by Zhou HaoHui
It was from 1984. A line of text was written below the year: January 30th Hostage Case.
*
10:13 p.m.
Surgical ward, Chengdu People’s Hospital
Teacher Wu had been transferred to a private intensive-care room after his surgery. The doctors expected him to make a full recovery. With the help of some physiotherapy, they declared, he should be able to use his reattached left hand with little difficulty.
Word of the hotel murders had spread like wildfire since the morning. Endless waves of reporters swarmed into the hospital, representing various media outlets both local and national. Anyone who tried to get into the intensive-care unit, however, was promptly turned away by the hospital staff. The patient had just come out of surgery, they explained, and could not be disturbed.
Moments after the head nurse had turned away yet another couple of reporters, a third individual strode up to her. He appeared to be no older than twenty-five and his casual attire instantly set him apart from the well-dressed journalists. His jacket hung open, revealing a cotton shirt that clung to his well-defined chest and abdomen. His aviator sunglasses further enhanced his confident air.
‘Which room is Teacher Wu’s?’ he asked calmly and matter-of-factly.
The head nurse, a woman in her late thirties, gave him a steely glare. ‘Are you a relative?’
‘No.’ He shook his head and held out a badge. ‘Police.’
The nurse’s expression softened immediately. ‘My apologies, sir. I didn’t know.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ the man said, flashing a congenial smile.
‘Those journalists are a pain in the neck. I thought you were one of—’
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘I understand. You’re simply doing your job, and that’s very admirable. In fact, you’ve all gone above and beyond the call of duty today. I’ll talk to my team later and have them send a couple of officers to assist your staff.’
The head nurse beamed.
‘Would it be all right if I went into Teacher Wu’s room?’ the man asked.
‘Of course.’ The nurse turned and pointed down the hall. ‘It’s the third on the left, Room 707.’
After thanking her with a nod, he headed into the intensive-care unit. All beauty and no brains, he thought as a sly smile crept across his lips.
*
10:40 p.m.
Bahamas Bar
The bar was packed. It was impossible to take a step in any direction without elbowing at least three people. Which was exactly why Captain Han had chosen to hide out there.
He’d been forced to mug a young couple at noon and their expressions haunted him, their eyes full of shock, terror and disgust. One more for the list, he thought. Murder, escaping from police custody, and now petty theft.
A newly opened bottle of beer came sliding across in front of him. He looked up. A woman with bleached hair and heavy make-up was sitting on the stool next to him. She leant in close. ‘Free of charge, Mr Han,’ she whispered into his ear.
Every muscle in Han’s body tensed.
The woman chuckled and her thick make-up began to crack. ‘This comes courtesy of that fellow over there. I’m just the messenger.’
She pointed to a distant, dimly lit corner of the bar, where a man was sitting alone at a small table. The tip of a cigarette flared red, lighting up the man’s eyes.
‘Him?’
Captain Han’s heart beat faster in his chest. His hands hovered as he considered his next move.
‘I don’t know about you,’ the woman said, ‘but I tend not to ask too many questions when a free drink is involved.’
With beer in hand, Han stood up and strode towards the man.
*
Earlier that night: 9:30 p.m.
The Green Spring
He sat in the same booth as last time. Until recently, he’d always avoided making repeat appearances at public locations. But he’d been unable to stop himself from returning to this place.
The past two days had been harder than he’d expected. He needed to sort through his emotions, and this restaurant was the perfect spot to wind down and think.
His mentor, he reflected, was not the first father figure he had lost. It was the third.
First he had lost his real father.
In truth, the years he’d spent with his real father had not been happy ones. His father had been weighed down with too many worries, too much pain. Even now, his memories of the affection his father had shown him were still steeped in sadness.
The urge to try and relieve his father of his pain had sprouted when he was very young and grown stronger with time, but in the end it had amounted to nothing. His father had vanished from his life without warning. He didn’t remember how or why. It was a long time ago.
On the day his father disappeared, his second father figure entered his life. He remembered it very clearly – it was his sixth birthday. The second man was known simply as ‘Uncle’ and brought so much joy. In his memory, Uncle was young and dashing and never without a smile. The two of them became fast friends from their very first meeting.
Once upon a time he’d loved jumping into his father’s arms. Uncle was different though. Simply looking at Uncle’s face used to make him feel at peace, as if nothing bad would ever happen to him again. He still remembered that face, like a photograph that he could turn to at any time.
Uncle knew plenty of ways to make him happy. A snack here, a joke there, and lots of funny faces. Uncle also took good care of his mother. She was bedridden and would often urge him to listen to Uncle. The three of them always smiled when they were together.
When Uncle was around, he forgot the pain of his father’s absence. These were the happiest memories of his life.
Then Uncle was gone. His mother succumbed to her illness not long after. For the first time in his life, he was truly alone.
