A Secret (GL) - Chapter 2

This talisman pouch was a gift from Shen Juan, who had insisted she keep it on her person at all times.

Gu Shuge had always been very obedient when it came to Shen Juan, treasuring every item she received. Thus, she truly kept it with her every moment of the day. Carrying a talisman is easy, but keeping it “against one’s skin” is actually quite difficult.

Because it had to be close to her body, she couldn’t just throw it in a bag; it had to be in a pocket. But summer dresses rarely have pockets, and she didn’t wear gowns with pockets to cocktail parties. She had racked her brains over this little pouch, yet she never found it a nuisance—simply because it was from Shen Juan.

It was also because of this pouch that she loved winter most. In winter, she could find a string, hang it around her neck, and hide it beneath her clothes. The length of the string allowed it to rest right near her heart—the place closest to her body, and the place closest to her soul.

Now, Shen Juan had taken the pouch. It was rather strange: her body had been mangled and her clothes were soaked in blood, yet the talisman pouch was perfectly clean, without a single drop of red on it.

Shen Juan walked to the door, then turned back to the bedside. Gu Shuge saw her lean down and whisper something into the corpse’s ear. Her voice was very soft; Gu Shuge had to lean in close to hear.

She was saying: “…Stay here for a while. Sister will come to take you home very soon.”

After she finished, she straightened up. As if still worried, she spoke one more time to that messy, lifeless corpse: “Don’t be afraid.”

Gu Shuge saw that her lips were pressed tight and her entire body was tense—the posture of someone suppressing immense grief. It felt as if the slightest lapse in control would cause her agony to spill over.

Gu Shuge felt a wave of profound sadness wash over her. But the sorrow of a ghost seemed confined to the depths of the soul; while her heart ached with a crushing weight, her eyes and mind remained clear and sober, like an outsider watching a tragedy of life and death unfold.

Shen Juan left the room.

Outside stood a man in formal attire and several doctors in white coats. The lead doctor wore gold-rimmed glasses, and a formal suit and tie were visible beneath his white coat. Seeing Shen Juan emerge, they immediately stepped forward with humble attitudes.

Shen Juan spoke to the first man: “To the scene.”

The man replied: “Yes.”

Gu Shuge recognized him. He was Shen Juan’s assistant, Lin Mo—a cheerful, somewhat naive young man. The last time she saw him, he had joked, “Miss Gu, once you return, if you don’t have a suitable candidate, you can hire me as your assistant. I’d jump ship to work for you without a second thought.”

She had happily replied, “Sure!” Then she asked Shen Juan, “Sister, would you let him?”

At the time, Shen Juan had looked up from a stack of documents and glanced at her. There was a smile in her eyes, a hint of tender indulgence at the corners of her gaze that made Gu Shuge’s heart skip a beat.

But now, the cheerfulness she once knew had vanished from Lin Mo’s face. Guarding his professional duties, he pulled out his phone to arrange a vehicle.

Shen Juan also lacked that gentle smile. She turned to the doctors, and the leader immediately introduced himself: “Ms. Shen, hello. My name is Liu, I am the Deputy Director of the hospital. I was deeply saddened to hear this tragic news.”

Shen Juan was in no mood for pleasantries. Director Liu was a man of the world; sensing her mood, he skipped the small talk and stated his purpose: “Since the case has not yet been closed, Miss Gu’s remains must temporarily stay here. We ask for the family’s understanding.”

The person was gone; the most important thing now was to determine the cause of death so the soul could rest. The sensible thing for the family was to cooperate unconditionally with the police. That was common logic.

But “common logic” is usually proposed by bystanders who feel no skin-deep pain. For the person in the middle of it, every word is like a blade, stabbing into the heart with surgical precision.

Hearing the word “remains,” a dull pain throbbed in Gu Shuge’s brow, reminding her once again of her death. But she wasn’t alone now; Shen Juan was there. She turned toward Shen Juan, seeking comfort.

