Zhou Yu's mother's name was Chen Xiulan.
Her little noodle shop was on West City Old Street. The storefront was narrow, with an old sign hanging above the entrance, its edges yellowed by cooking fumes. It was past seven in the morning, and several customers were already inside. Hot broth bubbled in the pot, the scents of chopped scallions and noodles mingled, and a small fan by the door turned slowly.
Chen Xiulan was in her fifties, with hair that was half white and quick, deft movements. She carried out two bowls of noodles, then paused when she saw several black cars pull up outside.
Sitting in the car, Zhao Huaide suddenly shrank back at the sight of her face.
Xu Zhihan noticed his reaction.
"You know her?"
Zhao Huaide's throat tightened. "She came to the Photo Studio to ask before. Many times."
Lu Wenchuan opened the car door.
"Get out."
Zhao Huaide's legs went weak. He nearly fell getting out, but the Deputy Captain caught his arm.
Chen Xiulan had already come to the entrance, still holding her apron.
"Who are you looking for?"
Lu Wenchuan showed his credentials, softening his voice a little.
"Ms. Chen Xiulan, we'd like to ask about Zhou Yu."
The color drained from Chen Xiulan's face.
The apron in her hands dropped to the ground.
All the customers in the shop looked over.
Chen Xiulan's lips moved. It was a long time before she said, "Have you found my daughter?"
No one answered immediately.
The question carried too much weight.
Xu Zhihan stood below the steps, his face cold and pale, his gaze resting on her wrist.
There was a red line around her wrist.
It was very thin and had already wound around her pulse.
It was not a sin line.
It was