The police station was never truly quiet.
Even at that hour, when the city outside had begun to thin and the streets carried more shadows than people, the inside of the station remained alive in its own way. It was a different kind of life—one that did not rest, did not slow, and did not wait for morning to begin again.
Voices overlapped from different corners of the room. Some were loud and careless, filled with irritation or arrogance. Others were low, muttered under breath, heavy with resignation. There were sharp bursts of laughter that did not quite belong, followed by the clatter of metal doors and the dull echo of footsteps moving back and forth.
A man near the holding area was arguing loudly, his words slurred but his anger clear, while another sat quietly on a bench with his head lowered, as though he had already accepted whatever came next. Two officers walked past them, one speaking, the other barely listening, their attention divided between routine and fatigue.
To those who worked there, it was nothing unusual.
It was just another night.
At a desk set slightly apart from the main flow of movement, a young officer sat with earphones loosely in place, one hand tapping idly against the table as though following a rhythm only he could hear. He did not look particularly involved in anything around him, but his eyes moved occasionally, taking in more than he let on. Someone unfamiliar with the place might have mistaken him for indifferent, even lazy.
But people like him often noticed more than they showed.
In front of another desk, five people sat together, forming a quiet contrast to the noise around them.
They did not belong to the chaos.
Not entirely.
One of them, however, looked as though he had just stepped out of it.
Lian Yu's father sat slightly slouched, his face marked with fresh bruises, one side already swelling. There was dried blood near his lip, and the uneven set of his jaw suggested something had shifted where it should not have. A new recruit might have thought he had barely escaped something far worse.
And if asked, he might have agreed.
Across from them sat a middle-aged officer behind a computer, his posture relaxed but not careless. His eyes moved between the screen and the people in front of him with practiced ease. There was a certain sharpness in his gaze, not aggressive, but attentive in a way that suggested he preferred patterns, details, and logic over emotional disputes.
Family matters like this were not new to him.
They rarely surprised him anymore.
Still, he did not rush.
"Can you state why you beat him?" he asked.
His tone was even. Not accusing, not sympathetic. Just direct.
Lian Yu did not answer immediately.
His gaze shifted slightly, not toward the officer, but toward the people beside him.
His mother sat upright, though there was a faint stiffness in her posture that suggested she was still recovering from more than just the events of the night. His sister sat beside her, quiet, her presence steady in a way that made the scene feel less fragile.
They were both here.
Unharmed.
That alone was enough to quiet something inside him.
This had not happened before.
In his previous life, this moment had never existed. There had been no station, no questions, no chance to sit like this and see them safe, even if only for now.
It was different. Completely different.
And for that reason, he said nothing.
The officer waited for a few seconds, then shifted his attention without pressing further.
He turned to Luo instead.
"On what reason did you call the police?" he asked.
Luo straightened slightly, caught between uncertainty and responsibility. "Because he asked me to."
"And why is that?"
Luo hesitated for a moment, glancing briefly at Lian Yu before continuing. "Officer, my son did nothing wrong—" his mother began, her voice tight with urgency.
The officer raised a hand without looking at her.
"I wasn't asking you," he said calmly. "It will get to your turn soon enough."
The words were not harsh, but they were firm enough to draw a clear boundary.
He turned back to Luo. "You may continue. Just to be clear—you called because he told you to?"
Luo nodded.
The officer typed something briefly into the computer, the soft clicking of keys filling the small pause before he spoke again.
"And can you recount what happened before he asked you?"
Luo nodded again, this time more certain.
"We were at the bathhouse," he began. "Just talking about school. Then he asked me what date it was. When I told him it was the 23rd, he… reacted."
He paused, as if trying to choose the right word.
"He ran out," Luo continued. "Didn't care about anything, not even the fact that he wasn't properly dressed. I followed him. We got a taxi to his street, but before we even reached properly, he checked his watch again and jumped out. That's when he told me to call the police. He said there was going to be an attempted murder."
The room seemed to quiet slightly around them, or perhaps it only felt that way.
At those words, both his mother and sister turned to look at Lian Yu, surprise clear on their faces. It was not just what had happened—it was the certainty in it that unsettled them.
Lian Yu, however, did not look back.
His gaze had dropped to the floor.
More specifically—to his shoes. The dampness from earlier had not completely dried. The faint marks of water and dust clung to the fabric, making them look older than they were.
For some reason, that held his attention more than anything else in the room.
"Do you have anything to say?" the officer asked, turning back to him.
No response.
The officer's fingers paused above the keyboard.
"Hey," he said, a little sharper this time. "I'm talking to you. Do you have anything to add to what your friend told me?"
Still nothing.
The silence stretched longer than it should have.
Around them, the noise of the station continued, but it no longer felt distant. It pressed in, filling the space left by his refusal to speak.
