THE BLACK WIDOW OF TAIWAN: A DAUGHTER’S BETRAYAL

The Perfect Daughter

In the spring of 2008, Lin Yu-ju seemed to embody everything a traditional Taiwanese family could hope for in a daughter. Born in 1981 in the southern city of Tainan, she had grown up in modest circumstances, learning early the value of hard work and family loyalty. Her parents had raised her with the values that generations of Taiwanese families held dear: respect for elders, devotion to family, and the importance of maintaining harmony within the household.​

By her late twenties, Lin appeared to be living a respectable life. She had met Liu Yu-hang, a national badminton player whose athletic achievements had brought pride to his family in Puli, a small town nestled in the mountainous heart of Nantou County. Their romance blossomed at a cabaret club where Lin worked alongside her sister, and despite two terminated pregnancies, the couple eventually decided to marry and start a family with their third child.​

The newlyweds settled in Puli, where they opened a humble stinky tofu stand—one of those quintessentially Taiwanese small businesses that form the backbone of local communities. The pungent aroma of fermented tofu wafting from their stall became a familiar presence in the neighborhood. Neighbors would later recall seeing Lin working diligently, serving customers with a smile, seemingly content with her modest but honest livelihood.​

But beneath this facade of domestic normalcy, a darkness was growing—one that would eventually consume three innocent lives and shock an entire nation.​

The Trap of Mark Six

What no one in Lin’s circle fully understood was the grip that gambling had taken on her life. The Mark Six lottery, a popular numbers game across Taiwan and Hong Kong, had become an obsession for both Lin and her husband. What might have started as occasional entertainment—a few dollars spent on tickets with dreams of a windfall—had morphed into a destructive addiction that devoured their earnings and plunged them deep into debt.​

For many older Americans familiar with the lottery culture, this pattern may sound familiar: the seductive promise that the next ticket will be the winner, the mounting losses disguised as “almost wins,” and the spiral of borrowing money to chase losses. In Taiwan’s tight-knit communities, where everyone knows everyone else’s business, such debts carry not just financial consequences but deep social shame.​

By 2008, Lin and Liu’s gambling debts had become unmanageable. Loan sharks were circling, and the couple’s modest income from their tofu stand couldn’t begin to cover what they owed. The pressure was suffocating, and in whispered conversations late at night, a desperate plan began to take shape—one that would cross the line from financial desperation into calculated murder.​

The decision didn’t happen overnight. It was Liu who initially suggested the unthinkable: using life insurance policies as a way out of their financial nightmare. In Taiwan, as in many Asian societies, families often take out insurance policies on multiple family members, viewing it as a form of protection and financial planning. What Lin and Liu began to contemplate was perverting this system of family security into an instrument of death.​

The First Betrayal: A Mother’s Final Moment

On August 16, 2008, Lin’s desperation manifested in her first criminal act—though not yet a murder. Under mounting pressure from creditors threatening to shut down their stinky tofu business, Lin made a fateful decision. In the dead of night, she doused her own establishment with kerosene and set it ablaze. The fire destroyed the shop that had been her family’s livelihood, but it also provided insurance money and, perhaps more importantly, established a pattern that would make future claims seem less suspicious.​

But this insurance fraud was merely a prelude to something far more sinister.​

Three months later, on November 10, 2008, Lin traveled south to Tainan to visit her mother, Hou Yueh-yun. For any elderly parent, a visit from a daughter is typically a moment of joy—a chance to catch up on family news, share a meal, and enjoy each other’s company. Hou Yueh-yun had no reason to suspect that her daughter’s visit would be her last day on earth.​

What happened next would haunt investigators and the public for years to come. At some point during that November day, as Hou Yueh-yun was near the stairs in her home, Lin approached from behind. In a moment that required her to overcome every instinct of filial love and human decency, Lin pushed her own mother down the staircase.​

The impact was catastrophic. Hou Yueh-yun suffered severe head trauma and died at the scene. Neighbors rushed to the home upon hearing the commotion, finding Lin in what appeared to be a state of shock and grief—the picture of a devastated daughter who had just witnessed her mother’s tragic accident.​

