57: speech

In the afternoon, Wang Qiang called Lu Jianchuan, and the two drove a police car to the school.

The streetscape outside the car window rapidly receded. Lu Jianchuan watched silently, the invisible boundary seeming to stretch before him once more—on one side, the orderly routine of daily life, and on the other, the cruel and abnormal battlefield from which he had just returned after a struggle.

The lecture was held in the school auditorium. Below the stage, students packed the hall, their youthful faces showing curiosity, seriousness, or subtle rebellion.

Wang Qiang was experienced, analyzing bullying cases and legal statutes in a loud voice, occasionally drawing murmurs from the audience.

When it was Lu Jianchuan's turn, he stood up and walked to the front of the stage, his police uniform crisp and his posture straight as a pine.

His voice was clear and steady as he described, combined with the investigation process, how to spot injustice, how to intervene, and how to uphold justice.

He admonished the children to be brave and to seek help. Every word was fitting for his identity as a police officer and beyond reproach.

The lecture concluded with the Event Host's summary. Students began to leave in an orderly fashion, the buzzing sound of discussion starting up again, many faces still bearing expressions of contemplation. School leaders enthusiastically approached Wang Qiang and Lu Jianchuan to shake hands, offering words of thanks and appreciation for their hard work.

Wang Qiang clearly enjoyed this kind of attention, smiling as he exchanged pleasantries with the leaders.

Lu Jianchuan also maintained a polite, slightly distant smile as he shook hands with the leaders one by one. His gaze seemed casually to sweep over the dispersing crowd, passing over young, vibrant faces, but the corner of his eye remained fixed on a certain direction in the auditorium.

The crowd was like receding tide water; the noise gradually shifted from inside the auditorium to the corridor outside the doors. Staff began to pack up equipment, and the vast auditorium slowly revealed its original silence.

Wang Qiang patted Lu Jianchuan's shoulder and whispered, "Let's go, Little Lu. Mission accomplished. We still have to go back to the station and write up a brief report."

Lu Jianchuan nodded, but did not move his feet. His gaze passed through the gradually thinning figures and looked ahead.

The voices of the people after the lecture were gradually sealed off behind the heavy auditorium doors. Lu Jianchuan stood in the somewhat empty front hall, where sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long patches of light on the floor. Not far away, Wang Qiang was still enthusiastically shaking hands with the Principal, discussing possibilities for future cooperation.

A figure walked against the last of the dispersing crowd, heading straight for Lu Jianchuan, and stopped.

It was Li Zhe. He was slightly breathless, seemingly having run the whole way, with fine beads of sweat on his forehead. He did not meet Lu Jianchuan's eyes, fixing his gaze instead on the second button of the other man's police uniform, his hands tightly gripping his backpack straps, knuckles white.

"Brother Lu," his voice sounded squeezed out of his throat, carrying a desperate tension, "Can I... talk to you for a few minutes? Just the two of us."

Lu Jianchuan looked at the boy's bowed head and tense shoulders, a heavy feeling mixed with pity and premonition weighing on his heart. He turned to Wang Qiang, his voice steady: "Brother Wang, you guys keep chatting. I'll take Li Zhe aside to talk for a moment."

Wang Qiang was in the middle of an animated conversation and waved his hand without turning his head.

Lu Jianchuan nodded to the Principal, then gently patted Li Zhe's back, leading him through the side door and into the corridor connecting to the teaching building.

The noise was left behind; only their distinct footsteps remained in the corridor.

They did not stop, walking silently all the way to the back of the teaching building, where there was a small, forgotten green area. Several old locust trees cast dense shadows, and a few peeling benches sat in the corner—it was secluded, yet every path leading to it was clearly visible.

The two stopped beside the nearest bench but did not sit down. Dappled spots of light danced on Li Zhe's pale face, filtering through the gaps in the leaves.

He suddenly raised his head. His eyes, which closely resembled Uncle Li's, were now bloodshot and filled with a near-collapsing urgency, stabbing straight at Lu Jianchuan.

"They told me!" Li Zhe's voice suddenly rose, laced with a sob, but he forcefully suppressed it until it became hoarse. "That organization called GUPA! They said... they said my dad was killed by a monster! It wasn't an accident, it wasn't a normal case! It was a monster!"

GUPA. The name hit Lu Jianchuan's mind like a cold bullet. GUPA. They had actually torn open the curtain and exposed the bloody truth to a child.

Li Zhe's chest heaved violently, and tears finally rolled down uncontrollably, but he bit his teeth hard, preventing any sobs from escaping: "They... they made me come and ask you! They suspect you! They want to know what your relationship is with that silver-armored person!"

He vigorously wiped his eyes, but the tears only increased. His voice carried a desperate trust: "But I don't believe it! Brother Lu, I don't believe you would hurt my dad! So I beg you, tell me the truth! That armor... does it have anything to do with you? That night with my dad... how much do you really know? Tell me!"

Lu Jianchuan felt his heart being clenched by a cold hand, then fiercely kneaded. The boy's unreserved, almost pleading trust was more damaging than any accusation.

The impulse to confess nearly overwhelmed his reason—Yes, I am the armor, I possess the power, I was there, I watched Uncle Li... But immediately afterward, a deeper fear swallowed him like a tsunami. What would be the consequence of confessing? Could Li Zhe bear the truth that "Brother Lu is the one who seemed powerful but failed to save his father"?

Would this completely destroy the boy who had just lost his closest relative? This armor brought not only power but also unspeakable secrets and heavy shackles.

He was afraid to see the irreparable rift in Li Zhe's eyes after his trust collapsed, a resentment that might last a lifetime.

His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty. He avoided those burning eyes seeking an answer, turning his gaze toward the swaying tree shadows in the distance. His voice was as dry as sandpaper rubbing, carrying a weakness and evasion that he himself despised:

"Li Zhe..." He paused, as if needing to gather strength to utter the coming lie. "About Uncle Li... I don't know much more than you do. The specific situation that night... I also... am not clear."

He felt Li Zhe's body suddenly stiffen; the air around them seemed to freeze. He steeled himself and continued speaking in that emotionless tone, every word like the slow slicing of his own conscience: "As for that armor... like you, I've only seen it at the warehouse and the plaza. I have... no relationship with it."

The moment the words fell, he clearly saw the last faint flicker of light in Li Zhe's eyes extinguish.

The color instantly drained from the boy's face, leaving only a deathly gray-white.

He stopped crying, looking at Lu Jianchuan with an extremely unfamiliar, hollow gaze, as if truly seeing this person for the first time. That look held no accusation, no pleading, only boundless disappointment and a bewilderment of being utterly shut out.

"...Oh." After a long silence, Li Zhe uttered a single, flat syllable. He stopped looking at Lu Jianchuan, slowly, extremely slowly turning around, moving stiffly step by step toward the way they came, like a puppet whose Soul had been withdrawn. His silhouette huddled under the dappled shadows of the trees, as if he might be scattered by the wind at any moment.

Lu Jianchuan stood frozen in place, unable to move. His hand, hidden in his pocket, was clenched into a fist, his nails digging deeply into the skin of his palm, causing a sharp sting that was far less severe than the dull, suffocating ache in his chest.