The strange object Sherlock brings into the room has me doubting eyes for a moment. Because why would Ying Ze have such a thing?

The strange object in question is a non-descript square box the width and height of a five-levelled document holder. I can see the muscles in Sherlock’s arms strain under its weight, so it’s probably made of metal or packed full of items. Either way, I don’t envy him, and I have no trace of pity since he’s getting paid to do this.

He passes me in long, determined strides. As he does, he brings the box close enough that I can make out sloped lines of grain. My prior theory collapses at this discovery. It isn’t metal like I thought, it’s wood. There’s just one thing I can’t wrap my head around.

“Why is it pink?” I say wonderingly. The colour isn’t outrageous nor is it muted. The pink is just the right shade and is easy on the eyes. Lights bounce off the polished surface of the box, giving it a faint sheen that serves to amplify its dainty beauty. I feel my heart stir the longer I look. “Anyone care to tell me what that is?”

No one deigns me with a reply. However, Ling Ge has a distant look in his eyes when he mutters, “Of course it’d be made in her favourite colour.”

His words further fuel my curiosity. I don’t take my eyes off the strange pink box. It’s clear it isn’t anything ordinary. Not if it could stun Ling Ge, a person who’s never not gotten what he sets his eyes on. I don’t know where he picked up the habit, but he’s quite the hoarder. He has rooms full of baubles and trinkets bought from exotic places he visits.

Ying Ze uproots herself from the desk. She motions to Sherlock to place the box where she once sat. He meekly does her bidding, and I stifle a laugh. The sight of a man with bulging muscles ordered around by a middle aged woman tickles my ribs something fierce.

Under Ying Ze’s watchful gaze the pink box is carefully maneuvered onto the desk. Sherlock sets it down with such care that not even creak of wood is heard. Damn. I was kind of hoping he’d mess up and drop it on his foot. The bad guys have all the good luck.

His task complete, Sherlock lightly brushes the top of the box with his hand before turning back to Ying Ze. She nods. Sherlock receives her acknowledgement and melts into the background like a shadow.

I take the time to find my words again. “What is that and why is it pink?”

Ling Ge rolls his eyes. “That’s pink ivory wood, dear sister.”

I roll my eyes right back at him. “I can tell it’s wood. I’m asking what the box is for. Are we supposed to put our shoes inside it or something?”

“Come here, Ah-ge.” Ying Ze’s command wipes the pained expression off Ling Ge’s face. “You should know what this is. Show her how you’d use it.”

Ling Ge throws a cautious glance at the back of room as he slowly gets up. He doesn’t make any sudden movements and continuously checks over his shoulder as he moves towards the box.

“Sherlock isn’t a rabid dog. He won’t attack unless you do, dear brother,” I say.

Ling Ge’s lips curl downward. “If those men didn’t already punch you, I’d be tempted to do it myself.”

Once Ling Ge is within an arm’s distance of the box, he places his hands on top of it. His hands feel their way to the sides. I watch with trepidation as he slides a loose panel out of place, revealing the secret awaiting inside.

On the topmost raised platform sits a portrait. Flanking it are two brass candlesticks, and a step below, a holder full of incense sticks accompanied by a small vase that holds a single stalk of chrysanthemum. If the candles were lit, the portrait’s face would glow with liveliness. That’s how easily light can play tricks on the eyes.

Ling Ge leans the loose panel of wood against the desk. “You never told me you were having an altar made for her.”

“I didn’t see the need to inform anyone. It’s a simple altar, not a mausoleum.” Ying Ze beckons Sherlock over. I don’t know where he found a candle but it sits demurely in the palm he offers up to her. He takes out his lighter and the candle’s wick catches flame. “This was completed yesterday. You two are the first to see it.”

Ying Ze takes the two brass candlesticks and sets them alight. She covers their open flames with a glass bell cover and returns them to the box. She takes a stick of incense from the holder and hovers the rounded tip over the dancing flame of Sherlock’s candle.