No one suspected the truth. Why would they? In a culture where parent-child bonds are considered sacred, where Confucian values of filial piety run deep through generations, the idea that a daughter could deliberately murder her own mother was simply unthinkable. The death was ruled accidental.​

Lin claimed the insurance payout of 5 million New Taiwan dollars—approximately $170,000 US—without arousing immediate suspicion. To outsiders, it appeared to be a tragic accident followed by a modest financial cushion for a grieving family. But for Lin, it was proof that her terrible plan could work.​

The Poisoner’s Research

With her mother’s death providing temporary financial relief, one might have hoped that Lin would step back from the precipice. Instead, the success of her first murder seems to have emboldened her. The loan sharks had been temporarily satisfied, but the couple’s gambling addiction had not been cured. The debts began mounting again, and with them, Lin’s resolve to continue her deadly scheme.​

In May 2009—just six months after killing her mother—Lin turned her attention to her next victim: her mother-in-law, Cheng Hui-shen. This time, Lin decided she needed to be more sophisticated. A second fall down the stairs would surely raise suspicions. She needed a method that would appear natural, something that could be mistaken for illness or medical complications.​

In an era before internet searches left the kind of detailed digital footprints that investigators can easily trace, Lin went online to research poisons. She was looking for substances that would be difficult to detect, that could mimic natural disease processes, and that she could administer without drawing attention. What she learned would turn her into one of Taiwan’s most methodical and cold-blooded killers.​

Cheng Hui-shen, like many elderly women in Taiwan, had various minor health complaints that required occasional medical attention. She trusted her daughter-in-law, believing Lin to be a caring member of the family who had married her beloved son, the badminton player. This trust would prove fatal.​

Lin began her murder attempt by adulterating Cheng’s food with poison. When her mother-in-law became ill and was taken to the hospital—exactly as Lin had planned—the younger woman saw her opportunity. In Taiwan’s hospitals, it’s common for family members to maintain constant vigils at a patient’s bedside, helping with care and keeping the patient company. No one questioned Lin’s presence in her mother-in-law’s hospital room.​

It was there, in what should have been a place of healing, that Lin executed her plan with chilling precision. She had prepared a deadly cocktail: a mixture of crushed sleeping pills, antidepressants, ethanol, and methanol. When the opportunity arose, she tampered with Cheng Hui-shen’s IV drip, introducing the poisonous concoction into the life-giving fluids meant to help her recover.​

The mixture did its terrible work. Cheng Hui-shen’s condition deteriorated rapidly, and despite the medical staff’s efforts, she died in the hospital. The death was attributed to complications from her illness. Once again, Lin had gotten away with murder. Once again, she collected an insurance payout.​

But this time, she had developed a taste for a particular method of killing. The hospital setting, the poisoned IV drip—it had worked perfectly. And she would use it again.​

The Husband’s Last Days

Liu Yu-hang, Lin’s husband and the father of her child, was next on her list. This murder would be the most audacious yet—and nearly the one that exposed her.​

Between June and July 2009, Liu began experiencing severe gastrointestinal problems. Sudden bouts of nausea, vomiting, and abdominal pain sent him to the hospital for what doctors suspected was acute gastroenteritis. His wife, Lin, was constantly at his bedside, appearing every bit the devoted spouse concerned for her husband’s welfare.​

What the medical staff didn’t know was that Lin had been gradually poisoning her husband’s food at home. The “gastroenteritis” was actually the result of toxic substances she had been introducing into his meals. But Lin’s plan extended beyond simple poisoning at home. She intended to finish the job in the hospital, just as she had done with her mother-in-law.​

During Liu’s first hospitalization, Lin attempted to tamper with his IV drip, carrying her prepared poison into his hospital room. But this time, something went wrong. A vigilant nurse walked in at an inopportune moment and found Lin handling the IV equipment in a way that seemed unusual.​

 

The nurse questioned what Lin was doing. Lin, thinking quickly, offered an excuse that seemed plausible enough that the nurse, though somewhat uneasy, didn’t pursue the matter further. But the attempt had failed. Liu Yu-hang survived this first poisoning attempt and was eventually discharged from the hospital.​