The officer's expression shifted slightly, not dramatically, but enough to show the beginning of irritation. It was not uncommon. Long hours, repetitive cases, and uncooperative responses had a way of wearing down even the most patient of people.
And officers were not known for endless patience. Sensing the shift, and perhaps understanding where it could lead, Lian Yu finally moved.
He lowered his head slightly, his voice calm when he spoke.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It's my fault. Don't let them pay for what I did."
The officer leaned back just a little, caught off guard by the sudden change. There was no defensiveness in his tone.
No attempt to justify. Just a quiet acceptance.
"Are you telling me," the officer said slowly, "that you have been wanting to hit him? For what reason?"
There was a brief pause. Not long enough to seem calculated.
Just long enough to show that the answer mattered.
Lian Yu did not lift his head. "Because I'm an ass," he said.
That was all.
He did not explain further. Did not look up.
And somehow, that simple answer carried more weight than anything else he could have said.
___
Feeling a trace of irritation at Lian Yu's short, uncooperative answers, the officer shifted his attention.
His gaze moved past him and settled on the young woman sitting beside their mother.
"Can you recount what happened?" he asked.
Cici did not answer immediately.
She sat still, her hands resting loosely on her lap, her fingers curled slightly as though holding onto something unseen. Her eyes moved once—toward her mother, then toward her brother—but she said nothing.
It was not fear in the usual sense.
Cici had never been the kind to shrink from confrontation. Even as a child, she had been the one to stand in front, to argue, to fight when necessary. There had been a time when she walked the streets like she belonged to them, unafraid of trouble, sometimes even looking for it.
When they were younger, back when life had still allowed them moments of innocence, she had once told Lian Yu that she wanted to become a gangster.
He had laughed at the time, thinking it was one of her usual reckless ideas.
"Why?" he had asked.
"So I can protect you," she had replied without hesitation. He had not known how to respond to that.
Their mother, who had been listening from the side, had reached out and tapped Cici lightly on the forehead.
"You little fool," she had said, though there had been nothing but affection in her voice.
Back then, it had felt like a joke.
Something light. Something harmless.
But now, sitting in a police station with questions hanging in the air and consequences waiting just beyond them, that memory felt heavier than it should have.
Cici was quiet not because she was weak, but because she had never been in a place like this before. Her life, shaped by both her father and her marriage, had kept her away from situations like this. She knew how to fight, how to endure, how to survive—but not how to speak in a room where every word could be recorded, weighed, and used.
She did not know what to say that would not make things worse.
Still, after a moment, she pushed herself up from her seat. If no one spoke, then everything would fall on her brother.
And that was something she could not allow.
But before she could say a word—
A loud bang cut through the room. Lian Yu's hand had struck the desk. The sound echoed sharply, loud enough to draw attention from nearby officers and detainees alike. Conversations paused. Heads turned.
Even the officer in front of them looked up, momentarily surprised.
Across from them, the faint smirk that had been sitting on their father's bruised face froze.
For a moment, the entire space seemed to shift.
Their father had always relied on control.
Not strength alone, but the kind of control built over years—looks that carried meaning, silence that forced compliance, small gestures that told them exactly what to do without words. Cici had learned it early.
Their mother had endured it longer. And Lian Yu, in his silence, had once allowed it to continue.
That was how he had survived. That was how the man had remained untouched.
Until now.
"You want to know why I wanted to kill this bastard sitting beside me?" Lian Yu said.
His voice was not raised. But it carried.
People nearby turned to look, drawn not by volume, but by the weight behind the words.
He stood up slowly.
There was no hesitation in his movements this time.
He stepped toward his mother. For a brief second, she seemed to understand what he was about to do. Her eyes widened slightly, her hand lifting as though to stop him—but she was too late.
He pulled back the sleeve of her long shirt.
The fabric slid up.
And what it revealed silenced the room.
Scars.
Layered over one another. Old and new.
Some thin and faded, others darker, more recent, crossing over each other in ways that spoke of repetition rather than accident.
They marked her arms in uneven patterns, some jagged, some straight, all of them unmistakable.
They were not injuries from a single moment. They were history.
A history that had been hidden beneath fabric and silence for years. A quiet gasp spread through those watching.
One officer shifted uncomfortably. Another looked away. Someone near the back made a low sound of disgust before covering their mouth.
It was too much. Too brutal. Too deliberate to ignore.
His mother reacted quickly, pulling her sleeve back down, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to cover what had already been seen.
But it was too late.
The truth was already in the open. Lian Yu did not stop there. He turned to Cici.
Before she could step back or react, he reached for the collar of her turtle-neck top and pulled it down just enough to reveal the marks beneath.
Faint, but visible.
