Good and Evil Chapter Eighteen The Retrial of Liu Changhong

Infidelity is not limited to the body; there is also emotional betrayal, which, compared to the physical, is even more terrifying.

On the morning of June 11th, Sun Xiaomei had worked late into the night at the char siu shop the previous day. Wanting to catch up on sleep, she woke her husband Liu Changhong, who was still deep in slumber, and asked him to take their child to school. But Liu Changhong had been out playing mahjong until four in the morning and had only just fallen asleep. Naturally, he wanted to stay in bed and feigned sleep, refusing to respond.

Previously, it was always Sun Xiaomei who took care of dropping off and picking up their child from school; Liu Changhong rarely involved himself, and Sun Xiaomei seldom asked him to help unless the char siu shop was particularly busy.

Both of them were reluctant to get up, each yearning for a little more rest. Sun Xiaomei called to Liu Changhong several times, but he pretended not to hear. Annoyed, she began to berate him for always caring only about his mahjong games, neither helping with their child nor assisting at the shop. If he at least won at mahjong, it might be forgivable, but every time he returned from playing, he had lost money. At first, it was only a small sum, maybe a hundred or eighty yuan, and Sun Xiaomei let it slide. But as time went on, Liu Changhong developed a gambling habit, and his mahjong stakes increased.

People say that practice makes perfect, but Liu Changhong was an exception. He might have been skilled at business and preparing braised food, but at the mahjong table, he was hopeless—a loser nine times out of ten. Even when he occasionally won, his friends would egg him on to treat everyone to a meal, so whatever he gained quickly disappeared. Not only did he lose money, but even his winnings vanished in hospitality. Naturally, Sun Xiaomei was unhappy, and the couple frequently quarreled over this.

After every argument with Sun Xiaomei, Liu Changhong would seek out Chen Zhiyan. But he never went to the char siu shop where she worked; instead, he went straight to the apartment he had bought for her.

Her husband played mahjong day and night, and now he was rarely at home. This infuriated Sun Xiaomei, who toiled endlessly between their child and the shop. Their arguments became routine—minor ones daily, major ones every few days. The more they quarreled, the less Liu Changhong wanted to come home.

That morning, their fierce argument over who should take the child to school ended only when their little girl, neatly dressed, stood timidly in the bedroom doorway and said, “Please stop fighting. I’ll go to school by myself.”

With that, she left.

The girl was only seven, just in second grade. Sun Xiaomei could not allow it; she gave Liu Changhong two hard kicks and rushed after her daughter to take her to school. After Sun Xiaomei left, Liu Changhong couldn’t sleep; the more he thought about it, the more agitated he became. He got dressed and left the house to see Chen Zhiyan.

At that time, Chen Zhiyan happened to be home. After an intense rendezvous, Liu Changhong fell into a deep sleep. When he woke, it was already past noon. Chen Zhiyan was no longer in the apartment—she must have gone to the shop. Liu Changhong ate the lunch she had prepared for him, then left, bought a pack of cigarettes at the entrance of the complex, and headed for the mahjong parlor.

Perhaps it was the argument with Sun Xiaomei, or maybe his luck had changed, but for the first couple of days, Liu Changhong kept winning. His mahjong buddies didn’t want him to leave, and he didn’t want to go home. He stayed at the parlor, calling the owner for food when hungry and sleeping in a small guest room when tired. He remained there until the police found him and told him that his wife, Sun Xiaomei, had been murdered, her body dismembered and stewed. Overwhelmed with regret, Liu Changhong could not deny that he owed everything to Sun Xiaomei. She had been with him through his lowest moments, enduring hardship by his side, and had given him a lovely, sensible daughter. Now, with Sun Xiaomei gone and his daughter left motherless at just seven years old, Liu Changhong was consumed by guilt as well as remorse.

After listening to Liu Changhong’s story, Xu Lang asked a rather odd question.

“Chen Zhiyan is pregnant. Is the child she’s carrying yours?”

The question stunned not only Liu Changhong but also Ning Yanran, who had been quietly taking notes. Neither understood why Xu Lang would ask such a thing.

Liu Changhong quickly regained his composure and shook his head. “Impossible. I had a vasectomy two years ago.”

“You had a vasectomy?” Xu Lang looked at him, seeking confirmation.

Liu Changhong nodded and lowered his head in embarrassment. “Over the years I was with her, she got pregnant three times because contraception failed. I couldn’t marry her or give her a legitimate status, so I made her terminate the pregnancies. Later, the doctor told me that if I didn’t want children, I should take proper precautions, because if she had another abortion, she might never have children again. After much thought, I went and got a vasectomy.”

