Inside the amusement park.
Several criminal investigators, who had been in the profession for many years, were witnessing this “hostage-for-hostage” standoff for the very first time in their careers.
“We have a hostage on our side too?” one investigator asked, full of disbelief. “Our own… hostage? Did I hear that right?”
No matter how bizarre the situation was, they still watched helplessly as a junior officer from a local police station led a middle-aged woman forward, pushing open that door which no one dared to easily open, and stepped inside.
Looking at the chaotic scene inside the room, the woman was clearly at a loss. She glanced at the bloodstains on the sink and instinctively wanted to take a small step back.
‘Z’s’ hand, which was gripping the child’s neck, suddenly loosened slightly: “Mama?”
The word “Mama”—a word so warm—sounded unspeakably eerie coming from ‘Z’s’ mouth. The blood on the man’s face had dried slightly, tracing from his temple down past his eye.
The woman was entirely single-minded in her desire to protect her son, her voice punctuated by continuous coughing as she spoke: “Don’t worry, I will protect you. Don’t worry about me, cough, cough… Hurry and run. Find an opportunity to escape.”
This was, in truth, a gamble.
‘Z’ had committed so many heinous acts that no one could guess what kind of influence this so-called “mother” actually had on him.
Subconsciously, everyone felt it was impossible.
A person like him couldn’t possibly harbor feelings for anyone.
It was impossible for him to let go of his grip for someone else.
Yet, no one expected ‘Z’s’ hand to actually loosen for a fleeting moment.
In the next second, his grip tightened by a fraction again as he said, “Mama, I can’t escape anymore. And I don’t want to run either.”
“This is simply reckless,” an investigator observing the situation from outside the door said. “The suspect is an extremely high-risk individual. If something goes wrong, who is going to take responsibility?!”
Someone answered in a low voice, “Consultant Chi said it would be fine.”
Twenty minutes ago, due to blood loss from his injury, and because Xie Lin had shielded him behind his back, Chi Qing was positioned very close to the door. Taking advantage of the chaos, he had pushed open the door and slipped out, subsequently getting into Ji Mingrui’s car.
The investigator countered: “If he says it’s fine, it’s fine?! On what grounds can he be so certain? If something goes wrong, will he take responsibility?”
As if to validate his words, the stalemated situation inside the room indeed grew even more chaotic with Yang Yan’s arrival. Yang Yan pushed past Ji Mingrui like a madwoman and charged forward, throwing herself resolutely in front of ‘Z’. She spread her arms to shield him, shouting, “I won’t let anyone hurt you! I won’t let them hurt you!”
‘Z’ said, “I killed people.”
Yang Yan: “I know.”
It was rare to see any trace of “human” emotion on ‘Z’s’ face, but at this moment, the redness rimming the corners of his eyes and the veins bulging on his wrist as he flexed his fingers made his entire being look somewhat more real.
With bloodshot eyes, ‘Z’ repeated, “I killed many people.”
Yang Yan spoke in a tone used to coax a child: “…I know all of it.”
‘Z’: “Aren’t you going to blame me?”
Yang Yan: “You are my son. No matter what you do, I will never blame you.”
‘Z’ froze in place for a brief moment.
However, a sudden turn of events occurred in the blink of an eye. While Yang Yan was softly saying, “I won’t blame you, Mama will love you forever,” she—who seemingly charged forward to protect ‘Z’—suddenly lunged during those few seconds of ‘Z’s’ distraction. She locked her grip tightly onto ‘Z’s’ hand, forcing his already loosened grip away from the child’s neck. In a manner that no one could have anticipated, she pushed the child away!
Seizing the opportunity, the child—driven by a powerful instinct for survival despite his restricted breathing—scrambled forward with all his might.
Stumbling, he ran right into the reach of Xie Lin’s outstretched arm, and Xie Lin immediately pulled the child to his side.
Standing nearby, although Ji Mingrui had already known their plan, his face was still painted with utter surprise: “Yang Yan really worked on ‘Z’?”
Even more shocked than Ji Mingrui was the fully armed rescue team outside the door: “The child is out of danger! Is he injured? Call the doctor over! Doctor—”
Twenty Minutes Ago—
Xie Lin had lightly brushed his hand against Chi Qing’s through the exposed wound.
[I’ll find an opportunity to get you out in a moment.]
[The sounds outside aren’t right. You need to go out and see.]
Fifteen Minutes Ago—
Clutching his wound, Chi Qing rejected the police vehicle doctor’s suggestion that he needed immediate bandaging, and instead climbed into Ji Mingrui’s car.
Before he got in, Ji Mingrui asked, “Do you know what’s going on? What is her relationship to him?”
Chi Qing replied, “I don’t know, but… I’ll find a way to make sense of it. Wait outside the car. Give me five minutes.”
After getting in, Chi Qing removed his blood-stained glove and asked Yang Yan if she could help him bandage the wound. Remembering the definition of empathy his psychiatrist had given when diagnosing his lack of empathetic ability, he lowered his eyes and added: “When I was little and got hurt, my mom would always bandage me up. But she left me many years ago.”
These words caused Yang Yan, who had been silently and warily staring at him, to lower her guard slightly.
Chi Qing added, “I’m not a police officer.”
Yang Yan looked at his attire; he indeed wasn’t wearing a uniform.
She took the gauze. The moment her hand brushed against Chi Qing’s, a completely distinct voice resounded in Chi Qing’s ears as he had hoped.
I can’t let them hurt my son. My son finally came back to me after so much difficulty, my son…
Son…
How is my son doing now…
Listening to these thoughts, Chi Qing suddenly said, “Do you know that your son passed away?”
