Anti-gang campaign: Female bureau chief

After Lu Zheng explained his purpose, Cui Mingyuan's expression changed instantly—not from fear or panic, but from a weariness that came after being exposed.

He stepped back, letting Lu Zheng and Jiang Ruolan into the room. He sat on the creaky single bed, his hands clasped on his knees, head bowed, and remained silent for a long while before speaking:

"I know he's dead. I saw it on the news. I had just ended my live stream before you arrived, and my fans asked me why I wasn't streaming anymore. I said something had happened at home. They thought my mom was in the hospital again."

Have you visited Feng Dehuai recently?

Cui Mingyuan did not answer the question.

He looked up at a hospital bill posted on the wall, with the date of his mother's last hospitalization circled in red.

His gaze lingered on the payment slip for a long while, then he suddenly asked in an unusually calm tone:

"Director Jiang, my father ran a mahjong parlor for over ten years and saved up some money to build a three-story house in the east of the city. After he fell ill, the parlor closed down. My mother's health also deteriorated, and all our savings went to medical expenses. Last year, my mother was diagnosed with kidney failure, and dialysis alone costs several thousand yuan every month. I went to the neighborhood office to ask if we could reapply for subsistence allowance, but they said there was a record of my father running the mahjong parlor in the system, so he didn't meet the eligibility requirements. My father has been dead for five years. He did make mistakes when he was alive—he shouldn't have threatened people with a knife. But he's dead now. When my mother was lying in the hospital waiting for money to save her life, I thought—when Feng Dehuai came to conduct his home visit, did he see my mother squatting in the corner brewing traditional Chinese medicine? Did he smell the medicine filling that room?"

He paused here, lowered his head, wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand, then took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone:

"I'm not saying this to defend myself. I just want to tell you that the biggest mistake our family made in our lives wasn't being poor, but meeting a person who was too conscientious when we were poor. Feng Dehuai was a good cadre, I know he was a good cadre, and some of the low-income households he removed from the program did not meet the criteria, including my family. But good people don't always do the right things. My father is dead, my mother is dying, and I have nothing left. The night before last, after finishing my live stream, I passed by his building and saw his living room light was on. I went up and knocked on the door, and when he opened it and saw it was me, he wasn't on guard and stepped aside to let me in."

Jiang Ruolan's pen stopped on the notebook.

She slowly raised her head and looked at the young man with an extremely calm and focused gaze.

His tone remained steady throughout his speech, as if he were narrating something that happened to someone else; only his tightly clasped hands betrayed the turmoil in his heart.

"Did you put the paper flower on Feng Dehuai's chest?"

"Yes. I folded it for a long time and ruined several. My mother taught me how to fold paper flowers. She used to work at a funeral home making paper flowers for people for more than ten years. Her fingers were covered in cuts from the paper edges. She said that white paper flowers are for sending people on their way, and the six petals represent the six realms of reincarnation. Feng Dehuai was a good man. He did what he thought was right. But he also harmed my whole family. I didn't know whether to hate him or respect him, so I killed him and then folded a flower for him."

Jiang Ruolan looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

The only sounds in the room were the soft rustling of snow falling outside the window and the ticking of the old wall clock.

She found a tattered diary under Cui Mingyuan's bed. On the last page, she read: "Mom asked me today what I would say to Feng Dehuai if he were standing in front of me right now. I thought for a long time and said I didn't know. Mom said she would forgive him because forgiving someone is easier than hating them. I said I couldn't do it. Mom patted my head and said I'd know when I reached her age. She probably won't live to see me that age."

She closed her diary, put the things back in their place under the bed, confirmed the list of evidence was correct, then walked to Cui Mingyuan's side and said, word by word:

"I saw the despair your father showed when he threatened Feng Dehuai with a knife, and I saw the despair you feel sitting before me tonight. Your mother's illness needs treatment, and your family's difficulties need to be resolved—but none of these can justify taking another person's life. Feng Dehuai was a dutiful and responsible cadre; you are a murderer."

When Cui Mingyuan was led out of the rented room, the snow had stopped.

The snow in the yard reflected the dim streetlights overhead, casting a long, thin shadow of him.

He paused at the police car door, glanced back at the still-closed curtain on the fifth floor, then lowered his head and climbed into the car.

Jiang Ruolan stood in the courtyard, watching the police car drive out of the alley.

The night sky after the snow was exceptionally clear, with a few sparse stars twinkling coldly through the gaps in the clouds.

She recalled the comments Feng Dehuai had written on those low-income assistance files—each one meticulously recorded the details of the home visit verification in neat small print, and some even included photos of the applicant's housing, copies of medical records, and corroborating materials from neighbors.

He has worked in this position for nearly twenty years, handling tens of thousands of applications for minimum living allowance, each bearing his handwriting.

He changed the fate of countless families with his pen—some were pulled out of their predicaments, while others were dismissed and sank into a deeper quagmire.

He did what he thought was right, and Cui Mingyuan ended his life in what he thought was the right way.

Feng Dehuai's funeral was held on the day before the Lunar New Year.

A white paper flower was placed in front of the urn, which Cui Mingyuan had entrusted to the guards to hand over while he was in the detention center.

He said he folded a new flower, increasing the number of petals from six to nine, representing his hope that Feng Dehuai would not hold a grudge against him in the afterlife.

After the funeral, Jiang Ruolan met with the newly appointed civil affairs assistant of Chengdong Subdistrict Office and asked him to conduct a comprehensive survey of impoverished families due to illness or disability throughout the entire subdistrict. Those who met the criteria should be immediately included in the scope of minimum living allowance and medical assistance according to procedures. Those who did not meet the criteria should also be given a detailed explanation and written in the notification form, instead of just having a cold stamp.

The new assistant was a young woman who had only graduated from university a few years ago. She looked a little nervous, but nodded several times and said she would definitely get it done.

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