Ying Ze grasps the stick of incense between her hands once the tip burns dark orange. She rolls it in her palms and says, “Both of you are to pay your respects.”

“If you wanted us to offer a prayer to Shi Ning, there was no need to drag us here to do it,” Ling Ge says with a hint of disbelief.

“Didn’t we already do this at her funeral?” I say, equally upset and relieved by the prospect of this situation being a bluff.

Ying Ze holds the stick of burning incense with steady hands. While we were talking, her eyes had slid shut. She acts as if none of us have spoken, as if the only thing in this room were her and her deceased daughter. It’s only after she flicks off the incense ash that she speaks.

“I had initially planned to end both of you the same way Shi Ning ended herself,” Ying Ze says. Her voice is without malice and her words are said so casually I almost think I misheard. “Nothing in this country is outside my jurisdiction. Did you think I would allow you to get away with scheming against her? I would have expected this from Mei Ling, but never you, Ah-ge.”

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Ling Ge has gone so rigid even a puff of air could crumble him into dust. “How many times do I have to say this? I didn’t kill her.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ying Ze strokes the box. “Your sister is dead. And both of you are not. The injustice of this situation truly rankles me.”

“So, even if we’re not the reason she’s killed herself… you’d have us follow her?” I say in disbelief. “Wow. You’re actually serious. And you wonder why I wanted to get away from all of you?”

“It shouldn’t be that hard to comprehend. One life for another. Shi Ning’s was certainly worth both of yours.”

“Yeah, and what makes you think we’re going to–”

I’m cut off when Ling Ge suddenly throws himself to the ground. I hear the thump of his forehead hitting the carpet. His back bows and he kowtows in front of Ying Ze, like he hadn’t tried strangle her a short while ago.

“What are you doing?” I call out, flustered. I don’t understand what’s going on in his head at all. This mother and son pair seem to grate on my nerves as badly as badly as Shi Ning did.

“I, Han Ling Ge, will admit to my wrongdoings.” Ling Ge yells in a cracked, rasping voice. “Please instruct this unfilial son how he can earn your forgiveness!”

…and I thought he would see this until the bitter end.

I snort incredulously, unmoved by his act. Is Ying Ze seriously entertaining this farce? I’ve seen enough of his over dramatic attempts to know he’s not putting in his full effort. And in just boxers, he cuts such a pathetic figure I’d consider shooting myself in the head to spare having second hand embarrassment.

I turn to Ying Ze, expecting to see a similar attitude of derision and disgust. After all, she must be far more familiar with him than I.

I turn, secretly excited for what will come next. But when I see her, everything grinds to a halt.

Contrary to her previously stony demeanour, Ying Ze’s emotions are completely laid bare. Her shoulders are tight with tension and her face is contorted with unmistakable grief. I didn’t know her capable of such a feeling. Even at Shi Ning’s funeral she had acted aloof, like a deity unconcerned by the triviality of mortality.

I get to my feet. “You’re seriously considering giving him a free pass because he’s your son? What’s the use of spouting nonsense about injustice when you’d forgive anything he does so long as he gets on his knees and bays like a bloody donkey?”

“Watch your tone. I don’t expect you to understand how deeply the bonds of this family run,” Ying Ze says.

“You’re just looking to justify forgiving him. I know what father would say if he were here, and it won’t just be pretty words.”

“My husband acknowledged you, but I did not, and I never will. You are not part of my family, no matter what the world thinks. But, I will cede the point that forgiving my son so easily should not be allowed. In fact, it’s for that reason I went to the trouble of bringing you here as well.”

Ying Ze sweeps her hand at the altar. Shi Ning’s smiling visage fans the flames of my rage, and it’s all I can do not to dropkick the box onto the ground.

“On the condition both of you confess your wrongs and prostrate yourselves here and now,” Ying Ze says. “I will let you go, unharmed. There shall be additional punishments for my son, considering he played the central role. But I’d advise you to worry about yourself.”

I stand bewildered and utterly stunned by her offer. Is this a test? I could gain my freedom and her complete forgiveness so easily? The cutting remarks I had planned to say die before I can get a word out.

