The Teacher on Duty (2)

Xu Qin, 26 years old, a teacher for the junior class at Greenlight Kindergarten.

Hospital Diagnosis: Fractured right ankle, moderate burns on the right arm, multiple soft tissue contusions, mild lung infection, and a low-grade fever.

“Ms. Xu, if you’ve had enough rest, can we take your statement?”

When Zhao Yu pushed the door open, Xu Qin was weeping in her hospital bed. Her dark brown short hair fell over her shoulders as she hunched forward, her shoulder blades protruding sharply like withered straw on a late autumn ridge—fragile enough to shatter at a single touch.

Xu Qin wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice trembling. “Okay.”

She said yes, but her entire body remained curled in a defensive posture, teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

Zhao Yu opened her recording app and reached to tap “Start.” When her finger was barely a centimeter from the button, a slender hand intercepted her.

She looked up to see Liu Huisheng, who had followed her in. A fresh layer of gauze was wrapped around the heel of Huisheng’s palm. She lightly brushed against the back of Zhao Yu’s hand as she moved. Her long hair was simply clipped back, and her porcelain-white skin, devoid of makeup, looked as smooth as jade. Her pale lips curved in a look of infinite tolerance.

“Survivor’s guilt.”

Liu Huisheng dropped the clinical term quietly as she sat on the stool by the bed, looking directly at Xu Qin.

Xu Qin’s mind was hazy. She looked up weakly. “What?”

“It’s the guilt felt by those who survive a disaster,” Liu Huisheng explained softly. “Especially when loved ones or those close to them perish. They blame themselves, thinking they should have been the ones to die, or that they are responsible for the lives lost.”

Xu Qin’s eyelids fluttered, a sob breaking from the back of her throat. “But… I was their teacher…”

“I understand,” Liu Huisheng continued. “Typically, the stronger a person’s sense of responsibility, the deeper the survivor’s guilt. But the disaster has already happened. Your anger should be directed at the arsonist. The rescue team told me that if you hadn’t jumped down to cut the main power switch, even more children would have been lost. You did exceptionally well.”

Moved by the words, Xu Qin’s tears began to pour.

“But if I had just noticed sooner… they wouldn’t have died. I killed them, it was me…”

The suppressed emotions finally erupted. Only after a period of soul-wrenching sobbing did the “withered straw” of her body seem to regain a pulse of life. Under Zhao Yu’s subsequent questioning, she recounted the events of the night:

“Last night, I put the kids to bed as usual. Lights out at 10:00 PM. I fell asleep quickly. Later, I woke up to use the bathroom and noticed the hallway window on the second floor was open, so I closed it.”

Zhao Yu’s eyes sharpened. “What time was that?”

“Probably between 2:00 and 3:00 AM. I didn’t check my phone. I have weak kidneys, so I usually get up around that time every night.”

“Did you notice anything unusual then?”

“No. I closed the window and went back to sleep. Later… I woke up smelling smoke. When I opened my eyes, the room was thick with it. I panicked and woke up Teacher Wu, who was on duty with me. We ran out and saw the hallway was already an inferno. It was pitch black, and the fire at the dorm entrance was massive. I could hear the children crying, but I couldn’t get through.”

“What happened next?”

“I called 119 and ran to the first floor to find the security guard, but the fire at the main gate was too big. We couldn’t get out. Teacher Wu and I soaked blankets and towels to cover our faces and charged back upstairs to open the dorm doors. But… but the fire in the furthest room was too intense… I heard them calling me. They called, ‘Teacher, Teacher!’ …But I couldn’t get in…”

During the chaos, Xu Qin and Wu Chunmei had rushed to the dorms where the fire was less severe, tossing quilts out of the second-story windows and screaming to the children inside:

“Kids! Throw the blankets down! Jump! This is only the second floor, you can make it! Be brave!”

Shouts of acknowledgment came from the boys’ dorm, but they heard almost nothing from the girls’ side.

Wu Chunmei realized the horror: “Xu Qin, the girls’ dorm is on the other side. They might have been overcome by smoke!”

“What do we do?!”

“You jump down first! Run around to the girls’ side and wake them up! I’ll handle this side!”

