Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 181 : The Keys Are on the Table

At 6:58 on the morning of April 12th, the door at the end of the fourth-floor hallway was shut.

The soy milk came in a double-layered paper cup, still too hot to hold comfortably. She knocked twice, the second knock harder than the first. She waited, then knocked twice more.

No one answered.

She called. Something behind the door started ringing with it—one buzz, then another, pressed right up against the door panel, like a phone vibrating on the edge of a bed. She hung up after the third ring and put her face near the crack of the door.

”Lin Qi. Itʼs seven.”

No sound from inside.

She went downstairs. The duty room window was half open. The woman inside was stirring a bowl of congee, the range hood humming.

”Have you seen the woman on the fourth floor come down this morning?”

”Havenʼt seen her.” The woman set down her spoon. ”I was up at 5:50 boiling water. Nobody at the stairwell. Didnʼt hear anything overnight either.”

”Is there a spare key to her room with you?”

The woman looked at her, then pressed the rag in her hand against her apron.

”The landlord left one, in case of a leak so we can get in and shut the valve.”

”Come up with me,” Shen Zhixia said. ”You open the door. You stand there. I wonʼt touch anything inside.”

The woman fished the key out from under a drawer, wiped it on the corner of her apron, and followed her upstairs. On the fourth floor, the pull-cord for the light hung broken from the ceiling, dangling uselessly. No one had fixed it.

The key turned once. The bolt slid back, and the door swung inward a crack.

The room was perfectly neat.

The quilt was folded into a tight square, the pillow placed on top. Four things sat on the table: an upside-down glass with a folded sheet of paper tucked beneath it; a toothbrush holder beside a tissue cylinder; a closed book face-down; and on the edge of the table, a ring of keys—three of them. One for the building entrance, one for the room, and a small brass padlock key, worn to a shine.

The chair was empty. The cabinet doors were closed.

The white coat was not hanging on the back of the chair.

Shen Zhixia stopped at the threshold. She looked first at the keys, then at the empty chair, and only then noticed the phone by the charging cable at the head of the bed—screen lit, the most recent call log entry showing her own name and two missed calls.

”Donʼt come in yet,” she said.

She pulled out her phone and took photos from the doorway: one of the entrance, one of the table, one of the keys on the tableʼs edge, one of the chair back. By the third flash, the faint shampoo smell in the room seemed to shift in the light, as if someone had just risen from the bedside and stepped outside.

She crossed the threshold, took two steps in, and pulled the paper out from under the glass.

The crease was pressed perfectly flat. Six lines—the same six lines she had copied out yesterday. Lin Qi had read them, read them again from top to bottom, folded the paper in half, and pressed it under the glass. She had said she would hand it in herself this morning.

The paper was still here. The person was not.

She photographed it, folded it back exactly as it had been, and tucked it into the innermost pocket of her bag, snapping the button shut.

”Iʼll hold onto this page for her,” she said. ”Left here, whoever got to it first would decide her fate for her.”

The woman stood at the doorway, not stepping inside. ”She... wasnʼt she fine yesterday? The day before, you even brought her noodles.”

”She was fine yesterday too,” Shen Zhixia said.

She pulled open the drawer by the bed. The white paper bag was still there, most of a blister pack of pills inside, the edges showing a line of white. She didnʼt touch it and pushed the drawer shut.

She called the number again. The ringtone went off two steps away, rising from beside the pillow, the screen lighting up again and again. It rang seven times, then went dark on its own.

”Can you find out where she is?”

[Thud. Finding people isnʼt my job.]

She silenced her phone, stuffed it back in her pocket, went downstairs, and stood on the three steps outside the building entrance to make calls.

She dialed 120 first. The operator asked for an address. She said she wasnʼt requesting a vehicle—she wanted to know if theyʼd picked up a woman in her thirties wearing a white coat that morning. The operator said dispatch worked by address, not by person; if she suspected someone had gone missing and might be suicidal, she should call 110, and theyʼd coordinate if there was an actual emergency.