The orphanage became his new home. He didn’t like the place and the people there didn’t like him. His memories of his years there contained not a single shred of happiness. He kept to himself. None of the other children ever knew what he was thinking and nor did they want to. It was a suffocating environment. He wanted to struggle, to fight, but he felt so weak. That was how he began his adolescence.
Then, one day, he appeared. A man far stranger than anyone he had ever encountered. Despite the man’s grotesque features, there was an irresistible charisma about him that he could only describe as magical.
His fear of the strange man turned into curiosity, curiosity turned into infatuation and eventually awe. He drew closer to the man, absorbing his wisdom and strength like a shrivelled plant greedily sucking nutrients from the soil. With this man, sunlight had finally returned to his life.
He was shown the world as it truly was. He saw how many innocent people continued to suffer and how many evil people were able to execute their sadistic acts unchecked. For the first time in his life he had a purpose. He knew that taking this path would not be easy, but it could change the world. The man showed him the way forward and he followed it. He now had a new name for this man, a title that filled him with reverence. Mentor.
Just when he thought he was finally strong enough to repay the enormous debt to his mentor, his mentor left. Now there was no one who knew about his past. He’d become completely invisible. But all that had changed last night.
Even as his own memories seemed to be drifting away, the truth began to creep into view. On the news reports about the explosion last night he’d seen some familiar old photographs. Photos of Uncle. Except the reporters called him Yuan Zhibang.
So many of his questions were answered in that instant. He realised why Uncle had vanished so suddenly. And why his mentor had chosen him. But there were still questions – his head felt swollen with them.
Where had his father gone? Just how had Yuan Zhibang come into his life?
If he was to unravel the answers, he would need to begin his search from deep inside his own memory.
His father had left him and Uncle had taken his father’s place. He remembered the date very clearly. It was his birthday: the thirtieth of January 1984.
Whenever he recalled that period of his childhood, he always pictured a white hospital room, his mother lying on the bed, her face pale and drawn, her gaze weak and pleading. But on the thirtieth of January 1984 he was happy. His father had promised to buy him a cake for his birthday. He was practically trembling with excitement. A golden cake slathered with icing – how delicious that would be.
Inside the hospital, he and his mother waited for his father. But his father was nowhere to be seen. After a long while, three strange men turned up. The one in charge wore a sombre expression that seemed to suck the air from the room. Even though he didn’t know why they had come, he began to sob.
But then he was immediately pulled into a warm embrace. He looked up to see a pair of kind, nice eyes. That was his first memory of Uncle. In mere seconds, Uncle turned his tears into laughter. The cold room turned warm. The man gave him things that his father never had. A lollipop. A toy drum. Uncle even sat him inside a big car. He asked him where they were going.
‘To look for your daddy,’ Uncle said.
He became even happier. ‘Today’s my birthday,’ he bragged. ‘My daddy’s going to get me a birthday cake with lots and lots of icing.’
Before he got out of the car, the man handed him a pair of headphones. ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ blared out from the tape player and he was transfixed. He listened eagerly as he licked his fresh lollipop, singing along with the recording.
As promised, the man took him to see his father. His father was standing next to a stranger, but it wasn’t clear what they were doing.
The man held him, and his thoughts returned to his birthday cake. But by the time they left, his father had still not given him the cake he’d promised. He would have to wait until that evening before he would see the birthday cake. The smiling uncle was holding it; he said that his father had entrusted him to deliver the cake to the birthday boy.
The cake tasted as sweet as it looked. In the years that followed, the night of his sixth birthday would become one of his most treasured memories. After that day, however, he never saw his father again.
Where did his father go? Who was the smiling man and who was the stranger with his father? These questions haunted him for years. No matter how hard he searched for the truth, he was never able to put the pieces together. But last night’s broadcast had shed new light on everything. His mentor and uncle were one and the same. Yuan Zhibang. He had been a police officer. The car that he had sat him in was a police car.
Yuan must have had some reason for coming into his life. Could it be that his father was… a criminal?
At great risk to himself, he gained access to the city’s police archives and finally learnt of his father’s fate. The answers within that folder filled him with sadness and left him with even more questions. He had always suspected that the truth would reopen the deep psychological wounds that had long since scarred over. Still, he had no choice but to continue his search.
There was something, he realised, that had drawn him to the Green Spring. It wasn’t the restaurant’s elegant Huaiyang cuisine, nor its sweet, house-brewed wine. It was the young woman. Like himself, she had also lost her father.
He had a lot to think about and he needed the serenity that the restaurant afforded. But there were several diners there tonight who were lowering the tone of the place.
Three men sat at the table closest to the stage. He recognised their faces. The overweight one was Lin Henggan and the thin one was Meng Fangliang. They were both vice presidents of the Longyu Corporation. Following the recent death of Mayor Deng, they were now the company’s most senior associates. The third was a younger man, Sheng, who’d been one of Mayor Deng’s most capable bodyguards. He was drunk, his thick neck just a few shades short of crimson.
Vice President Meng was patting Sheng on the shoulder with his free hand. Sheng listened intently to what was being said, nodded, swallowed the last of his 100-per-cent-proof rice wine and banged his glass down on the table.
