ST CHAPTER 3

Zhao Jing sat alone on the iron bench, leaning against its backrest.

The sun had risen high, scorching the ground and making the bench uncomfortably hot. A few dead fish lay scattered on the ground, their bodies releasing a fishy odor in the heat. Zhao Jing wondered if it was just his imagination, but the stench of decay seemed to linger in the air, making it almost unbearable.

Wei Jiayi had been gone for roughly five minutes, with no certainty about when he would return. Zhao Jing’s wounds stung all over his body, and his left leg felt like a prosthetic, incapable of even the slightest movement. Each passing moment of waiting felt endless.

For nearly thirty years, Zhao Jing had lived an extraordinarily smooth life, free from physical hardship. Even when learning to swim, he had never choked on water. Yet, at this very moment, he was covered in mud, crippled in a chair, unable to walk on his own, and forced to wait for rescue. What aggravated him most was that his sole lifeline at the moment was Wei Jiayi. It was a crushing blow, not just to his body, but to his pride as well.

The sunlight was so intense that Zhao Jing couldn’t keep his eyes open, making him feel even worse. He grabbed Wei Jiayi’s towel and draped it over his eyes. His pain made his vision blurry, and he thought with a touch of irony: Well, this certainly gives Wei Jiayi a chance to get closer to me.

The first time Zhao Jing met Wei Jiayi had been during university, at a spring gathering for a friend’s birthday.

At that time, Zhao Jing’s company had already grown significantly, and his schedule was packed. He hardly even saw his parents. That particular Sunday, a close friend insisted on picking him up, assuring him that the party was small and limited to familiar faces. So, Zhao Jing agreed to go.

The gathering was held in a glasshouse in a garden. Strictly speaking, there weren’t many people, and most of them were acquaintances, except for one person who seemed to get along with everyone—someone Zhao Jing had never seen before.

The man had dyed hair, a peculiar mix of silver streaked with patches of color, resembling an ugly chameleon. His tall, lanky frame was draped in loose clothing, and he carried a camera, snapping pictures incessantly.

Zhao Jing leaned over to ask his friend, “Who’s that?”

His friend looked surprised and replied, “Wei Jiayi. You don’t know him?”

At that moment, the camera in the man’s hand happened to turn in their direction, capturing a photo of Zhao Jing and his friend. Without any hesitation, Zhao Jing walked straight over to him and coldly ordered him to delete the photo.

Zhao Jing’s friend stood awkwardly to the side, his face stiff. Wei Jiayi, however, was momentarily stunned but quickly complied, deleting the photo as if nothing had happened. He even smiled warmly, extending his hand toward Zhao Jing in a gesture of goodwill. “Hello, I’m Wei Jiayi. Sorry about that—I was just randomly taking pictures. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Zhao Jing, with his sharp eye for judging people, immediately recognized Wei Jiayi as the type his father often warned him about: sweet-talking, quick to switch allegiances, eager for personal gain, and a hypocrite. Zhao Jing didn’t shake his hand. In fact, he didn’t even bother to say a word and simply walked back to his seat.

That day, Wei Jiayi left quite early, and Zhao Jing thought he would never see him again in his life. Unexpectedly, a few years later, Wei Jiayi reemerged as a so-called renowned fashion photographer. He wormed his way into every possible opportunity and even managed to forge a connection with Zhao Jing’s mother.

Fortunately, Zhao Jing rarely participated in public events. If not for his mother forcing him to attend Li Mingmian’s wedding, Wei Jiayi would never have had the chance or the qualifications to cross paths with him again.

But, as luck would have it, Zhao Jing was the one attending this wedding.

Reflecting on this, Zhao Jing suddenly felt a sense of relief. If it had been his father or mother in his place, he doubted they would have survived such a dangerous situation.

The towel covering his face had grown hot under the sun. Zhao Jing raised a hand to remove it. His wound throbbed painfully, and he suspected it might be infected. Feeling feverish, he decided to rummage through Wei Jiayi’s first-aid kit for painkillers or a thermometer. Just as he began searching, he suddenly heard a barely audible cry.

He followed the sound and noticed a fallen thicket rustling slightly. He called out, “Is someone there?”

The movement stopped, and a voice, trembling with sobs, muttered something unintelligible. The mud-soaked leaves rustled again before a small figure emerged from behind a tree.