“Does Chen Zhiyan know about your vasectomy?” Xu Lang asked.

Liu Changhong shook his head.

“Does your wife, Sun Xiaomei, know?” Xu Lang pressed.

“She doesn’t either,” Liu Changhong explained. “After our daughter was born, my wife had an intrauterine device put in.”

Hearing this, Xu Lang finally understood why Sun Xiaomei didn’t know about the vasectomy, and why, in all these years, their daughter remained their only child.

“Besides you, does Chen Zhiyan have other men?” Xu Lang continued.

Liu Changhong thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Even if she did, she wouldn’t let me know.”

Xu Lang pondered for a while, feeling that Liu Changhong was telling the truth.

Men who cheat are often most sensitive to the idea of being cheated on themselves; perhaps this is a common failing.

“How often do you go to Chen Zhiyan’s place?” Xu Lang asked.

“Not often,” Liu Changhong replied. “Sometimes once or twice a week, sometimes once every two weeks. Aside from playing mahjong, I also help out at the char siu shop.”

Hearing this, Xu Lang exchanged a look with Ning Yanran. They both understood that Liu Changhong had no opportunity to commit the crime. As for motive, quarrels between husband and wife were common enough, but he had a solid alibi, corroborated by several witnesses. Thus, Liu Changhong could be excluded as a suspect.

Seeing that Xu Lang had no further questions, Liu Changhong asked, “Officers, may I go now? I’m worried about Xiaoru.”

“Xiaoru? Who is Xiaoru?” Ning Yanran asked curiously.

Xu Lang rolled his eyes and said to Liu Changhong, “Sign here, and you may leave.”

After signing, Liu Changhong left the interrogation room.

Once he was gone, Ning Yanran turned to Xu Lang. “He didn’t say who Xiaoru is. Why did you let him go?”

Xu Lang rolled his eyes again and replied, “Xiaoru is his daughter.”

“Oh,” Ning Yanran said, suddenly understanding. “But how did you know Xiaoru is his daughter? Have you met her?”

This time Xu Lang was utterly speechless. He pulled a document from a stack and placed it before Ning Yanran, pointing to the name beneath a photo of a little girl: Liu Xiaoru.

Ning Yanran blushed, too embarrassed to meet Xu Lang’s gaze.

Ignoring her embarrassment, Xu Lang summarized the key points from Liu Changhong’s statement:

First, the relationship between Sun Xiaomei and Liu Changhong was strained, but not to the point of divorce. Though Liu had motive, he did not have the opportunity.

Second, Sun Xiaomei was indeed unaware of the affair between Liu Changhong and Chen Zhiyan.

Third, besides her affair with Liu Changhong, Chen Zhiyan likely had other inappropriate relationships, and the child she was carrying was not Liu’s.

Given these points, the case now hinged on several questions:

First, why did Sun Xiaomei seek out Chen Zhiyan on Changhong Street in the early hours of June 12th? What did they discuss? What caused their argument?

Second, was Sun Xiaomei’s death accidental or was it murder?

Third, besides Liu Changhong, with whom else did Chen Zhiyan have an illicit relationship—was it her ex-boyfriend Cheng Fei?

Fourth, is Cheng Fei a suspect? If so, what role did he play—was he the killer, an accomplice, or was someone else present in the kitchen?

Once these questions were answered, the case would be nearly solved.

Xu Lang shared these thoughts with Ning Yanran. She suggested, “Shall we interrogate Chen Zhiyan now?”

But Xu Lang shook his head. “No rush. Let’s wait for the results from the footprint comparison. In the meantime, have someone check the hospital records for Liu Changhong and Sun Xiaomei to verify Liu’s story.”

Ning Yanran nodded and left with the files.

Xu Lang left the interrogation room as well and headed to the one where Cheng Fei was being held. Watching the anxious Cheng Fei, Xu Lang felt he might be the key to the case. If he could uncover the connection between Cheng Fei and Chen Zhiyan, he might crack them open.

Just then, he spotted Zhao Hua approaching and asked, “How’s the background investigation on Cheng Fei going?”

Seeing that Xu Lang was alone, Zhao Hua was curious but replied, “Still ongoing. Here’s what we have so far.”

He handed Xu Lang the files. As Xu Lang flipped through them, Zhao Hua asked, “Where’s Captain Ning?”

“Hospital,” Xu Lang replied, eyes still on the documents.

