NB Chapter65

I have developed a particular fondness for walking and running lately. It is only after regaining a healthy body and the freedom of my own legs that I truly understand the sheer joy of striding forward. As I made my way down the mountain, pausing now and then to take in the scenery whenever my legs grew tired, the experience was almost pleasant; except for the growing ache in my calves. It even allowed me to forget the flicker of resentment I felt toward Zhang Mingsheng for not giving me a lift.

Then again, even if he had invited me into the car, I would have hesitated. I think that as long as he’s the one behind the wheel, I would still choose to stay behind and go with the flood; even if he were steering Noah’s Ark itself.

I have always been an atheist; though perhaps not a purist, maintaining only a temporary, transactional acquaintance with gods and ghosts. Yet today, it seemed God was quite free and had seen right through my irreverent thoughts. As I walked, the sky suddenly became choked with dark clouds. The gray highway deepened in tone; the rain hadn’t yet fallen, but I could already sense its threads lingering in the air. I took out my phone to check the time, only to realize that, amid my intermittent wandering, several hours had already slipped away.

I wondered how much time the heavens would grant me to run so that the most expensive outfit in my wardrobe wouldn’t be soaked through on its very first outing. I gritted my teeth and dragged my legs forward, hoping to find a place to eat or have tea to wait out the storm. Checking the weather forecast is a good habit, and it seemed most people possessed it; the road was eerily deserted as if I had stepped into some sort of boundary. I began to doubt if I was even heading in the right direction.

For some reason, a sense of panic began to stir in my chest.

But I wasn’t at the end of my rope yet, and I refused to bow to God just yet. I forced myself onward e-file gritting my teeth. Just as I took a step, a silver-white car appeared ahead. There were noticeable scrape marks on the front end. The driver suddenly braked, made a U-turn to face my direction, and slowly rolled up beside me.

Unsure of what was happening, I instinctively leaned toward the window to look inside.

In an instant, I came face-to-face with a major threat I had forgotten for far too long.

Xu Yanzhou.

He wore glasses and a plain T-shirt, carrying that same clinical, practiced smile he always used when seeing patients. He looked at me with a terrifying gentleness. “Ah Chao, what a coincidence to run into you here.”

Hong Kong is just an island; crowded, with every inch of land worth its weight in gold. Naturally, the wealthy have little desire to share space; they spend sums beyond ordinary imagination just to buy themselves a patch of silence. I’ve always harbored a bit of resentment toward the rich, but out here, in the middle of nowhere, you never know which villa belongs to a movie star or a retired kingpin. Yet, no matter how respectable Xu Yanzhou appeared, he was just a doctor. Why on earth would he be out here?

Is it a coincidence?

I gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

They were both psychopathic killers, but in my mind, Xu Yanzhou and Zhang Mingsheng were worlds apart. According to Li Yi, the people Xu Yanzhou killed were always those he had been involved with. Afterward, he would play the victim, spilling out his “grievances” and insisting he had been driven to the edge, that he only acted in self-defense or in a sudden, uncontrollable emotional surge. He’d say he never intended for his actions to be fatal. That kind of narcissistic lie, dripping with a performative desire for sympathy, made my skin crawl.

If Zhang Mingsheng was a black hole in the universe swallowing everything whole, then Xu Yanzhou was a rotting corpse draped in human skin.

There was no comparison.

I couldn’t help but wonder if some of the “accidents” in my life had actually involved him.

“Do you want a lift?” He asked, his smile remaining fixed. It looked stiff; I even caught a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

When I didn’t answer immediately and just stared at him, his smile deepened as if trying to ease the tension. He added, “I didn’t think things would be so awkward between us; after all, we are…”

“It is awkward,” I interrupted him. “So, no thanks.”

These words might provoke him, but if I get into the car, I might not even be alive three hours from now.

Yet I cannot move to capture him now, because nothing has happened yet.

A flicker of disbelief crossed his face, but he quickly regained his composure. Still wearing that zombie-like smile, he spoke, “Ah Chao, it’s been a while, and I feel like you’ve changed.”

