Ka Long was located to the southwest of Ai Gao, so there was no need to backtrack—the route wound and curved without ever doubling back, and Ka Long would serve as the halfway point.

The journey had been slow going. Wei Lai’s wounds hadn’t been able to heal properly over the past two days and had begun moving in the direction of deterioration. He hadn’t noticed the pain when his nerves were taut, but once he relaxed, the ache became unbearable. At noon, Cen Jin helped him re-dress the wounds, and by afternoon she shooed him to the back seat to lie down, taking over the driving entirely.

Wei Lai thought this arrangement was just as well. Who could say whether they’d need to fight again later—the more he recovered, the better his chances.

That night, they crossed into South Sudan. Ke Ke Shu had said it was more chaotic here, and the claim proved to be no exaggeration: as they were setting up camp, they heard the sound of gunfire and artillery, which lasted for several seconds before abruptly falling silent, leaving everyone on edge, with the unsettling feeling that the other shoe had yet to drop, that they needed to stay alert and wait.

Dao Ba passed down orders: keep all light sources to a minimum, and if they truly ran into trouble, do not engage—he would go forward to negotiate. They were all from different countries, organization to organization; once the terms were made clear, the other side would generally extend the courtesy.

Wei Lai went to find Dao Ba to talk. The two sat in the darkness, unable to even light a cigarette, fumbling in the dark to eat some dried rations. Dao Ba passed him the water, and Wei Lai tilted his head back, pouring some into his mouth from a distance before passing it back.

Dao Ba sighed: “Yesterday I was wishing you dead. Today we’re sitting here eating together. Truly…”

Wei Lai said: “It comes down to circumstances. It comes down to interests.”

Dao Ba smiled. “No need to try to get on my good side. I can’t save your Miss Cen.”

He removed his dark glasses—at a time like this, they served no purpose. The darkness of night was its own natural cover.

Wei Lai asked: “If the story I told you is true, what kind of sentence would Cen Jin receive?”

Dao Ba said nothing.

Wei Lai smiled. “Sometimes when I think about it, I find it deeply unfair. From the very beginning of the April Calamity, the international community withdrew and allowed the situation to escalate—those who left, those who stood and watched, none of them faced any consequences. The ones who stayed are the ones being hunted.”

Dao Ba looked sideways at him. “Don’t conflate different issues. Miss Cen is being hunted, and it isn’t because she stayed. It’s like volunteering at an orphanage—that genuinely deserves praise. But if you use that volunteer work as cover to traffic the children for profit, you deserve to be punished. Those are two completely different things.”

Wei Lai said: “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Dao Ba thought for a moment. “I’m not a judge, so I can’t say for certain. But I think, if her account is true, the sentencing would likely be lenient—it was an extraordinary time, after all, and many factors would need to be considered. If you put me in her position, I wouldn’t have had a more perfect solution either. If she had died back then, it would truly have amounted to nothing more than one more skeleton—and that helps no one. Being alive… at least she’s a piece of testimony.”

Something seemed to occur to him. “You know, more than three years ago, before the Hand of God had even been established, Re Lei Mi returned to Ka Long under the guise of an investor and philanthropist. He was received by senior government officials—it was quite a grand occasion. There were even ordinary citizens who made a special trip to his hotel to thank him. If the truth had never come to light, he probably would have lived out his life wearing a hero’s halo, and Kalong people would have laid flowers at his grave.”

“So do you believe Cen Jin’s story?”

Dao Ba shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Mr. Wei, the Hand of God has been operating for three years, and I have encountered no shortage of defendants in that time. Every last one of them, every convicted criminal who refused to accept the verdict, claimed to be grievously wronged, and some of them told stories even more moving than Miss Cen’s. What difference does that make?”

“Courts operate on evidence, not on who moves us more. Don’t think of returning to Ka Long to stand trial as a source of hope—those who return to Ka Long to stand trial almost invariably face the death penalty. Sai De named her directly on his deathbed. Without evidence, she remains the principal offender.”

