The funeral home was quieter than I remembered.
Not empty. Just still. Silence. It felt like something waiting.
I thought I watched Lin Wei die. But death is complicated when you're already dead. He was still alive. Barely. Dying, but not gone. I don't know why I remembered it wrong. Maybe I wanted him to be at peace. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention. Either way — he was still here. Still writing. Still coughing up pieces of his lungs.
The mind plays tricks when you've been dead for years. Time doesn't move right. Memories shift. I've learned not to trust everything I see. Especially when it comes to the ones I care about.
Ruan Qing walked ahead of me. Same pace. Same posture.
I followed.
At the end of the hallway, near the last viewing room, someone was standing by the door.
A woman.
She wasn't sitting like Lin Yue had. She was pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Fast.
"You're late," she said.
Ruan Qing stopped. "I said I'd come."
"That was yesterday."
Her voice was sharp. Angry.
I stepped closer. Studied her.
Li Na. Mid-thirties. Hair tied back. Clothes — creased, slightly torn at the sleeve. There was a faint dark stain near her shoulder.
Not blood. Oil. Car accident.
She turned to me. "You're the lawyer?"
"I am."
She looked me up and down. Not impressed. "You don't look like much."
"Yeah." I shrugged.
Ruan Qing didn't react.
Li Na crossed her arms. "My husband killed me." Straight to the point. No hesitation. No doubt.
"How?" I asked.
"He pushed my car off the road."
"Why?"
She frowned. "Because he wanted me dead."
"That's not a reason."
Her eyes sharpened. "He was having an affair."
"Do you have proof?"
"I saw the messages. Before I died."
I nodded slowly. "Then why were you driving alone?"
She didn't answer. Just for a second.
Then: "I needed time to think."
Ruan Qing glanced at me. I ignored it.
---
The road was still there. Same curve. Same guardrail. Same drop.
I stood at the edge, looking down. The car had been cleared. No debris. No marks left behind. Clean. Too clean.
"Accidents happen here," Ruan Qing said. "Sharp turn. Poor lighting."
I stepped closer to the guardrail. "Walk me through it," I said.
Li Na stood beside me. "I was driving home. It was late. He called me."
"And?"
"He asked where I was."
"And?"
"I told him."
"And?"
She hesitated. For the first time, her voice slowed. "...he sounded calm."
"That's a problem?"
"He wasn't supposed to be."
I looked at her. "What happened next?"
"I saw headlights behind me. A black car. Close. Too close."
"Did you recognize it?"
"No."
"Then how do you know it was him?"
She snapped. "Because who else would it be?"
The wind moved through the trees. Soft. Steady.
I looked down again. "If someone wanted to kill you here, they'd need precision. Speed. Timing. Position. And they'd have to be sure you wouldn't survive. That's not something you improvise."
Her jaw tightened. "He planned it."
"Maybe."
---
The husband's house was quiet. Lights on. Curtains drawn. Everything in place. Too in place.
Ruan Qing stood across the street. "He hasn't left much. Goes to work. Comes home. Sleeps."
"No panic?"
"No."
"No running?"
"No."
I watched the window. "He knows we're looking?"
She didn't answer.
We went inside. Not physically. Just enough to see.
The living room was clean. Organized. No signs of disruption. No signs of grief either. A photo frame sat on the shelf. Li Na and her husband. Smiling. Normal.
I stared at it for a while. "You don't look unhappy."
"Pictures lie," Li Na snapped.
"Sometimes."
I moved on. The bedroom. Clean. Precise. Too precise.
I opened the drawer. Empty.
"Where's his phone?"
"He always keeps it with him," Ruan Qing said.
Of course he did.
---
We found him that night. Working. He sat at his desk, typing. Calm. Focused. Like nothing had happened. Like she had never existed.
Li Na stood beside him. "You see? You see how he is?"
I did. Too calm. But calm didn't mean guilty.
"Say something," she demanded.
"Not yet."
Her anger flared. "What do you mean, not yet? He killed me."
