bookbashuk Chapter 11 She said: I did nothing wrong!
Chapter 11 She said: I did nothing wrong!
His eardrums were buzzing, and all sorts of sounds were mixed together, giving him a headache.
"So tired..."
"I can't hold on any longer..."
"Mom, I'm sorry..."
"I just want to sing..."
"Why is nobody listening...?"
"Mr. Li, please, please let me go..."
Finally, all the sounds merged into a scream that echoed in his mind.
"I did nothing wrong!"
"I did nothing wrong!"
"I did nothing wrong!"
Chen Mo suddenly opened his eyes, panting heavily. Something slid down his cheek, warm and salty. He wiped it, and his hand was wet.
"Got it?" The earth spirit withdrew its muddy hand.
"I've remembered," Chen Mo said hoarsely, enunciating each word clearly. "I did nothing wrong."
"Yes." The spirit's voice was calm. "What she wants is recognition. Recognition that she did nothing wrong."
Chen Mo leaned on the table to stand up, his legs feeling a little weak. He straightened his wrinkled shirt.
"Wait," the earth spirit called out to him, "Take this with you."
The clay figure handed over something—a yellowed plastic button with badly worn edges.
"This fell off that opera singer," Diling said. "It's from her costume. Maybe it can protect you from something."
Chen Mo put the button in his pocket, and the cold touch made him shiver.
He went out the door and jumped onto a bus heading to the south of the city.
Jing'an Temple is an ancient temple, and the smell of incense can be smelled from across the street.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was setting, and there weren't many people in the temple. A few old women carried incense and candles, chanting incantations.
Chen Mo bought a ticket and went inside. As soon as he entered the mountain gate, a warm breeze carrying the scent of sandalwood and old wood rushed towards him. Under his spiritual vision, the entire temple was enveloped in a thick layer of golden light. This light had a weighty quality, making it difficult to breathe. The wandering ghostly figures became very faint in this light, almost invisible.
He walked through the main hall and immediately spotted Li Yaohua.
Li Yaohua, dressed in a dark blue Chinese-style jacket, was bloated and kneeling on a prayer mat in the Guanyin Hall, his eyes closed and his face full of piety. Two bodyguards in black suits stood on either side, their posture ramrod straight, their sharp eyes scanning everyone who approached.
Chen Mo leaned against a pillar outside the hall, hiding in the shadows.
After Li Yaohua finished bowing, he stood up, took out a thick wad of banknotes from his pocket, and stuffed them into the donation box. The young monk next to him put his hands together, bowed his head, and thanked him.
Li Yaohua straightened his clothes and turned to leave.
Chen Mo emerged from behind the pillar, blocking his path. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, hands on their hips.
"Mr. Li, would you like to have a few words?" Chen Mo asked, his voice not loud, but it carried far in the empty hall.
Li Yaohua squinted at him, sizing him up: "Who are you?"
"Passing on a message from an old friend."
"Who?"
"Su Wanqing".
The moment those three words were uttered, the smile vanished from Li Yaohua's face. He waved his hand, signaling his bodyguards to stay still, his small eyes fixed intently on Chen Mo: "I don't know him."
"You know her." Chen Mo took a step forward, the stone slabs beneath his feet were cold. "Ten years ago, she was an artist at Xingyao Media. She sang very well and was beautiful. On July 15th, 2016, she jumped off the company rooftop."
Li Yaohua's face turned ugly: "Kid, I don't care where you heard this nonsense from. If you're trying to blackmail me, you've come to the wrong person."
"I don't want money," Chen Mo said. "Su Wanqing asked me to pass on a message to you."
"What did you say?"
Chen Mo closed his eyes. He immediately heard the wind whistling on the rooftop, and Su Wanqing's deathly pale face appeared in his mind. He opened his mouth, and the voice that came out was tearful and weary—a woman's voice:
"I did nothing wrong."
He opened his eyes, stared at Li Yaohua, and repeated those four words in his own voice, emphasizing each syllable:
She said she was not wrong.
Li Yaohua swayed, his eyes filled with shock, his lips trembling as he asked, "Who...who are you?"
"A person who can hear the dead talking." Chen Mo took a step closer. "Her obsession is still there. She's waited ten years. Just waiting for you to admit—admit she was right, admit those accusations were false, admit she was the one who drove her to her death."
Li Yaohua staggered backward, his lower back hitting the offering table. The apples on the table rolled off, fell to the ground, and rolled to Chen Mo's feet.
"Nonsense!" he said in a low voice, forcing out the words through clenched teeth. "What evidence do you have?"
"The evidence is in her diary," Chen Mo said. "She called you before she jumped. You know better than anyone what they said on that call."
Li Yaohua's face completely lost its color.
Chen Mo stared at him: "President Li, you're a Buddhist, you come to burn incense every month, what are you praying for? Peace of mind? Buddha can give you peace of mind, but he can't give Su Wanqing peace of mind. She's still waiting for you to tell her the truth."