He took a few steps toward Zhao Jing, who quickly realized it was a local boy, around seven or eight years old. The child wasn’t wearing a shirt, only a pair of wide-legged shorts, and he was barefoot. Both his hands and feet were covered in scrapes.

Tears had carved trails through the dirt on the boy’s face, leaving two muddy streaks. Stammering in English, he asked, “Have you seen my dad?”

“I don’t know your dad,” Zhao Jing replied gently.

“My dad was working the night shift in the housekeeping department yesterday. I was sleeping in his dorm. The water swept me away, but I made it back. I can’t find Dad.”

He spoke in broken sentences, but Zhao Jing still had no idea who his father was. He said, “Come here and sit with me. Let’s wait together.”

The boy obediently came over and sat beside him. Noticing the deep wounds on the boy’s arm, Zhao Jing told him to stay still. He took out the water Wei Jiayi had left behind and repeatedly reminded him not to use it to wash his face.

–

Wei Jiayi had managed to scavenge a few bottles of mineral water from the wrecked restaurant. Not long after stepping onto the main road, he encountered a rescue truck.

Inside the truck were two local men. They told Wei Jiayi that most of the hotel’s guests and staff had already evacuated to the mountains after two employees spotted the tide receding and raised the alarm just in time. Now, most of the local rescue teams were focused on the residential areas further inland.

“There was a wedding at the hotel last night?” The driver was named Nick. “The groom said he has an important relative still at the hotel. They didn’t have time to get him out last night and don’t know if he’s dead or alive. He’s paying us to check it out, so here we are. Walter and I didn’t think we’d find any survivors, but here you are—alive.”

Wei Jiayi was momentarily speechless. He wasn’t the “important relative” Li Mingmian had mentioned. In fact, he strongly suspected that Li Mingmian hadn’t even remembered him.

However, Wei Jiayi chose not to dwell on the matter. Instead, he informed the two men about Mario’s corpse he’d found in the hotel, as well as the man with a broken leg waiting at the end of the road for rescue.

After getting into Nick’s truck, Wei Jiayi directed them toward Zhao Jing’s location. They drove for a while before their path was blocked by a fallen tree trunk. Wei Jiayi and the other man, Walter, grabbed a makeshift stretcher and got out of the truck to continue on foot.

Under the scorching sun, they made their way around a patch of trees. Eventually, Wei Jiayi spotted Zhao Jing and the bench, but for some reason, Zhao Jing was now sitting on the ground, while the bench was occupied by a little boy.

The boy leaned forward, extending his arm as Zhao Jing poured water from a bottle onto it to wash away the dirt. However, with no sense of how to ration the water, Zhao Jing emptied the bottle within seconds. The boy’s arm was still smudged with grime, barely cleaned at all.

“Zhao Jing,” Wei Jiayi called out, glancing at the boy.

Zhao Jing looked up, his face streaked with dirt and utterly expressionless. His tone was far from pleasant as he said, “What took you so long? This kid I found—he’s lost his father. We’re taking him back with us.”

He then turned to Walter, giving a slight nod. “Thank you. You’ve worked hard.” His tone was polite and reserved, making it feel less like gratitude for a rescue and more like a leader offering rare acknowledgment to a subordinate.

Zhao Jing extended a hand toward Wei Jiayi but then pulled it back into his robe, gesturing for Wei Jiayi to help him up by the arm.

Wei Jiayi pretended not to understand and reached into his sleeve to take Zhao Jing’s hand instead. Zhao Jing’s expression changed, but after a moment of reflection, he seemed to recognize that it wasn’t the right time to make a scene. He held back. Wei Jiayi suppressed the urge to laugh, maintaining a straight face as he and Walter worked together to lift Zhao Jing onto the stretcher.

Zhao Jing was big and tall, and he couldn’t lie still. As soon as they lifted him, he started shifting around on the stretcher. His movements jolted Wei Jiayi, making his arms feel like they were about to break.

The little boy stood still, seemingly reluctant to follow. Noticing this, Wei Jiayi lowered his head and softened his voice as he asked, “What’s your name? Are any of your family still around? Do you want to come with us for now?”

“My name is Lini,” the boy replied. “I can’t find my dad. He works at the hotel. I need to look for him.”