She said thank you, hung up, and dialed 110.

This operator asked in detail: name, age, height, appearance, what she was wearing this morning, what time she left, any mental health treatment history, whether sheʼd left a note. She answered what she knew and said she didnʼt know for the rest.

”Reportʼs been logged, transferring to the local patrol unit,” the operator said. ”Contact her workplace and family first, search nearby yourself. If you get a confirmed sighting or a specific location, call back anytime.”

”Understood.”

”The part about a confirmed location—donʼt skip it,” the operator repeated, then hung up.

She sat down on the third step and called He Xiufen.

”Where is she?”

”Unknown. Everythingʼs in her room. Keys on the table, phone by the bed. She took the white coat.”

Silence on the other end for two seconds.

”She left wearing the white coat?”

”Yes.”

”Then sheʼs not going to kill herself,” He Xiufen said. ”Someone set on leaving picks clothes that donʼt stand out. She wore that because sheʼs going to find someone and have it out with them.”

Shen Zhixia dug her fingers into her knee and said nothing.

”Didnʼt take her phone either.”

”If she didnʼt take it, she doesnʼt want to be talked out of it,” He Xiufen said. ”Donʼt go running all over the city. Think about the places sheʼs mentioned to you. When someone takes that last walk, they go somewhere they know well, not somewhere unfamiliar.”

”Iʼm thinking through the options now.”

”You think. Iʼll make calls on my end,” He Xiufen said. ”The Commission, the hospital, her community clinic, the landlord—Iʼll work through them one by one. What about her mother? Should we give her a heads-up?”

”Not yet. It takes her three hours to get here, and all she could do is sit at the door and wait.”

”Fine,” He Xiufen said. ”That stack of medication wonʼt move an inch today. Iʼll sit on it.”

After hanging up with He Xiufen, she called Tang Guo.

”Dr. Lin is missing,” she said without preamble.

A startled ”Ah” came from the other end, followed by the scrape of chair legs on the floor and the sound of typing.

”I have a photo—I took one at the noodle shop last time,” Tang Guo said. ”Iʼll put up a missing-person post, spread it through a few local groups. Someone will respond within half an hour.”

”You can post, but say ʼmissing personʼ only,” Shen Zhixia said. ”No hospital name, no workplace, no mention that sheʼs under disciplinary action or has an appeal pending. Donʼt put the photo anywhere public.”

”How will anyone recognize her without a photo?”

”Describe her clothes, height, build, and which way she was headed. Send the photo to people you know in those groups, not as a post,” she said. ”Her case isnʼt closed yet. She canʼt handle being pointed at right now. Find her first—then everything else.”

Tang Guo paused.

”This account of mine gets requests like this every day,” she said. ”Fine. Nobody gets to use her as content.”

”Thank you.”

”Donʼt thank me,” Tang Guo said. ”Iʼve got my phone in hand. Any private messages, Iʼll call you immediately.”

After the call, she opened the rider group chat with its persistent red notification dot. The voice message Ma Jianjun had sent yesterday still sat at the very bottom, unplayed. She held down the record button and spoke: Was anyone near the old buildings diagonally across from the back gate of Chengbei Hospital this morning? White coat, thirties, not tall, soft-soled shoes, walking toward the hospital.

Over forty people in the group. Voice messages stacked up one after another. The first few all said they hadnʼt seen anything—they donʼt work that area.

She pocketed her phone and headed for the alley entrance.

The old woman picking shepherdʼs purse downstairs was still on her little folding stool.

”Did you hear the person on the fourth floor come down this morning?”

”Before dawn, there were footsteps in the stairwell,” the old woman said, flicking away a yellowed leaf. ”Fast steps.”

”Did you see her?”

”No. I was picking greens here,” she said. ”The soles were soft, barely a sound. The people in this building who wear leather shoes can be heard half a block away.”

