The interrogation room was a windowless box in the basement of a building that had no official name—a safe house that Magistrate Fang had arranged for high-risk witnesses and classified operations. He Zhenguo had brought Wu Mei there directly from the teahouse, blindfolding her for the journey and using a circuitous route that would make it impossible for her to identify the location. She sat now in a metal chair, her hands cuffed to the table, her red scarf removed and placed in an evidence bag. Without it, she looked younger, more vulnerable—a woman stripped of her armor and her secrets.
He Zhenguo had been pacing the room for the past hour, waiting for her to speak. She had refused all offers of food and drink, and she had not asked for a lawyer—a calculated silence, he knew, meant to frustrate him and buy time. But time was the one thing he could not afford to waste. The folder of names was still in his custody, but he knew that Ko's network was already mobilizing to retrieve it. Every hour that passed increased the risk of a counterattack.
"Ms. Wu," he said, stopping in front of her, "I have the letter from your uncle. I have the photograph of the Courier. I have enough evidence to charge you with conspiracy to obstruct justice and accessory to multiple murders. You are facing life in prison—unless you cooperate."
Wu Mei looked up, her eyes hard and unblinking. "You have nothing. The letter is a forgery. The photograph is a doctored image. You are bluffing, Detective. And I have been bluffing longer than you have been alive."
He Zhenguo pulled out a chair and sat across from her, his knees almost touching hers. "Then let me tell you what I do have. I have the testimony of Lin Wanqing, who will testify that Ko Hoi-Man gave the order to kill Shen Chongli. I have the journal of Winston Chu, which names your uncle as a member of the committee. And I have the deed of trust that links your family to the gold vault. Even if the letter is a forgery, the other evidence is real—and it will convict you."
Wu Mei's expression flickered—a brief shadow of doubt that she quickly suppressed. But He Zhenguo had seen it. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I know you are not the mastermind. I know you are a pawn—just like your uncle. But you are also a survivor. And survivors know when to cut their losses. Tell me who the real Governor is, and I will recommend leniency. I will even protect you from the network. But if you do not talk, you will be left to face them alone. And we both know they will not let you live to see a trial."
Wu Mei stared at him for a long moment, her jaw clenched. Then, slowly, her shoulders sagged—a surrender of tension, if not of will. She looked down at her cuffed hands and spoke, her voice barely audible. "The real Governor is not a man. It is a legacy. A title that has been passed down through a single family for over a century. My uncle was the caretaker, not the holder. The holder is a woman—my grandmother's sister, who is now ninety-two years old. She lives in a nursing home in the countryside, but she still controls the network through a series of proxies. Her name is Lo Suet-Ying."
He Zhenguo felt a jolt of recognition. Lo Suet-Ying—the elder sister of Lo Suet-Ling, the woman who had given him the key to the museum vault. He had assumed that Suet-Ling was the matriarch, but she had been a front too. The real power had been held by her older sister, who had been written out of the family records to protect her identity.
"Where is this nursing home?" He asked.
Wu Mei shook her head. "I don't know the exact location. My uncle never told me. But I know it is near the old town of Qingxi—a small village about two hours from the city. She is registered under a false name: Mrs. Wu Minghua. She has been there for ten years, ever since she had a stroke. But she still makes decisions. She still gives orders. She is the one who ordered the murder of Shen Chongli, because he had discovered her name in the colonial archives."
He Zhenguo wrote down the details, his hand steady despite the adrenaline. He had a name, a location, and a link to the conspiracy. But he also had a problem: Lo Suet-Ying was an elderly, incapacitated woman. Arresting her would be a public relations nightmare, and her lawyers would argue that she was not competent to stand trial. He needed evidence that she had been actively involved in the crimes—not just a figurehead.
"Do you have any proof?" He asked. "Any documents, recordings, or witnesses that link her directly to the murders or the embezzlement?"
Wu Mei hesitated, her eyes darting toward the door. "My uncle kept a dossier on her. It is in a safe deposit box at the Eastern District Bank—box number 088-17-395, the same one you searched before. But the box has a false bottom. Underneath the cash, there is a second compartment containing a set of letters and a microcassette tape. The letters are written in her hand, giving instructions to my uncle and to the other members of the committee. The tape is a recording of a phone call between her and Sir Edward Ashworth, discussing the gold transfers. That tape is the key."
