The Devoted Gardener, Part Two

The police came in, found Chen Daipeng at his desk with Hui Nan standing over him, and immediately separated them. Hui Nan, in the corridor, was disoriented — she had a gap in her memory of about twenty minutes, knew something had happened in that office, and couldn't account for the knife that an officer had taken from her hand. She was taken to the station.

In her interview room she sat and said she didn't know. She said this many times. She was telling the truth.

Meanwhile, another team had gone up White Stone Mountain following an anonymous tip. In the outbuilding they found the ten beds and the painted names on the wall, and in a locked box under the floorboards, a collection of documents: a detailed written account in Fang Chuchua's hand, supported by evidence accumulated over fifteen years. Photographs, medical records, school personnel files obtained through unknown means, financial records linking Xiao Jin's husband's company to several school administrators. The anonymous tip had directed them specifically to the box.

Chen Daipeng, in his own interview room, gave a full confession. The interview lasted four hours. He answered every question asked of him and a number that weren't. His lawyer arrived halfway through and advised him to stop; he continued anyway.

The written account from the mountain documented the rape, the cover-up, the entombment, and the names of every person involved. It also described the earthquake, the escape, the years of reconstruction, the decision to return, and each action taken in the course of the preceding months. It was not written in the voice of someone traumatized or erratic. It was written in a steady, plain hand, like a report.

At the end of the document, a single paragraph addressed to Chen Daipeng directly: she had considered, she wrote, a great many possible endings for him. Exposure had always been the one she kept returning to. Because a man like Chen suffered most from being seen — not punished, not incarcerated, but seen. Made legible to other people. Stripped of the deference his position had always generated. She wanted him to live. To sit across from former colleagues and neighbors and strangers who now knew exactly what he was. That was the gardener's final work: not pulling the weeds but turning on the light.

Three days later, Hui Nan was released without charge. She stood outside the police station in the afternoon light and took a long breath.

Her phone buzzed. An unknown number. She answered.

A woman's voice said: "I'm sorry for borrowing you."

Hui Nan stood still. "Chuchua?"

A pause. Then: "Take care of yourself."

The line went dead.

Hui Nan stood in the street for a while longer. Then she walked to the bus stop. As she boarded the bus, her phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number — just a few words. She read it and sat very still for the duration of the ride.

The text said: my daughter Fang Wang has been missing for a week. She is a student in your school. Her teacher asked me to contact you.

Hui Nan read it twice. Then she called Fei Qiang.

The call went to voicemail. She tried again. Voicemail again.

She looked out the bus window at the city passing by and thought about what it means to finish something, and whether any of this had finished.

She wasn't sure it had.