The breakfast stall at the alley entrance was half packed up, steamer baskets stacked on the cart, a last layer of white steam still rising. The vendor, a man in his forties, wiped his greasy hands on his apron.

”A woman in a white coat,” Shen Zhixia said. ”Did someone like that pass by around six?”

”Yes,” the vendor said. ”Just before six, one went past. Sweater under the white coat, shoes that looked like hospital shoes. Walking fast. I called out asking if she wanted soy milk. She didnʼt stop.”

”Which way was she going?”

”Toward the hospital.”

She hailed a cab and went to Nanyuan first. Ten minutes or so by car, stuck at two red lights. The space under the two camphor trees in front of the community service center was empty. The girl at the reception desk said she hadnʼt seen Dr. Lin in days. Shen Zhixia walked to the bridge over the little river behind the building and stood there for a while. The surface was covered with duckweed. There were impressions on the stone steps by the bank where someone had sat, but there was no telling who.

She called He Xiufen. He Xiufen said the Commission had been asked—no sign of her. Several hospital contacts also said no one had seen her that morning. The landlord answered and confirmed nothing was missing from the room.

”Iʼve left a message with the drug regulatorʼs office,” He Xiufen said. ”Donʼt stand by the river. The windʼs strong.”

She was about to say she was moving to the next location when her phone rang. It was Ma Jianjun.

”Little Shen, I saw your message in the group.”

”Where are you?”

”Chengbei back gate. Dropping off an order.” Wind noise came through the line, along with the beep of an electric scooter. ”Around 6:30, on the road behind the old outpatient building, I saw someone in a white coat go in through the side gate. A woman, not tall.”

”Youʼre sure it was a white coat?”

”White coat. I thought it was strange,” Ma Jianjun said. ”That building was emptied out two years ago. Whoʼd be going to work there? I was rushing an order and didnʼt stop. When I saw your message, I remembered that figure walking away.”

”6:30?”

”Around 6:30. I checked my watch when I came out the back gate.”

”Brother Ma, stay right there and wait for me.”

She hailed another cab and headed back. When she gave the address, the driver said half the road behind the back gate was closed and theyʼd have to loop around from the west. She said loop around and make it fast.

About a hundred meters south of Chengbei Hospitalʼs back gate stood a four-story old building, its exterior clad in faded white tiles, first-floor windows papered over with old newspaper. The iron gate at the side entrance was half open, a padlock hanging from it, unlocked.

An old security guard in his sixties sat in the gatehouse, a rattan chair set out front, a tea mug resting on the armrest. Ma Jianjun had parked his scooter flat against the wall. When he saw her, he took off his helmet.

”This is the place,” he said.

”Sir.” She walked up to the gatehouse. ”Did anyone go into this building this morning?”

The old guard folded his newspaper.

”I came on shift at seven. Old Chen said he heard movement upstairs around six—doors, that iron staircase sound, one step after another. He didnʼt go up. Nothing left in this building. He figured it was the wind.”

”Is the upstairs access locked?”

”The lockʼs been broken for ages.” The old guard raised a hand toward the dark opening at the stairwell. ”That iron door at the top leading to the roof deckʼs been out of order for half a year. Reported it twice. Nobody came to fix it.”

”Did anyone see a woman in a white coat go in?”

”Old Chen mentioned it at handover—someone went in around 6:30,” he said. ”He thought it was some department worker coming up to move things.”

Shen Zhixia looked toward the stairwell. No light inside. Dust spread from the entrance to the third step, and the steps bore a line of footprints—leading inward, none coming back out.

”Iʼm going up,” she said.

”Hey—” The old guard rose from his rattan chair. ”No lights above the third floor.”

She was already inside.

The iron stairs rang under her feet, every step sounding off. Second floor, third floor. A little light slipped through the newspapered window cracks, and the smell of dust clogged her nose. She climbed floor after floor, and by the final turn she was breathing hard enough that her chest ached.

The iron door to the roof was ajar.

Wind pushed through the gap, slamming the door against the parapet wall, again and again.