“Is she unwell?” Zhao Hua asked with concern.

“She’s checking the hospital records for the deceased and Liu Changhong.”

“Oh,” Zhao Hua said and fell silent.

As Xu Lang finished reading the file, his suspicions about Cheng Fei deepened.

Cheng Fei was twenty-nine, just a year older than Chen Zhiyan. They had started dating in high school, but when their romance was discovered, their parents were called in by the teachers. Cheng Fei came from a single-parent home; his father, a local thug, had been sentenced to ten years for aggravated assault when Cheng Fei was fifteen. After his father went to prison, his mother left, and Cheng Fei, left without parental oversight, began to go astray, following in his father’s footsteps.

When Chen Zhiyan’s parents learned of her relationship with Cheng Fei, they scolded her harshly, especially after learning about Cheng Fei’s father’s criminal record, and forbade her from seeing him.

Despite the reprimands, Chen Zhiyan remained with Cheng Fei. He was an aimless youth, and naturally failed the college entrance exams, as did Chen Zhiyan. The two went to work at an electronics factory and began living together.

But things soon soured. Cheng Fei was lazy and undisciplined, unable to tolerate the demands of factory work, and started mixing with unsavory characters. His attendance was sporadic, his wages paltry, and before long he was fired. Unemployed, he lived off Chen Zhiyan’s modest earnings, but his smoking, drinking, and partying with friends quickly drained her income. With no money, he turned to theft and robbery.

Soon, Cheng Fei became a regular at the police station—serving three years for robbery, then after his release, two years for theft. He was only released last year, and now, because of his connection to Chen Zhiyan, had been brought in by the police once more.

Xu Lang noted that Chen Zhiyan had left the factory and started working at Liu Changhong’s char siu shop eight years ago. According to her account, she and Cheng Fei broke up when she left the factory. Shortly after, Cheng Fei was sentenced to three years for robbery. After a brief period of good behavior following his release, he was again convicted of theft and spent another two years in prison. After his last release, he drifted aimlessly but had contact with Chen Zhiyan, as several patrons near the char siu shop had seen him visit her. Thus, Cheng Fei had motive and opportunity—the only thing left was to wait for the footprint comparison.

Xu Lang handed the file back to Zhao Hua. “Check where Cheng Fei was on June 11th and 12th, and find out when he reconnected with Chen Zhiyan after his release.”

Zhao Hua nodded and left with the files.

With these tasks delegated, Xu Lang wasn’t in a hurry to interrogate Cheng Fei. He took out a cigarette and headed outside to smoke.

At the smoking area, he bumped into Wu Yong, captain of the First Criminal Investigation Team. Wu Yong was also smoking. At the sight of Xu Lang, he visibly stiffened, puzzled that Xu Lang was still at the station.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Xu Lang said, lighting his cigarette and grinning mischievously.

Wu Yong’s face darkened, as if he’d just stepped in something foul.

Turning his head away, Wu Yong clearly had no desire to talk, as if even acknowledging Xu Lang would diminish him.

Xu Lang didn’t mind. Puffing on his cigarette, he sidled up to Wu Yong, his grin widening. “Got a tough case on your hands, huh?”

Wu Yong glanced at him, saying nothing, but his expression betrayed him: How did you know?

Xu Lang clapped him on the shoulder in a deliberately annoying way. “Every time I see that look, I know you’ve got a real headache on your desk. Come on, what’s got the mighty captain of the First Criminal Investigation Team so down?”

“Hmph. None of your business,” Wu Yong muttered, dodging Xu Lang’s hand and sulking.

Xu Lang had only meant to tease Wu Yong, but seeing his reaction, he realized he’d guessed right—Wu Yong really was stumped by a difficult case. That piqued Xu Lang’s curiosity.

Although they’d always been rivals in the investigation unit, Xu Lang had to admit that, apart from his better looks, Wu Yong was nearly his equal in skill. Wu Yong’s problem was his rigidity—what some would call steadiness, others stubbornness.

“So, what’s the case?” Xu Lang put away his grin and asked seriously.

Wu Yong shot him a sidelong glance and seemed about to speak, but remembering that Xu Lang was no longer a cop, held his tongue. He stubbed out his cigarette and strode away, leaving Xu Lang alone in the smoking area.

Xu Lang watched Wu Yong’s retreating figure without resentment. He was curious about Wu Yong’s case, but if Wu Yong didn’t want to talk, Xu Lang wouldn’t impose himself. Despite his playful nature, he knew where to draw the line.