Yang Yan’s gaze turned vacant for a split second, then grew firm again: “What are you talking about? My son is perfectly fine. He is right inside, and you all want to arrest him.”
Chi Qing: “Your son is dead.”
Yang Yan’s voice grew sharp: “My son is perfectly fine—”
He finally returned to my side after so much difficulty…
Chi Qing did not know how Yang Yan and ‘Z’ had ended up in this mother-son dynamic, but he understood a fundamental logic: the current Yang Yan was not mentally stable. She was treating ‘Z’ as her son, and the only way to resolve the current crisis was to bring back the rational Yang Yan.
…But how does one awaken a psychiatric patient?
Having been ill for so long, Chi Qing had practically become a doctor himself. Before Xie Lin appeared, his own condition was untreatable, but those years of clinical consultations had given him a profound understanding of “mental illnesses” and a vast reserve of theoretical knowledge.
Chi Qing suddenly leaned close to her, trapping her within the narrow, confined space of the vehicle, forcing her to listen to his words: “He returned to your side after so much difficulty? How did he return? Who have you taken as your own child? Look closely at his face—is it the same face as your son’s?”
As Chi Qing spoke, he pulled out his phone and displayed the photo of Yang Yan’s son from the official police database.
In the photo, Yang Yan’s son was about twelve or thirteen years old, with a round face, appearing quite sturdy and healthy. The boy looked honest and lovely, with double eyelids and two shallow dimples when he smiled.
He was wearing his junior high school uniform, holding an award certificate—a commemorative photo taken by his school when he won first place in a municipal competition.
“This is your son,” Chi Qing said. “Look at this face. Have you forgotten him? He is dead, and the only relative he had in this world has forgotten him too.”
Staring at the photo, Yang Yan began to babble incoherently: “Son, no, my son…”
If Chi Qing wanted to, he possessed the absolute capability to drive a person “mad,” because he could read the deepest thoughts in people’s minds. When those thoughts were suddenly exposed and laid bare in front of them, it could easily deliver a massive psychological blow.
Chi Qing: “So, are you saying you don’t remember him anymore?”
“Ah—!!!”
Ji Mingrui heard a woman’s shriek erupt from inside the car. The scream lasted for an incredibly long time, only ceasing when her voice grew too hoarse to make another sound.
When Ji Mingrui pulled open the car door, he saw Yang Yan weeping. Her eyes were red, and her tears fell continuously as she shook her head repeatedly: “No, no, I remember him. I remember him.”
Chi Qing looked at her, stating simply, “You are awake now.”
At the same time, Su Xiaolan couldn’t sit idle. She and Jiang Yu set out on an urgent mission.
They went to look up Yang Yan’s former address. In the middle of the night, a neighbor who used to live opposite Yang Yan looked blearily at the two police badges slid through the door crack. When asked if they still remembered Yang Yan, the neighbor—still half-asleep—immediately recalled her household’s tragedy:
“Her? She was so pitiful. Her child met with an accident at such a young age… After the incident, she washed her face with tears all day long. But then one day, she suddenly told us her son was waiting for her at home. How tragic… unable to bear the pain, she literally drove herself mad.”
Inside the police car outside the amusement park.
The awakened Yang Yan did not speak.
But a moment later, that distorted, internal voice flooded Chi Qing’s ears, drowning out the noisy deployment commands and sirens of the police force outside the car window. The world fell silent, leaving only the woman’s hoarse and slow voice. He heard her deepest secret.
It was the winter of ten years ago. I had made my son’s favorite sweet and sour pork ribs, but I waited for a very long time and he never came home. Instead, I received a phone call from the police. They told me on the phone: “Many children have gone missing recently, and the police currently suspect…” I couldn’t hear the words that followed. In that instant, I felt as though I had been completely detached from the world. It took a long time for me to realize that something terrible had happened.
Looking back, that period of time still feels like a nightmare.
I couldn’t eat every day. I was terrified that something had happened to him, terrified that he wouldn’t come back. The ribs on the table were never thrown away. That winter was freezing. Every day, I stood at the entrance of the police station, asking everyone I met for news of my son.
Later, the case was solved. The killer was caught, but my son never came back. Heaven left him forever in that winter, frozen at the age of twelve.
I couldn’t bear the grief. He was my only hope for living in this world. After he left, I felt as though I had died along with him, bit by bit. I often thought: if he were still alive, he would be just like before—finishing school at six o’clock, cleaning up, taking the bus, arriving home around 6:40 PM, eating the meal I cooked, and sitting at the dinner table chatting with me about what happened at school that day… I thought like this every single day. Until the tenth day after my son’s death, at exactly 6:40 PM, my apartment door was knocked on.
Knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
Ten years ago, Yang Yan’s mind was in a trance. Her first reaction upon hearing the knock was: I must have misheard.
It was her auditory hallucination.
She missed her son too much.
Knock, knock, knock.
After a short pause, the knocking sounded again.
Yang Yan walked sluggishly to the door. Separated by a single wooden panel, she did not know what was happening outside.
However, she could vaguely see two dark shadows in the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, as though someone was standing right outside.
With trembling hands, Yang Yan slowly turned the doorknob.
As she slowly pushed the door open, she saw the person standing outside—a child. A gaunt child whose hair grew past his eyes, his clothes covered in stains. He looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old. Upon hearing the door open, the child slowly raised his head to look at her, and it was precisely this movement that allowed her to see his eyes.
They were a pair of eyes that made one feel highly uncomfortable.
The child stared at her unblinkingly, and then said, “Mama, I’m home.”
She wanted to ask: Who is your mama?
But the child’s next sentence was: “…Did you make my favorite sweet and sour pork ribs today, Mama?”
