My Sister Returned After Three Years Missing, and My Family Told Me Not to Call the Police - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

On Saturday, the rainbow arches and red carpets were set up once again at the old Moon Harbor site.

The press release read “Moon Harbor Wellness: Reborn and Setting Sail.” The venue was filled with fresh flowers and banners, as if no one remembered that people had burned to death here three years ago.

Lin Yi’an stood on the stage in a deep blue suit, smiling with gentle decency as he posed for the media. In his interview, he even claimed that he undertook elderly care projects to “bring peace of mind to more families.”

Standing outside the crowd, my stomach churned with nausea.

He Mingche had already edited the secretly recorded footage into a three-minute short film and set it for a scheduled release. As soon as the ribbon-cutting ceremony began on stage, the video and the investigative report would go live simultaneously.

But we were still missing the final, most solid piece of evidence.

My father.

He hadn’t slept all night. With sunken eyes, he stood at the edge of the venue like a piece of wood drained of its life. I knew Lin Yi’an was watching him today; if he dared to speak, the money he had taken and the perjury he had committed over the years would turn into a noose around his neck.

My sister stood beside me, invisible to everyone else.

She looked at Lin Yi’an on the stage, her voice very soft. “When the fire started, he stood outside the door and said that dead people are worth more than the living. Because dead people can be used to balance the books, while the living can talk.”

I gripped my phone, my palms slick with sweat.

On the other side of the venue, several family members of the deceased elderly stood under a rain canopy holding memorial portraits. Their faces were masks of numbness from long-endured pain. I suddenly noticed an old lady with white hair repeatedly wiping an old photograph. The elderly man in the photo had a kind smile, but a black hole had been burned into the corner.

As if noticing my gaze, she asked me in a raspy voice, “Young lady, will someone really speak up for them today?”

My throat felt tight. It took two seconds before I could nod.

“Yes.”

In that instant, the last bit of fear in my heart suddenly vanished.

At eleven o’clock sharp, the ceremony began.

The host had just said, “Let us welcome President Lin to the stage for his speech,” when a sudden commotion broke out at the back of the venue. Several family members of the elderly who had lived at Moon Harbor three years ago rushed in holding memorial portraits, loudly demanding to know why no one had been held accountable for the accident and how they had the nerve to hold a ribbon-cutting today.

These were the people He Mingche had contacted in advance.

The scene descended into chaos. Security guards rushed to stop them, and the media cameras all swung around instantly.

The smile on Lin Yi’an’s face stiffened for a second, but he quickly regained his composure. Picking up the microphone, he said, “We understand the grief of the families, but the accident from three years ago has already reached an authoritative conclusion. Please do not be manipulated by people with ulterior motives.”

When he said “people with ulterior motives,” his gaze pierced through the crowd, looking straight at my father.

I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.

I rushed forward and snatched a megaphone from a nearby independent media vlogger.

“Three years ago wasn’t an accident! It was intentional locking of doors, destruction of evidence, and perjury!”

The entire venue fell silent.

Countless lenses turned toward me.

Lin Yi’an narrowed his eyes. “Young lady, please be responsible for your words.”

“I am absolutely responsible.” I held up the memory card and that duty log. “Chen Shuwan didn’t run away with the money. She was a night-shift caregiver at Moon Harbor. She discovered you were locking the elderly in the basement to defraud the government of subsidies. After she secretly filmed the video, you locked her in the warehouse, where she burned to death along with six others. You bribed people to give false testimony, forced families to sign non-disclosure agreements, and even made a father personally identify his own daughter as a thief who fled.”

A collective gasp rippled through the venue.

Lin Yi’an’s expression finally changed.

“You’re talking nonsense. Security, take her away.”

Just as several guards stepped forward, my father suddenly rushed out and stood in front of me.

His legs were shaking uncontrollably, but his back was straight.

“She’s not talking nonsense.”

I froze.

Lin Yi’an stared at him, his voice dropped to a low hiss. “Old Chen, think carefully.”

My father’s face was ashen, but for the first time, he did not retreat.

“Three years ago, I was the one holding the keys at the basement door. I was the one who heard Shuwan calling for me from inside.” His voice trembled, but he enunciated every word. “And you were the one who grabbed me, refusing to let me open the door. You promised me that as long as I testified that she stole the money and ran, you would pay for Yanxi’s medical bills and help me clear my debts. Since then, you’ve given me a total of three hundred and sixty-six thousand yuan.”

The scene completely exploded.

