Chapter 1 — The Lost Golden Bangle

The single golden bracelet my mother had possessed since her wedding day arrived, when finally delivered, as nothing more than an empty box. The delivery driver stood outside my door, relentlessly urging me to confirm receipt of the parcel.

"The external packaging is undamaged. Just go ahead and tap the confirmation."

I did not touch my phone. Instead, I placed the package back onto the digital scale sitting beneath his feet. The screen illuminated. [281.1 grams]. Yet the recorded weight at the time of dispatch had been: [318.6 grams]. Exactly 37.5 grams were missing. The net weight of that golden bracelet was precisely 37.2 grams. The delivery courier stared at the scale, then bent down intending to snatch the cardboard box away. I quickly intercepted it, my hand pinning the box to the table.

"Don't touch it."

"From this moment on, whoever lays a hand on this box must state their intentions clearly before the security camera."

He raised his head to look at the surveillance camera positioned at the entrance of the building, his hand freezing mid-air.

"What do you mean by this?"

"I mean that when it was shipped, it weighed 318 grams. Now it only weighs 281 grams."

"The missing weight matches the exact mass of my bracelet."

He frowned.

"Every digital scale has a margin of error."

"A margin of error of 37 grams?"

"It is also possible they weighed it incorrectly at the time of shipping."

I unlocked my phone. On the day of shipment, the jewelry repair shop had recorded a complete video for me. The footage began with the fully repaired golden bracelet resting on a scale: 37.2 grams. The bracelet was placed into a jewelry box. The jewelry box was dropped into a shipping carton, surrounded tightly by shock-absorbing cotton. A tamper-evident single-use seal sticker was stretched horizontally across the opening of the box, bearing the serial number: A071936. Finally, the entire package was placed onto a digital scale: 318.6 grams. After the courier who came to collect the item inspected it with his own eyes, he re-weighed it on his personal scale. The online shipping order still clearly displayed: [Billing weight: 0.3 kilograms].

"This is not a figure arbitrarily written down by the sender."

I turned the screen toward him.

"This is the exact weight recorded in your company's official system."

The delivery driver stared at the screen for several long seconds.

"Even so, you still need to open the box first."

"Naturally, I will open it."

I raised my phone, pointing the camera directly at the parcel.

"However, I will not merely film the contents inside."

First, I filmed the waybill number. Then, I filmed all six sides of the carton. Following that, I captured the box's opening and the layer of adhesive tape. The tamper-evident seal bearing the serial number from the time of dispatch had vanished entirely. The current opening of the box was sealed simply with two layers of transparent packing tape, upon which a stray half-strand of black synthetic fiber was stuck. The delivery driver's expression shifted noticeably.

"The seal may have fallen off during transit."

"A single-use seal fell off, yet the box remained completely unopened by itself?"

"It must have been compressed by heavy machinery."

"Even if it were, there should be an official damage report issued."

He fell silent, offering no further rebuttal. I summoned the property management security guard to act as a witness. Afterward, I initiated a video call with the jewelry shop that had dispatched the parcel. The store clerk confirmed over the screen:

"I packed that box with my own hands."

"The tamper-evident sticker was laid squarely across the opening. Once peeled, it leaves permanent void lettering; it is physically impossible for it to have simply fallen off intact."

I propped my phone against the reception desk of the property management office. The camera began recording continuously, keeping the unopened parcel in sharp focus. I sliced through the outer layer of packing tape and opened the cardboard box. The shock-absorbing cotton remained inside. The red velvet jewelry box was also there. I lifted the lid. The interior was completely vacant. Resting inside was only a small repair tag: [Pure Gold Bracelet] [Net Weight: 37.2 Grams] [Value After Repair: 38,600 Yuan]. The delivery driver retreated half a step. The very first words out of his mouth were neither a proposal to call the police nor an offer to contact his corporate headquarters. Instead, he blurted out:

"You didn't purchase shipping insurance, did you?"