Suddenly, Wei Jiayi remembered the body he had left on the sofa. His heart sank as he asked, “What’s your dad’s name?”

Lini was thin, with doe-like eyes and curly hair that clung to his scalp. He replied softly, “His name is Mario.”

Wei Jiayi’s grip on the stretcher tightened, while Walter’s grip loosened, nearly causing Zhao Jing to fall off. Zhao Jing panicked, likely terrified of being dropped and further injuring his precious leg. He snapped, “Wei Jiayi, what is wrong with you?”

“…His father is dead,” Wei Jiayi explained to Zhao Jing in Chinese.

Zhao Jing fell silent.

Nick drove the pickup truck straight into the ruined hotel lobby.

Lini and Zhao Jing stayed in the truck while Wei Jiayi and Walter took a white cloth, wrapped Mario’s body in it, and carried it to the truck’s cargo bed. After securing the cover, they returned to the cabin in somber silence.

No one could bear it, so Zhao Jing stepped up to explain the situation to Lini. The boy sat frozen for a while before curling up in his seat and crying softly.

The pickup truck moved along the battered road toward the mountains.

Sitting by the window, Wei Jiayi lowered his head and disinfected Lini’s wounds. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the trees along the road—all of them, tall or short, lying on the ground.

The swampy terrain was littered with chunks of cement, overturned cars, cooking pots, broken chairs, and people kneeling as they wept. Rows of lifeless bodies, from which God had taken their souls, lay amid the ruins of what was once vibrant with life. The air was thick with sorrow, and the sight was nothing short of harrowing.

The wind, reeking of decay and salt, blew into the truck, carrying the stench straight to Wei Jiayi’s face. The scene before him was unlike anything he had ever witnessed—like a nightmare, but so painfully real it made his chest ache.

As they left the residential area and ascended the mountain road, the air grew slightly fresher, the suffocating stench easing somewhat.

“I need to head back to the residential area for more rescue work. I’ll drop you off at the medical center first.” Nick finally broke the silence. “But just so you know, it’s a bit far from where the groom is staying. Once the signal is restored, you can contact him yourselves.”

Before long, Nick turned onto a narrow mountain path and pulled up beside a modest single-story house.

Several trucks were parked in the open area next to the building, and people were helping injured passengers down from the vehicles. Nick said he would take Lini back to the residential area to look for his mother, leaving Wei Jiayi to half-carry Zhao Jing as they struggled into the building.

The scene inside was more like hell. Curtains hung everywhere, and the air was heavy with the stench of blood and disinfectant. Moans of pain echoed from every direction.

Neither Wei Jiayi nor Zhao Jing said a word. A young woman approached them, holding a clipboard, and asked quickly, “Where are you injured?”

“His leg,” Wei Jiayi explained. “It’s probably broken.”

“Go sit over there for now, and I’ll come find you in a little while.” She jotted something down on the clipboard, pointed to a row of chairs with only two vacant spots left, and handed Wei Jiayi a torn piece of paper.

Wei Jiayi glanced at it. The paper had the number 21 written on it. He asked, “How long will we need to wait?”

“At least an hour,” she replied before hurrying off.

Wei Jiayi carried Zhao Jing over to the wooden chairs.

To his surprise, Zhao Jing didn’t complain as he had anticipated. Perhaps the pain in his leg was too intense because he sat obediently for a full two minutes without saying a word.

Relieved to finally have a moment of peace, Wei Jiayi pulled out his shattered phone. He noticed a single bar of signal had returned but found no new messages and still couldn’t make any calls. He wondered if his agent and team were frantically searching for him.

As he stewed in frustration, he heard Zhao Jing politely ask the patient next to him, “Hello, I noticed your towel is wet. Is there a place here where I could wash up?”

“Yes, there is,” the middle-aged woman replied warmly. “Go through that door, and you’ll find a simple washroom.”

…So much for two minutes of peace. Alarm bells went off in Wei Jiayi’s head.

Sure enough, Zhao Jing turned to him and issued a command. “It’s still a long wait until our turn. Take me there to wash up.”

Wei Jiayi instinctively dialed Li Mingmian’s number again, desperately hoping someone would save him from Zhao Jing. But the call failed once more, leaving him with no choice.

As he looked into Zhao Jing’s haughty and resolute eyes, he had never before felt so tempted to file a work injury claim.