125. Virginia Street Bridge

From their departure at eleven in the morning until dusk, Marco recounted many bittersweet memories of his wife and son. At last, they arrived in the heart of the small city of Reno.

Nestled beside the Truckee River, Reno was not very large, but its streets were lined with art galleries, shops, restaurants, casinos, and various leisure venues. Along the riverbank, natural green spaces and scenic spots added to its charm.

Unlike Las Vegas, there were no towering skyscrapers or bustling crowds.

The streets were clean, refined, quiet, and leisurely.

“Have you ever been to Reno before?” Marco asked, his gaze leisurely sweeping the scenery outside the car window, shifting the conversation to a lighter tone.

Dean shook his head.

“I always thought Nevada was just scorching desert and barren land. I didn’t expect to see green mountains and clear waters.”

“Exactly,” Marco said with feeling. “Let me introduce you to my hometown. I doubt there’s any other small city in our country more famous than Reno.”

“Is it because of the scenery and sunshine?” Dean recalled his geography knowledge. “I heard Reno has sunshine over three hundred days a year, and unlike Las Vegas, it’s not unbearably hot. Plus, it’s near the Sierra Nevada mountains—perfect for hiking, climbing, cycling, and boating. Isn’t there also Lake Tahoe nearby? A huge ski resort?”

“Yes, but Reno’s fame isn’t just because of its picturesque views—it’s also tied to a unique history…” Marco rested his right elbow on the car window frame, supporting his chin with his palm, his eyes tinged with nostalgia.

Dean slowed the car and listened closely.

“Before the 1950s, it wasn’t as easy for couples in our country to get divorced. There were countless complicated rules, and it was considered disgraceful. But Reno, to boost its economy, pioneered a concept called ‘no-fault divorce.’”

Marco explained, “In Reno, you didn’t need a reason to divorce. As long as you lived here for a certain period and paid the fee, you could immediately free yourself from an unbearable spouse. So back then, thousands of couples flocked here to get divorced.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Dean admired. “Such a law would definitely become popular back home in future times. Of course, it’s impossible now; the experts wouldn’t allow people to divorce so easily.”

“Yes, during that era, those coming to divorce filled every hotel, ranch, farm, and small villa to capacity. Some couldn’t even find lodging and had to live in tents they set up themselves. But since the stay was short, enduring a few weeks of hardship meant gaining a lifetime of marital freedom.”

“Tents, you say?” Dean glanced out the window. Along the green riverbank stood a lone, prominent tent, behind which sat an old, weathered wooden cabin.

“Exactly. Today, most have vanished—only about ten percent remain. But back then, rows of divorce tents lined both sides of the Truckee River, with divorce cottages behind them. It was quite the sight in Reno.”

“Most of those seeking divorce were young women. They stayed in these unique buildings, waiting for the divorce decree while enjoying entertainment. It was called a ‘bittersweet romance.’”

Dean wholeheartedly agreed. In later times, it was mostly women who initiated divorce, often seen as braver in changing their situations.

The car turned a corner, and before Dean appeared a grand arch bridge spanning a turbulent river.

Marco, who had been talking nonstop, suddenly grew silent, gazing at the bridge with a flicker of unease crossing his face before he resumed.

“That’s the great Virginia Street Bridge… it holds great significance in Reno’s divorce history.”

“In the past, just after a woman finalized her divorce, she would stand on this bridge, remove her wedding ring, and toss it into the Truckee River below—ending one chapter and embracing a new life.”

“Newly single women could then meet handsome cowboys in nearby tents or cottages, embarking on classic romantic tales.”

Discarding the wedding ring and immediately diving into a new romance—wasn’t that rather swift?

Dean shook his head but was curious.

“A wedding ring isn’t cheap. Just throw it away like that? Doesn’t anyone jump in to retrieve them?”

Marco shot him a warning look, displeased. “Reno forbids such shameful acts. It’s a desecration of cherished tradition and illegal. The Truckee River is no tame beauty—it won’t be afraid to drown you. You can try if you want.”

