The three of us rushed up the stairwell and arrived at the elevator, but it was still stuck on the 11th floor.
"Take the stairs," Rachel Lan said, dashing toward the staircase. Howard Lee and I followed closely behind.
As we reached Room 609, the door was closed. Rachel Lan knocked several times, but there was no response. The air inside reeked of something burnt, and even at the doorway, the smell was overpowering.
"Step aside," Howard Lee said. Rachel Lan moved to the side as Howard took a step back and kicked the door hard. With a loud bang, the security door didn't budge.
Howard Lee kicked the door several more times, denting it, but it still wouldn't open.
"Move," Rachel Lan said, shoving Howard Lee aside. I saw her close her eyes, then deliver a fierce flying kick. With a loud crash, the security door swung open.
Howard Lee and I stared in shock as thick smoke billowed out from inside. The sound of things exploding in the room echoed again and again.
Near the entrance, some wooden decorations were already ablaze. The three of us rushed in, crouching and covering our noses.
Inside the room, smoke rolled and flames roared.
"Over there!" We reached the living room and saw Richard Li collapsed on the floor. The chair must have been what he used to smash the window. Flames raged in the kitchen. Without hesitation, Howard Lee hoisted Richard Li, and we ran for the exit.
Soon after, ambulances and fire trucks arrived. Richard Li had suffered severe burns and inhaled a lot of toxic gas. He looked barely alive. After emergency treatment, the medics rushed him to the hospital.
The three of us rode in the ambulance, following along.
Watching Richard Li with an oxygen mask over his mouth, his face deathly pale, looking as if he was about to die, we could hardly believe he was the notorious Michael Chen we were searching for, a member of the Immortality Society.
"Maybe we really got it wrong."
Howard Lee said. Rachel Lan and I didn't argue. Richard Li was sent to the ICU, and the doctor said his condition was extremely critical.
The cause of the accident was a gas leak in the kitchen, which triggered the fire. Michael Chen was napping, and when he smelled the gas, he grabbed a chair and smashed the window, but the fire still broke out.
After leaving the hospital, I felt gloomy. Maybe this Richard Li wasn't the one we were looking for.
There were still 12 people named Richard Li in the city.
Back in the car, Howard Lee pulled out a list.
"The director of the Construction Bureau, Richard Li, has a completely normal background. Nothing suspicious at all."
Howard Lee said, looking at the list. The youngest was only 21, but even that couldn't rule him out. I checked the details for this 21-year-old Richard Li, a student. The records were clear, but for members of the Immortality Society, changing information was easy—age, appearance, anything could be faked.
The other twelve Richard Lis all seemed ordinary, just regular people. None held any positions of power, though one was the owner of a small shoe factory.
"Should we check this one out?" Howard Lee pointed at the shoe factory owner's profile. I looked and nodded.
"We can only investigate for now." I glanced at the list—the shoe factory owner, Richard Li, was already 61 years old.
The shoe factory wasn't far away. It was just after 9 a.m. when we arrived. Richard Li's home was near the factory. After searching for a while, we found a rundown two-story apartment.
We stopped at the door of Room 219. Rachel Lan knocked. We noticed graffiti on the door and walls—demands for debt repayment, splashes of paint in various colors. Some had been wiped away, but traces remained.
We rang the doorbell for a long time, but no one answered.
"Maybe he's out. Let's wait and see," I said. With no other choice, we waited near the balcony. An hour passed, and Richard Li still hadn't returned.
Just then, five men appeared below. They looked vicious and came upstairs toward us. One of them, a bald man, glared and kicked Richard Li's door.
"Damn it, you old bastard! Pay up! We know you're in there. If you don't open up, we'll show you no mercy!"
As they spoke, I saw two of them kicking the battered wooden door with all their strength. With a bang, the door flew open.
A scream rang out, and the men rushed inside. A woman's cries and a man's shout echoed from within. We hurried over and saw a man in his thirties and a woman pinned to the floor by two of the debt collectors. A young boy, about eight or nine, trembled in the corner.
"Damn it, where's that old bastard Richard Li?"