“But the fire is coming! It’s dangerous for you too!”

“Go! The children are waiting for you!”

So, Xu Qin jumped. A second-story height in a school building is significant due to the high ceilings. She fractured her ankle upon impact. Gritting her teeth, she limped around to the girls’ dormitory, cut the main power for the whole building, and screamed until her lungs burned, finally waking the semi-conscious children.

As the memory of the past few hours flooded back, Xu Qin spiraled back into pain.

“Sixteen… out of 124 children, only sixteen jumped… even Teacher Wu, she ran into the room with the biggest fire and never came out… If only I had woken up earlier…”

She covered her eyes, her lips pulling down at the corners—a classic gesture of self-reproach.

******************************************

The hospital room door closed, and the two investigators left in silence.

Thirty minutes of recorded testimony were distilled into a few words in Liu Huisheng’s notebook. The notebook was stylish—deep blue leather bound by a hemp cord with a dangling pendant that swayed like a dancer’s waist as she walked.

“What did you find?” Zhao Yu asked.

Liu Huisheng tied the cord into a neat bow. Her expression remained unreadable. “A few points I want to clarify. The case isn’t solved yet, so I can’t tell you.”

This sparked Zhao Yu’s irritation. “I am your Captain. You are supposed to share your leads with me.”

“Is that so? Then Captain Zhao, what leads did you analyze? Why don’t you tell me first?”

Zhao Yu glanced at her. Huisheng’s beautiful face maintained a veneer of gentleness, but her eyes were like deep, unpredictable water. It was frustrating—standing right in front of her, yet feeling as though a thick wall stood between them.

“The window,” Zhao Yu said, choosing to prioritize the case over her annoyance.

“What about the window?” Liu Huisheng asked playfully.

Zhao Yu refused to engage with that “teasing a puppy” look and walked ahead. “Xu Qin said the hallway window was open at 2:00 or 3:00 AM. But the meteorological data shows last night was dead calm—only a very light breeze.”

Liu Huisheng nodded. Her reasoning matched Zhao Yu’s. “The culprit likely entered through that second-floor window. When Xu Qin went to the bathroom, he was probably already inside, lurking in a corner. He waited for her to go back and fall asleep before starting the fire.”

Xu Qin had checked on the children before returning to bed, tucking in a little girl who had kicked off her covers and whispering, “You just got over a cold, no kicking the blankets.”

At that moment, a pair of eyes was likely watching through a crack in a door.

Walking, closing the window, using the sink—the entire time, at the end of that dark, echoing hallway, a pair of sinister eyes had been watching, predatory and patient. A monster hiding in the shadows, listening to the rhythmic breathing of 124 children, counting down the minutes until their lives would be extinguished.

Zhao Yu thought for a moment. “I spoke with the forensics team. They found a partial, unburned footprint on the water pipe below that window. But it’s a very common shoe style. It doesn’t tell us much yet.”

“I have four more things I want to figure out,” Liu Huisheng said.

“Let’s hear them.”

“One: Surveillance shows no suspicious persons, meaning the culprit knows the layout perfectly. Did they scout it, or did someone let them in? Two: Greenlight is a full-care facility; by regulation, they must have smoke detectors. Why didn’t the alarm sound? Three: There are security guards on duty as well as teachers. How did the guard notice nothing until the fire was out of control? And four…”

Her voice slowed down.

“Don’t forget what Wang Dalong said. There are rumors of child abuse at this kindergarten.”

BOOM—

A flash of lightning tore the sky apart, illuminating the jagged branches of trees outside like ghostly claws.

At the end of the hallway, the Kindergarten Director was bowing 90 degrees to a group of grieving parents, a picture of humble apology. But as he straightened up, a single frame of his expression caught Liu Huisheng’s eye: eyes squeezed shut, facial muscles strained, brows pushed down.

“Is that the Director?” she asked.

“Yes,” Zhao Yu confirmed, checking the staff list on her phone. “Director Jiang Wenbin.”

Liu Huisheng was already walking toward him.

“Let’s go have a chat. I think the Director has a lot he’d like to tell us.”