Dean shrugged and slowed the car further.

They drove onto the bridge.

Dean peered through the window.

The evening sky was ablaze with fiery orange clouds, and the swiftly flowing river below shimmered with golden-red hues. The scenery was magnificent, but there wasn’t a single tourist in sight.

Suddenly—puff, puff—

A black cloud of bats flew out from beneath the bridge, swooping over the overhead beams and disappearing under the far end.

“Bats?”

“This bridge often sees bats; it’s quite a feature. But no matter how distinctive, it can’t keep people here,” Marco said solemnly. “After the 1960s, divorce laws across the United States relaxed. People no longer had to come to Reno specifically to divorce. The world’s divorce capital lost its former glory.”

“No longer would there be hundreds of women casting rings from Virginia Street Bridge together.”

Dean suddenly felt the system jolt. After Marco’s talk about the “divorce capital” and “Virginia Street Bridge,” the investigation progress jumped from ten percent to fifteen percent.

This was definitely a prompt from the system.

Could Luben’s disappearance be connected to this history of the divorce capital?

Dean pondered deeply.

…

Night quickly fell.

The low-hanging darkness draped a hazy black veil over the tranquil small city, which awakened from its daytime slumber, bursting with vitality.

The streets were no longer deserted; pedestrians filled the sidewalks.

The city had many casinos, their neon signs flashing enticingly like the alluring red lips of a mysterious siren, tempting visitors from all directions.

Marco navigated skillfully through the crowd, finding a luxury hotel for Dean to park the car and settle his luggage. Then he treated him to a local specialty—caviar on bread and smoked trout—which tasted quite good.

Satisfied and full, they made their way along Virginia Street to the Lovers’ Bar, where Luben had spent time before disappearing.

Dean lingered at the bar’s entrance for just a quarter of an hour and already spotted several amorous couples leaning against walls, doors, or railings, passionately engaged.

From a god’s-eye view, the bar’s interior was even wilder, with young men and women embracing and kissing everywhere.

“So, this place is mainly for young people to vent their passions?” Dean glanced at Marco, who wore a complex expression.

“Yes, most customers are energetic young men and women.”

“I don’t get it. You said Luben rarely held a girl’s hand,” Dean frowned, looking skeptically at the elder. “But he often drank here. Was it hard for him to pick up girls?”

“If he had wanted to find a wife—even one of these barflies—and produce offspring for the family,” Marco sighed, “I would have gladly supported their married life.”

“But Luben just drank here, seeking inspiration for his writing; he never approached anyone.”

“Cough, cough… I don’t mean to offend, but I wonder if Luben had some secret, like disliking women?”

“He was healthy and had normal preferences. But he was a perfectionist, extremely picky about his partner.”

The old man sighed.

“It’s strange—I started telling Luben from a very young age that his mother, Mary, was the perfect and greatest woman in the world, who gave him life but sacrificed herself.”

“Luben took these words to heart. Starting puberty, he told me he wanted to find a girlfriend like Mary, but never succeeded.”

“I never expected him to be so stubborn, never dating anyone, firmly waiting for his destined woman.”

After hearing this, Dean fell silent and looked at the system. The investigation progress inexplicably jumped from fifteen to twenty percent.

What was going on?

Luben’s determination to find a perfect girlfriend like his mother was an important clue?

“Marco, to be frank, I think you bear some responsibility for Luben’s downfall.”

Breathing deeply, Marco’s face darkened, forehead creased deeply.

“I don’t deny it.”

“Enough. Let’s go. After the Lovers’ Bar, where else did he pass by?”

“Don’t you want to go inside and risk missing clues?” The elder frowned.

“I don’t like repeating myself, and the police and private detectives have already searched the bar thoroughly. Half a year has passed; why waste time going back?”

“Dean, your investigation methods really ‘open my eyes.’”

…

They walked past several small casinos beside the bar, smaller and less lavish than those in the gambling city, with fewer customers.

