“Continue.” Ah Yu’s hand rested on her trembling shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through her shirt, as if transmitting some kind of strength to her. His cuffs were still rolled up, revealing the red string on his wrist—it was tied when he circumambulated the prayer wheels in Tibet. At the time, she laughed at him for being superstitious, but now the red string was taut on his wrist, leaving faint red marks.
Zhong Hua straightened up and raised the recorder towards the camera. The metal casing reflected a blinding light under the lamplight, like a drawn sword: "Here is the complete recording of Gu Yanming admitting to planning arson, framing Gu Yanting, and even attempting to silence him in the mudslide." She pressed play, and Gu Yanming's sinister voice echoed in the hall: "Zhong Hua, you think it's over just because Gu Yanting is dead? There's more than just scrap buried in that warehouse; there are also ledgers you don't know about..." The voice abruptly stopped, followed by the roar of a mudslide—the sound of the recorder hitting rocks when she rolled down the ravine.
She saw Ah Yu quietly retreat to the first row below the stage, his gaze never leaving her face. He was still clutching the evidence bag containing the recording pen in his hand; the transparent plastic bag was sealed by the police, and the edges were crumpled from his grip.
The live stream chat exploded with comments at that moment. "So Gu Yanting is the scapegoat," "Is Zhong Hua out of her mind?" "Gu's Group should go bankrupt immediately!" scrolled by rapidly, like a never-ending rain. Zhong Hua suddenly remembered last night at the hospital, when Ah Yu read her an email from Lin Wanqing: "Refugees in Paris say they can only see the stars on the darkest nights." She had been receiving an IV drip then, watching the medicine drip into her veins, and suddenly wondered if the stars Lin Wanqing saw on the banks of the Seine were as bright as those in Tibet.
Now it seemed she truly saw it. Suddenly, a flurry of flashlights illuminated the back of the hall—not from reporters' cameras, but from countless ordinary audience members raising their cell phone flashlights. These points of light surged in from all directions, converging into a galaxy in the darkness, illuminating the path to the truth before her. Villagers from the chemical industrial zone removed their masks, stood up holding their medical records, and the red rashes on their faces were clearly visible in the light, yet no one seemed to care.
Suddenly, Gu Yanming in the third row overturned the table, scattering documents all over the floor. Several of them drifted to Zhong Hua's feet—they were forged environmental compliance certificates, the ink still glistening at the signature. "You're talking nonsense!" he roared, lunging at Zhong Hua, his tie askew and his hair disheveled like a clump of straw. "You're a madman! Gu Yanting committed suicide!"
Zhong Hua didn't dodge. As she watched the security guards pin him to the ground and handcuff his wrists, she suddenly remembered the last time Gu Yanting saw her. That day, he was wearing a prison uniform, and through the viewing window, he drew the character "Ming" on her palm with his finger. At the time, she didn't understand, but now she realized it was a warning given with his last breath.
As the police took away the ashen-faced Gu Yanming, Zhong Hua finally swayed, unable to hold on any longer. Ah Yu caught her before she collapsed, his hand pressing against her back, immediately feeling a warm, damp patch—the back of her shirt was soaked in blood, the seams she had forcefully torn while trying to stand upright. "It's over." He bent down to fasten her loose brooch, the pointed tip of the brass ginkgo leaf digging into his palm, like a lingering hope.
As the ambulance siren drew nearer, Zhong Hua smiled, gripping his wrist. Her voice was soft, yet clear enough to reach his ears: "See, we really did it." A bead of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth—the blood from biting her lower lip while enduring the pain—and now, mixed with her smile, it held a strange tenderness.
Looking at the night sky illuminated by flashlights, Ah Yu suddenly understood the meaning of Lin Wanqing's words. The so-called stars are never unattainable light, but rather those who persevere in holding up their torches in the darkness. The video Gu Yanting hid in prison was one star, the ledger Lin Wanqing found in Paris was one star, and these strangers holding flashlights before her were all stars in the night sky.
He held the recording pen as if it were the brightest flame. The bloodstains on the pen gleamed dark red under the light, like a flower blooming in despair.
Outside the car window, the lights of the Montage Hotel receded into the distance. Zhong Hua leaned on Ah Yu's shoulder, watching the points of light shrink into stars. She suddenly remembered many years ago, when she first met Gu Yanting at a cocktail party. He handed her a glass of champagne and said, "Reporter Zhong, some truths shouldn't be dug up." At that time, she didn't understand that some darkness requires someone to leap in so that the light can shine through.
“Ginkgo leaf brooch…” she murmured, her fingertips touching the cool metal of her collar.
“I’ll keep it.” Ah Yu took her hand and placed the brooch in her palm. “When you’re better, we’ll go see the real ginkgo forest.”
As the car passed through the tunnel, all the light vanished. Zhong Hua clutched the brooch tightly, smiling in the utter darkness. She knew that there would always be light at the end of the tunnel, just as those deeply buried truths would one day see the light of day again. And she, Ah Yu, and Lin Wanqing in the distance would all be the ones to welcome the light.
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