However, Shen Juan—the always-powerful Shen Juan—did not say anything to put her at ease. She simply said: “Arrange for two people to stay with Xiaoge.”

Gu Shuge’s heart sank into an abyss. In the face of death, humans have no room for struggle.

Director Liu, seemingly afraid she would change her mind, replied immediately: “Of course, I will arrange for people to guard this place right away.” He signaled to two men behind him, instructing them to stay there and not move a single step. “I will arrange two more for shifts to ensure someone is here every moment.”

Shen Juan waited until the arrangements were made before walking out. The sound of her heels clicking on the tiles echoed hollowly through the corridor.

The instinct that had driven Gu Shuge to follow her body at the accident scene appeared again. But this time, what pulled her wasn’t the unmoving corpse on the bed—it was Shen Juan.

Gu Shuge cast one last look at her body and followed Shen Juan without hesitation.

The car was parked outside the hospital. When the driver saw Shen Juan, he opened the door. Lin Mo sat in the passenger seat while Shen Juan sat alone in the back. Gu Shuge followed and sat beside her.

The car started smoothly. Gu Shuge turned to look at Shen Juan’s profile. Shen Juan’s eyes were hollow, her gaze fixed on a void somewhere in front of her. She sat perfectly still, her shoulders tense and her back straight. Gu Shuge mimicked her, staring out into the same nothingness.

The driver turned on the radio. Gu Shuge knew Shen Juan had a habit of listening to the news in the car.

International news was playing.

“On the 18th local time, British police issued a message through the media seeking public assistance in finding two Chinese students who have been missing for several days. According to reports from the Times and other British media, these two Chinese nationals…”

Lin Mo checked the rearview mirror, looked at the back seat, and turned the radio off.

The car fell silent.

Gu Shuge also felt that silence was better right now, even though Shen Juan’s emotions weren’t easily disturbed by the outside world.

She kept a one-person distance from Shen Juan. From the moment they got in the car, Shen Juan’s posture hadn’t changed once; she was like a statue.

Gu Shuge felt both worried and guilty.

She knew how devastating her death would be for Shen Juan.

The accident scene wasn’t far—just two blocks away.

The dense crowd had dispersed, leaving only a few passersby pointing and commenting. The police had cordoned off the area. Several police cars were parked there, their sirens still flashing, creating a tense and dramatic atmosphere. For a regular traffic accident, this was indeed a massive show of force.

Shen Juan stepped out of the car. Gu Shuge saw her body sway when she took in the scene; she grabbed the car door for support.

Only then did Gu Shuge remember: today was Shen Juan’s birthday, and she had come here to pick up a cake. This bakery had been around for years, and they both loved its flavors. Before she went abroad, every birthday cake—whether it was hers or Shen Juan’s—was ordered from this shop.

Shen Juan must have realized this too.

Gu Shuge watched her with concern, wanting to say it was just an accident and not to blame herself. But Shen Juan couldn’t hear her. She was powerless, forced to watch as the older woman’s eyes turned red and filled with tears.

The police noticed their arrival. A middle-aged man in the lead hesitated for a moment before walking over. Hiding his unease behind a professional facade, he extended his hand: “Family of the deceased? Hello, I am Captain Chen Xingfeng of the Traffic Police.”

Lin Mo stepped forward, interposing himself to shake the captain’s hand. “Hello, I am Lin Mo, assistant to the Chairman of the Gu Group. You can relay any findings to me.”

Captain Chen didn’t seem offended; instead, he looked relieved that the situation didn’t turn awkward. “Our colleagues have taken the driver to the station for questioning. Usually, traffic accidents are handled by our department. Only after traces of… intentional foul play are found would the criminal investigators take over.”

As he finished, Lin Mo was about to speak, but Shen Juan spoke first. Her eyes were teary, but her pupils were dark—dark like a suppressed storm, or like a pool of stagnant black water. “I want to see the scene.”

Captain Chen agreed immediately. “Of course, the family has the right to inspect the site.”