“Did Luben ever gamble here?” Dean asked.

“The Van Helsing family has strict rules against gambling and drugs,” the old man said sternly. “If he dared, I would have broken his legs. So, though he was talentless and often drunk, he still kept to the bottom line.”

He paused for emphasis.

“If there’s a next generation in the family, I’ll add a rule banning alcohol…”

…

They strolled from Virginia Street’s bustling center toward the riverside path. The noise faded, lights dimmed, and pedestrians disappeared. Buildings gave way to lush lawns and low shrubs.

A cool night breeze swept down the empty long street, and both pulled their collars tighter.

“We have now entered the one-mile radius where Luben disappeared. Few people here and no surveillance.”

“Such dark places are where accidents most easily happen. Did the police and detectives find no clues?”

Dean slowed and looked around.

“No.”

Ahead, at the street’s end, a majestic arch bridge suddenly appeared.

“Wait, didn’t we drive over this Virginia Street Bridge earlier?”

Marco nodded with some difficulty.

“To return to the apartment from the Lovers’ Bar, you must cross this bridge. It’s also at the center of that one-mile disappearance zone.”

Dean was surprised.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Were you deliberately hiding this important information?”

“What concealment?” The elder feigned ignorance. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“This Virginia Street Bridge symbolizes a possibility.”

Dean stepped onto the arch bridge and touched the railing near his waist.

Luben was over 1.9 meters tall, and this railing was too low for him—unstable enough that he could easily topple over.

Moreover, the bridge stood about twenty meters above the water. Unless a professional diver, falling could result in fractures, dislocations, unconsciousness, or death.

“At midnight, after leaving the bar, Luben crossed the street and reached Virginia Street Bridge. He leaned over the railing to catch his breath but, at some moment of distraction, lost balance, couldn’t steady himself, and fell over. His body was swept away by the turbulent Truckee River, leaving no evidence.”

“And he was drunk at the time, making an accident even more likely.”

“That’s impossible!” Marco shook his head violently, wrinkles tightening anxiously. “The Reno police deployed extensive manpower to search the river. I even hired a professional water rescue team and searched downstream for half a month.”

“We found no trace of Luben’s belongings.”

“I’m one hundred percent certain his disappearance has nothing to do with the river!”

The old man’s eyes reddened, his features twisted like knotted rope, fists clenched tightly, as if hearing a “NO” would unleash a punch.

Yet Dean clearly saw a faint plea beneath that fury.

This sixty-something father couldn’t accept such a dreadful possibility.

Dean silently moved his lips, turned his head, resting both elbows on the railing, gazing down at the silvery, roaring Truckee River.

The police and rescue teams had searched the river for half a month. Retracing that path was unlikely to help, and the system’s seven-day investigation window wasn’t enough.

He had to trust another explanation.

“Alright, let’s assume Luben’s disappearance has another cause.”

The elder took a deep breath, his thin chest rising and falling beneath his coat, calming his anger.

“But Luben must have had an accident near this Virginia Street Bridge.” Dean squinted and activated the god’s-eye view to inspect the bridge thoroughly. “This bridge is the most prominent structure within a mile… hmm… although I can’t pinpoint any specific issues yet, it deserves close attention.”

“Forget this damn bridge. Let me first take you to Luben’s former apartment,” Marco said, clearly reluctant to dwell on the matter. “There’s no point standing around here.”

They moved away from the bridge.

Dean activated the god’s-eye view recording function, reviewing today’s conversations with Marco and their exploration of Reno.

Only a few clues caused noticeable progress:

1. Luben Van Helsing was a destitute writer, living on financial support from his father, Marco.

2. Reno was the “world’s divorce capital,” with a long history of bittersweet romance, and the Virginia Street Bridge held great significance in that history.

3. Luben had always aspired to find a perfect girlfriend like his late mother, Mary Van Helsing.

…

Information was still sparse, and Dean couldn’t yet see connections among these clues.

“Looks like tonight will be a sleepless one.”

(End of chapter)