He rose to his feet and patted Wei Lai on the shoulder. “Mr. Wei, if you truly want to help her, my advice is to find evidence. Because up to this moment, what you’ve given me is nothing more than a story full of imagination.”

Before sleeping that night, Wei Lai talked with Cen Jin about the matter of evidence. He knew the prospects were slim, but there was always the possibility—weren’t most of the key breaks in critical cases the result of someone refusing to give up?

But as they talked about it as something immediate and personal, the conversation seemed to grow more and more disheartening.

Cen Jin urged him to rest early. He refused. “You left Ka Long six years ago, and Re Lei Mi was murdered three years ago. You went to his residence at that time, which means there was contact between you—did you try to preserve any evidence for yourself? Like recording his voice?”

Cen Jin corrected him. “There was no contact between us. The connection that emerged three years ago came about because it was the third anniversary of the April Calamity.”

She had gone back alone, her reasons hard to explain even to herself. She visited many places—a primary school where the national flag flew and the sound of children reading aloud drifted through the air; a riverbank where the trees grew lush and green, and boats passed back and forth across the water.

This nation, scarred through and through, had begun to move forward. And yet she was still wrapped in the thick fog of the past.

——She had withdrawn from the Africa Aid organization. Her supervisor tried hard to retain her, saying: your record is exceptional—very few people have qualifications like yours.

She gave a self-deprecating laugh. One thing could wear so many different faces. To Re Lei Mi and the others, it was a treasure. To the outside world, it was an inspiring story. To the president, it was a medal. To her supervisor, it was a qualification. To her, it was a nightmare.

——Psychological treatment had never made any progress. The sound of the United Nations convoy pulling away played over and over in her dreams. She woke each morning to clumps of hair on the pillow, her nerves worn ragged. She chose social commentary work—lower-pressure, semi-autonomous. Her editor would frown over her drafts again and again, saying: Miss, the writing needs to be passionate, the voice needs to be sharp, it needs to strike at the problems of the times directly. You have to be a fighter to stir the reader’s emotions. Do you understand?

She was not a fighter. She shrank into her shell, trembling. The secret, kept so long, had grown into a part of her body—a festering sore.

——Someone suggested that a partner and a family could help a person forget trauma. And so she had Jiang Min. Jiang Min truly did fill a great deal of her time: he talked about environmental protection, his thesis, scholarships, the research topics he wanted to pursue, going on at length without stopping. She always listened from start to finish, feeling that having a voice nearby was better than keeping vigil over the void alone.

This became one of Jiang Min’s reasons when he later proposed: you’ve never found me tedious. I say whatever I want and you listen attentively, never interrupting. Cen Jin, you’re the most understanding girlfriend I’ve ever had.

……

That evening at the edge of the forest, Re Lei Mi had forced her down against the bodies of the dead and said: go back to Northern Europe. Go live the life you want to live.

But she no longer had a life.

She returned to the hotel and sat on the bed, turning on the television.

She switched to one channel: the president was speaking. He said: this is a nation rising from the ashes. We must seize every opportunity, attract investment, and revitalize the economy as swiftly as possible. Only through development is there a future.

She switched to another: a protest march, police deploying tear gas. A young organizer screamed himself hoarse—on what grounds was the government slashing the budget for hunting war criminals? This was complicity! Did the dead not deserve justice? Just because those people had fled abroad, were we supposed to do nothing?

She turned to the last channel, and Cen Jin’s body went rigid.

Re Lei Mi’s smiling face, a garland draped around his neck, as he addressed a crowd gathered in the square below: “Between me and the people of Ka Long there is a deep and abiding friendship. Before the war and after it, I will do everything within my power…”

Cen Jin grabbed the pillow beside her and hurled it at the screen.