Dark bruising around her neck.The shape unmistakable.
Fingers.
Pressure.
Someone's grip.
"This," Lian Yu said, his voice steady, though something deeper moved beneath it, "this is why I wanted to kill him."
He looked around, not just at the officer now, but at anyone who was watching.
"Not just this," he continued. "He cheats. He breaks the law in his own home before anyone else can. He takes money, property, anything he can get, just to please whoever he brings in. Tell me—if you were in my place, would you sit there and watch it happen?"
No one answered.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then—
A soft, mocking sound.
Their father let out a quiet sneer, despite the state he was in.
"And here you are," he said, his voice rough but sharp enough to cut through the moment, "acting innocent."
He turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on Lian Yu.
"Where were you?" he continued. "You sold your sister into marriage. Do you think the law forgives something like that?"
The words landed.
Clean.
Precise.
And they hit exactly where they were meant to.
Lian Yu paused.The anger in him did not disappear—but something else surfaced beneath it.
Guilt.
Because this time, it was not a lie. He had done it. Maybe not with the same intentions.
Maybe not for the same reasons. But he had still done it.
Slowly, without a word, he lowered himself to his knees in front of his sister. He did not try to defend himself. Did not argue. Did not deny it. There was nothing he could say that would erase it. The regret sat heavily in his chest, sharp and suffocating.
It was the kind of feeling that did not pass.
The kind that stayed. And no matter how much time went by—
It would still be there.
Before his father could continue, before he could twist the moment further the way he always did—A sharp sound cut through the tension.
A slap.
His mother had stood up.And for the first time—
She struck him. The man froze. So did everyone else.
"And don't you dare put the blame on my son," she said, her voice shaking—but not with fear. With anger. Real anger.
The kind she had held back for years.
"You good-for-nothing man," she continued, her words gaining strength. "Were you even there when they were born? You started your affairs the moment I had Cici. You knew I would be trapped. You knew I had nowhere to go."
Her voice rose—not uncontrollably, but enough to carry.
"You poisoned your own son against his sister," she said. "And now you stand there and blame him? What right do you have?"
Both Lian Yu and Cici looked at her, stunned.
They had never seen her like this.
Never heard her speak this way.
"If my son becomes something terrible in the future," she went on, her voice breaking slightly but not stopping, "then that will be because of you. And if my daughter ever loses her sense of worth, that will also be because of you."
She paused.
Then added, more quietly—
"And because I allowed you to do this for so long."
The man could only stare at her.
"You…" he muttered, but the words did not go further.
For once—he had nothing to say.
Then Cici stood.
Her movements were slower, but there was no hesitation.
"Don't you dare accuse my brother," she said.
Her voice was not loud, but it carried clearly.
"Yes, he agreed to my marriage," she continued. "But he never saw a single coin from it. You did. You took everything. And now you want to stand here and pretend otherwise?"
Her eyes held his."How dare you?"
Lian Yu felt his vision blur. He had come prepared to take everything on himself.
The blame. The consequences.The judgment. He had already decided that he deserved it.
But now—
They were standing for him.His mother.
His sister. Speaking before he could.
Defending him in ways he had not expected, in ways he had not even asked for. It left him unsteady.
Because for the first time—
He was not alone in it.
What had begun as a routine questioning had shifted into something else entirely.
The officer sat back slightly, watching the exchange with a different kind of attention now. The case in front of him was no longer simple.
It was no longer just about a fight.
It was a family. Broken in ways that could not be written down neatly in a report.
Around them, the station continued to move, but the space they occupied had become something separate.
Heavier. Quieter.
What had started as an ordinary interrogation—had turned into something far more difficult to untangle.
___
After the statements were taken and written, after each voice had been heard in turn and reduced to lines on paper, the atmosphere in the station shifted in a way that was subtle but unmistakable.
What had started as noise and disorder began to settle into something more structured. Officers moved with clearer purpose. Papers were gathered. A decision, once forming, had now been made.The conclusion was not dramatic.
It was simply stated.
Based on the testimonies, the visible injuries, and the consistency of accounts, the man was to be held. For once, the law did not hesitate.Their father was found guilty.
The moment the words were spoken, he reacted the only way he knew how. His voice rose, sharp and aggressive, laced with insults that came too easily. He hurled them without direction, without restraint—at the officers, at his wife, at his children—as though anger alone could undo what had already been decided.
But no one responded.
Not the officers, who had long grown used to such reactions.
Not his wife, who had endured worse.
Not Cici, who stood quietly now, watching him with a steadiness that had replaced her earlier hesitation.
And not Lian Yu. He only looked at him.
And then—
He smiled. It was not a wide smile. Not loud.
Not obvious. But it was there. And the moment their father saw it, his voice faltered.