For most people, such a close call would have been a wake-up moment—a chance to step back from the abyss. But Lin’s desperation had transformed into something darker: a cold determination to see her plan through to completion. The debts were still there, the gambling addiction still raged, and now she had come too far to turn back.​

Less than two months later, on July 17, 2009, Liu was hospitalized again with the same mysterious gastrointestinal symptoms. Once more, Lin had been poisoning his food at home. This time, she was determined not to fail.​

Lin arranged for her husband to be moved to a private room, claiming it would be more comfortable for him and easier for her to provide care. In reality, she wanted privacy for what she was about to do. On the afternoon of July 19, 2009, Lin prepared her lethal cocktail—the same mixture of crushed sleeping pills, antidepressants, ethanol, and methanol she had used on her mother-in-law. When the moment came, she injected the poison directly into Liu’s IV drip.​

Six hours later, a nurse checking on Liu discovered his condition had deteriorated dramatically. Despite emergency interventions, Liu Yu-hang died in the early morning hours of July 20, 2009. He was just thirty years old, leaving behind a young son who would grow up without a father—never knowing that his own mother had been the killer.​

Lin played the role of the grieving widow with practiced skill. She wept at the funeral, accepted condolences from friends and family, and made all the appropriate gestures of a woman devastated by loss. No one suspected that behind her tears was relief that her plan had finally succeeded.​

The Web Tightens

With three family members dead in less than nine months, Lin had collected substantial insurance payouts totaling millions of Taiwan dollars. For a brief period, her financial problems seemed solved. The loan sharks were paid off, and she had money to spare.​

But true to form, Lin couldn’t escape her addiction. In the months following her husband’s death, she plunged back into gambling with reckless abandon. Records would later show that she wagered approximately 1.8 million Taiwan dollars—roughly $60,000 US—on Mark Six lottery tickets alone. The insurance money that had been purchased with three lives was hemorrhaging away at gambling parlors and lottery vendors across Taiwan.​

By December 2009, alarm bells were beginning to ring at the insurance company. A claims adjuster reviewing Lin’s file noticed something that defied statistical probability: in just over a year, three of her close family members had died, and she had filed claims on all of them. In the insurance industry, professionals are trained to recognize patterns that suggest fraud. While it’s not uncommon for families to experience tragedy, the rapid succession of deaths—combined with the fact that Lin was the beneficiary on all the policies—raised red flags.​

The adjuster contacted law enforcement. What began as a routine inquiry into possible insurance fraud quickly escalated as detectives began examining the circumstances of each death more closely. They requested autopsies and toxicology reports. They interviewed hospital staff, family members, and neighbors. And gradually, a horrifying picture began to emerge.​

When investigators obtained a search warrant for Lin’s home, what they found confirmed their worst suspicions. Hidden among her belongings were various chemicals and substances consistent with those believed to have been used in the poisonings. Computer forensics revealed her internet searches for information about poisons and their effects. Most chilling of all, they discovered that Lin had recently taken out life insurance policies on two additional people: her aunt and her own seven-year-old son.​

The implications were staggering and terrifying. Had investigators not acted when they did, Lin might have killed again. Her own child—the innocent boy who had already lost his father—had been next on her list. For the detectives working the case, many of them parents themselves, this discovery transformed their investigation from a professional duty into a personal mission to ensure justice was served.​

Lin was arrested in December 2009. The news of her crimes sent shockwaves through Taiwan. Media outlets dubbed her the “Evil Daughter-in-Law” and the “Black Widow of Taiwan”. Her case dominated headlines and became a topic of intense discussion in homes, workplaces, and online forums across the island.​​

The Trial and Its Aftermath

Lin’s trial began in 2010 and lasted for over three years. Throughout the proceedings, she maintained her innocence, claiming that the deaths were coincidental and that the evidence against her was circumstantial. Her defense attorneys argued that natural causes and accidents had claimed her family members, and that the insurance policies were merely prudent financial planning.​

