Chapter 3 — My Daughter's Iron Box

Now, those words struck like a heavy iron nail driven straight into his chest. Uncle Feng looked steadily at him.

When the child left, she asked me to pass along a message for her.

Shen Zhiqiang snapped his head up, his eyes wide.

"What message?"

Uncle Feng fell silent for a brief moment, his expression grave.

She said, Father, "this time I am not waiting for you anymore."

The world went black before Shen Zhiqiang's eyes. He collapsed heavily onto the stone step by the doorway, the iron box clutched tightly against his knees. The lock was stubborn and unyielding. He used all his strength to force it open. There was no money inside. There was no phone. Lying right on top was a folded sheet of paper, with a few neat lines scrawled across the corner: My tuition debt ledger. Shen Zhiqiang picked up the paper, and beneath it lay a hospital billing receipt. The patient name column clearly bore the characters Shen Anan. The date was stamped early in the morning, exactly ten days ago. The total amount due was heavily circled in glaring red ink.

Beneath the medical receipt rested a diagnostic report. Shen Zhiqiang merely glanced at it, and his fingers instantly stiffened. Name: Shen Anan. Age: fifteen. Preliminary diagnosis: acute gastric hemorrhage, severe anemia, recommended for immediate inpatient observation. Further down was a handwritten note left by the attending physician: Called the emergency contact number multiple times, "but no one answered; patient left the hospital against medical advice." Shen Zhiqiang stared fixedly at those chilling words, a suffocating lump rising in his throat. Early in the morning, ten days ago. Where was he at that exact moment? Memory flickered back. He was waiting outside the tutoring center while Jiahao attended a trial math class. His phone kept vibrating incessantly in his pocket, but annoyed by the interruption, he had simply silenced it. Shortly after, Meiqin handed him a bottle of water, telling him that children were old enough now and should not be spoiled rotten. And he, in his infinite foolishness, had truly never returned that call. Tucked inside the iron box was yet another crumpled piece of paper, bearing Anan's familiar handwriting, written with painstaking care. Father, if you are seeing this, it means you finally came to the school. I originally wanted to wait for you to arrive. But I waited for far too long. The boarding fee is two thousand six hundred, the hospital visit cost one thousand two hundred and seventy-six, and my cafeteria card has only twenty-three left. I have run out of money. And I no longer wish to ask for any more. Rest assured, Father, I will not cause a scene. I will not make things difficult for the teacher, nor will I return home to quarrel. I only want to try living on my own from now on. The final sentence was written with a heartbreaking gentleness: Starting from today, I will no longer be a burden to you. As Shen Zhiqiang finished reading, the paper slipped from his trembling grip and fluttered to the ground. Uncle Feng squatted down, picked up the sheet, and let out a long, weary sigh.

That morning, the child's face was a terrifying, deathly pale.

"I told her to wait a moment while I went inside to fetch a teacher."

She told me there was no need.

She said her father was very busy, "and begged me not to disturb him."

Shen Zhiqiang's eyes were completely bloodshot.

"How was her health when she left?"

Uncle Feng slowly shook his head.

She had to steady herself against the wall after taking every two steps.

Yet that stubborn little girl was impossibly proud.

"I tried to buy her a piece of bread, but she refused to take it."

Only when I practically forced it into her hand did she finally agree to hold it.

Shen Zhiqiang sprang violently to his feet.

The security cameras.

"Does the school gate have surveillance cameras?"

Uncle Feng immediately led him into the guard room. The playback footage was queued up to ten hours and twenty-one minutes on the morning of ten days ago. On the screen, Shen Anan stood near the school gates, clutching a thin plastic bag. She was so thin that a sudden gust of wind seemed capable of blowing her away. Her weathered school backpack hung dangerously low, its torn strap awkwardly knotted over one fragile shoulder. She turned her head to cast one final, lingering look at the school grounds, before slowly turning away and heading toward the bus stop. Shen Zhiqiang glued his eyes to the monitor. The bus arrived. Shen Anan boarded. The license plate was blurred, but the bus route remained clearly visible. Route thirty-seven. The final terminus was the Southern City bus station. Without a second thought, Shen Zhiqiang bolted out of the room. Just as Teacher Jiang hurried toward the school gates, she happened to intercept him as he prepared to board a vehicle, slamming her hand firmly against the car door.

Manager Shen, do you finally know how to panic?

Shen Zhiqiang's face was ashen.

"Teacher Jiang, I must go and find her."

Teacher Jiang's eyes burned with unadulterated fury.

"Do you have any idea how she managed to get to school that day?"

She had eaten nothing that morning, and her stomach pain was so severe she could not even stand straight.

When I told her to sit down and rest, she even apologized to me.

She said she could not pay her fees, "and thus could no longer justify occupying her spot in the class."

Shen Zhiqiang stood frozen, unable to utter a single word in defense. Teacher Jiang thrust a thick stack of documents directly into his arms.

These are the academic records she left behind.

Ranked in the top three of her entire grade.

"This is the nomination form for the city-wide Olympiad competition."

The school had intended to apply for a full scholarship and financial aid stipend on her behalf.

Yet the parent signature line was perpetually left blank.

Shen Zhiqiang's hands shook uncontrollably.

"I did not know."

Teacher Jiang emitted a cold, bitter laugh.

"Of course you did not know."

Every single parent-teacher conference, she attended all by herself.

When the teachers asked where her father was, "she always claimed you were busy."

She fabricated excuses for you time and time again, yet you never once turned around to look at her.

Clutching the stack of papers to his chest, Shen Zhiqiang's voice broke into a hoarse whisper.

"Where could she possibly have gone?"

Teacher Jiang paused for a brief moment, her expression complex.

She once asked me if there were any places in Southern City that did not strictly verify identification ages.

A heavy weight crushed down upon Shen Zhiqiang's heart. Southern City. That neighborhood was notorious for its cheap, rundown motels, sprawling wholesale markets, and clusters of illegal makeshift shanties. A fifteen-year-old girl, carrying severe illness and clutching a few battered textbooks, had wandered into that lawless expanse. He reached out to pull open the car door, but Teacher Jiang's voice halted him once more.

Manager Shen.

Shen Zhiqiang turned his head back. Teacher Jiang enunciated every single word with chilling clarity.

If your only motivation in finding her is to escape your own guilt and responsibility, then do not bother looking for her at all.