Chapter 17 — When the Spider Plant Turned Black

I turned the consent forms page by page. The second page clearly outlined the nursing cycle. The third stated "home implementation support." The final page even bore a glaring red thumbprint. My fingertips grew ice-cold. That was not my fingerprint. I never used a thumbprint to sign my name. At the very bottom of the bag sat a small glass bottle. Inside were tiny dark red granules, identical to the ones mixed into the soil of the spider plant. Beside it lay a hardbound notebook. Just as I reached to pick it up, my mother-in-law lunged forward like a maniac.

Do not look at that!

Her voice was completely unhinged. My mother blocked her, and the female neighbor hurriedly stepped in to help restrain her. Yan stood rooted to the spot. His eyes were glued to the notebook, his complexion even more wretched than before. I pulled the notebook out. The cover was blank, its corners frayed and shiny. The very first page held only a single name: Liu Xuanhe. Below it was an address. Following the address were two red circles. I read the words aloud.

Anning Lane, Number Seventeen.

My mother-in-law collapsed limply onto the floor. Yan lunged forward to snatch the notebook back. This time, anticipating his move, I stepped back. My mother stood protectively in front of me.

Yan, if you snatch that again, you will be robbing evidence right in front of our neighbors.

He froze, the veins on his forehead throbbing violently.

You must not go to that place.

I stared straight into his eyes.

Why?

His lips parted several times, but no words came out. Sitting on the floor, my mother-in-law suddenly burst into a shrill laugh. The laughter echoed sharply against the tiled floor, chilling enough to raise goosebumps. She looked up at me.

Yu, do you really think finding her means you have won?

Her eyes were bloodshot, as if about to bleed.

If you dare to go to Anning Lane, you will finally find out how many papers you actually signed.

That night, I did not go to Anning Lane. My mother held me tightly, telling me not to go anywhere unfamiliar in the middle of the night, especially now that people had begun resorting to intimidation. The neighbor advised as well.

Little sister, getting the things is enough. Just hand them over to the police and do not take risks on your own.

I took photographs of all the items inside the black bag: the consent forms, the small glass bottle, the hardbound notebook, and even the folded receipts at the bottom. The descriptions on the receipts were vague. Nursing consultation. Herbal tea fees. Labor induction prescription payment. The sums on each receipt were not large, ranging from a few hundred to a couple of thousand yuan, but altogether they added up to over twenty thousand. The person who signed for the payments was Ma Guifen. Yet, next to the signature on two of the receipts was Yan’s phone number. As I photographed that sequence of digits, Yan stood right beside me, completely drained of color. I asked: "You did not know about this either?" He closed his eyes tightly.

I can explain.

My mother said coldly: "You have been explaining all day long, and the more you explain, the filthier it gets." My mother-in-law remained slumped on the floor, neither crying nor making a scene anymore. She simply stared fixedly at the notebook in my hand, muttering incessantly.

You cannot go, you cannot go.

I asked her: "What on earth is at Anning Lane?" She stayed silent. I asked again: "Is Liu Xuanhe Aunt Liu?" Still, she said nothing. Yan spoke in a low voice: "Yu, give the notebook to the police, and stop looking into this." I looked at him.

Are you afraid of me going, or are you afraid of me finding out the truth?

His voice dropped.

I am afraid something will happen to you.

Did you only just start being afraid?

My words left him utterly speechless. My mother packed my clothes and important belongings into a suitcase. While searching the bottom of the bedside cabinet, she suddenly pulled out a small white pouch. Inside were photocopies of my identity card, copies of our marriage certificate, and several hospital examination slips. Those examination slips did not belong to me. The names had been inked out, and the ages half-scraped away.