I lifted my gaze.

"No, I did not."

He visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

"In that case, you need to contact the originating shipping branch immediately."

"Valuable items shipped without insurance are only eligible for a maximum compensation of a few hundred yuan."

"Sign right here first."

He retrieved an anomalous delivery receipt from his uniform pocket. The form had already been pre-checked in advance: [External packaging intact] [Recipient inspected the goods in person and discovered missing contents]. At the very bottom was a microscopic line of fine print: [Sender failed to truthfully declare the value of the goods in accordance with regulations]. I picked up a pen. The delivery driver hurried me:

"You must sign it before we can proceed with any official procedures."

I drew a heavy line straight through the sentence reading "External packaging intact." I amended it to: [The external tamper-evident seal is missing; there are clear traces of secondary packaging.] Next, I struck through the phrase "Failed to truthfully declare." I wrote instead: [Both the order notes and the inspection records explicitly state that this is a pure gold bracelet valued at 38,600 yuan.] The delivery driver reached out a hand to stop me.

"You cannot alter company forms at your own discretion."

"The content is blatantly untrue, why shouldn't I correct it?"

"This is our company's standardized template."

"Even a standardized template does not give you the right to lie on my behalf."

I wrote down the exact weight measured on the spot, the original shipping weight, and the serial number of the seal in the remarks section. Then I looked straight into his eyes.

If you do not agree with these corrections, you may write 'disagree' right beside them.

He grasped the pen but remained frozen, unable to write a single stroke. I pressed further:

"Just who was it that ordered you to force me into signing this blindly?"

His gaze flickered with sudden panic.

"No one told me anything."

"Then why did you pull out a pre-filled receipt the moment you arrived?"

"We deal with damaged parcels every single day."

"Do you also pre-mark every single sender as untruthful every single day?"

He yanked the receipt back toward himself. I refused to let go. The security guard chimed in with a sharp reminder:

"There is a security camera recording every movement right here."

The delivery driver's phone began to ring. Glancing at the caller ID, he retreated two meters away before answering, his voice dropping to a hurried whisper.

"She hasn't signed yet."

"It has already been weighed."

"Yes, more than thirty grams are missing."

"We've already photographed the missing seal."

The person on the other end spoke at great length. The driver kept casting anxious glances in my direction. When he finally terminated the call, his attitude had inexplicably softened.

"Our station manager is on his way right now."

"Please, do not call the police just yet."

I had already dialed the number.

"It is too late."

Shortly after, the police arrived, immediately gathering and securing physical evidence including the parcel, the waybill, and the video recording of the unboxing. They questioned me thoroughly regarding the provenance of the gold bracelet before contacting the jewelry repair shop to verify the details. That very bracelet had been purchased by my mother thirty-one years ago on her wedding day. At the time, it weighed barely over twenty grams. As their financial situation improved over the years, my mother repeatedly purchased additional gold to melt and fuse into it. During my university years, she even melted down an old ring left by my grandmother and added it to the piece. Eventually, it reached a mass of 37.2 grams. The bracelet was neither an antique nor did it possess any exorbitant collectible value, yet it encapsulated more than half of my mother's life. Last month, the clasp of the bracelet loosened. I tracked down the old jewelry shop online. The business was still operational, though it had transformed from a modest market stall into a three-story storefront. I shipped the bracelet there for repairs. Once completed, I used my personal account to place a delivery order, arranging for a courier to pick it up directly from the store. The order instructions explicitly stated: [Pure gold bracelet, returning after repair, valued at 38,600 yuan. Please inspect in person upon receipt.] Upon collecting the item from the jeweler, the clerk had indeed opened the box for inspection. The store's surveillance camera captured the entire procedure, and the employee had even replied via text message: [Gold jewelry inspected, packaging intact.] However, he never once asked if I wished to purchase shipping insurance. On the platform's ordering interface, the insurance option was deeply buried beneath the "Value-Added Services" tab. I had failed to click it. This was my negligence. Yet failing to buy insurance did not mean the items inside a sealed carton could vanish into thin air. Twenty minutes later, the branch manager arrived. He appeared to be in his early forties, dressed in a sleek black overcoat with meticulously combed hair. First, he exchanged polite greetings with the police officers before turning his attention toward me.

