Lin Wei's apartment felt different now.
Not because anything had changed. The same desk. The same papers. The same smell of coffee and something metallic underneath.
But the silence was heavier.
He was sitting at his desk when we arrived. Not typing. Just sitting. Staring at the screen.
"You're back," he said without turning around.
"Yes."
"How'd it go?"
"The trial is over. He was sentenced."
Lin Wei nodded slowly. "And the court?"
I didn't answer immediately. Ruan Qing moved to the window. Looking out. As always.
"The court accepted," I said finally.
Lin Wei turned. His eyes were tired. More than before. But still sharp.
"Accepted what?"
"My decision."
He frowned. "I thought the court decided."
"So did I."
---
Lin Wei coughed. Harder this time. He reached for the table. Missed. Caught himself.
Ruan Qing moved instantly. Steady. Calm. Like she had expected this.
"Sit down," she said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He didn't argue.
I watched him. Really watched him. The way his hands shook slightly when he thought no one was looking. The way his breathing caught between sentences. The way time was slowly, quietly — running out.
"You don't have much left," I said.
Ruan Qing shot me a look. But Lin Wei just nodded.
"I know."
"Then why keep going?"
He smiled. Not tired. Not this time. Certain.
"Because this matters," he said.
He looked at the screen. At the article he was writing. At the words he was leaving behind.
"Someone has to remember," he said. "Someone has to write it down. The truth. Even when it's messy. Even when people don't want to hear it."
I thought about Li Na. About Chen Hao. About all the others.
"Does it help?" I asked. "Writing it down?"
Lin Wei was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," he said. "But if I don't try — then no one will."
---
Ruan Qing stood by the window. Her back to us.
"You should rest," she said.
"I will."
"When?"
Lin Wei laughed. A dry, hollow sound. "After I finish this."
She didn't turn around. But I saw her shoulders tighten.
That was the thing about Ruan Qing. She never showed what she was feeling. But she felt it. All of it.
"You care about him," I said.
She didn't answer.
"That's not a weakness."
Still nothing.
"It's the only reason you're still doing this."
She finally turned. Her face was calm. But her eyes — something else.
"I'm not doing this for him," she said.
"Then who?"
She looked at me. At the empty space where I was standing. At the ghost who couldn't touch anything but kept showing up anyway.
"I don't know anymore," she said.
---
Later — we sat in the funeral home.
The hallway was quiet. No pacing. No waiting. Just silence.
Ruan Qing was reading her book. The same book. The same page. She had been looking at it for a while.
"You're not reading," I said.
"I know."
"Then what are you doing?"
She closed the book. Set it down.
"Thinking."
"About what?"
She looked at the door. The one that led to the viewing rooms. The one where Li Na had stood. Where Lin Yue had waited. Where others would come.
"How many more?" she asked.
I didn't pretend to misunderstand.
"I don't know."
"How many before you stop?"
That was the question. The one I hadn't asked myself.
"I don't know," I said again.
She nodded. Like she expected that answer.
---
The night was quiet.
I stood by the window. Looking out at the street. A woman with coffee. A man checking his watch. A kid weaving through traffic on a bike.
Normal. Ordinary. Alive.
They didn't know about Li Na. About Chen Hao. About the court. About the weight I was carrying now.
They didn't need to.
"That's the point, isn't it?" Ruan Qing said from behind me.
I didn't turn. "What is?"
"They don't have to know. Someone else carries it for them."
"Is that what we're doing?"
She walked up beside me. Stopped at the window.
"I don't know what we're doing anymore," she said. "But we're still here. And they're still coming."
"The cases?"
"The dead."
She looked at me.
"You've changed, Chen Lü. You're not the same lawyer who died in Courtroom 7B."
I thought about that. About the man I used to be. Clean arguments. Clear wins. Black and white.
Now everything was gray. Messy. Unresolved.
"Is that bad?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No. It's just different."
---
Somewhere across the city, Chen Hao was probably lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling. Reliving the moment over and over.
He would carry it for the rest of his life. That was the point. Not punishment. Consequence.
I didn't know if that was justice.
But it was something.
"Lin Wei doesn't have much time," I said.
Ruan Qing's expression didn't change. "I know."
"Are you ready?"
She was quiet for a long moment.
"No," she said finally. "But that doesn't matter."
She turned away from the window.
"He's not the first person I've lost. He won't be the last."
"That doesn't make it easier."
"No," she said. "It doesn't."
---
The funeral home was still.
Ruan Qing sat down. Picked up her book. Didn't open it.
I stood by the window.
The city moved outside. Unaware. Unchanged.
But something had shifted. Not in the world. In us.
Li Na was gone. Chen Hao was sentenced. Lin Wei was dying.
And I was still here. Still dead. Still watching.
Still deciding what the truth was worth.
---
Lin Wei died on a Tuesday.
Or at least that's what I thought. Whenever it comes to Lin Wei, my mind jumbles. Messy. And when the next day comes, I still find out he is still alive. Sick, coughing lots of blood. Strange thing is Ruan Qing doesn't say anything about this or maybe she doesn't remember anything. And the cycle continues.
Ruan Qing was with him. I was in the corner. Watching.
He didn't say anything. Didn't open his eyes. Just stopped breathing.
The machines didn't scream. They just went quiet. One beep. Then nothing.
Ruan Qing sat there for a long time. Didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't cry.
She just sat.
I waited.
After a while, she stood. Walked to the window. Looked out at the street.
"He's gone," she said.
Not a question. Not a statement. Just — words.
I looked at the bed. Lin Wei's body was still there. But something else was standing in the corner.
Lin Wei. His ghost.
He looked at me. Then at Ruan Qing.
She couldn't see him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But I could.
"Took you long enough," I said.
He smiled. That thin, tired smile. "I had to finish the story."
He looked at Ruan Qing. She was still staring out the window.
"Take care of her," he said.
"You take care of yourself."
He laughed. A real laugh. The first one I had heard from him.
"I'm dead," he said. "What's the worst that could happen?"
He faded. Slowly. Not like Lin Yue. Not like Li Na. He took his time.
Until he was gone.
---
Ruan Qing never knew.
She never asked.
But sometimes, when she was alone, she would look at the corner where he used to sit.
And she would smile.
Just a little.
Just enough.
---
The funeral home was quiet that night.
No new cases. No waiting ghosts. Just silence.
Ruan Qing sat behind the counter. Her book was open. She wasn't reading.
I stood by the window.
"You're still here," she said.
"I'm dead. I don't have anywhere else to be."
She didn't laugh. She never laughed.
But something in her expression softened. Just slightly.
"What now?" she asked.
I thought about it. About Lin Yue. About Li Na. About Chen Hao. About all the ones who had come and gone.
"There's always another case," I said.
"I know."
"Then we wait."
She nodded. "For what?"
I looked out at the street. At the city. At the world moving on, unaware of the dead standing in its shadows.
"For the next one."
---
Outside, the city was waking up.
A woman with coffee. A man checking his watch. A kid weaving through traffic on a bike.
Normal. Ordinary. Alive.
Somewhere out there, a woman was dying. Or already dead. Or waiting for someone to hear her story.
She didn't know it yet. But she would find us.
They always did.
---
Somewhere far away, outside this realm, outside the river of time, a 5-year-old boy sat watching.
A small smile was pasted on his face.
"Interesting," he said.