"They always say like father, like son, but my dad was a good man—honest and law-abiding his whole life. Who would've thought he'd end up like this in his old age?"
Xu Jiadong sighed, and beside him, Xu Caizeng nodded in agreement.
"Dad had a hard life. My mom died early, and he raised his son alone. They say you can tell a child's future by the age of three—this kid was always the silent type, wouldn’t make a sound even if you kicked him. We thought he was just a dull block, but who knew he’d cause such a disaster later?"
"Who was the old man’s son?"
"A real troublemaker," Xu Jiadong snorted. "Xu Qingli."
Xu Qingli.
A brand-new name. Meng Chao and Tong Hao exchanged glances, feeling like they had found the missing piece of the puzzle.
Tong Hao handed over a notebook for Xu Jiadong to write down the name, while Meng Chao discreetly sent a message, asking Qingdao to investigate Xu Qingli’s background—the more details, the better.
"Are there any photos or anything at home?" Meng Chao asked, glancing around after sending the message.
"All smashed. This isn’t even the same house anymore," Xu Jiadong waved dismissively. "We’re just making do. The old thatched hut and everything inside are gone."
As he spoke, he followed Meng Chao’s gaze, his eyes landing on the thin, tattered bed frame. He muttered, as if trying to compensate, "Even these were gathered by the whole village for the old man. Sigh, times are hard for everyone."
"Who smashed it?" Tong Hao pressed.
"Who else? Bao Desheng’s family. Can’t blame them, really—it’s Dad’s own son who brought this on himself."
"Wait, wasn’t Bao Desheng the one who—"
Tong Hao’s words were cut short by an elbow from Meng Chao.
Meng Chao kept his expression neutral and smoothly offered a cigarette. "What happened? Sounds like there’s a story here."
"Ah, it’s nothing good—just family shame."
Xu Jiadong lit the cigarette naturally and began recounting the old tale with a shake of his head.
"Technically, Xu Qingli was like a younger brother to me. If he’d just stayed in the village farming, I could’ve helped him get a few good plots of land out of family obligation.
"But he was obsessed with reading and writing. Fine, that’s a decent path. Later, when the old principal retired, he took over the little school. Life was peaceful for a while—scholars have their dignity, you know? Dad was in high spirits back then."
Meng Chao suddenly remembered the stack of old books beside the pillow in Ni Xiangdong’s shabby rented room.
There were martial arts novels by Jin Yong and Gu Long, some old magazines, and even half of an old copy of Crime and Punishment —probably salvaged from someone’s trash.
At the time, he thought the habit of collecting books didn’t match Ni Xiangdong’s usual temperament. Now, thinking back, it all made sense.
Xu Jiadong, still lost in his story, suddenly slapped his knee. "Right? Doesn’t that make sense?"
"What?"
"I was saying—why did this kid have to mess with the Tian family’s daughter? Tsk, you’ve never seen Tian Baozhen, that sly fox. Sweet talker, scheming heart—anyone with eyes could see she wasn’t the decent type. Xu Qingli couldn’t handle her, but he refused to believe it.
"They got all lovey-dovey and even eloped. Gone for years, though they’d send letters back now and then. His dad couldn’t read, so he’d come to us to read them out. That’s how I know a bit about all this.""Where did Xu Qingli and Tian Baozhen go?"
"Ding'an County."
Ding'an County—where Wu Ximei and Cao Xiaojun had also once lived.
Meng Chao faintly sensed that the fates of these four were beginning to intertwine.
"The letter said he was working at a rubber factory, while Baozhen was at a garment factory. Seems the girl kept studying and eventually became a college graduate.
"He also mentioned they planned to return to the countryside to get married by year's end. My old man was overjoyed at the time, though after the excitement wore off, he worried—worried Tian Baozhen couldn't handle hardship. She was delicate, afraid she wouldn't manage farm work.
"Then one day, the Tian family set off firecrackers at dawn, loud enough to shake the heavens, announcing Tian Baozhen's engagement. My old man was stunned—how come we didn't know? An engagement is a big deal, the elders from both families should meet. Our Xu family would have had to prepare, but when we asked, they said it wasn't with Xu Qingli—it was with Bao Desheng."