"I am the person in charge of this local delivery branch, my surname is Luo."

"We are already fully aware of the situation."

"Our company attaches the utmost importance to this matter."

His tone was exceptionally courteous—until he laid eyes on the complete video footage stored on my phone.

"Have you uploaded these videos to the internet yet?"

"Not yet."

"Do not publish them for the time being."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"The incident has not yet been thoroughly investigated. Making it public prematurely could severely damage the company's reputation."

I retorted sharply:

"My mother's golden bracelet has been stolen, yet your primary concern is the company's reputation?"

Manager Luo's expression darkened instantly.

"That is not what I meant."

"The parcel passed through numerous transit points; it is impossible to prove where the fault lies."

I pointed directly at the digital scale.

"Then retrieve the transit weight data from your system first."

"Customers are not permitted to view internal data."

"The police have the authority to demand it."

"Certain sorting data is not necessarily archived for long periods."

"This parcel arrived just today."

He fell silent. I pressed on:

"When this package entered your branch office, how much did it weigh?"

"The system may not necessarily have that record."

"The delivery driver mentioned over the phone just now that the parcel was short by over thirty grams."

"He was merely describing the situation at the scene."

"Then why wasn't the person on the other end of the line surprised in the least?"

The delivery driver standing nearby lowered his head. Manager Luo cast a cold glance in his direction.

"Go ahead and deliver your remaining packages."

I stepped forward to block his path.

"He is a witness to the scene and cannot leave at this time."

The police likewise instructed the driver to leave his contact information and remain available for a formal statement. Manager Luo was visibly displeased. He requested that I accompany him back to the branch office, claiming that the headquarters' technical staff would conduct a remote diagnostic investigation from there. I refused to agree immediately.

"Who will retain custody of the parcel?"

"Naturally, it must be brought back to the station."

"Absolutely not."

"This is company property."

"It is currently potential physical evidence linked to a criminal theft."

In the end, the police independently sealed the parcel and its packaging materials. The delivery driver, Manager Luo, and I headed to the sorting branch together. Along the way, my mother called.

"Did you receive the bracelet?"

I stared out the car window at the blurred scenery.

"There was a slight complication."

"Is the repair still not fitting properly?"

"No, that's not it."

"Then that's fine."

My mother chuckled on the other end.

"If it's loose, get it fixed; if it breaks, replace it. Don't be too stingy to wear it just because it belonged to me."

I struggled to find the right words to break the news.

"Mom, the jewelry store said they still need to run another check on it."

"I'll show it to you later."

My mother harbored no suspicions. She even asked whether I wanted pork ribs for dinner tonight. I ended the call, my palms slick with cold sweat. Manager Luo glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

"I understand how you feel."

"Incidents like this usually turn out to be the sender forgetting to pack the item, or damaged packaging causing the contents to slip out unnoticed."

"It would be best for you to mentally prepare yourself."

I asked coldly:

"Where is the damage report for the packaging?"

"It is currently under investigation."

"Without a report, why are you rushing to conclusions?"

"I am merely outlining the most common scenarios for you."

"Common enough that your staff routinely pre-fill anomalous receipt reports?"

He closed his mouth and said nothing more. The delivery station was located on the ground floor of a suburban warehouse. The interior was piled high with parcels, and an old desk sat beside the automated conveyor belt. A computer monitor displayed an active operations system. Upon seeing Manager Luo enter, the employee stationed there hurriedly closed a window on the screen. Even so, I caught a glimpse of the heading before it vanished: [Handling of Parcels with Abnormal Weights].