Chapter Seventy-Four: The Past and the Future

On the way home, the little girl sat on the back seat of the bicycle, holding tightly onto Huang Yuanguang’s waist, chattering away about stories from school.
“Daddy, today Chen Haoyu was punished by the teacher and made to stand.”
“Why?”
“Because he snatched a girl’s eraser!”
“He deserved it! How can he take things from girls?”
“But… it’s just that I thought the eraser looked nice, and I said I wanted one too. That’s why Chen Haoyu snatched it.”
“Ah… well, that’s still wrong—if he wanted to give you an eraser, he should have bought it himself. How can he steal it? It just means that child is both foolish and wants something for nothing. Yiyi, stay away from kids like that in the future.”
“Mm-hmm! I don’t usually talk to the other boys!”
“Then why did you talk to this Chen Haoyu?”
“Because she’s a girl~”
Conversations like these flowed between the two as they rode along, the soft golden light of evening enveloping them in a gentle glow.
When they arrived home, a woman in an apron stood waiting at the door, her smile warm and graceful as she watched them.
The little girl leaped eagerly from the back of the bicycle and threw herself into the woman’s arms.
“Mama!”
The woman crouched down as Huang Yuanguang did, hugging the little girl tightly, lovingly ruffling her hair, and glancing over her collar, cuffs, and hem, nodding in satisfaction.
“You kept your clothes very clean today. Be sure to keep it up tomorrow.”
“Then I want a little red flower as a reward!”
The woman stood up and took her hand.
“All right, a little red flower. I’ll give it to you later.”
Turning, she looked at Huang Yuanguang with a radiant smile.
“Honey, you’re back—tonight we have all your favorite dishes.”
Huang Yuanguang nodded and stepped forward to wrap his arms around her waist.
“Yes, I’m home.”
…
The dining table in the living room was filled with the aroma of home-cooked food, each dish simple but displaying the woman’s skill.
The braised lion’s head meatballs were fragrant but not greasy; the seaweed and egg drop soup was delicious; the shredded potatoes with green peppers were crisp and refreshing; the tomato beef was cooked to perfection, the chunks of beef mingling with the scent of tomato in a red-brown broth that whetted the appetite.
The little girl quickly began to eat with gusto, making snuffling noises like a hungry piglet. Huang Yuanguang pretended to compete with her for the beef; at just six years old, the girl was no match for him and soon pouted, but when he laughed and placed the piece of beef he’d snatched into her bowl, her smile returned and she ate happily.
The woman watched the father and daughter’s interaction with a gentle smile, her face full of happiness.
The little girl, content, mumbled through mouthfuls about the amusing things that had happened at school.
“I was praised today in kindergarten for being very hungry.”
“That’s amazing, Yiyi! What was it for?”
Huang Yuanguang echoed her excitement, and the woman gently reminded her:
“Slow down, swallow your food first.”
“Hehe…”
Once she’d finished chewing, the girl continued cheerfully:
“The teacher had us write an essay today. I wrote over seventy words! But Wang Pengyu wrote even more, but his words were too complicated, so I think he didn’t write it himself, hmph…”
Seeing the topic drift, Huang Yuanguang played along:
“What did you write about?”
“I wrote ‘My Daddy’!” the little girl replied, grinning.
The woman stroked her head:
“What did you write about your daddy?”
“I wrote—‘My daddy is a police officer.’ I couldn’t remember how to write ‘police,’ so I used pinyin, but the teacher still thought it was good. ‘He’s a good man with a strong sense of justice. Daddy is always catching bad people. Even though he was targeted by bad people before I was born, he didn’t give up and still works as a good police officer. I’m proud of my daddy!’”
The little girl lifted her head high, reciting her essay with pride, eager for the applause and praise she imagined.
But to her surprise, as soon as she finished, neither the woman nor Huang Yuanguang spoke. For a moment, both fell into a strange silence, as if frozen in place.
The little girl looked around anxiously. At last, Huang Yuanguang came to himself and forced a smile, patting her head:
“You wrote very well, Yiyi. Maybe you’ll be a writer one day.”
“Yiyi is wonderful; Daddy and Mommy applaud you.”
The woman and Huang Yuanguang managed to clap for her, reviving the mood and bringing a smile back to the little girl’s face.
Yet in that instant, the two adults exchanged a glance filled with complicated meaning.
…
After dinner, while the dishes were being cleaned up, the little girl sat alone at the living room table doing her homework. Huang Yuanguang and the woman went together to the kitchen to wash the pots and plates.
They worked in silent harmony, one scrubbing the large items, the other tackling the small. The two sinks were just enough. Side by side, their hands wiped away the grease, but neither spoke.
Suddenly, without looking up, Huang Yuanguang asked the woman,
“…Was it you who told Yiyi that I was targeted by bad people?”
“Yes.”
She snorted softly.
“Why did you say that? If she remembers and tries to find out when she’s grown… what then?”
Determined not to let the little girl overhear, Huang Yuanguang kept his voice low, his question short and urgent.