Reporters swarmed forward, their cameras and microphones almost shoved into Lin Yi’an’s face.

Flustered and exasperated, Lin Yi’an reached out to grab my father. But before he could touch him, his foot suddenly slipped as if he had been violently tripped by something. He fell pathetically against the edge of the steps.

Only I saw my sister standing behind him, coldly withdrawing her hand.

The next second, the giant screen lit up.

The video He Mingche had prepared in advance was pushed onto the venue’s backup screen. On the screen, a row of nursing beds for the elderly were crammed together in a dim basement. My sister held her phone, the camera quickly panning over electrical wires, oxygen tanks, and door locks. The final ten seconds were a shaky shot taken just before the flames erupted, accompanied by her heavy breathing and a sentence so clear it was piercing:

“The door is locked from the outside! Lin Yi’an, this is murder!”

The venue spiraled completely out of control.

People called the police, some started live-streaming, and others chased after Lin Yi’an, demanding to know why the case hadn’t been reopened three years ago. Several family members of the victims knelt on the ground weeping; the sound of curses and the falling rain mingled together like a long-overdue judgment.

I stood where I was, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the megaphone.

My sister watched everything before her, yet her expression was calm.

“Is it enough?” I asked her.

She looked at me and nodded.

At that moment, my father suddenly turned around and knelt before all the cameras.

“I confess,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I committed perjury. I stood by and watched people die without helping. I don’t ask for forgiveness; I only ask for this case to be reinvestigated, and for the names of every person who died in there to be recovered.”

My mother was crying so hard outside the crowd that she couldn’t stand, sliding down against the railing.

The sirens of police cars and ambulances approached from the distance. The rain grew heavier, battering the bright red banners at the venue until they slumped and swayed, looking like a ridiculous play that could no longer be sustained.

When I looked back, my sister was already walking into the rain.

I chased after her in a panic.

“Sis!”

She stopped under the camphor tree outside the old building and looked back at me. At some point, her white dress had reverted to how it looked three years ago-soaking wet, as if she had just stepped out of that fire and rain.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Will I still see you in my dreams?”

“Maybe.” She smiled slightly. “If you miss me, go eat a bowl of Yangchun Noodles.”

My tears fell instantly. “You always use that to brush me off.”

“Well, you’ve been easy to coax since you were little.”

She raised her hand and gently touched my hair. This time, I actually felt a faint, cold sensation.

“Yanxi, stop living for others.” She looked at me, her voice falling like the fine mist of rain. “You don’t owe your life to anyone. You survived not to pay the price for all our cowardice, but so that the next time you encounter injustice, you’ll have the courage to push the door open.”

I bit my lip hard and nodded.

She looked at me, the light in her eyes softening bit by bit.

“Also, don’t blame Mom. For the past three years, she went to the river every Ghost Festival Night to pick me up. It’s not that she didn’t want to speak up; she just wanted me to come home one more time.”

“What about Dad?”

My sister was silent for a few seconds before saying softly, “We’ll talk about it after he’s finished paying back what he owes.”

In the distance, the sirens grew louder. The wind swirled the scent of incense ash and damp earth toward us.

My sister took a step back, her figure beginning to fade.

Panicked, I reached out to grab her, but I only caught a handful of cold rain.

“Sis!”

She stood in the rain, smiling at me.

It was the first time since her return that she showed the exact same smile she had three years ago.

“Go home, Yanxi.”

“Home won’t have you anymore.”

“But you’re there, and Mom is there. As long as someone dares to remember me, it’s like I never truly left home.”

After she said those words, her entire being seemed to be scattered like mist by the wind, slowly vanishing into the curtain of rain.

I stood there, crying until I could barely breathe.

After that day, the Moon Harbor Case was reopened for investigation. Lin Yi’an was criminally detained for major liability in an accident, forging evidence, and bribery. My father turned himself in, and along with everyone involved three years ago, he underwent investigation. The names of the elderly residents and caregivers who died in that basement finally reappeared in the news bulletins, and my sister’s innocence was restored.

For the first time, my mother proactively set out two sets of bowls and chopsticks at the dinner table-one for me, and one for my sister.

The meal was still Yangchun Noodles, with finely chopped green onions floating on the broth.

As I took the first bite, I suddenly smelled a very faint scent of dampness and salt, as if someone who had just been in the rain was standing outside the door, not yet coming in.

I looked up toward the entryway.

There was nothing there, only the wind gently lifting the door curtain.

I looked down and smiled, swallowing my tears along with the hot soup.

I knew that this time, she had truly come home.