"Maybe."
She turned to me. "Maybe?"
I met her gaze. "For a murder case, 'maybe' isn't enough."
"I'm dead!"
"Yes."
"That should be enough!"
"It isn't."
Silence. Sharp. Heavy. For the first time, she looked unsure. Just for a second.
We left.
Back to the street. Back to the night.
Ruan Qing spoke first. "What do you think?"
I looked at the house. At the light still on in his room. At the man still working. At the woman standing beside me, waiting for me to confirm what she already believed.
"I think this isn't like Lin Yue. No clear evidence. No clean truth."
Ruan Qing nodded.
I glanced at Li Na. She wasn't pacing anymore. She was watching me. Waiting.
"I don't know yet," I said.
For the first time since I died — I wasn't sure who I was supposed to defend.
---
She found me before I found her.
"Are you hesitating?" she said.
We were back at the funeral home. Same hallway. Same silence. But it felt different now. Tighter. Like something was closing in.
"I'm thinking," I said.
"You're doubting."
"Those are not the same thing."
She stepped closer. "You believed Lin Yue."
"I had reason to."
"And you don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then say it," she snapped. "Say you believe me."
I looked at her. Really looked this time. Not the anger. Not the accusation. The gaps.
Every story has them.
"You're not telling me everything," I said.
Her expression froze. For a moment, the anger cracked.
"What are you talking about?"
"The call," I said. "The one before the crash."
Her eyes shifted.
"You said he sounded calm."
"Yes."
"But you didn't say what you said."
Silence.
Ruan Qing stood by the wall. Watching.
Li Na let out a breath. Slow. Controlled.
"...we argued."
"About the affair?"
"Yes."
"What did you say?"
She didn't answer.
"What did you say?" I repeated.
Her voice dropped. "I told him I knew."
"And?"
"I told him I was done."
"With the marriage?"
"Yes."
"And?"
She closed her eyes. "I told him I didn't care what happened to him anymore."
"That's not all."
Her eyes snapped open.
"I told him..." she hesitated, then forced it out, "I told him I wished he would just disappear."
The hallway went quiet again.
I nodded. "Anything else?"
"No."
I waited.
She looked away. "...I said I was tired."
"Tired of what?"
"Everything."
That wasn't an answer. But it was enough.
---
The room came without warning.
No door. No transition. One moment we were standing in the hallway — the next, we weren't.
Dark. Wide. Endless. The stone floor. Cold. Smooth. Reflective.
Li Na stepped back. "What is this?"
"Yeah. It really came again," I said.
A presence settled over the space. Heavy. Absolute.
Li Na's voice wavered for the first time. "...this is the court, isn't it?"
No one answered her. We didn't need to.
The woman in grey stood ahead of us.
Same as before. Same calm expression. Same unreadable eyes. No anger. No kindness. Just judgment.
"You return," she said. Her voice didn't echo. The world echoed around it.
"I do," I replied.
"And this time?"
I glanced at Li Na. "She claims her husband killed her."
"Claims," the woman repeated.
Li Na stepped forward. "He did. I know he did."
The woman in grey looked at her. "Knowing is not the same as proving."
"I was there!"
"You died," she said calmly. "That is all that is certain."
Li Na faltered. Just a step. Just enough.
---
The space shifted. The tall mirror appeared.
Images surfaced. Clearer. Sharper. Memories.
The road. The car. Night.
Li Na behind the wheel. Her hands tight on the steering wheel. Breathing uneven. Her phone on the passenger seat. The call still active.
Her husband's voice — faint, distorted.
"...you're overreacting."
"I'm not," she snapped. "I saw the messages."
Silence. Then: "...so what do you want?"
"I want out."
Another pause. "...fine."
The word was flat. Empty.
"I'm done," she said. "I'm done with you. With all of this."
"...Li Na—"
"I don't care anymore," she cut him off. "Do whatever you want. Go to her. Stay with her. I don't care if you—"
Her voice broke. Just slightly.
"I'm tired."
The line went quiet.