But prosecutors presented a devastating case built on forensic evidence, computer records, witness testimony, and the sheer improbability of so many deaths occurring in such close succession. Toxicology reports showed the presence of the exact substances found in Lin’s home. Hospital staff testified about her suspicious behavior around IV equipment. Insurance investigators detailed the unusual pattern of policies and claims.​

Perhaps most damning was the evidence of motive: Lin’s crippling gambling debts and her demonstrated willingness to do anything for money. Prosecutors painted a portrait of a woman so consumed by addiction and greed that she had systematically murdered her own family members, starting with her mother and ending only when she was caught.​

In June 2013, the Nantou District Court handed down its verdict: guilty on all counts. Lin was sentenced to death. Taiwan had not executed a woman since 1954, and Lin’s sentence made her the first woman on death row in nearly six decades. The verdict was seen as a statement about the severity of her crimes—that she had violated the most fundamental bonds of family and humanity.​

Lin appealed the decision multiple times. Her case wound its way through Taiwan’s judicial system for years, with each successive court upholding the death sentence. The Taiwan High Court affirmed the verdict in 2014. Finally, in August 2021, Taiwan’s Supreme Court issued its final ruling, rejecting Lin’s last appeal and confirming that she would face execution.​

As of the most recent reports, Lin Yu-ju remains on death row in Taiwan, awaiting execution. Taiwan’s practice is to notify condemned prisoners only hours before their execution, meaning Lin lives each day not knowing if it will be her last.​

Reflections on a Modern Tragedy

For those of us in the autumn of our lives, Lin Yu-ju’s story touches on themes that resonate deeply with universal human experiences and fears. We have spent decades building families, nurturing relationships, and passing on values to the next generation. The idea that someone could betray those sacred bonds so completely challenges our understanding of human nature.​

In traditional Chinese culture, filial piety—the respect and care that children owe their parents—is considered one of the highest virtues. For a daughter to murder her own mother represents not just a crime but a complete inversion of the natural order. Similarly, the maternal instinct to protect one’s children is so powerful that Lin’s willingness to kill her own son for money seems to defy comprehension.​

Yet Lin’s case also illustrates how addiction can warp a person’s moral compass beyond recognition. Gambling addiction, like substance abuse, hijacks the brain’s reward system and can lead people to make decisions that would be unthinkable in their right mind. While this doesn’t excuse Lin’s actions—nothing could—it does remind us that addiction is a serious illness that destroys not just the addict but everyone around them.​

The insurance aspect of these crimes also reveals how financial systems designed to protect families can be perverted by those with criminal intent. Life insurance exists to provide security for loved ones after we’re gone, to ensure that our deaths don’t leave our families destitute. That Lin would weaponize this system—taking out policies on family members specifically to profit from their murders—represents a profound violation of trust.​

For older Americans who lived through different eras of family life, Lin’s story may evoke memories of a time when communities were tighter-knit, when neighbors knew each other’s business, and when family bonds seemed stronger. But the reality is that family violence and betrayal have always existed. What has changed is our awareness and our ability to detect and prosecute such crimes.​

Lin’s case succeeded in part because she understood that people are reluctant to believe the worst about family members. When her mother fell down the stairs, no one questioned it because who would suspect a daughter? When her mother-in-law died in the hospital, it seemed like medical complications. Even her husband’s death might have gone unquestioned if not for the alert insurance investigator who noticed the pattern.​

Lessons for Families

While few of us will ever encounter someone as calculating and ruthless as Lin Yu-ju, her case does offer some important lessons for families and communities.​

First, it reminds us to take addiction seriously. Whether it’s gambling, alcohol, drugs, or any other compulsive behavior, addiction can lead people down dark paths. Early intervention and treatment are crucial, not just for the addict but for everyone around them.​

Second, the case highlights the importance of financial transparency within families. Lin’s gambling debts spiraled out of control partly because she and her husband hid the extent of their problem from others. When family members are secretive about money troubles, it can lead to desperate measures.​

Third, Lin’s story shows why insurance companies have protocols for investigating suspicious claims. While most claims are legitimate, the small percentage that aren’t can represent serious crimes. The adjuster who noticed Lin’s pattern of claims likely saved the lives of her aunt and son.​

