Two months later, in a small town in Thailand.
The radio was playing international news, reporting on a political scandal in a neighboring country. A high-ranking official and his son had committed a series of crimes and escaped the grip of the law, but they were sentenced to death by an anonymous party. It was said that the entire execution was broadcast live, with millions of citizens cheering.
The latest follow-up report mentioned that Zhao Ba's mother, after witnessing the deaths of her husband and son, had suffered a mental breakdown and had been committed to a psychiatric hospital. Additionally, the report included a seemingly trivial detail: over a billion yuan in the Zhao family's accounts had mysteriously disappeared, possibly into an untraceable, hidden account.
In the courtyard, an old woman sat under the eaves, stitching shoe soles. Next to her, a little girl in a pink short-sleeve shirt and a white skirt was quietly doing her homework. I brought out some freshly cut watermelon, turning off the radio as I passed. The old woman paused her stitching and looked up. "Xiao Lin, don't you have to work?"
I handed the watermelon to her and the girl, replying casually, "No need. Our company is financially strong. One job a year is enough." The old woman seemed relieved and began to eat her watermelon. The little girl mimicked the motion of chewing and swallowing, though the piece of watermelon in her hand remained untouched. — You know, a bionic robot doesn't need to eat.
After finishing her watermelon, the old woman took the piece from her granddaughter's hand and ate it too, as if it was routine. The little girl smiled, "Grandma, I want peaches tomorrow." The old woman nodded, "Alright, I'll get you peaches tomorrow." The little girl returned to her small desk and continued her homework. Her handwriting was elegant and graceful, indistinguishable from the real Wang Rui. The old woman watched her, believing wholeheartedly that this was her real granddaughter.
Her granddaughter should live like this — under a sky of bright stars and a full moon, wearing pretty dresses, studying, carefree, and untouched by the absurdities and horrors of life. This was the granddaughter she cherished, her well-behaved child.
The old woman quickly turned her head, wiping the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, as if trying to hide her tears. She casually struck up a conversation with me, "You've been with me, an old woman, for nearly two months now. Your family must miss you, right?"
I finished the last piece of watermelon, pondered for a moment, and asked, "Did you watch the entire execution live stream that day?"
The old woman nodded silently.
"Do you remember the names of the girls Zhao Ba exposed as victims of Zhao Lisheng's abuse?"
The old woman paused, a look of realization crossing her face as she glanced at me.
I stretched lazily, smiling as I spoke, "October 17, 2010. A 14-year-old girl with the surname Lin — the start of Zhao Lisheng's crimes. Coincidentally, my surname is also Lin. On October 17, 2010, I had just celebrated my 14th birthday."
The old woman frowned deeply, her expression shifting to one of concern. I pretended not to notice, continuing my story as if it was about someone else.
"On October 17, 2010, all I did was attend a tutoring class. How did I end up unconscious? And when I woke up, why was there an old man lying next to me, smiling and asking if I wanted to do it again? I always thought my parents would stand up for me, no matter what. But I never expected that they would settle for just a hundred thousand yuan."
I chuckled bitterly, "Were we really that poor? Why didn't they even report it to the police? Why, when I reported it myself, did I get beaten when I got home? Was it really my fault?"
My parents wanted me to stay silent. They thought I was a disgrace, that I had tarnished the family's reputation. So, they had another son and sent me off to live with my grandmother in the countryside.
My grandmother was uneducated, but she loved me dearly. She took me to pray at temples, climbing 9,999 steps, bowing with each step, to get me a blessed jade pendant. She said the gods would protect me, keep me safe and sound. But the pendant didn't work. I still woke up screaming at night, terrified by the shadows near my bed.
Grandmother held me close, crying, "Sisi, Sisi, I'm your grandmother. I'm not the bad man."
Yes, she wasn't the bad man. The bad men were the ones who appeared on TV every year, receiving awards and honors. Meanwhile, the good people suffered day after day.
I once told my grandmother that I would kill him. Grandmother said she would report it to the police for me, but she was accused of causing trouble and died in a tiny jail cell, her heart giving out.
Unknowingly, tears streamed down my face. After losing my grandmother, I swore I would have my revenge. I taught myself advanced hacking skills, gathered a group of people with similar experiences, and amassed a fortune. We operated in the spaces where the law couldn't reach, a sword hanging over the heads of those who thought they had escaped justice.
Year after year, my pain hardened into scars. I thought I had become numb, that I had outgrown tears. But whenever I think of my grandmother, the tears come flooding back.
Someone clumsily stood up, awkwardly embracing me. The familiar scent of chili peppers filled the air, reminding me of my grandmother, who loved me unconditionally. Wang Rui's grandmother gently stroked my hair, whispering over and over, "Don't cry, don't cry."
If there were no darkness in the world, children wouldn't need to cry. If tears were powerless, then blood and fire should announce our verdict. Justice should be pure white, but who says black justice isn't still justice?
The night breeze was soft, and the stars flickered above. In the courtyard, the shadows of three figures stretched long and indistinct…
The next day at noon, 100 of the most popular livestream channels were commandeered for five minutes. The shadowy law enforcement company made a public announcement to the people of a Southeast Asian country — for those beyond the reach of the law, they would render judgment.
On September 2, 2027, the Southeast Asian Law Enforcement Justice Company declared the Zhao Lisheng and Zhao Ba case closed.