My Sister Returned After Three Years Missing, and My Family Told Me Not to Call the Police - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The night my sister returned, the rain fell as if someone were pouring a river from the heavens.

I arrived home after working overtime. Just as I pushed my electric scooter into the hallway, I heard my mother crying inside the house. It wasn’t the usual wailing she did when arguing with my father; it was a low, suppressed sound that leaked out uncontrollably, like someone covering their mouth only for despair to force their fingers apart.

When I pushed open the door, the first thing I smelled was a damp, fishy odor.

The living room lights were all on, the curtains were drawn tight, and a bowl of freshly made Yangchun Noodles sat on the table, steam rising from it. My sister, Chen Shuwan, who had disappeared three years ago, was sitting at the dining table, her head lowered as she slowly picked at the noodles.

She was wearing a white dress, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders, with a small puddle of water dripping at her feet. I recognized that dress; it was the one she wore three years ago before her night shift at the Moon Harbor Care Center. There was even a faint yellow scorch mark on the right side of the hem where I had accidentally touched it with a curling iron.

The keys in my hand hit the floor with a clatter.

“Sis?”

My sister looked up and gave me a small smile.

That smile was the same as before, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly as if she were coaxing a child. But the sweat on my back instantly broke out in a cold shiver because her face was so pale it was almost transparent. Her lips were devoid of color, and her entire being looked as if she had just been fished out of ice water.

My mother rushed over and grabbed me, her hands shaking as if she were ill.

“Yanxi, don’t shout. Don’t alert the neighbors.”

“Wasn’t she missing? Didn’t you report it to the police? How did she get back? Why aren’t you calling them?”

My mother’s tears fell even harder, but her voice remained a low whisper. “We can’t.”

“Why can’t we?”

Her lips moved twice as if she wanted to say something, but she forced the words back down. All that remained was: “Just listen to me. Tonight, no matter what you see, do not call the police.”

My father sat on the sofa smoking, the ashtray already overflowing with butts. His face was grim as he stared at my sister as if she were a landmine that could explode at any moment.

My sister ate the noodles very slowly, as if she were carefully savoring the flavor. When she used to work night shifts at the care center, she loved coming home and having my mother cook Yangchun Noodles for her. Back then, she always said the smell of disinfectant at Moon Harbor was too strong, and only the scent of green onions at home could pull a person back to the land of the living.

I stood at the door, my whole body cold.

Three years ago, my sister disappeared while on night duty at the Moon Harbor Care Center. The police concluded that she and a caregiver had run off after stealing valuables from the residents’ families. The surveillance cameras were broken, the back door lock had been pried open, and several pieces of jewelry and over twenty thousand yuan in cash were missing from the lockers. All the evidence pointed to her.

That year, people at the wet market pointed at my mother and called me the “thief’s sister,” and my father lowered his head and forced smiles for all our relatives. We searched for her for half a year, finding neither a living person nor a corpse. Later, the people from Moon Harbor paid the family a “missing employee consolation fee.” My father accepted it and forbade anyone from mentioning my sister again.

I never believed she would steal things and run away.

But if she hadn’t run, where had she been for the last three years? And what exactly was this sitting in my house now?

My sister finished the last bite of noodles, placed her chopsticks neatly by the bowl, and looked up at me.

“Yanxi, you’ve lost weight.”

My throat tightened. “Where have you been for the last three years?”

“Don’t ask yet,” she said softly. “I’m back for seven days. After seven days, I’ll leave.”

I snapped my gaze toward my mother. “You two already knew?”

My mother’s eyes flickered.

In that instant, I understood everything. This wasn’t the first time she had seen my sister tonight; she had known for a long time.

I trembled with rage. “What exactly have you been hiding from me?”

My father finally spoke, his voice incredibly hoarse. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“How can I sleep?”

“Go to sleep even if you can’t.” He crushed his cigarette out heavily. “You don’t get to make the decisions in this house.”

My sister suddenly looked up at my father. Her voice was still soft, but my father’s face changed instantly.

“Dad, do you want to make me shut up this time, too?”

The living room became so quiet that the sound of the clock’s pendulum on the wall was audible.

For the first time, I saw my father avoid my sister’s gaze.

That night, I didn’t sleep at all. I listened to the sounds outside through my bedroom door. I heard my mother boiling water over and over; I heard my father on the balcony making a phone call, his voice hushed as he said, “She’s back… we can’t delay any longer… we must meet tomorrow.”

At three in the morning, I opened my door quietly and found that my sister wasn’t in her room.

She was standing in the kitchen with her back to me, looking down as she rummaged through the refrigerator.