"What...what do you want?" Li Yaohua's voice was weak.
"Issue a public apology," Chen Mo said. "To clear her name."
"Impossible!" Li Yaohua gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his neck. "This will ruin me! Ruin the company, ruin everything I have!"
"So you were right to destroy everything she had?"
Li Yaohua fell silent, his chest heaving violently, sweat dripping down his temples. Two bodyguards, sensing something was wrong, surrounded him.
Li Yaohua brushed them aside, staring intently at Chen Mo. The fear in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by a cold calm: "Kid, you're too young. You don't understand the rules of this world. Many things aren't about right or wrong."
"Then what should we discuss?"
"Interests." Li Yaohua's voice was cold. "Su Wanqing's matter involves more than just me. If I fall, many people will go hungry."
Chen Mo's breathing paused for a moment.
"So, you're having a dead man carry dirty water so the living can eat?"
"Dead men can't talk," Li Yaohua said, enunciating each word clearly.
He turned and left.
"Mr. Li," Chen Mo called out from behind him, "do you know where Su Wanqing's ashes are?"
Li Yaohua stopped in his tracks.
"West City Funeral Home, Section B, Row 7, Number 24," Chen Mo said calmly. "It's been ten years, and not a single person has come to visit."
Li Yaohua's shoulder twitched almost imperceptibly.
"You pray to Buddha every month, begging for the Bodhisattva's protection." Chen Mo's voice echoed in the hall. "Does the Bodhisattva know what you've done? Even if the Bodhisattva forgives you, what about yourself?"
Li Yaohua didn't turn around and rushed out of the palace gate.
Chen Mo stood there, looking at the Guanyin statue on the altar, its eyes lowered in a gazing downward. Wisps of incense smoke curled upwards, and Guanyin's expression remained expressionless, devoid of joy or sorrow.
He walked to the prayer mat, knelt down, and kowtowed three times earnestly.
As I stepped out of the temple, my phone buzzed. It was a WeChat message from Zhou Ming: "Mr. Chen, I've decided to go back. My flight is next Wednesday. Please help me with the ring."
Chen Mo replied with an "okay" and put away his phone.
The air was thick with the smell of incense. He touched the plastic button in his pocket; it hurt his palm.
The bus arrived, and he boarded. The doors closed, and the bus slowly started moving.
He turned to look out the car window. On the steps of the temple entrance stood a woman in a white dress. Barefoot, she stood there in the sunlight, gently waving in the direction of the car.
She turned and walked into the temple, her figure disappearing into the swirling incense smoke.
Chen Mo closed his eyes and leaned against the cold glass.
"The dead can't talk. The living need to eat."
Li Yaohua's words echoed repeatedly in his mind.
He opened his palm, and there was a faint scratch on his palm, as if it had been carved with a fingernail.
"Thank you."
The writing faded and disappeared slowly within the lines of the skin.
Chen Mo clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his flesh.
"We've arrived at Qing Shi Lane, please get off the bus."
He got out of the car. Dusk was falling, and the sky was ablaze with orange-red clouds. The door of the old house was ajar, and the light from a kerosene lamp shone through the crack, casting a dim yellow glow on the bluestone slabs.
He pushed open the door and went in; the earth spirit clay figure stood in the center of the main room.
"He refused," Chen Mo said, "but he seemed... intimidated."
"That's enough," said the Earth Spirit. "The foundation of your obsession has been shaken. The rest is up to time."
Chen Mo went upstairs and collapsed onto the bed. His whole body ached, but his mind was perfectly clear.
On the wall, the shadow of the old locust tree in the courtyard was distorted and deformed.
From the main room downstairs, he could faintly hear the voice of the opera singer. This time, he heard it clearly.
"The vibrant colors of spring have faded, leaving only broken wells and crumbling walls..."
It's "The Peony Pavilion".
As Chen Mo listened to the wailing singing, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
In his dream, he stood on a huge stage, surrounded by a crowd of people. No one was on their phones; everyone was watching him. He sang with all his might, and when he finished, he bowed.
Applause erupted.
He looked up and saw Su Wanqing sitting in the first row. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up.
He woke up.
The room was deathly silent; it was still dark. His phone screen lit up, its pale light illuminating his face: 3:47 AM.
A text message from an unknown number popped up on the screen.
"Mr. Chen, I am Li Yaohua's assistant. Mr. Li would like to meet with you tomorrow to discuss Su Wanqing's matter. You can choose the time and place."
Chen Mo stared at that line of text for a full minute.
He sat up, a chill running down his spine from the cold air. He typed out his reply, word by word:
"Tomorrow at 3 PM, No. 17 Qingshi Lane, Old Town."
send.
He put down his phone and looked out the window. The battle was about to begin.