……

Wei Lai said: “Not bad—I’d have thought he would keep a low profile, but he has quite the taste for the spotlight. Quite the ambition.”

Cen Jin smiled faintly. “After the war, Ka Long offered favorable terms to attract investment. For those who had received medals, the government, in its gratitude, offered nearly zero-profit conditions in the early years—sometimes even running at a loss. Someone like Re Lei Mi never moves without something to gain. What did you think brought him there?”

“Saw him on television, got angry, and went to confront him?”

Cen Jin nodded.

“Didn’t come out ahead, I’d imagine?”

“How did you know?”

Wei Lai let out a soft laugh, slowly closing his eyes, and murmured: “A young woman, head still muddled, going to his door to argue things out in a fit of anger—what advantage could you possibly have come away with?”

Cen Jin said nothing. After a moment, she tucked the cover more snugly around Wei Lai and said softly: “Get some sleep.”

With his injuries and the full day’s driving, Wei Lai fell asleep quickly.

But Cen Jin couldn’t sleep. She leaned against the car seat and sat there for a long time. Two of Dao Ba’s men were keeping watch on the perimeter, frequently looking back at her—most likely to prevent her from slipping away under cover of night.

……

She had met Re Lei Mi at Ka Long’s state guesthouse hotel. Re Lei Mi was cautious; he had someone search her before allowing her into the room.

What Re Lei Mi had said that day was still ringing in her ears.

——Cen, right now I am the honored guest of the government. I maintain cordial relations with multiple departments. Do you remember what I once told you—that there is no one who cannot be bought? And you? If you go to report me now, do you believe I can ensure you never leave Ka Long?

——Besides, do I need to remind you what your own role was? Even if you took it all the way to the United Nations, laid out the evidence, who would it destroy? Have you grown tired of living?

——Think of the people around you, not just yourself. I hear your boyfriend proposed to you. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to him either, would you?

Cen Jin gritted her teeth. “Northern Europe is not Ka Long. If you touch Jiang Min, you won’t walk away clean either!”

Re Lei Mi leaned close to her ear. “Why would I need to do it myself? Have you forgotten Sai De?”

Cen Jin tensed. “Where is Sai De?”

Re Lei Mi laughed. “That man has no great ambitions. The money he made off the Ka Long operation ran out quickly. He came to me in a wretched state. I give him money at regular intervals, let him stay somewhere hidden, and he’s willing to do any dirty work I need—if something happens to me, he will come for you. You’ll be finished, just like that tire that got punctured in the wildlife reserve. Whether you did it or not, it will look like you. You’ll be done.”

When it was over, he walked the dazed Cen Jin to the door and pressed a phone number into her hand. “We are good friends, partners. If you ever find yourself in difficulty, call me.”

Cen Jin returned to the hotel and kept the lights burning all night and the television running. The Ka Long channels had sparse programming; by night they cycled through whatever had aired during the day. Re Lei Mi’s face appeared again and again.

The next day, Cen Jin called Re Lei Mi.

She said: “When I left Ka Long, I felt the money you gave me was tainted. So through various channels, I donated all of it. But I didn’t expect that shortly after returning home, I lost my job. Then I started seeing a psychologist, and the expenses were considerable…”

Re Lei Mi was very understanding: “How much do you want?”

Cen Jin named a figure.

Re Lei Mi said: that’s quite a sum, I can’t possibly carry that much with me. How about this—once you’re back home, arrange a time and come find me.

Early the next morning, the convoy set out again. By late morning they crossed into Ka Long.

It had to be said—Ka Long truly was the most beautiful place they had passed through on this entire journey. Not like Sudan with its vast stretches of sand, nor like Ai Gao with its extreme temperature swings and unpredictable skies. Here there were rolling hills as far as the eye could see, forests and rivers around every turn, and as they descended into a valley they even spotted golden long-tailed monkeys and gorillas appearing along the roadside.

As the car rounded another switchback of the mountain road, a cluster of white buildings came into view at the valley floor.