Because he recognized it.
Too well.
It was the same expression he had worn countless times before. The same look he carried when he stood over them, when he decided their pain meant nothing, when he allowed himself to enjoy the control he held.
It was a smile without warmth.
Without hesitation. Without mercy.
And now—
It was turned on him. The realization settled slowly, but once it did, it did not leave.
Like father, like son. Twisted, in different ways.
One had lived without restraint, too consumed by his own cruelty to recognize anything beyond it.
The other had lived through that cruelty, carried it, and now stood at a point where he could choose what to do with it.
The officers moved him away soon after, leading him toward the holding area. His protests grew weaker, less certain, as though something inside him had begun to falter.
By the time the metal door closed behind him, the noise he had made earlier had faded into something smaller.
Contained.
Lian Yu waited.
He did not follow immediately.
He remained where he was for a moment longer, his gaze lowered, his expression unreadable.
Then, without saying anything, he turned and walked in the same direction.The holding area was quieter than the front of the station. The sounds here were duller, heavier, absorbed by concrete walls and metal bars. A faint smell of dampness lingered in the air, mixed with something older that never quite left.
His father sat inside, shoulders no longer as straight as before. The anger that had fueled him earlier had drained, leaving something less defined behind.
When he noticed Lian Yu approaching, his body tensed.
"Do you like this place, Dad?" Lian Yu asked.
His tone was calm.
Too calm.
"You…" the man began, but the word did not go far.
"Don't 'you' me yet," Lian Yu said, cutting him off without raising his voice. "This is just the beginning."
There was no need to say more.The meaning was already there. For the first time, the man felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Fear.
Not the kind that came from pain or consequence, but something deeper. Something that came from understanding, even if only partially, that the person standing in front of him was no longer someone he could control.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
The question came out rough, uneven.
Even he seemed uncertain of it.
Lian Yu looked at him for a moment.
"Nothing much," he said. "Just making sure things go the way they should."
There was no elaboration. No need for threats.The calm in his voice did more than anything else could have.
He gave a small, faint smile again—just enough for it to be seen—and then turned away. Behind him, the man remained where he was.
Still.
Silent.
Something had shifted, and even if he could not fully grasp it, he felt it.
By the time Lian Yu stepped out of the holding area, the weight of the place seemed to lift slightly.
The main station was still active, still filled with movement and noise, but it no longer pressed in the same way. When he finally stepped outside, the night air met him immediately.
Cool. Open.
A stark contrast to everything inside.
He paused for a moment, letting it settle.
The city had not changed.
Cars still passed. Lights still flickered in the distance. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed, unaware of everything that had just taken place within those walls.
Life continued. As it always did.
Behind him, the matter with his father was no longer his concern for the moment.
That chapter had begun its own course.
But there was still more to face.
His sister. Her life. The choices that had been made.
The things that still needed to be undone.
His gaze shifted slightly, thoughtful.
If what he had done to his father felt like placing him in fire, then what awaited his brother-in-law would be far worse.
That thought did not bring him satisfaction.
But it did not leave him either. Footsteps approached from behind.
Luo stepped out first, stretching his arms slightly as though shaking off the tension from inside. His mother followed, her expression quieter now, but lighter in a way that had not been there before. Cici came last, her steps steady, her presence calm.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
They simply stood there.Together. It felt unfamiliar.
And yet, right.
Luo was the first to break the silence.
"Well," he said, glancing between them, "this doesn't feel like a night to just go home."
There was a faint attempt at lightness in his tone. Lian Yu looked at him, then at the others.
Something in his chest eased slightly.
"Then let's not," he said.
It was a simple answer. But it was enough.
Not long after, they found themselves seated at a small street-side stall not far from the station. The place was modest, with plastic chairs and metal tables that had seen years of use. The smell of grilled chicken filled the air, mixed with the faint bitterness of beer and the quiet hum of late-night conversation from other tables nearby.
The owner moved efficiently, setting plates down with practiced ease.
Steam rose from freshly prepared food.
Bottles clinked softly as they were placed on the table.
For the first time that night, the atmosphere around them felt… normal. Not perfect. Not untouched.
But lighter.
They sat close, the earlier tension slowly giving way to something quieter. No one spoke much at first. There was no need to rush into conversation, no need to fill the silence.
They simply ate.
Drank.
Existed in the same space without fear.
Lian Yu glanced at them occasionally.
His mother, who no longer seemed weighed down in the same way.
Cici, who sat there without that earlier strain in her expression.
Luo, who leaned back slightly, watching them all with a quiet satisfaction. It was not a grand moment. There were no declarations.
No dramatic resolutions. But it was real.
And for now—
That was enough. This was not the end.
Not even close. But it was a beginning.
And this time, they were all still here to see it.