He led the way, lifting the yellow tape to let them through.

The scene hadn’t been cleaned yet. There was blood and debris everywhere. A chalk outline marked where she had fallen. That single high-heeled shoe was still lying there lonely; the cake box was crushed, and cream had oozed out.

Shen Juan walked over and picked up the shoe.

Shen Juan had given her those shoes for her eighteenth birthday. They were a classic design with silver soles and bright, soft leather. The uppers were embroidered with fresh, silver patterns—a blend of classical and modern, elegance and youth.

She already had many high heels back then and found it strange that Shen Juan would give her shoes for her coming-of-age ceremony. Her birthday was in late spring; the sunlight was mild and warm, making one feel like they could fall asleep at any moment. She had run to ask Shen Juan why, and Shen Juan’s smile was just like that day’s sunlight—gentle and hazy—as she said, “Yours are, well, a bit childish.”

She had been both embarrassed and angry, sulking for two days, but she had treated that gift like a treasure. Four years had passed, and they were still like new.

Now, the shoe was back in Shen Juan’s hands. It was no longer new; it was stained with dust and mud, like a flower knocked down by autumn rain and crushed into the dirt.

Captain Chen stood nearby. After some hesitation, he stepped forward to remind her: “Ms. Shen, as a personal effect of the deceased left at the scene, the police must keep this. You cannot take it with you for now.”

Shen Juan handed him the shoe. He immediately pulled out a large Ziploc bag, sealed it inside, and handed it to a junior officer.

Shen Juan’s gaze followed the shoe for a few seconds until the officer’s body blocked her view. Only then did she silently withdraw her gaze and walk toward the vehicle.

The car was an old sedan; Gu Shuge didn’t even recognize the brand. Based on the model, it was very cheap. Cheap and old—everything about it screamed the owner’s financial distress.

Bloodstains remained on the front of the car, and the windshield was shattered. One could see how powerful the impact had been. It had actually only lasted a second—painful, but not lingering, because she had quickly detached from her body to become a wandering soul.

Gu Shuge looked at the car for a moment and suddenly felt irritable. She remembered clearly: she wasn’t walking fast, and she had checked the traffic. This car had appeared suddenly, rushing toward her at high speed. If not for that, she should be at home now, happily celebrating Shen Juan’s birthday, instead of lying in a cold morgue.

She didn’t want to look anymore. She turned to the Shen Juan beside her and said, “Sister, let’s stop looking.”

Shen Juan leaned down, her fingertips touching the blood on the hood. The blood was nearly dry, a thick semi-solid that left a crimson stain on her finger.

Lin Mo prepared a handkerchief and offered it as she stood up. Shen Juan didn’t take it. The blood seemed to have congealed on her fingertip, a gloomy, dark red.

It turned out that once blood leaves the body for long enough, it is no longer bright red.

Gu Shuge felt even more restless and drifted a bit further away.

Nearby, two policemen were taking notes. Bored, she drifted over to look. A younger officer nudged his colleague with his elbow and asked, “Who’s that woman? What’s with the big production?”

The one he nudged was older. He had a cigarette in his mouth and gave the younger one an impatient glance before crouching back down to measure marks on the ground with a ruler. He ignored the question entirely.

Gu Shuge found it slightly amusing.

The young officer was clearly a restless type; he wasn’t embarrassed by being ignored. After making a few notes, he began to complain: “It’s clearly just a simple traffic accident. The driver already said he was driving while fatigued and didn’t see the person. We checked the surveillance, too—the driving route was totally normal. It’s just an accident. Why are we grinding away here? It’s a waste of time.”

The older officer finally acknowledged him, looking up with a cold snort. “It’s better if it is an accident, otherwise, the trouble will be huge.” He paused, glancing toward Shen Juan in the distance, and said with a hint of disdain, “The deceased was the heir to the Gu Group. Now that she’s dead, the entire group is going to change its last name to Shen.”

Gu Shuge could no longer laugh. She floated away, returning to Shen Juan’s side.