He Zhenguo felt a surge of excitement. He had been to that safe deposit box, but he had not searched it thoroughly—he had been too focused on the cash. The false bottom was the detail he had missed. He stood up and called Fang, instructing him to secure the box immediately with a forensic team.
While they waited for the results, He Zhenguo continued his interrogation. He asked Wu Mei about the network's structure, about the identities of the proxies, about the locations of the remaining gold. She answered each question with a reluctance that he interpreted as authenticity—she was not lying, but she was holding back. She was still protecting someone.
"Who else is involved?" He pressed. "You mentioned proxies. Who are they?"
Wu Mei looked down at her hands again, her voice trembling. "There are three proxies. One is a lawyer named Cheng Tai-Ping, who handles the legal transactions. One is a retired general named Liang Wei, who manages the security. And the third is a police officer—a high-ranking one, who has been feeding information to the network for years. I don't know his name. My uncle always referred to him as 'the Mole.'"
He Zhenguo wrote down the names. Cheng Tai-Ping and Liang Wei were new leads. The Mole was a threat—someone inside the police force who had been undermining his investigation from the beginning. He thought of Superintendent Lam, who had resigned and fled. But Lam had been a minor player. The Mole was still active, still watching, still reporting to Lo Suet-Ying.
At 2:00 PM, Fang called back with the results from the safe deposit box. The false bottom had yielded a set of twelve letters, each signed with Lo Suet-Ying's distinctive seal, and a microcassette tape that had been verified as authentic by the forensic audio lab. The letters detailed the embezzlement scheme, the bribes to customs officials, and the plan to eliminate Shen Chongli. The tape contained a conversation between Lo and Ashworth in which she explicitly ordered the transfer of gold to a private account in Switzerland.
He Zhenguo felt a surge of triumph. He had the evidence he needed to arrest Lo Suet-Ying and dismantle the network. But he also felt a gnawing unease. The evidence had come too easily—first the folder, then Wu Mei's confession, now the letters and tape. It was as if the conspiracy was being handed to him on a silver platter, piece by piece.
He called the Courier, who had been watching the nursing home in Qingxi. The Courier reported that Lo Suet-Ying was still alive, still receiving visitors, and still apparently lucid enough to sign documents. He also reported that a black sedan had been seen near the nursing home—the same model that had been used by Ko's security detail.
He Zhenguo made a decision. He would go to Qingxi himself, accompanied by a small team of trusted officers. He would arrest Lo Suet-Ying and secure the remaining evidence. He would end this, once and for all.
He left Wu Mei under guard and drove to the rural village, his sedan bumping along narrow roads that wound through rice paddies and bamboo groves. The nursing home was a converted colonial villa, its white walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. He approached the entrance, his badge ready, his hand on his holster.
A nurse met him at the door, her face a mask of professional neutrality. "Mrs. Wu Minghua is in the garden. She is expecting you."
He Zhenguo felt a chill. She was expecting him. That meant she knew he was coming—and she had chosen to meet him, not to flee. He walked through the building to the rear garden, where a frail old woman sat in a wheelchair, wrapped in a shawl, her white hair thin and her hands gnarled with age. She looked up as he approached, and her eyes, though clouded with cataracts, held a spark of unmistakable intelligence.
"Detective He," she said, her voice a dry whisper. "I have been waiting for you. I knew you would find me eventually. I only hope you are ready for what you will discover."
He Zhenguo sat on a bench across from her, his heart pounding. "Mrs. Lo Suet-Ying, I am here to arrest you for conspiracy to commit embezzlement, accessory to murder, and crimes against the state. You have the right to remain silent—"
She waved a thin hand, cutting him off. "I know my rights, Detective. And I know the evidence you have. The letters, the tape, the confession from Wu Mei. You have built a strong case. But you have not built a complete case. Because you do not know the full truth."
He leaned forward. "Then tell me the truth."
She smiled, a sad, ancient smile. "The truth is that I am not the Governor. I am the Governor's keeper. I have been holding the title for my brother—my younger brother, who died in 1989. He was the real Governor, the one who built the network. I have simply maintained it, because that is what he asked me to do. But the person who gave the orders, who controlled the gold, who decided who lived and who died—that was my brother. And he has been dead for seven years."