Vice President Lin now leant towards Sheng and shook his hand. The older man looked both solemn and expectant. Sheng gripped his fleshy hand and seemed overcome with pride.
The two vice presidents got up from their table and made their leisurely way to the restaurant’s exit. Neither noticed that they were being watched from a nearby corner.
*
The bodyguard poured himself another glass of baijiu, revelling in what Vice President Meng had just promised him. Mayor Deng was gone. Why should he work himself to the bone for a dead man’s estate? If he chose to follow a different master now, he could rise far above Brother Hua, who remained sickeningly loyal to the Deng family.
The final strains of the Bach sonata dissipated and the young woman on the stage in the middle of the pool set her violin back on its stand.
Sheng whirled around. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he yelled. ‘Don’t stop! Keep playing! Keep playing!’
Sheng may have been a philistine when it came to the arts, but tonight was one of the most important nights of his life and he was damn well going to celebrate.
A waiter hurried over. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but the performance is over.’
‘Fuck that! You think I don’t have the money?’ Sheng brandished a handful of hundred-yuan bills at the waiter and slammed them onto the table. ‘Keep the music coming!’
The young woman stood stationary on the stage, blinking through sightless eyes. Her thin frame reminded the man in the corner of a dandelion stem. A waitress rushed over, took her by the arm and led her down the steps and off the stage.
Sheng leapt up from his seat and staggered after the violinist. ‘Are you trying to insult me? I have connections all over this city. I can get you fired and make sure you never work again!’ But by the time he reached the stage, she’d already vanished through a back door.
‘Go ahead and run, damn it!’ he roared. ‘If you ever come back here, I’ll fucking smash your head in! Don’t you know who I am?’
The restaurant’s entire staff watched in shock as Sheng burst out of the exit. He stumbled across the car park and leant against a car door to catch his breath.
Suddenly, a handkerchief was pressed against his mouth. It only took half a second to register the sharp smell coming from the cloth, and before he knew it, the drunken bodyguard felt his arms and legs slipping from under him. He lost consciousness.
*
30 October, 1:12 a.m.
Sheng gradually came to. His head seemed to be filled with wet cement and it hurt like hell.
He was sitting up in the driver’s seat of his new car. The seatbelt was strapped across his chest and the car was at a standstill though its engine was purring. He squinted at the glowing dashboard and wrinkled his nose. The car reeked of alcohol.
‘Shit,’ he hissed. Must have blacked out again.
He searched for his last memory. He remembered flying into a drunken rage inside the restaurant and then chasing after the violinist. But after that, nothing. Judging from the evidence around him, he must have left the restaurant and passed out while driving.
At least my car’s still in one piece. But where the hell am I?
He peered through the windows. Although the streetlights around him were dim, they illuminated enough of the wide road for him to see the crash barriers to either side. But there was a conspicuous absence of other headlights or taillights. He was certain that he’d never been there before. Never mind. I’ll just drive. If I see someone, I’ll ask them where the hell this is.
Sheng shifted the car into gear and pressed the accelerator. The engine growled and the vehicle set off along the wide road.
He thought back to his earlier conversation with the two vice presidents and grinned. He was going places. Unconsciously, he pressed harder on the accelerator.
By the time he
saw the roadworks signs blocking the road in front of him, the needle on the speedometer was edging past the 100 km/h mark. An LCD sign spelt out a curt message in red: No Road Ahead!
The alcohol had dulled Sheng’s reactions, but he still managed to slam his foot on the brake in time. Even so, his speed didn’t change. He continued hurtling towards the sign at the same rate.
He stomped on the brake pedal but felt no resistance. The car rocketed towards the warning signs as if it had a mind of its own. A sober realisation prodded at him. This is not going to end well.
The rows of red X signs drew closer. Gritting his teeth, Sheng wrenched the steering wheel to the right. The car began to turn, but it was too late. Lights smashed against the windscreen with a deafening crack. He shut his eyes and waited for the next impact.
But none came. A strange sensation filled his stomach. Anxiety butterflies. Was he… floating?
He stared through the windscreen and saw only darkness. Then, suddenly, the headlights illuminated something in the near distance. It was rushing closer and closer.
Pavement.
*
After falling twenty metres from the unfinished flyover, the car smashed into the ground, bonnet first, and crumpled like an accordion.
The sole witness to Sheng’s death watched the carnage through a pair of binoculars. He lingered on the wrecked luxury vehicle, spotlighted by a single intact headlight. Allowing himself a wry smirk, he slunk back into the night.
3
UNMASKING EUMENIDES
8 a.m.
Commissioner Song’s office
Captain Pei passed a folder to the commissioner.
‘An unidentified man gained access to our PSB archives yesterday afternoon while masquerading as an officer. He made copies of thirteen files, but this was the one he wanted. From his behaviour and his signature, I’m confident that this man is Eumenides.’
