Chapter 59: Light in the Testimony
10:02 AM, Municipal Bureau Press Conference Hall.
The silence was broken by a faint “click.”
Song Zhao inserted the black USB drive into the port of the playback device on the podium.
The movement was devoid of any drama, yet it was like a stone dropped into a deep pool, sending shockwaves through every journalist and cameraman present.
The host stood with his mouth agape, the prepared opening remarks stuck in his throat. He glanced at the municipal leaders in the back row, only to find faces equally stunned.
No authorization, no process, no warning.
This was a meticulously planned ambush, and the entire media of River City had become Song Zhao’s weapon.
Zhou Mingyuan sat in the shadows of the back row, his fingernails digging deep into his palm.
He had imagined countless ways Song Zhao might act out, but never this, never so mad as to hijack an official press conference in front of live cameras.
His confidants exchanged anxious looks, their eyes full of panic.
They couldn’t understand Song Zhao, nor could they grasp how things had spiraled so far out of control.
On the big screen, the eerie blue desktop faded, replaced by a coarse, yellowed video.
The grainy quality, laced with the static of old electric noise, felt like a monster imprisoned for twenty years finally breaking free, letting out its first roar.
“Silent Testimony”—four stark words, without embellishment, branded at the center of the screen.
The footage began to play.
A shaking camera, flames leaping skyward, smoke devouring everything.
All that could be seen was a figure in a police uniform, burned and tattered, pinned by twisted steel, struggling amid the blaze.
His face was blackened with soot, but his eyes shone, bright as quenched stars.
Clutched to his chest was something he guarded fiercely, letting the flames lick his back, his arms never loosening their hold.
The camera closed in—it was a police badge, stained by blood and ash, yet stubbornly gleaming in the firelight.
All breathing ceased.
Everyone recognized the chemical plant fire from twenty years ago, and the hero officially commemorated as “fallen in the line of duty”—Song Jianguo.
But what followed shattered all preconceptions.
Song Jianguo seemed to know he was being filmed. With his last strength, he looked towards the camera.
His lips moved, soundless, each syllable clear and slow, filled with the irrevocable resolve of a dying man.
Word by word.
In the front row, a gray-haired reporter unconsciously mouthed along, his voice dry and trembling:
“Hold… on…”
“Hold on.”
The words crashed like silent thunder in the vast hall.
An overwhelming silence fell, more powerful than any clamor, as if everyone’s hearts were clutched by an invisible hand.
“What are we holding on to?” a young reporter blurted out.
No one answered. But the answer was written across the faces of every veteran policeman present.
In the back row, an officer with graying temples stared at that resolute face frozen in flames, his eyes instantly brimming.
He slowly stood, straightened his collar, raised his right arm—a solemn salute, offered to a truth twenty years too late.
One, two, three…
A silent bugle call. Across the hall, officers who had weathered that era, regardless of rank or acquaintance with Song Jianguo, quietly rose and saluted.
Their movements were uniform, their expressions grave—a silent forest, paying the highest respect to an indomitable soul.
Flashbulbs erupted like mad, shutters sounding like torrential rain, capturing a moment destined for River City’s history.
At 10:18 AM, a commotion in the back row brought the silent ceremony to its climax.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea under Moses’ staff, creating a path.
A tall, impeccably groomed elder, surrounded by black-suited bodyguards, walked forward.
His steps were slow, each one echoing through the hearts of all present.
“It’s Zhao Zhenbang!”
“The chairman of Mingyuan Group… why is he here?”
Whispers ceased as Zhao Zhenbang passed through the crowd, heading straight to the reserved seat for provincial leaders in the front row, and sat.
He ignored everyone, paid no heed to cameras nearly touching his face.
He simply sat in silence, then performed an act that sent the entire internet into paralysis.
He removed his iconic gray hat, gently placing it on his lap.
Then, he bowed his head, hands folded in front—a posture of remorse. A silent, utter surrender.
Dozens of live cameras captured the moment precisely, the signal spreading through fiber and satellite to every corner of the city.
The next second, the online world exploded.
“Zhao Zhenbang has appeared!”
“What does this mean? Is he admitting it?”
“Oh my god, is he apologizing to Officer Song? He’s confessing!”
Comments rolled across every streaming platform like an avalanche.
Alarm bells blared in tech departments across major companies.