"And who is this Bao Desheng?" Meng Chao decided to play dumb. "From our village?"
Xu Jiadong waved his hand. "No way. His whole family moved to town ages ago."
He stubbed out his cigarette, and Meng Chao took the chance to light him another.
"This Bao Desheng was big and burly, a bit slow-witted, but born lucky—landed in a wealthy family. His clan was famous around here for their riches. They bought sugarcane from several nearby villages and owned factories in their family business.
"So even though Bao Desheng barely went to school and was rough around the edges, his family had money. When he went out to eat, drink, or socialize, he always made a show of it, flaunting his status.
"After my old man found out the Tian family was climbing the social ladder, he moped around all day. Some villagers who loved stirring up trouble came by to laugh at him, saying his son was a toad lusting after swan meat.
"He couldn't take the humiliation, so he asked matchmakers to find a wife for his son. After all, Xu Qingli was his only child, an educated man who could reopen the school when he returned. He couldn't stay a bachelor—he had to carry on the family line."
At this point, Xu Jiadong fell silent, squinting as he gazed out the door.
The cigarette between his fingers burned on.
"That night—no, just before dawn—there was a huge commotion outside. Everyone from Bao Family Village showed up, torches in hand, surrounding our village and demanding we hand over Xu Qingli, or they'd burn the whole place down.
"As the village head, I had a splitting headache. I ran over, smiling and trying to smooth things over, asking what was going on."
The smile vanished from his face. He took a hard drag, veins throbbing on his forehead.
"Turns out Xu Qingli couldn't swallow his anger. Drunk, he killed someone, then fled back to the village. Bao Family Village said if we dared shelter him, we'd be making enemies of their entire clan.
"We'd never seen anything like it. Bao Family Village already had numbers, and the Bao family was willing to spend—they even hired thugs from town. Everything my old man had saved over a lifetime was smashed to pieces in half a day. Even the village's chickens, ducks, geese, dogs, and the sugarcane and rubber in the fields were caught in the mess.
"Truth is, I think some people just seized the chance to cause trouble. They saw our village doing well and got jealous. Who knows who actually started it, but once the wildfire spread, it couldn't be stopped. Later, it burned down large swaths of orchards too. What a sin."
Sitting nearby, Xu Caizeng began sobbing, his rough hands wiping away tears.
Xu Jiadong acted as if he didn't notice, his face stern as he continued."Later, the police came to mediate, saying there wasn’t enough evidence. The Bao family swore up and down that someone had heard and seen it firsthand. Anyway, the whole thing was messy and hard to explain clearly.
"Every time the police left, they’d come right back, blocking the road completely. They said they wouldn’t let Nanling Village have a peaceful day until Xu Qingli was handed over.
"Hah, that Xu Qingli—pointy head and thin ears, just looking at him you could tell he wasn’t blessed with good fortune. He dragged us down with him, making us the target of gossip, saying our village had bad feng shui, that we couldn’t produce decent people—"
Meng Chao cut off his complaints.
"How was it resolved in the end?"
"In the end? He died."
"Who died?"
"Xu Qingli. He was driven to a dead end and killed himself."
"Suicide?"
"Yeah. Who’d have thought the kid was actually hiding in the mountains near the village?" Xu Jiadong clicked his tongue. "You probably saw it when you came—there’s a small house up there. That’s where he died. Set himself on fire."
Who would choose such a painful way to die? Tong Hao muttered to himself, glancing at Meng Chao but saying nothing.
Meng Chao showed no skepticism, instead nodding thoughtfully. "What year was this?"
"Over ten years ago," Xu Jiadong scratched his head. "Wow, it’s been almost ten years since Xu Qingli died."
Xu Caizeng, silent for a long time, suddenly spoke up in halting Mandarin.
"My boy was led astray by bad company. He used to be so well-behaved—studied hard, obedient, filial—"
"Dad, why bring up old grudges? Back then, Qingli went to the city, and we thought he’d turn his life around. Who knew—"
Meng Chao raised a hand to stop their back-and-forth. There was one thing he had to ask right then.
"How do you know it was him who died?" He fixed his gaze on Xu Jiadong. "Did you see Xu Qingli’s body with your own eyes?"
