SES Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Girls are naïve—ignorant because they’ve seen so little of the world.

As she grew older, Li Yaqing found more and more truth in that saying.

If it were her now—the Li Yaqing who had struggled through countless hardships, stood back and watched the world coldly, learned that mountains are no more than stones within reach, and rivers merely water beneath her feet—she would be able to smile calmly and guide others without ever falling for someone like Zhang Guanghua.

But back then was a different story. Back then, in her eyes, Zhang Guanghua was charming, eloquent, and attractive. The same corduroy pants and windbreaker that looked shabby on others looked sharp and refined on him. He lived up to his name, radiating brilliance and instantly overshadowing everyone around him.

She wasn’t even twenty when she got pregnant.

Zhang Guanghua coaxed her into getting an abortion. He took her to a back-alley clinic, where the surgical bed was covered in bloodstained cloth. The old woman who performed the procedures didn’t even wear surgical gloves—just grabbed a pair of dilators and fetal scissors from a drawer, swirled them in some hot water as a half-baked attempt at sterilization, and gestured for her to lie down.

Li Yaqing had been raised with good hygiene habits. Her mother always reminded her to wash her hands frequently, warning that “countless invisible viruses and bacteria live among us.” What about those instruments used for abortions—were they clean? Who knew how many people they’d been used on?

Terrified and pale, Li Yaqing bolted from the clinic. After much inner turmoil, she ended up crying and begging her mother for help.

She still remembered how her mother slumped onto the couch after hearing the truth, clutching her chest and saying, “I can’t breathe.”

Her mother was a cultured intellectual, and even her fury was composed and dignified.

That night, her parents stayed up talking. By the weekend, the three of them sneaked out like criminals—scarves around their heads, masks over their faces—to a neighboring county. There, they met up with an old friend of her mother’s who worked in obstetrics. Her mother told the friend, “She’s the daughter of a relative—got tricked by some guy from society because she dropped out of school too young.”

After the surgery, everything changed. Her parents’ attitude toward her plummeted. Out in public, they still acted like the picture-perfect family, but at home, the air was as cold as ice. Days would go by without anyone speaking a word to her.

Later, she learned this was a form of abuse—emotional neglect.

Once, she overheard her parents talking in their bedroom. The door hadn’t fully shut, and their words cut deep: how she’d let them down, how she’d ruined herself, how ashamed they were of her. “She’s brought disgrace on us,” “We’ll never be able to hold our heads high,” “Should’ve kept the other one and given this one away.”

She had known this story since childhood. Back during hard times, her parents couldn’t afford to raise twins, so they gave one away to a kind family in the countryside. After the political tides shifted and intellectuals regained status, they tried to find the lost daughter, but the adoptive family had already moved without a trace.

Li Yaqing kept this in mind. She thought that if she could help find her twin sister, maybe it would help mend her relationship with her parents.

Days passed in dull repetition—mostly dull, but not entirely.

First, Zhang Guanghua hadn’t been promoted as expected. Instead, he was sent to Lingbao City in Henan for “training” for six months.

Second, her mother arranged for her to meet an older boyfriend, Li Tan, who worked at the local police station managing case files.

Li Tan fell for her immediately. Like all young men in love for the first time, he lent her books, invited her to the park, even sketched a few pen-and-ink landscapes for her, nervously asking her opinion.

But she didn’t like Li Tan. Compared to Zhang Guanghua, Li Tan felt utterly ordinary. Still, to please her parents, she politely accepted his attention. Li Tan took it as a green light and went all in. Every work trip, he brought back gifts—silk scarves, low-heeled leather shoes, machine-knit sweaters. He even brought gifts for her parents: seafood, cured pork, and thick-cut wood ear mushrooms.

At the time, none of that touched her. To her, he was simply soaked in the smoke and grease of mundane life.

Partly because, secretly, she and Zhang Guanghua were still writing letters.

He had beautiful handwriting and filled his letters with poetic flair. He told her the origin of Hangu Pass—”a pass nestled deep in the mountains, as treacherous as a case box.” He described his trips with friends, retracing ancient battlefields. Once, he even enclosed a single red bean in a letter, sending her heart into turmoil.

Red beans—the symbol of longing.

She flipped through calendars, counting the days until he’d return. Just as that day approached, her mother spoke: “Looks like you and Li Tan are getting along. Let’s have dinner with his family and set a date. At least get engaged.”

Her mother knew Zhang Guanghua was coming back and wanted to cut her off before she could backslide.

On the day of the dinner, Li Tan showed up in polished leather shoes, hair gelled neatly to one side, and nodded and smiled through the entire meal, repeating “Yes, yes, of course” like a broken record.

Was she going to marry this man?