"Please, don't come again. My father is already in the hospital, he's not going to make it."
With a loud slap, the crying woman was struck several times across the face.
"Debts must be paid—it's only right. Since the old bastard is dying, you're his daughter, aren't you? Then you pay up. Twenty-eight thousand, hand it over now."
The debt collectors started beating the man, punching and kicking him. I was getting angry, clenching my fists, because I saw the boy in the corner looking at us with pleading eyes.
"Enough!" Rachel Lan shouted, rushing in.
"Oh? What's it to you?"
"I'm a police officer," Howard Lee said, stepping forward and showing his badge.
The debt collectors were stunned, but still refused to leave.
"Officer, someone is trying to hurt my grandpa. I saw it," the child suddenly spoke up.
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One of the debt collectors turned and glared menacingly at the child.
"Besides, my grandpa isn't named Richard Li," the boy continued. We immediately looked at him.
"Officer, we're just here to collect a debt. They've owed us money for a long time. Maybe our methods were wrong, and we apologize for that, but the debt still needs to be paid. If we don't get our money tonight, we won't leave. And..."
With a bang, Rachel Lan kicked the speaker, sending him crashing into the wall, unconscious. The other four prepared to fight.
But seeing we were police, they didn't dare, and instead dragged their companion away.
After a while, the family calmed down. The 61-year-old shoe factory owner, Richard Li, was still in the hospital, dying. He'd been admitted just a day ago with a brain hemorrhage. The doctors said there was little hope. Surgery would be expensive and risky.
"You said your grandpa isn't Richard Li. What do you mean?"
Suddenly, the boy's mother forced a smile, looking stiff and unnatural.
"Officer, don't listen to the child's nonsense. My father has always been named Richard Li."
Her husband joined in.
"Ah, this child, really."
It seemed they were hiding something. Not just me—Rachel Lan and Howard Lee noticed it too.
We left, planning to visit Richard Li at the hospital. When we arrived, he was already in a coma. Howard Lee questioned the doctor.
Rachel Lan and I sat in the hospital corridor. Soon, Howard Lee came out shaking his head.
"The chance of a successful surgery is less than ten percent. There's basically no hope, and he's already in a coma."
"He's about to die. Maybe less than a day left. We can ask his soul directly when the time comes."
Rachel Lan said. We decided to wait at the hospital. As a member of the Hades Circle, Rachel Lan could always tell exactly when someone's life would end.
We waited quietly in the corridor. Rachel Lan said nothing, her face pale and troubled.
"Qingyuan, you two wait here. I'll go buy some drinks," Howard Lee said, then left.
"Are you alright?"
I asked. Rachel Lan nodded and managed a smile.
"It's nothing, Qingyuan. No matter how many times I see things like this, it still hurts."
I nodded. Even though Richard Li was still alive and the odds of surgery were slim, Rachel Lan could always know the exact moment someone would die. She must have seen this countless times.
Around 1 a.m., Rachel Lan and I returned to the car for a nap. Howard Lee stayed behind. At 4 a.m., I'd relieve him. According to Rachel Lan, Richard Li would die at 10:35:36 tomorrow morning.
Lying back in the reclined seat, I couldn't sleep, though I was exhausted. My mind was filled with thoughts of the Hades Circle and their ability to predict death with precision. I could tell Rachel Lan hated it.
"Qingyuan, stop thinking about it. Get some sleep. Over the years, I've gotten a little used to it," Rachel Lan said. I looked at her.
We made eye contact. Looking into her eyes, I felt inferior. She really was a strong woman—enduring countless hardships in silence, and she would continue to do so. She hated it, but she wasn't numb. She was still human.
The next morning, at 10:30, we waited outside the hospital room, planning to catch Richard Li's soul the moment it left his body and get some answers.
It was all shrouded in fog. If Richard Li didn't used to have this name, what was it before? Why did he change it? After leaving his house last night, Howard Lee had the Ghost Burial Squad investigate thoroughly. The records showed no name change.
Rachel Lan still believed that his grandson hadn't lied to us.