Zhou Mingyuan, sitting in the shadows, watched his face turn from ashen to lifeless.
He looked at Zhao Zhenbang’s back—a defeat he’d never seen.
He understood: the chairman had chosen this moment to personally mark the end for the great ship.
He had abandoned resistance, and all aboard.
Including himself, Zhou Mingyuan.
To stay any longer would be self-inflicted humiliation.
Like a dog with its throat squeezed, Zhou Mingyuan slipped silently from his chair, hunched, and slunk out the side door while all eyes were fixed on the front.
10:36 AM, Mingyuan Property Headquarters.
A heavy blast door was ripped open by a hydraulic breacher, screeching in metallic agony.
Li Guodong, in combat gear, was first through, followed by armed SWAT officers.
“Police! Nobody move!”
Chaos swept the office.
Li Guodong moved straight for the server room.
Technicians were already waiting, quickly securing the equipment.
Simultaneously, another team rushed into the finance office, sealing ledgers, computers, all documents.
“Captain Li! Something’s up!”
In the corner, a tech employee was smashing a server hard drive with a hammer.
A sharp-eyed SWAT officer tackled him, locking his throat and pinning him to the floor.
Li Guodong picked up the warped hard drive, his gaze icy. “Recover the data immediately!”
Ten minutes later, the technician’s voice rang with excitement: “It’s restored, Captain Li! We found it! GPS logs—all of them! Over the past three years, they used the property security system to monitor the movements of at least fifteen public officials, data down to the second!”
Li Guodong clenched his fist.
The black net that once covered River City had finally been torn open.
12:40 PM, River City Daily’s extra edition was snatched up by citizens.
The front page featured a gripping special report.
“A Salute Twenty Years Overdue”
Beneath the bold headline were two side-by-side images.
On the left, a CG reconstruction from the “Silent Testimony” video—Song Jianguo gripping his badge amid the flames, eyes fierce.
On the right, a black-and-white photo of dozens of veteran police saluting at the press conference.
The visual impact struck every reader’s heart.
Below the headline, the sole statement Song Zhao made to reporters after the conference was quoted:
“He didn’t die in the fire; he died in silence.”
On social media, “Silent Testimony” and “Hold On” dominated trending lists, each with hundreds of millions of discussions, marked by a deep crimson “explosive” tag.
3:19 PM, Municipal Bureau Director’s Office.
The ashtray was overflowing.
The director himself poured Song Zhao a cup of tea and spoke with complicated emotion: “Song Zhao, on behalf of the bureau, I apologize for our unfair treatment of you. Your suspension is immediately revoked, your position restored. I will personally recommend you for commendation to the provincial department.”
Song Zhao sat on the sofa, untouched tea before him.
He gazed out the window, the city’s outline seeming unreal in the afternoon sun.
Had he won?
It seemed so.
But the “hold on” his father left—did it mean only this video?
He sat for a long time, so long the director thought he’d fallen asleep.
At last, Song Zhao shook his head.
“I’m not going back.”
The director looked up, bewildered.
Song Zhao stood, walking to the door.
His figure at the vast window was solitary, yet unwavering.
“My father held onto the evidence,” he said, his voice calm and clear, each word driven like a nail into the air, “now I must ensure it is never buried again.”
With that, he opened the door and left.
Outside the glass curtain wall, a ray of sunlight, long obscured, finally pierced the heavy clouds, shining precisely upon the worn badge pinned to his chest.
The badge his father left him, a light that would never be extinguished.
Song Zhao did not go home.
He stood amidst the bustling street, the city’s clamor seemingly distant.
He knew: Zhao Zhenbang’s surrender, Zhou Mingyuan’s collapse—these were only the prologue.
The tape was a key, but what it unlocked was a labyrinth, vaster and darker, sealed for twenty years.
He took out his phone, fingers gliding across the screen.
He didn’t make a call or reply to any message; instead, he opened a city map.
His gaze swept past the bustling commercial districts and gleaming landmarks, and finally settled on the northwest corner—a faded mark long forgotten by most.
The case files from twenty years ago, those primal pages recording everything—they could not be erased like data, only sealed away, only forgotten.
His father’s “hold on” was never just for a video.
It was for the secret buried in those pages, enough to overturn the sky.
He put away his phone and hailed a taxi.
Night was quietly falling.
And he would walk alone into a place deeper than the dark.