As I try to make sense of this nonsense, Ling Ge tramples the tense silence by falling to his knees in front of the altar. He speaks without a hint of hesitation or shame. “If it means you will consider forgiving me, I’ll do it.”

I want to clap my hands over my ears. Unfortunately, morbid curiosity stays my hand, and my sense sharpen into alertness as my half-brother opens his mouth to speak.

“Shi Ning,” he begins. “I always thought of you as a torn in my side. You took advantage of our mother’s affection to impede me at every turn, constantly disrupting my attempts to grow into my role as the heir. After father passed away, your desire for control and power grew large enough to match mine, and if it wasn’t for my plan to disgrace you… you might have snatched the one that truly belonged to me.”

“And what exactly did you plan to do?” Ying Ze asks sharply. “Don’t mince your words. Your sister deserves nothing but the truth.”

It’s clear as day everything we do here is for Ying Ze’s benefit. Unless someone is going to transcribe our conversations onto hell notes and burn them, I don’t understand how Shi Ning could hear this. Also, why would she care? She’s dead, not on vacation.

“I wanted to completely and utterly humiliate you,” Ling Ge continues. “I wanted to show everyone your true face – a woman who put up a strong front, but buries herself in vices at every chance she gets. Shi Ning, I found it pathetic that you let yourself be governed by your weakness. If I hadn’t used it against you, someone would have, eventually.”

Ying Ze’s sharp intake of breath does not surprise me. It’s natural that she’s shocked. Ling Ge has never shown his true colours to anyone other than Shi Ning and I, and even then, he has never done it as succinctly as this.

I look at his bowed back, unable to fathom what he’s thinking. Has Ling Ge truly resigned himself to following his mother’s commands, knowing that there’s no other way?

From where he’s kneeling, neither Ying Ze or Sherlock can see his face. They merely see his slumped, forlorn figure, trembling limbs, and nothing else.

But I can.

And he’s likely aware of it. I’ve come to understand Ling Ge has a streak of cunning only matched by Shi Ning, and he bested her.

True to my suspicions, I catch Ling Ge’s mouth curving into a smile. It is tiny one, but nonetheless, it’s not something that should be on the face of someone begging for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” Ling Ge says in a rasping, cracked voice. “For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for pushing you to the breaking point. I honestly believed my obstacle be something you could overcome. In the end… you turned out to be only human.”

Ying Ze’s eyes shine under the glaring room lights. The normally level-headed woman completely taken in by his play. Knowing she will forgive him makes me pity her. She’ll welcome a possible sociopath and manipulative liar back with open arms. I’m not a seer, but if she still plans to have Ling Ge inherit the company, she gets a front row seat to watch it burn.

I gnaw on my lips. I’m the only person in on the joke and sadly, have no one to enjoy it with. Ying Ze would slit our throats on the spot if she knew she being played like a fiddle.

Ling Ge rises from the ground, brushing invisible dust off from his knees. He backs away from the altar after giving Shi Ning’s portrait one final bow. I read this action as an alternative victory cheer to pumping his fist and yelling, ‘Gotcha!’

Ying Ze shoots me a look that practically screams, ‘Well, what are you going to do now?’

I’m at a crossroads. I have the ability to tear down this entire charade by calling Ling Ge out. Even if Ying Ze doesn’t believe me, she will think twice about trusting him. I will be probably save the careers of thousands of employees, leave the Han legacy intact to be passed down to future generations. In that scenario, Shi Ning will truly be able to rest in peace.

I throw my head back and sigh.

“Wow,” I say. “How I supposed to compete with that?”

Sorry, Auntie Bao. You dragged me out of the much when I needed you and I adore you for being the mother I never had, but I was poisoned by this family long ago. Ying Ze will reap what she sowed, and though she has my sympathies for being duped, I can’t find it in myself to forgive her for a childhood of neglect and struggle.

I wait until Ling Ge returns to his seat before standing. It’s my turn to take the stage.