The two people in the room exchanged a glance, both slightly puzzled.
There was no way they could carry out this operation alone. They had dedicated lookouts: one watching near the police station, another stationed in the alley. Any time a stranger came asking questions or any hint of trouble appeared, a signal would be sent immediately.
They knew the stakes were high, so they stayed vigilant. At the first sign of trouble, they would retreat quickly.
The man gestured toward the door, then toward the house behind him. The woman nodded, showing she understood.
Meanwhile, the man muttered, “Here they come, here they come,” as he approached the gate. They lived here, and while people did visit occasionally, it was rare.
With caution, he moved forward, keeping a normal expression as if opening the door for routine visitors. When he eventually saw the parents, their faces worn with the loss of their children, his expression would convey the perfect mix of concern and puzzlement.
He planned to watch like a detached observer, seeing the grief on the parents’ faces. Then, when the timing was right, the woman hiding inside would emerge, frowning and swearing.
They played the classic “good cop, bad cop” routine with precision.
After all, why would a cleanly dressed city woman want their children?
Such situations were rare, but they handled them expertly.
If someone outside was genuinely looking for a child, the man would have opened the door and listened to the desperate pleas, subtly reaching out to comfort them.
Rapid knocks rang at the door—knocks that only came from desperate parents who had lost their children.
Reaching to open the door, the man looked up—and a dark brown object smashed into him. A buzzing sound rang in his ears. Dizzy and disoriented, the object struck his head again, warm blood spraying from his temple.
Bang!
His vision blurred. The man collapsed, knocked unconscious by the blow.
Song Qinghuan’s hands shook on the door latch. Blood from the man’s temple splattered onto her face. She didn’t stop to wipe it off—she lunged forward, meeting the woman who had emerged from the room.
The woman saw the blood on Song Qinghuan’s face and the door latch and screamed.
Song Qinghuan rushed forward, swinging the door latch at her. The woman tried to dodge but Song Qinghuan grabbed her clothes and yanked her backward, sending her sprawling to the ground.
The woman finally realized how strong this stranger was. She tried to flee, but Song Qinghuan kicked her to the ground, then smashed the dark brown door latch against her skull.
It was like threshing rice in the field—lifting it high, then slamming it down into the winnowing basket, scattering the grains.
Breathing heavily, Song Qinghuan pushed open the room’s door. It was square, with a wooden bed in the center, covered in blue-gray sheets and blankets. In front of the bed was a square table, and to her left, a cabinet.
She opened the cabinet, finding it mostly empty—nothing could be hidden inside.
Trying again, she pushed the cabinet open fully. With a crash, the oiled cabinet fell, revealing a hidden passage behind it. A square panel, roughly the size of the table, blocked the way, locked with a bronze padlock.
Song Qinghuan searched the woman and found a key around her neck. She unlocked the panel. A foul stench of feces and urine hit her, mingling with the smell from the nearby latrine, though it wasn’t overwhelming.
“Nian Nian! Sui Sui!” Song Qinghuan shouted urgently.
“Wuu… wuu…” came faint cries.
Crawling into the narrow space, using the light streaming through the opened panel, Song Qinghuan finally saw the grim scene. Nian Nian and Sui Sui were bound hand and foot, their mouths stuffed with ragged cloth. Several other children were also tied up in the same way.
Seeing her, the children’s eyes lit up, small points of hope in the dim space.
Song Qinghuan quickly freed several of them.
Outside the yard, screams rose: “Murder!”
She ignored them. After freeing the children inside, she untied their ropes. Many had deep abrasions and bruises on their wrists and ankles from the rough ropes. No one knew how long they’d been held.
Once done, she held Nian Nian and Sui Sui in her arms.
For a moment, she almost couldn’t see them again.
“Mommy,” the children clung to her. Amid the envious gazes of the other children, Song Qinghuan kissed their cheeks.
“Stay here while Mommy finishes this, okay?”
Gu Chaonian and Gu Chaosui nodded.
Chaonian reassured his sister: “Brother’s here with you. Don’t be afraid.”
Sui Sui sniffled, red-eyed, shaking her head. “Not afraid. Brother, not afraid. We’ll be with Mommy together.”
The children were remarkably sensible, their large, bright eyes fixed on Song Qinghuan.
She picked up the rope and tied up the man and woman lying on the ground. Any attempt at resistance was met with a firm punch.
Afterward, Song Qinghuan’s strength amazed even herself. She had always been strong, but never so energized and powerful. She silently thanked the mysterious voice in her mind.
Outside, a crowd had gathered, drawn by the earlier screams.
“Wow, there’s really been a killing!”
They stared at Song Qinghuan, blood on her face, the door latch, and the bound couple.
“That man seemed so ordinary, and the woman’s a little feisty—but killing?”
“Wonder what she did to make this woman so scary…”
Despite their shock, no one moved away; some edged closer.
“Wasn’t this woman just riding a bike in here?”
Uniformed police arrived. “Everyone step back. Police business—move away, move away.”
“Hey, young man from the Tang family, tell us after the case is done!” neighbors shouted.
Ignoring them, the officers focused on Song Qinghuan.
“Please come with us.”
She spread her hands, showing a paper: “This is my military family ID.”
At that moment, the door behind her slowly opened, and the children peeked out.