“Is that so?” Seeing his smile, I felt my nerves pull taut. I turned and continued walking forward, gradually quickening my pace while glancing back occasionally out of fear that he might drive into me.

“Yeah. Back when you used to look at me, your eyes were always so gentle… kind of shy, yes, shy. Back then, I felt like I had to protect you.” He started the car, letting it glide forward slowly to keep pace beside me.

What shy? What gentle?

My expression remained unmoving, but my mind was filled with question marks. Our relationship hadn’t been intensely passionate, but it was certainly respectful. I had merely been polite, yet he had mistaken it for submissive tenderness; it seems the misunderstanding was significant. During the months we knew each other, I should have shaved less often.

He spoke again, but the moment he uttered a single word, a low roll of thunder echoed from the horizon. A light drizzle began to fall, quickly turning into a fine, mist-like curtain of rain.

The rain drenching my body only made me more anxious.

He had absolutely no intention of leaving.

Just as I was scanning my surroundings for something to use for self-defense, another car burst into my line of sight.

Through the hazy rain, Ah Hai opened the car door, appearing like a god descending from the heavens.

Dressed in a black suit, he hurried over and lowered his head. “Mr. Yu, Sister Azhu sent me to pick you up.”

Liar.

Putting aside the fact that I already knew him, and that we had already met, I had walked so far that Sister Azhu only now sending someone to fetch me made it feel less like care and more like a sudden impulse to send me to my grave.

This must be Zhang Mingsheng’s order; I just don’t know why Ah Hai happened to appear at this exact time, at this exact moment.

I was originally hesitating, but then my phone suddenly rang. It was Shanshan calling. She had lost her usual liveliness, her voice very soft now with a faint tremor so subtle it was almost imperceptible unless one listened closely. She must have hidden herself somewhere to make the call.

She said, “Senior, can you come over? I think I should tell you about this.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I offered Shanshan a few more words of comfort, walked around Xu Yanzhou’s car, opened the door, and slipped into the passenger seat.

Ah Hai froze in the rain for a moment but snapped out of it within seconds and returned to the car.

He asked, “Sir, where to?”

I replied, “Shake him off first, then I’ll tell you where I’m going.”

It didn’t take long. Ah Hai made a few turns and drove into some narrow alleys, and Xu Yanzhou’s car was no longer in sight. Seeing someone else there, he must have had second thoughts; but alongside those doubts, his anger likely only burned hotter.

It seems my peaceful days won’t last much longer.

I told Ah Hai to take me to my mentor’s house. Perhaps because my tone was somewhat anxious, Ah Hai immediately sped up after hearing my instructions.

He really was here to pick me up.

For some reason, as I looked at his profile, I suddenly felt a wave of sorrow.

But Shanshan’s tone lingered in my ears; I had no leisure to talk with him. As soon as the car stopped, I immediately opened the door and hurried out. I rushed upstairs, knocked, and after a short wait, heard the shuffling sound of slippers.

It was Shimu who opened the door.

The moment she did, I saw the traces of tears lingering behind her glasses, and my heart instantly tightened.

She welcomed me in, forcing a smile, and asked, “Ah Chao, what brings you here? Are you too lazy to cook for yourself again today?”

“I asked Senior to come.” Shanshan appeared, her face looking haggard. On the sofa behind her, my mentor sat with his head lowered, smoking a cigarette.

“What did you call him for!” My mentor roared. He suddenly stood up, pointing at me as he questioned Shanshan, “Is he rich? Does he know how to cure illnesses? Do you not think our home is messy enough already?”

I have known my mentor for decades. After Auntie Yang left, he was the only elder in my world I truly acknowledged, besides the old director. But I had never seen him like this. It wasn’t that I hadn’t seen him lose his temper, he had always been incredibly strict with Li Yi and me, never allowing us to be lazy.

But that kind of severity was entirely different from the hostility currently displayed before me.