He Zhenguo felt the world tilt. He had been chasing a ghost—a dead man who had been pulling the strings from beyond the grave. The network was a machine that had been set in motion decades ago and had continued to run on its own momentum, guided by the living proxies who had been trained to follow the dead Governor's instructions.
"The network is self-sustaining," Lo Suet-Ying continued. "It does not need a Governor. It needs only the proxies—the lawyer, the general, the policeman—to carry on the work. You can arrest me, but you cannot stop the machine. It will continue, with or without me."
He Zhenguo sat in stunned silence. He had the evidence, the names, and the confession. But he did not have the source. The real Governor was a ghost, and the network was a hydra that could not be killed by cutting off its head. He would have to destroy the entire system—every proxy, every official, every transaction—to ensure that it could not rise again.
He looked at Lo Suet-Ying, her frail body in the wheelchair, her eyes still sharp with the cunning of a lifetime of manipulation. "I will arrest you," he said, "and I will dismantle your network. Every proxy, every official, every last transaction. I will not rest until this machine is broken."
She nodded, as if she had expected nothing less. "Then you will be a very busy man, Detective. But I wish you luck. You will need it."
He Zhenguo called his team to take her into custody. As they escorted her out of the garden, he sat alone on the bench, staring at the bamboo grove that swayed in the afternoon breeze. He had won the battle, but the war was far from over. The network was still intact, the proxies were still in place, and the Mole was still hidden inside the police force.
He pulled out his notebook and wrote down the names of the proxies: Cheng Tai-Ping, the lawyer; Liang Wei, the general; and the Mole, the police officer. He would find them, and he would bring them down. But first, he had to identify the Mole—the traitor who had been watching him from the beginning.
His pager buzzed. A message from the Courier: "TWO OF THE PROXIES HAVE LEFT THE CITY. CHENG AND LIANG ARE GONE. ONLY THE MOLE REMAINS. AND I THINK I KNOW WHO IT IS."
He Zhenguo's blood ran cold. He read the message again, then typed a reply: "MEET ME AT THE STATION. TONIGHT. WE WILL SET A TRAP."
He drove back to the city, his mind racing with the implications. The Mole was still active, still dangerous, and still close. He had been the one who had warned the network about He Zhenguo's movements, who had tipped off Ko about the surveillance, who had made every step of the investigation a struggle. Now, He Zhenguo had a chance to unmask him—and to end the conspiracy once and for all.
He arrived at the station at 8:00 PM, his office dark except for the glow of his desk lamp. The Courier was waiting for him, his face pale and grim. "I have a name," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The Mole is Assistant Commissioner Yeung—Yeung Kwok-Wah. He has been on the network's payroll for over a decade. He is the one who has been feeding Ko information. And he is the one who ordered the hit on Mouse."
He Zhenguo felt a surge of disbelief. Yeung was a respected officer, a man with a spotless record and a reputation for integrity. But the Courier had never been wrong before.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
The Courier nodded. "I saw him leave a meeting with Liang Wei two weeks ago. I didn't recognize Liang at the time, but I matched the face to the photo in your file. Yeung is the Mole. I am certain."
He Zhenguo felt a cold fury rise within him. He had been deceived by a man he had trusted, a man who had smiled at him in the hallways, a man who had pretended to be an ally while working to destroy everything he had built.
He looked at the Courier, his voice steady but hard. "Then tonight, we set a trap. We leak a false location for the remaining gold, and we wait for Yeung to take the bait. When he does, we arrest him. And we end this."
The Courier nodded, his eyes reflecting the same grim determination. "I will help. But Detective—once we do this, there is no going back. The network will collapse, and the city will change. Are you ready for that?"
He Zhenguo looked out the window at the glittering skyline of Gold Harbour City—the city he had sworn to protect, the city that had been built on secrets and lies. He thought of Shen Chongli, of Mouse, of all the others who had died for the truth. And he made his decision.
"I am ready," he said. "Let's finish this."
The night stretched ahead, dark and full of danger. But He Zhenguo faced it with a quiet resolve. The Mole was about to be caught, the network was about to fall, and the truth was finally about to come to light. He would not stop until every last secret was exposed—and every last criminal was brought to justice.
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