The sign at the entrance gate read: Sanatorium. The car pulled up at the gate, where two local women were already waiting.

Dao Ba came over to Wei Lai. “Once inside, you and Miss Cen will be separated. Her situation is different—she will be held in a separate room. The trial will be public, and we will notify you of the time.”

Wei Lai said nothing, but when Cen Jin rose to leave, he suddenly caught her wrist, though his eyes were fixed on Dao Ba.

“Where will she be held? A cell?”

Dao Ba looked at him with contempt. “We don’t have cells here. Only rooms.”

“Can I go and see her?”

“You may.”

“Will she have food? Water?”

Dao Ba was barely keeping his composure. Cen Jin stifled a laugh and said to Wei Lai: “Why do you have so many questions?”

Questions like “will there be a bath,” “will there be a mattress on the bed,” and “will there be a light in the room” got swallowed back down.

He watched as Cen Jin followed the two women away. Dao Ba watched him with cold eyes and said: “It’s only separate quarters. You’ll also be staying in this sanatorium, and from your room you’ll be able to see the door to her room. Is all this suspicion really necessary?”

……

He had assumed it was the secret headquarters of the Hand of God, the sanatorium merely a cover. It was only after getting out of the car that he realized—it really was a sanatorium.

There were quite a few people in the courtyard, missing arms or legs, sitting about at leisure. Passing one room, the door suddenly opened as if class had just let out; the first person to emerge had no legs and walked on both hands. Catching sight of Dao Ba, he looked up and offered a greeting.

Wei Lai followed Dao Ba deeper inside. “You set up your headquarters in a sanatorium?”

Dao Ba said: “This sanatorium is also a property of the Hand of God.”

He gestured toward the people sitting in the courtyard. “The April Calamity left behind more than corpses. It left countless survivors broken in body and spirit. Losing one eye, as I did, is still on the lighter end of the scale.”

“You might not know this, but many survivors outlasted the war, only to not outlast what came after—psychological despair, physical disability, no way to make a living. Society’s patience and attention for them is limited, yet they will go on living for a long time, and these problems will follow them for just as long.”

“Just now that was a handicraft class—embroidery and the like. People who still have the use of their hands can learn a skill, do some work, and support themselves. We began shifting our focus this year, hoping to do more for these people. Not because we’ve given up on pursuing offenders, but rather…”

“We believe that hatred is not sustenance. You cannot live on it. Some things must be attended to in order of urgency. The dead do not return, but the living must go on living.”

Something seemed to occur to him. “Miss Cen’s trial should begin tomorrow. We may not operate as formally as a regular court, but we do have a judge, a prosecution, and a jury. Part of the jury is made up of refugees. To prevent bias, we have also invited members of certain international organizations and overseas donors. You’re welcome to join as well—we have no objection.”

Wei Lai said nothing.

In his heart, he almost hoped the Hand of God were less organized—that they were driven by private grievances, operating without procedure, acting on impulse. That way, if the verdict ultimately went badly and he steeled himself to do something, he wouldn’t be burdened with guilt.

Dao Ba stopped in front of a room and gestured. “You’re staying here.”

“My room?”

“Shared.”

Wei Lai paused, and suddenly understood. “You’re keeping watch on me?”

Dao Ba didn’t deny it. “Mr. Wei, given your behavior up to this point, it’s hard to say whether, if Miss Cen were truly sentenced to death, you wouldn’t have some extreme reaction. So we feel it’s necessary to have someone keep an eye on you.”

Wei Lai laughed, took a long stride up the steps, and walked toward the room. “Really? With my track record—even in my current injured state—do you honestly think just anyone you assign will be able to…”

His voice cut off abruptly.

The room held two single beds. One was already heaped with disheveled clothing and belongings. Hanging at the head of that bed was a…

A shark’s jawbone, roughly the size of a swimming ring, sun-dried, full of teeth.