Finally, the case is a sobering reminder that evil can wear a familiar face. Lin wasn’t a stranger who broke into homes or a violent criminal with a long record. She was a daughter, a wife, a mother—someone who looked like any other person in the community. The people we trust most are precisely those who have the greatest opportunity to harm us.​

The Son’s Future

Among all the victims in this tragedy, perhaps none is more deserving of sympathy than Lin’s young son. By the time his mother was arrested, he had already lost his father and both grandmothers. Then he learned that his mother had killed them all—and had planned to kill him too.​

The psychological trauma of such revelations is difficult to imagine. How does a child process the knowledge that the person who gave him life also murdered his father? How does he reconcile the mother he knew—or thought he knew—with the monster described in court proceedings?​

Taiwan’s social services took custody of the boy, and extended family members stepped in to provide care. In the years since, efforts have been made to shield him from media attention and give him as normal a childhood as possible under the circumstances. But the shadow of his mother’s crimes will likely follow him throughout his life.​

There is something deeply tragic about a child paying the price for a parent’s sins. The boy did nothing wrong, yet he lost his entire immediate family—his father to murder, his mother to prison, his grandmothers to both. His story reminds us that crime creates ripples of suffering that extend far beyond the immediate victims.​

A Society Confronts Evil

In Taiwan, Lin Yu-ju’s case sparked a national conversation about family violence, gambling addiction, and the death penalty. Television programs dissected the case, psychologists analyzed her motives, and ethicists debated appropriate punishment for such crimes.​

The fact that Lin would be the first woman executed in Taiwan in over half a century added another dimension to the debate. Some abolitionists argued that executing anyone, regardless of their crimes, was wrong. Others countered that Lin’s systematic murder of three family members, plus her intention to kill two more, placed her crimes in a category that demanded the ultimate penalty.​

The case also prompted insurance companies across Taiwan to review their procedures for detecting fraud. New protocols were implemented to flag multiple claims from the same beneficiary within short time periods. While such measures can’t prevent all fraud, they add another layer of protection against those who would murder for money.​

Final Thoughts

As we reach the end of Lin Yu-ju’s story, we’re left with more questions than answers. How does a person reach the point where killing family members for insurance money seems like a rational choice? What combination of character flaws, circumstantial pressures, and moral failures must converge to create a monster?​

Perhaps there are no satisfying answers to such questions. Perhaps some acts are simply evil, beyond our ability to fully comprehend or explain. What we can do is remember the victims: Hou Yueh-yun, a mother who trusted her daughter; Cheng Hui-shen, a mother-in-law who welcomed Lin into her family; and Liu Yu-hang, a husband who never suspected his wife was poisoning him.​

We can also remember the near-victims—Lin’s aunt and son—and be grateful that the insurance investigator’s diligence saved their lives. In a story filled with darkness, that small victory of prevention stands as a reminder that vigilance and careful attention to details can make the difference between life and death.​

For those of us who have spent decades building families and communities, Lin’s story serves as a cautionary tale about the destructive power of addiction and greed. It reminds us to cherish the bonds we have, to address problems before they metastasize into crises, and to never take for granted that those we love have our best interests at heart.​

But perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that justice, though sometimes slow, can prevail. The investigator who noticed the pattern of claims, the detectives who built the case, the prosecutors who secured the conviction, and the judges who upheld it—all played their part in ensuring that Lin Yu-ju would answer for her crimes.​

As Lin waits on death row, living with the knowledge that each day might be her last, she has years to contemplate the choices that brought her to this point. Whether she feels remorse for the lives she took and the family she destroyed, only she knows. But the verdict of history is clear: she stands as one of Taiwan’s most notorious criminals, a cautionary tale of how far a person can fall when they lose sight of what truly matters in life.​

In the end, the Black Widow of Taiwan’s story is a modern tragedy that speaks to timeless themes of greed, betrayal, and justice. It reminds us that the capacity for evil exists even in those closest to us, and that eternal vigilance is the price we pay for safety in an imperfect world.