
“Hahahahaha.”
“Hahaha.”
The detectives roared with laughter.
“Wow, Sister Eleven really sets high standards! Even a handsome guy like me isn’t to her taste?” Sanfu wasn’t embarrassed.
“I’m committed to a life with justice; men would only slow down my sword drawing,” Jiayi swung her right hand, striking a pose like a female warrior.
“Wow, Eleven is so fierce, criminals are in trouble!” Uncle Jiu joined in with the young people’s fun.
Later on, everyone divided the work to wrap up the case of the Portland Street corpse, and Jiayi started working on the case report with Liu Jiaming, organizing all the evidence and lab reports.
The DNA test reports were incredibly slow to come out. The case was solved, but the detectives still hadn’t received them.
Jiayi had no choice but to set aside this piece of evidence until the reports came in.
Time flew by, and before they knew it, it was time to clock out.
Liu Jiaming was unusually eager, hurrying everyone along. It turned out he had secretly called Yi Jiadong to go eat lamb pot tonight.
The call of a steaming hot dinner was too strong; his taste buds and stomach were in a rush.
Sergeant Fang knew how to pamper his detectives, “We’ll handle the documents and procedural work tomorrow morning. That’s it for today.”
“Long live Brother Yue!” Liu Jiaming cheered, herding everyone out of the office like cattle.
No dawdling, it’s time to clock out!
The group was cheerful as they left the police station, only to find a crowd of reporters outside.
After inquiring with a uniformed officer, they learned that the process for Qiu Sushan’s complaint to the commissioner had been approved, and Qin Hongliang had been transferred to prison to await her trial, coinciding with the transport time.
The reporters were there to interview the criminal, and PR officer Sir Guo allowed a few media outlets with good interaction to ask some questions.
As Jiayi walked with the group towards the garage, she glanced at Qin Hongliang surrounded by the media. Just overnight, the once haughty young woman had lost all her spirit. She seemed to have aged in the blink of an eye, becoming listless and cowering, hard to imagine as the cunning murderer who had set so many traps for the police and others.
“Why did you kill?”
“Was it over a man?”
“I heard you left many clues for the police. Were you provoking them?”
The reporters’ questions varied, but Qin Hongliang did not respond. She stood there, expressionless, then suddenly murmured:
“I never thought the garbage truck carrying the gloves I used for the murder would be flooded by a downpour. Perhaps it was divine retribution.”
A reporter’s microphone near Qin Hongliang’s mouth amplified her words, reaching everyone present.
“What garbage truck got flooded by the rain?” a reporter immediately asked.
“The one on the 28th, carrying the rubber gloves I wore during the murder,” Qin Hongliang finally lifted her eyelids, shaking her head, “I miscalculated, I admit it.”
“There was no garbage truck drenched by rain,” another reporter frowned, saying. As journalists, they knew all the details of the typhoon and other significant events, even counting how many trash bins were blown over on Portland Street.
If something like that had happened, they certainly wouldn’t have missed it.
“No?” Qin Hongliang frowned.
“No,” another tall reporter echoed, affirming there really wasn’t.
Qin Hongliang paused for a few seconds, her expression suddenly twisting into a ferocious snarl, she screamed furiously, “The police tricked me! Ah, I was not careless! I did not! I did not make a mistake, I did not make a mistake, I did not make a mistake! I did not!”
She looked up, her voice growing hoarse, filled with resentment and anger.
The reporters, like cats that had smelled fish, quickly crowded around, shouting louder as they jostled to ask questions.
Suddenly, someone in the crowd shouted, “Ah, those seem to be the detectives from Team B who solved the Portland Street murder case,” and in the next instant, all cameras turned towards Fang Zhenyue and his team walking towards the garage.
The reporters closest to the scene rushed over, with the lead reporter loudly asking, “Sir, did the police use any deceit or similar methods to obtain confessions?”
“What about the rubber gloves the murderer mentioned?”
Fang Zhenyue parted the crowd, unflustered, and said, “No, that’s not the case. The culprit has committed a crime and is probably still emotionally unstable. All our interrogation processes are recorded on video, and confessions are only signed off by the culprits if they acknowledge them. Please, the media must be fair and report the truth, and not be misled by a cunning criminal.”