The fridge light illuminated her profile, which was so white it lacked any spark of life. I was about to call out to her when I noticed the shadow on the floor tiles.

The light was coming from in front of her. Both the refrigerator and I cast long shadows on the floor, but the space beneath her feet was empty. There was nothing there at all.

I froze in place.

My sister, as if she had known I was watching all along, slowly closed the refrigerator door.

“So you finally found out.”

I opened my mouth, but found I couldn’t make a sound.

She turned around. Strands of hair hung over her forehead, and her eyes were startlingly dark.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I’m your sister.”

“You’re not human anymore, are you?”

She fell silent for a few seconds before giving a soft hum of affirmation.

“Then why did you come back?”

“To seek justice.”

She pulled a work ID from her sleeve, its surface turned white from being soaked in water, and handed it to me. The plastic lamination was cracked, but the photo inside was still barely recognizable. The name column read Chen Shuwan, and the employer was Moon Harbor Care Center.

“I didn’t go missing back then.” She looked at me, enunciating every word. “I died in that building.”

My head throbbed with a sudden buzz.

“But the police said you ran away…”

“Because someone wanted me to disappear.”

She pressed a small, tightly folded piece of paper into my hand. The paper was wrinkled from water damage, bearing only a single line of crooked handwriting: *The basement warehouse; the door was locked from the outside.*

“I wrote this before I died,” my sister said. “But this note never reached the hands of the police.”

My palms felt cold. “Who locked the door?”

My sister gazed out at the pitch-black night beyond the window, her voice so low it sounded like it was drifting back from a great distance.

“Tomorrow, come with me to the old Moon Harbor building. I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Early the next morning, as soon as I got out of bed, I found my mother placing a basin of paper money ashes by the door.

Her face was haggard; she looked like she had aged ten years overnight.

“Don’t go,” she stopped me. “It’s already chaotic enough with your sister back. Don’t investigate anymore.”

“She’s been dead for three years. Why didn’t you tell me?”

My mother’s tears immediately began to fall. “It’s not that we didn’t want to tell you, it’s that we couldn’t. If we had spoken up, your sister would have truly been left with no path at all.”

“Who exactly is forcing you?”

She trembled and said nothing.

As I turned to leave, she suddenly spoke behind me. “This isn’t the first time your sister has come back.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“She came once last year, during the Ghost Festival.” My mother stared at the basin of ashes on the ground as if staring into a bottomless pit. “That night, I was burning paper by the river when I heard someone calling me. I looked back, and she was standing under the bridge, soaked to the bone. She refused to come ashore, only saying there was something left in the Moon Harbor basement and telling me to go get it.”

My throat tightened. “So that memory card-you got it last year?”

My mother nodded, her tears falling into the ash basin and creating small, dark damp spots.

“I took it to the local police station and even went to the city’s petition office. But every time, before I could even step through the door, someone would recite exactly when your hospital check-ups were, which floor you stayed on, and what medicine you were taking.” Her voice shook more and more. “Yanxi, it’s not that Mom didn’t want to seek justice for your sister’s life. Mom was afraid that next time, what they wanted wouldn’t just be our silence.”

My father came out of the bedroom and slapped a bank card onto the table with a loud *thwack*.

“There’s a hundred thousand on the card. Take it and go stay out of town for a few days.”

I stared at him. “Are you trying to buy my silence?”

“I’m trying to save your life.” He gritted his teeth. “Chen Yanxi, the Moon Harbor matter is over. Your sister isn’t coming back. If you keep making a scene, our whole family is finished.”

Just then, my sister walked out of the room, now wearing one of my old hoodies. Even though she had been dead for three years, she moved without making a single sound.

She looked at my father and suddenly smiled.

“Dad, you’re not afraid of the whole family being finished. You’re afraid that Lin Yi’an will send you to prison along with him.”

Lin Yi’an.

The current owner of the Moon Harbor Care Center. Three years ago, he was the operations director, and he became the chairman shortly after my sister disappeared. The condolences, hush money, and settlement agreements our family received over these three years were all tied to his name.

My father’s face turned white instantly.

My sister looked at me. “Let’s go, Yanxi. Haven’t you always wanted to know the truth?”

I followed her out the door.

Once we were downstairs, I couldn’t help but ask, “Did Mom and Dad know you were dead all along?”

“Mom knew. Dad knew even earlier,” my sister said calmly. “It’s just that one didn’t dare admit it, and the other didn’t dare speak of it.”

“Then why did you only come back now?”

“Because someone moved the things I buried in the basement.”

“What things?”

“Evidence.”

She looked up at the gloomy sky, her voice as light as a breeze.

“And the last of my lingering resentment that refuses to dissipate.”