Several days passed, and I held my daughter's ashes as I moved into Xu Ze's home.
His house was modest in size, with a photograph of a chubby little boy hanging on the wall—his deceased child.
From the window, one could see what he called his "company," an unsightly place filled with phones used for scams and several disordered computers. Despite being upstairs, the faint smell of secondhand smoke and the pungent stench of sweat and decay seeped through.
I quietly knelt on the floor, burning paper offerings for the children, the ash drifting away with the wind.
Beside me stood Xu Ze, his tall, slender frame draped in a floral shirt. His face was etched with exhaustion and regret.
I knew that he had never quite forgiven himself, that if he had trusted me sooner, perhaps my daughter would still be alive today...
But I had never blamed him.
Next, I planned to return to my homeland with my daughter, to confront what needed to be faced and turn myself into the police. However, before that, there was one final thing I had to do.