"There was a body, sure, but it was burned—charred black, unrecognizable. I didn’t dare look. Gave me nightmares."
Xu Jiadong grimaced and waved his hands dismissively.
"As for how we knew it was him? Before he died, he took off his watch. That watch was his treasure—a gift from the old principal. He never took it off.
"And he left a note—what do you call it? Oh, right, a suicide letter. Wrote it in blood on a ragged undershirt, saying he was innocent but willing to pay with his life to appease the Bao family’s hatred. He just begged them to leave the villagers alone, to stop tormenting everyone. Hah, guess the kid had some conscience left in the end."
Just as Meng Chao was about to ask another question, angry shouting erupted outside the courtyard gate.
"Big man sticking his nose where it don’t belong, day in and day out yapping nonsense—"
Xu Jiadong’s expression darkened instantly. He forced an awkward smile at Meng Chao and Tong Hao.
"My wife—she doesn’t like me meddling in Dad’s family affairs."
He walked to the door, poked his head out, and argued in a hushed dialect with the woman outside.
Instead of quieting down, the woman only grew louder, as if deliberately making sure those inside could hear.
"You’ve got a screw loose! Everyone else avoids that house like the plague, and here you are cozying up to them!"
"Alright, alright, go home first. I’ll be right there."
Xu Jiadong turned back, plastering on a smile and switching back to Mandarin.
"Officers, sorry about that. I’ve got some family matters to take care of. I’ll have to excuse myself."He stepped over the threshold, then paused, gripping the doorframe as he turned back.
"You can find me at the new thatched hut by the village entrance. Once you finish your business, we’ll share a drink. The village doesn’t have much, but at least the food’s fresh."
Xu Jiadong left, and the lively energy he brought with him faded along with the sound of his wife’s scolding.
The old house sank back into desolation.
Outside, the sky darkened, leaving only the old man’s labored breathing in the dim, gloomy room.
The impoverished host, now without outside help, stood and paced circles around his poor thatched hut, searching in vain for anything to offer his guests.
Finally, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and presented it to the two men like a treasure, carefully unfolding it.
It was an old photograph, creased and worn, with gilded lettering in the bottom left corner:
Birthday Keepsake, 1998, Evergreen Photo Studio
It was a picture of him and his son—the only photo he had managed to save from the Bao family’s brutality.
The image captured a younger Xu Caizeng, gaunt and sallow, though his back was still straight then, his eyes still dark and clear.
He sat stiffly on the studio chair, legs apart, his expression unnaturally tense, as if holding a grudge against someone.
Beside him stood his son, Xu Qingli—the one who had perished in the flames.
Back then, he was still just a boy, barely in his teens, with a shy smile for the camera. He had a long face, narrow eyes, and a distinct birthmark on his left cheek.
Meng Chao took the photo, glanced at it, then froze before passing it to Tong Hao.
Tong Hao blinked.
"They look so alike," he murmured, bringing the photo closer. "Especially the chin and those thin lips."
"But—" He tapped the boy’s left cheek. "Xu Qingli had a birthmark."
Meng Chao took the photo back, studying it coldly.
"Don’t forget, Ni Xiangdong has a scar."
Suddenly, he understood what Ni Xiangdong had been trying to hide beneath that scar.
But he needed more concrete evidence.
He looked up. The old man stood hunched beside them, trembling, his yellowed finger pointing at the boy in the photo.
"My son, a good man," he said with a timid smile. "He was a good man."
A wave of sorrow rose in Meng Chao’s chest. Ni Xiangdong’s aid, Xu Qingli’s filial piety—all these lies might be the last flicker of warmth, the last shred of hope, the final kindness in the old man’s ashen life.
All Xu Caizeng had left were memories, and now, they were about to strip even those away.
The so-called truth would plunge his twilight years into utter darkness.
Yet Meng Chao had no choice. He was a policeman.
He had a duty to fulfill.
For Cao Xiaojun. For Liu Chengan. For Li Qingfu.
"Take your time, old sir," he said, suppressing his emotions as he helped Xu Caizeng back onto the stool.
"Tell us more about your son, Xu Qingli."
As he spoke, he discreetly plucked a few white hairs from the old man’s head and slipped them silently into his pocket.
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