He had been a good father, a good husband, and a good mentor for decades. For him to erupt so suddenly, not only speaking harshly to Shanshan but also deliberately excluding me, was not a fleeting loss of control. It was resentment built up over decades.

I suddenly realized that I did not know my mentor as well as I thought.

I walked forward slowly, stepping over shards of shattered glass, and gradually made my way toward the coffee table.

Several documents were spread out upon it.

If I wasn’t mistaken, they were Shimu’s medical reports.

I picked them up and skimmed through them; I had a general idea of the situation. It was cancer and still in the early stages.

Logically, the cost of early-stage treatment shouldn’t cause a middle-aged man; one who still had enough money to buy a house after his first wife and daughter left, to have a breakdown.

Yet his rage showed signs of only intensifying.

“You were the one who said we should live in the moment, that if we have money for a day, we spend it for that day. I listened, and I accepted that,” he said. As the middle-aged man aged, his temper had become increasingly ugly; under my gaze, his voice rose even higher, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “I’ve labored for this family for so many years. What other man out there lives as pathetically as I do!”

“Now that we’re old and you’re sick, I’m supposed to go out and beg everyone I know, work myself to exhaustion, drain all my savings, and take out loans again?” He slammed his hand heavily against the table.

I dropped the documents, pulled Shanshan by the shoulder to bring her behind me, and shielded her with my body.

I looked at him and spoke, “It’s only the early stage. It won’t cost that much.”

He gave a cold laugh and said, “Easy for you to say. Why don’t you pay for it then?”

I didn’t take the bait, but continued, “This sum of money isn’t small, but it isn’t massive either. Teacher, calm down and don’t overthink it; the priority is treating the illness. Shimu has been teaching all these years; she must have some savings.”

“What good is her little bit of money? It’s gone the moment you eat and drink. These past years have all been sustained by my compensation funds.” He seemed to realize he had lost his composure, and his voice dropped slightly, but he still kept up appearances, tossing his lighter onto the table before sinking heavily back onto the sofa.

The compensation he mentioned likely came from the families of victims in cases he had handled, and the police department had also granted him several bonuses.

He always claimed he had it, but as the years passed, Shimu never mentioned exactly how much it amounted to.

But I knew he had money. Since he had the money, what was this performance all about?

Holding Shanshan by the hand and pulling Shimu along, we went into the bedroom. I offered soft words of comfort, but Shimu seemed to have suddenly lost all hope, her face expressionless. Nothing reveals a person’s true nature like a major illness. She wasn’t even terminally ill yet, and the husband who had shared her life for so many years was acting this despicably; she likely couldn’t process it all at once. Shanshan was a stubborn child; she sat to one side without uttering a word.

I suddenly understood why she eventually left Hong Kong.

She thought I was dead and went to lay flowers for me. The card in the bouquet called me “Brother Chao” rather than “Senior Brother,” and it was signed only “Leshan,” without a surname; it was an attempt to erase her father’s presence from her life.

I suddenly felt so foolish.

I didn’t dare imagine what kind of treatment Shimu endured while she was bedridden.

Or why Shanshan abandoned her career path in Hong Kong to switch to a different research direction.

I wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. I could only hold Shimu’s cold hand, squeezing with some force to tell her that I still had some money and there was no need to fear.

Her eyes remained vacant as tears flowed silently.

She was an open-minded person; I often thought that even if she fell ill, she would be stronger than most.

What truly caused her heartbreak and despair was discovering that she had completely misjudged a person at her age.

Her eyelashes fluttered as another tear fell.

At the same time, the heavy sound of a door slamming came from the living room. Shimu trembled all over from the shock.

He had gone out.

Suddenly, I no longer wanted to call him “Teacher.”

Listening to his outburst just now, I realized he seemed utterly dissatisfied with his life over these years. He had put on a facade for so long; why could he suddenly no longer maintain it?

Besides Shimu’s illness, there had to be another reason.

What exactly could make a person suddenly feel such resentment towards their own life?

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