“Can you persuade her?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No need.” Cheng Shuo paused. “This is something I have to do myself.”

“You monitor the public opinion…” He moved quickly, already making a call and hailing a ride.

He still remembered Auntie's address, that urban village. “You're calmer than me about this, and better at it.”

Chen Ziheng nodded: “Waiting for your news.”

Sitting in the car, his ears were still ringing. He didn't want to think about how crazy he was being, or what on earth he was doing, he just dialed the number.

This time, she answered quickly. “You're the one who collected the belongings.” She had even saved his contact with a note. “What is it?”

“Can I see you? There's something very important I must tell you in person.”

She was silent on the other end, while he sat by the window, watching the unending stream of traffic that hadn't changed at all.

It was clearly spring, yet he pulled his jacket tighter. Why was it still so cold?

“Come find me.” She finally gave him the address, which was exactly where the car was headed.

“Fifteen minutes…” he said. “I'll be there right away.”

The woman wasn't surprised, she just hung up crisply.

The sky was dim, and when he got out of the car, he couldn't see the face of the person opposite him.

The woman was still smoking, the tiny spark of light becoming the only bright spot in this dim and dilapidated urban area.

“What is it?”

“Auntie,” he said softly.

She didn't turn her head, just continued to smoke.

“After I got Cen Zeng's belongings, I discovered he was being abused by his supervisor. I posted related content on Weibo. Public opinion is a mess right now—”

She still looked cold and numb, as if the world had nothing to do with her anymore. She abruptly cut him off: “So what do you want me to do?”

“I'd like to ask for your help.”

“I don't know what happened to him at school.” She finally glanced sideways at him, her eyes still devoid of emotion.

“You don't need to speak out.” He continued, feeling his throat ache. “I want you to write a statement. It's very simple, just say that you are aware of this matter and agree to me publishing the related content.”

She took a drag from her cigarette, the smoke obscuring her face.

She was silent for a long time before saying faintly, “Do you think this has any meaning?”

“It does.” Cheng Shuo looked directly at her. “If you don't speak out, the school will use the ‘family's silence’ to blur the facts, and might even lead the public to mistakenly believe you've reached a settlement, or that you've accepted their version of events. Everyone is waiting to see your attitude right now. We can't let him just—”

The corner of her mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. “You're more anxious than I am.”

Cheng Shuo didn't reply.

“Before he died, did he say anything to you?” she suddenly asked.

Cheng Shuo's breath caught. The unsent WeChat message from Cen Zeng surfaced in his mind: ‘Tomorrow probably won't work.’

He couldn't say it.

After a long pause, he said in a low voice: “He said… be careful on your way.”

The woman's eyes were calm, without a ripple of emotion.

“You…” He paused for a moment, suddenly at a loss for words.

There was nothing to say. No one had anything to say.

“How should I write it?”

“What?” He didn't register it at first.

“The statement, how should I write it?” She stubbed out her cigarette and looked directly at him. “You talk, I'll write.”

She suddenly started walking.

“There are his homework notebooks and pens at home.” She turned back, her face still calm. “Follow me.”

The light in the hallway was dim and flickering, half-dark. Cheng Shuo followed her past piles of garbage, past a faded character for ‘fortune,’ past old chains.

She picked a random notebook from a large pile, grabbed a pen from the side, and looked at him.

“Then, just one sentence is needed.” It took him a long while to find his voice again. “That you are aware, and you authorize it.”

So she leaned over the cracked marble table and wrote calmly.

The handwriting was beautiful, as graceful as a startled swan, as powerful as a swimming dragon.

“Informed, authorized.”

Below it was her signature, Zhang Ruoxue. She paused, then added another line: Cen Zeng's mother.

On the gridded paper, three lines of text.

“There…” She tossed the pen aside, tore the page out, and handed it to him. “Take it.”

He folded the paper, put it inside his jacket, then took it out again, holding it in his hand as if it were a treasure. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied. “If it's useful, then use it.”

She waved her hand, a gesture of dismissal.

Cheng Shuo turned, bowed deeply, then straightened up and left.

The wind was cool and refreshing on his face, yet it made his eyes ache a little.

He dialed Chen Ziheng's number. The other side picked up instantly.

“Got it. Should I post it?”

Chen Ziheng's tone was calm: “Post it now.”