stonecrandall Chapter 707 Yi Zhonghai was very angry
Chapter 707 Yi Zhonghai was very angry
The glimmer of hope that had just ignited in Qin Huairu's heart was extinguished without a trace, like a flame doused by a storm. Her legs went weak, and she stumbled forward, her knees hitting the bluestone with a dull thud. Fortunately, Xiao Dang, who was beside her, reacted quickly and grabbed her arm as if it were a lifeline, barely managing to keep her from collapsing to the ground.
She watched He Feng's retreating figure, his navy blue police uniform gleaming coldly in the morning sunlight, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared around the corner of the alley. Tears welled up again, like broken beads, pattering onto the back of her hand, the icy touch seeping into her bones. Her vision blurred instantly. She opened her mouth, but her throat felt like it was stuffed with waterlogged cotton, unable to utter a sound—in this vast sea of people, amidst the bustling traffic, where was her Jia Cai, the chubby Jia Cai who always loved to nibble on her fingers? He would kick off the covers at night, and cry when he was hungry; how could he survive without her?
Once He Feng's figure was completely out of sight, Qin Huairu slowly turned her head to look at Xiao Dang beside her. Her voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded, and every word trembled: "Xiao Dang, let's go look for him. Let's search every street and alley. I refuse to believe we can't find Jia Cai. He's so small, he can't survive without someone by his side. He must be somewhere nearby... Maybe he's sleeping in some haystack..."
Looking at her mother's red eyes, like two dry wells overflowing with tears, Xiao Dang had so much to say—the city was so big, the alleys were like a maze, searching aimlessly was no different from looking for a needle in a haystack. But the words stuck in her throat. She knew how panicked her mother was, and saying anything would be pointless, so she could only nod firmly and help Qin Huairu to her feet: "Mom, I'll look with you. Let's go to the market first and ask around; there are more people there in the morning, maybe someone has seen her."
After that, the mother and daughter really started searching the nearby streets. Qin Huairu stopped everyone she met and asked, clutching a crookedly drawn portrait in her hand—it was a sketch of Jia Cai's appearance that she had Xiao Dang draw in pencil from memory, the round face drawn as square, the red cotton-padded jacket painted like a flame, but she held it tighter than anything else. "Big brother, have you seen this child? A little over a year old, wearing a red cotton-padded jacket, round face, two little dimples when he smiles..." "Big sister, please help me take a look, my son is lost, he looks like this..." Her voice grew hoarseer and hoarse, until she could barely speak, only able to tug at people's sleeves to gesture. Her steps grew heavier and heavier, her cloth shoes with their thousand-layer soles almost worn through, the soles of her feet aching, but the obsession in her eyes to find her child was like a thin wire, stubbornly keeping her from collapsing. Xiao Dang followed beside her, holding a hard, dry cornbread in his hand, which he had grabbed from the stove before leaving the house. He would occasionally stuff it into Qin Huairu's mouth, saying, "Mom, have a bite, or you won't have the strength to look for anything." Qin Huairu just shook her head, her eyes fixed on the passing crowd, afraid of missing a single figure.
Everyone in the courtyard witnessed it. Aunt Zhang stood at her doorway, watching the mother and daughter stagger away, wiping her eyes with her apron, and sighed, "Alas, what a tragedy. A perfectly healthy child, gone just like that." Uncle Li squatted by the wall, smoking, his pipe puffing away for a long time until a long trail of ash accumulated. He couldn't help but spit on the ground, "The Jia family may not be good people, but the child was innocent. Lost at such a young age, it's heartbreaking." Although no one actually went to help search—every family had its own difficulties, and no one had time to meddle in other people's troubles—their hearts were heavy. After all, it was a little life that had only been in the world for a short time, not even having had a chance to properly see it.
Inside the police station, He Feng frowned deeply as he looked at the case file his subordinates had brought him. The enamel mug on the table was empty; he held it, twirled it halfway around, and finally put it down. He knew all too well that the child was most likely gone forever. These days, there weren't even any security cameras in the city; the streets were teeming with all sorts of people, from all walks of life. Forget eyewitnesses, even a clear footprint was hard to find. Where could he possibly investigate? But looking at the crumpled portrait Qin Huairu had shoved into his hand on the corner of the table, with a few blurred tear stains on it, he ultimately couldn't bring himself to utter the word "give up."
After a long silence, he picked up his pen and wrote the words "Missing Person Notice" heavily on the manuscript paper, the pen tip cutting through the paper and leaving a deep mark. He looked up at the police officer next to him and said, "Summarize the child's characteristics—one and a half years old, boy, wearing a red floral cotton-padded jacket, blue cotton-padded trousers, tiger-head shoes, and a small red mole on his left temple. Take it to the newspaper and publish it! Print several thousand copies and have the brothers distribute them, posting them on bulletin boards in various streets, in vegetable markets, train stations... post them everywhere you can."
The officer was stunned for a moment, almost dropping the notebook in his hand: "Chief, this... will this be of any use? Newspaper ads are expensive, and even if someone sees such a young child, they might not be able to identify him."
He Feng rubbed his temples, pressing his fingertips against his throbbing temples. His voice was tired but unusually firm: "Whether it works or not, we have to try. Right now, this is the only way."
At the very least, they need to let that mother wandering the streets know that they haven't given up and are still searching. Even if there's only a one in ten thousand chance, they have to hold on to it.
With a heart pounding with anxiety, Jia Dongxu's aunt pushed open the gate to Yi Zhonghai's house, her steps unsteady. The door hinges creaked open, sounding particularly abrupt in the quiet courtyard. The yard was eerily quiet, save for the foxtail grass swaying in the wind at the base of the wall, rustling softly. She saw Yi Zhonghai standing under the eaves with his back to the door, his shoulders in his blue cotton jacket taut, like a wound-up piece of wood. She tentatively spoke, her voice trembling slightly, "Old Yi, what brings you here? There's chaos in the yard, everyone's looking for the child. Qin Huairu is crying and wailing, and I'm as nervous as if I had a rabbit in my chest."
Yi Zhonghai whirled around, his eyes like fiery nails, piercing straight at him with a scorching ferocity. In his heart, Jia Cai's child wasn't Jia Dongxu's at all; he was a hidden longing, his only hope for the rest of his life—he had longed for this child for so many years, and now he had just lost him. It felt like a piece of flesh had been ripped from his heart, a mix of pain and anxiety, even his breath seemed to carry sparks. He lowered his voice, his anger almost bursting forth: "What happened? You couldn't even watch a child? What were you doing? Where were your eyes?"