“What else can we do?”
The woman, head bent over the gleaming plates, finally looked up at him, tears threatening to well in her eyes.
“Ever since that incident ten years ago, you’ve never been the same. For so long, you sat every night by the window for hours, lost in thought. Even now, though you seem to have forgotten, you’re still troubled by it. Even if I don’t say it, Yiyi will find out in the future. And what I said—was it wrong? Isn’t that exactly what happened? Even if everyone else thinks—”
“—Enough!”
Huang Yuanguang, rarely angry, still kept his voice low for the little girl’s sake.
“…You…”
He shook his head, wanting to argue, but found no words.
The woman turned her back, her voice rough.
“Soon, I’m going to look for a job.”
“…Are you crazy?”
At these words, everything he’d meant to say vanished, replaced by disbelief. He stared at her back.
“A woman over forty, going out into the job market—what are you thinking?”
“Yiyi will be starting primary school soon. I want to buy the best school district apartment. I can’t let her fall behind at the starting line.”
“How much can you earn in a month? It’s a drop in the bucket.”
“At least it can help with the household expenses…”
Her hands, red and cracked from work, gripped the dishes.
Huang Yuanguang looked at her hands, fell silent, then stepped forward and hugged her shoulders tightly from behind.
“I’ll find a way.”
She turned, staring blankly at him. His face was calm, resolute.
“It’ll be all right. Money’s not a problem—I’ll find a way. Later, I need to spend some time in the study. Don’t disturb me, even if you’re busy.”
At the word “study,” the woman trembled, understanding dawning in her eyes.
She turned and embraced his waist as well, but said nothing more.
…
In the study, Huang Yuanguang sat quietly at his computer, smoking.
Smoke curled through the air. A red-bound volume of “Criminal Procedure Law” lay beside the computer, its cover worn almost white.
He stared at the book, memories flooding back.
That case from ten years ago—the very case he’d mentioned to Lin Heng today.
And as he’d told it, the case was finally closed, the murderer caught, the victim’s family found peace, justice served, and all was well.
But he had deliberately left out one thing—
When the suspect was arrested, despite the overwhelming evidence, he refused to confess or sign.
So, as the provincial detective squad deputy chief, Huang Yuanguang had used some “methods” to get him to talk. In those days, such “methods” were common and, indeed, effective; the man broke down and confessed, the case was solved.
However, after the trial, on the way to prison, the murderer died suddenly in the transport vehicle—hospital diagnosis revealed that the fatal injuries were recent, the result of those very “methods.”
If that were the end of it, perhaps all would have been well. But then, something else came to light—just as he’d mentioned to Lin Heng—at the time of the crime, surveillance footage showed no trace of the suspect at the scene. Based on that alone, he couldn’t have committed the crime.
The victim’s family reported this to the media, and a storm of public opinion erupted. Some lawyers, loudly demanding “procedural justice,” got involved and teamed up with the family, overturning the case over that one point of doubt, and winning a hefty state compensation.
Huang Yuanguang himself received a disciplinary action, transferred out of frontline investigation. Once, he had a bright future, even a chance to become chief of the criminal squad within a few years, but he spent the next decade shunted from one obscure department to another, finally ending up in the marginalized “Behavioral Analysis Section.”
In truth, compared to what could have happened, this was already a good outcome. If it hadn’t been for his past achievements and the favor of the provincial leadership, he might well have ended up in prison himself.
But for Huang Yuanguang, this result was far from satisfactory.
Why—when he’d caught the criminal and upheld justice—should he be punished like this?
A seasoned detective who’d joined the force in his twenties and weathered ten years, he could swear with his life that the young man was the murderer. He didn’t even need evidence—his instincts told him so.
Was it just because he’d used those “methods”?
But who among his colleagues didn’t use such “methods” back then?
What, let a killer strut free, escaping the law? Seeing a murderer, remorseless, spouting lies and justifications—what detective wouldn’t be furious?
He’d devoted himself to fighting crime, and as a result, had no children until his thirties—and in the end, this was his reward?
The curling smoke mirrored Huang Yuanguang’s troubled mind. He took a deep breath and stubbed out his cigarette.
The past was like smoke.
In these ten years, his heart had grown cold.
From a captain burning with justice to a jaded old department chief, Huang Yuanguang found his old passion and righteousness almost unrecognizable.
“A police officer… it’s just a job. The salary barely over ten thousand, the housing fund not even four.”
Now, all he wanted was a better life for his wife and daughter.
To buy the best school district apartment, so his daughter could attend the city’s top primary school; to persuade his wife not to work, to let her live in peace at home; to buy a dishwasher, so she’d never have to worry about the dishes again…
Huang Yuanguang turned on his computer.
He set up a virtual network bridge, connected to an overseas website, and opened a secure chat program. The server was abroad—hidden, safe, and capable of erasing all traces at any time.
The moment he entered the chat, he saw the latest message from his “friend”:
“Any recent intel?”
(To be continued)