Then: "...you're driving," he said.
"Yes."
"...slow down."
"I'm fine."
The headlights appeared behind her. Distant at first. Then closer.
"Li Na—"
"I said I'm fine."
The car behind her didn't slow. Didn't honk. Didn't flash. It just stayed there. Close. Watching.
Li Na's voice echoed in the present. "That's him. That's his car."
But the memory didn't confirm it. No license plate. No clear view. Just headlights.
---
Back in the car — Li Na's grip tightened. Her breathing got worse. Faster.
The road curved. Sharp.
The headlights behind her moved. Closer. Closer—
"Back off!" she shouted, glancing in the mirror.
The wheel shifted. The car jerked.
The impact came fast. Metal. Glass. Silence.
The vision disappeared.
The mirror returned. Still. Empty.
Li Na stood frozen.
"That's not—" she started.
"That's not what you remember?" I asked.
"No," she said immediately. "He hit me. He had to."
"Did he?"
"Yes!"
"Or did you think he would?"
Her breathing picked up again. "That's not the same thing."
"No," I said. "It isn't."
---
The woman in grey spoke.
"Truth is not shaped by belief," she said. "Nor by fear."
Li Na shook her head. "No. No, that's wrong. He was there. He was behind me."
"Yes," the woman said.
"So he did it."
"Presence is not guilt."
Li Na's voice broke. "Then what is?"
Silence.
Then: "Choice."
I looked at the empty space where the memory had been. At the curve. At the moment. At the hesitation. At the mistake.
"He didn't push you," I said.
Li Na turned to me. Eyes wide.
"He was there," I continued. "Close enough to scare you. Close enough to pressure you."
"That's the same thing!"
"No," I said. "It's not."
Her voice dropped. "...then what is it?"
I didn't answer immediately. Because this — this was the part that mattered. More than truth. More than evidence.
"He didn't kill you," I said finally.
The words landed hard. Heavy. Irreversible.
Li Na stared at me. "No," she whispered.
"But," I continued, "he helped it happen."
Silence.
"He didn't hit your car. He didn't force you off the road. But he stayed close. He didn't back off. He didn't give you space."
The memory replayed in my head. The distance. The pressure. The timing.
"He knew you were unstable. He knew you were emotional. Distracted."
Her breathing broke.
"And he stayed anyway."
The woman in grey watched. Waiting. Not for the truth. For the decision.
Li Na's voice cracked. "...then what happens to him?"
I looked at her. At the anger that had turned into something else. Something smaller. Something heavier.
"He lives," I said.
Her eyes filled.
"That's it?"
"No."
I turned to the woman in grey. "This is not murder."
"No," she agreed.
"But it's not nothing."
"No," she said again.
The space grew heavier. Like something settling into place.
"He doesn't walk away clean," I said.
Li Na looked at me. Hope. Fear. Both.
"But neither do you."
That broke her.
"I didn't—" she started.
"You didn't want to die," I said.
She shook her head. "No—"
"But you stopped caring if you did."
Silence. That was worse.
---
The woman in grey stepped forward.
"Judgment is not balance," she said. "It is consequence."
Li Na closed her eyes.
For the first time — she stopped arguing.
When she opened them again, the anger was gone. Not replaced. Just... gone.
"...I understand," she said quietly.
The space faded.
The funeral home returned. The hallway. The silence. The waiting.
Li Na stood by the door. Not pacing anymore. Not demanding. Just standing.
"What happens now?" she asked.
I looked at her.
"At least now," I said, "you know the truth."
She nodded. Slowly.
"That's enough?"
"No," I said. "But it's where it starts."
She didn't smile. Didn't thank me.
She just turned — and walked into the room.
Gone.
---
Ruan Qing spoke after a while.
"You didn't give her justice."
"No."
"You didn't give her revenge."
"No."
She looked at me. "Then what did you give her?"
I thought about it. About Lin Yue. About Zhang Feng. About this.
"The truth," I said.
But this time — it didn't feel clean.
---
End of Chapter 12