After speaking, he protected the other detectives, cutting off further questions and quickly breaking through the encirclement, heading towards the garage.
A photographer standing on a media van looked through his camera as the detectives broke through. Suddenly, a female officer among them looked back towards the direction of the criminal.
The evening sun pierced through the trees, casting mottled golden light on the female officer, outlining her with a hazy, reddish glow.
Perhaps a beam of light pierced through the turning red leaves, forming red starbursts that adorned her shoulder.
As she strode forward, looking back with her head held high, her posture was erect, proud yet solemn.
Even standing among a group of tall, imposing detectives, even surrounded by a throng of reporters, her gaze back at the criminal still made her the center of the cameras.
She seemed to radiate light, so dazzling.
Click, click!
The photographer couldn’t control his fingers, continuously pressing the shutter.
…
Once all the members of Team B got into the jeep, Fang Zhenyue stepped on the accelerator, circling the crowd and onto the main road, before he asked:
“Who told her about the garbage truck being washed by the rain?”
“That was me.” Sanfu immediately raised his hand and admitted, “She asked during the questioning. I was afraid she wouldn’t cooperate properly in the interrogation if she knew the truth, so I just said that.”
Waiting at the red light, Fang Zhenyue turned back to look at Sanfu, who seemed a bit worried about having misspoken, and suddenly burst out laughing:
“Nicely done.”
…..
That night, “Sun and Moon Newspaper,” the top-selling newspaper of the year in Hong Kong, purchased a high-priced photograph taken from above centered on Yi Jiayi.
In the first line of the article, Editor-in-Chief Zha personally wrote:
“Every action leaves a trace; the most acute detectives make everything apparent.”
…
That night, Jiayi penned in her diary, stroke by stroke:
“Supernatural abilities cannot serve as evidence in court, but the chain of reasoning and evidence painstakingly uncovered after such abilities indicate a direction can.”
After capping her pen, Jiayi stared at the page for a long while before gently tearing it off from the corner.
In a small tin box, she ignited the paper, smelling the fleeting scent of the fireworks as she turned away…
…
The next morning, at Lai Chi Kok’s Nanwan, Zhao’s father rowed the small boat back fully loaded.
Zhao’s mother helped to sort different fishes into baskets, her stooped back appearing slender in the dawn light.
After anchoring and washing up, Zhao’s father joined his wife to sell fish at the morning market.
By daybreak, they had sold all their fish, collecting a bag full of small change.
On the way home, Zhao’s father bought two newspapers.
Back at their house in the boathouse area, neither of the elderly spoke. Zhao’s mother prepared breakfast, and after washing his face, Zhao’s father sat by the window to read the newspaper by the morning light.
After breakfast, the illiterate Zhao’s mother asked her husband to read the newspaper to her.
After reading the news about the Portland Street murder, Zhao’s mother pressed her hands on the newspaper, her fingers gently tracing the lines of characters she could not recognize.
The elderly couple sat in silence, and after some time, Zhao’s father stood up and moved a large cardboard box down from a cabinet using a stool.
The box was damp and moldy in many places.
His rough hands brushed the dust off the box, he opened it and rummaged inside for a while, then took out an old photo frame.
Holding the frame, he wiped its corners and the glass with his shirt, then turned back to the window, looked around, and placed the frame on a shelf under the window to catch the light.
Zhao’s mother’s gaze followed her busy husband, her aged face furrowed with wrinkles showed no emotion, just silently watching.
The sun rose higher and shone brighter.
Even the patchy old glass of the shack couldn’t block the morning light, which spilled recklessly, illuminating the old photograph.
Zhao Meini, in her school uniform during her teenage years, looked youthful and radiant.
She smiled so brightly at the camera, like a flower ready to bloom in the spring sunshine.
The old window kept the chill of late autumn outside, and the girl in the photo felt only the brilliant sunshine.
Under the eaves, within the doors and windows, Zhao Meini had come home.
….
Translator’s Note: I cried in this case because of Meini’s family
She is home