After dinner, she claimed a headache and took half a day off work. She sat on the couch, venting her frustration by digging her nails into one of Li Tan’s landscape drawings, over and over.

Then the phone rang, out of nowhere.

She was already seething and snapped, “Hello?!”

The person on the line hesitated, clearly startled. “Um, is this Professor Li’s residence?”

That call changed her entire life.

The caller was Huo Zihong.

It all sounded like a clichéd drama. After moving away with her adoptive parents, Huo Zihong’s family had heard that the Lis were looking for their lost daughter. But out of selfishness—and because they’d come to rely on Zihong as their main source of labor, cooking, doing laundry, and selling vegetables—they chose to ignore it and never responded.

Then one day, a sudden accident—both adoptive parents died in a car crash. Outside the operating room, Zihong cried her heart out. Her dying father, in a moment of clarity, gave her the name and hometown of her biological father before passing away.

She didn’t have any solid proof. But after the funeral, she hesitated and hesitated, then finally tracked down the Lis’ number and called.

It was the best news Li Yaqing could’ve received. She forgot all about her troubles, told Huo Zihong not to tell anyone else, and took the next day off work to catch a rural bus.

Huo Zihong met her at the station. The moment they saw each other, both were stunned. They didn’t need any DNA test—the resemblance was uncanny.

Li Yaqing took her hand and said joyfully, “It’s like we were made from the same mold.”

But Huo Zihong felt self-conscious. Same face? She didn’t think so. Li Yaqing looked every bit the city girl—leather shoes, a wool coat, a nice leather handbag. Meanwhile, she still had a scarf tied around her head, a vegetable peel stuck to her pants leg—just a farm girl through and through.

“Is… is your family well-off?” she asked timidly.

It was natural to hope for a better life. Zihong, too, dreamed of having parents she could lean on.

Suddenly, an absurd thought flashed through Li Yaqing’s mind: What if she could take my place and marry Li Tan instead?

She shook her head hard, laughing at herself for such a ridiculous idea.

She spent the whole afternoon at Zihong’s place. As twins, they hit it off immediately, laughing and chatting nonstop. Yaqing said, “Mom and Dad have been looking for you for so long. Let’s not tell anyone just yet—I’ll plan it all and give them a big surprise!”

It had been too long since joy filled their house. Time for some excitement.

Zihong sold the house in the countryside and told everyone she was going to work in the city. After arriving in Luoma Lake, she deliberately rented a place far from the Lis’ home to avoid running into them before the big reveal. She told the neighbors she was a vegetable vendor, and sure enough, could rattle off all kinds of produce facts with ease.

Every few days, Li Yaqing came to visit, always in a mask and a low cap. Behind closed doors, the sisters giggled over their secret. Yaqing brought her clothes, shampoo, lotion, and helped her learn skincare routines. She taught Zihong to do her hair like hers, speak like her, even mimic her playful facial expressions.

Their father’s birthday was coming up. They planned to wear matching outfits. Zihong would go out first and try to pass as Yaqing. If she failed, Yaqing would jump out of the wardrobe and reveal herself.

Big surprise. Perfect.

Zihong was still nervous. “Shouldn’t we tell them first? What if they don’t believe me?”

Yaqing reassured her, “They’ve been searching for you forever. Don’t worry—I’ll back you up with my life.”

She was giddy with excitement.

Only one thing still weighed on her: Zhang Guanghua hadn’t looked for her since his return. When they did cross paths, he avoided her—didn’t even exchange a glance.

Then came the day. As planned, she snuck Zihong into the house and hid herself in the wardrobe, grinning mischievously before she shut the door, gesturing to Zihong, Don’t worry.

Li Tan had work that day and called to say they shouldn’t wait for him.

Inside the closet, it was stuffy. Bored, Li Yaqing found herself anticipating Li Tan’s reaction. Maybe, just maybe, he’d prefer Zihong’s type over hers.

The room grew lively—chairs scooting, plates clinking.

Then, suddenly, a knock on the door.

Was Li Tan back early?

She heard her father’s irritated voice: “Why are you here…”

Before he could finish, there was a loud thud—then chaos. Pans overturning, furniture crashing. She distinctly heard her mother let out a short scream, and Zihong’s panicked struggle.

And then—silence.

Yaqing’s mind went blank.

Something had happened. She clutched her mouth, trembling inside the wardrobe, visions of blood flashing before her eyes.

Outside, noises continued—scraping chairs, footsteps, and dragging sounds.

The killer hasn’t left yet.

Holding her breath, moving inch by inch, she gently pushed the wardrobe door open, just a crack.

Huo Zihong lay on her side, blood pooling beneath her. Her mouth hung slightly open. Her eyes—wide with fear—had already lost their light.

“Is… is your family well-off?”