T/N: Today is double update! If you haven’t read the previous chapter, please read it first. Thank you!
For a moment, Wen Di’s mind went blank, as if his consciousness had detached from his body, floating up and looking down on the absurd scene from mid-air—night had fallen, the glow of neon lights was dancing on the streets in the distance, and in the dim alley, the walls were covered in graffiti, with occasional muffled sounds of casino music and machines, and the air was tinged with a faint smell of smoke. Two men wearing baseball caps stood in the shadows. One held a switchblade, and the other held a gun, both glinting with an ominous silver shine. The armed robber was ordering him to hand over the money in his hand in accented English.
Wen Di felt a layer of sweat on his back. He had heard of this scene in movies, news, and anecdotes passed down by word of mouth, but he never thought that one day it would happen to him.
He had been careless, not checking the security situation in the nearby neighborhood, just wandering into an alley at night—this wasn’t back home!
The robber waved the gun again, his head swiveling rapidly to both sides, observing the movements around him: “Hurry up!”
Wen Di trembled as he took out his wallet, which contained some coins and banknotes. The robber ordered him to throw the wallet over, and he complied.
“You!” The robber turned the gun towards the man, “You throw yours too!”
Wen Di glanced anxiously at the man, afraid that he would do something dangerous and cause him to die in a foreign land.
The man hesitated for a moment, then took out his wallet and threw it over. Wen Di let out a sigh of relief.
The robber maintained his stance with the gun pointed while instructing his accomplice to pick up the wallets. The accomplice pulled the money out of the wallet, counted it, and said a few words in a language Wen Di didn’t understand. The armed robber suddenly flew into a rage: “Is this all the money?”
Wen Di felt a thud in his temples, and cold sweat dripped from his forehead. His coat had a hidden inner pocket. When he went out, he had been cautious, putting small bills in the wallet and larger sums in the inner pocket—a common trick his parents used to prevent theft. Saving his life was important, but the scholarship money was important too; he was counting on that money to pay the rent.
However, the robber’s frustration didn’t seem to be directed at Wen Di but at the man beside him: “You’re dressed so well, how could you only have this little money?”
The man was wearing a high-quality shirt and trousers, which indeed didn’t look cheap.
The robbers said something vague, which roughly meant that they knew Chinese tourists liked to carry cash and must have brought a lot of money with them when they went out to play. If they didn’t hand over all their money, they’d better be careful about getting a hole in their body.
The man explained that they weren’t tourists, but the robber didn’t believe him.
Wen Di glanced at the man, hoping he would hand over the money—since he looked so poor, the robbers wouldn’t expect much from him.
Instead, the man firmly said: “I left in a hurry and didn’t bring any cash. I usually use credit cards.”
What’s the point of using a credit card? Isn’t swiping a card just waiting for the police to catch and arrest them?
The robber became enraged, cursing in a string of profanities Wen Di couldn’t understand. They had been guarding the alley all night, facing risks, and finally caught a big fish, but there wasn’t much gain. The accomplice with the knife was displeased and dangerously pressed the blade against the man’s stomach.
“Wait,” Wen Di suddenly said, “I have money.”
The robbers looked at him. Wen Di reached into his coat with a trembling hand and pulled out the folded bills. Washington’s head flickering in and out under the dim light.
The accomplice grabbed the bills, counted them, and seemed somewhat relieved. The armed robber watched as the accomplice stuffed the bills into his pocket and then ordered Wen Di and the man: “Phones.”
Wen Di bit his lip, placed his phone on the ground, and slid it over to the robbers. The man did the same.
The two robbers exchanged glances, suddenly bent down to pick up the phones, and then turned and ran quickly down the alley.
As the footsteps gradually faded, Wen Di squatted on the ground, supporting himself against the mottled wall with his hands, breathing heavily.
The man looked down and saw the slender shoulders trembling. Moonlight fell on the exposed part of his neck exposed by the collar, and the pale skin faintly showed blood vessels, which looked fragile and pitiful.
He extended his hand, hesitatingly placing it on Wen Di’s shoulder: “Don’t be afraid, they’re gone, it’s alright.”
The moment his fingertips touched the fabric, Wen Di suddenly stood up as if jolted by electricity, shrugging off the man’s hand and glaring at him with anger: “Who’s scared? I’m mourning my money!”
The man stood frozen.
Wen Di looked at him with a gaze that was about to burn: “Do you know how much money I just lost!”
The man recalled: “Seven hundred dollars?”
“Seven hundred!” Wen Di felt tears nearly welling up, “I was counting on that to get through this month!”
The man was silent for a moment, then asked skeptically: “Where do you live?”
“Boston.”
“How could this much money possibly last until the end of the month in Boston?”
Life felt too bleak. He slept on the sofa in the living room, never ate out, only bought discounted groceries from large supermarkets like Target, and now he was being questioned about faking his living expenses.
The man’s questions continued one after another: “Why do you carry so much cash?”
“I live in the living room, and there’s no door! If I don’t bring the money with me, what if I lose it when I leave? I won’t be able to explain it!”
“It’s also dangerous to carry it on you.”
“Do you have any conscience!” Wen Di pointed at him, “The money I took out was for you, and you’re standing here talking down to me! That was all the scholarship money I had left. How am I going to get through this month…” As he spoke, Wen Di felt another wave of dizziness, the seven bills floating before his eyes and his heart throbbed and ached.
The man was silent for a moment and said, “I’ll pay you back.”
Wen Di frowned and looked at him.
“Since you spent the money because of me, I’ll return it to you,” the man said.
Wen Di blinked, then suddenly leaping forward, grabbing the man’s shoulders, his eyes shining brighter than the neon lights at the bar’s entrance: “Are you serious?”
The man hadn’t expected him to be so excited, and after a moment, he assured him, “Of course.”
The man was so straightforward that Wen Di felt a bit embarrassed. “I lost the money because of those two jerks,” he said, “asking you for money is a bit… it’s also an unexpected disaster for you…”
“Do you want the money or not?”
“Yes!”
The man looked at him and removed his hand from his shoulders, saying, “Let’s go.”
What puzzled the man was that Wen Di didn’t move for a long time. His eyes were practically shooting lasers when he heard about the money just now, so why wasn’t he enthusiastic now?
Then he saw Wen Di squat down and carefully fish out a fifty-cent coin from a crack in the brick wall of the alley.
“I just saw something reflecting light,” he said with a sense of accomplishment, “It’s really money ah.”
The man looked at him speechlessly. What could he do with fifty cents, buy a piece of gum?
“Do you live close?” the man asked, “Can you get back?”
Wen Di shook his head blankly. He had been stuffed into a taxi by Jiang Nanze and didn’t know how far the hotel was from here. And without his phone, he couldn’t find his way back at all.
“What about you?” Wen Di asked, “Do you live nearby?”
“Not close, but I checked the route when I came, so I roughly remember how to get there,” the man said, “You can go to my place first.”
“Checked the route and remembered?” Wen Di looked at him skeptically, “Do you have some kind of photographic memory?”
“To be precise, it’s called visual memory,”[footnote]Basically, Photographic memory is the ability to recall an image, scene, or text with near-perfect precision, as if the person had taken a mental snapshot, while Visual memory, on the other hand, refers to the ability to remember shapes, colors, layouts, and other visual details, but not necessarily with perfect accuracy. People with strong visual memory can remember information like landmarks, faces, or maps without necessarily having photographic precision.[/footnote] the man said, “Come with me?”
Wen Di hesitated for a moment, stuffed his tattered wallet into his pocket, and walked over to the man: “Of course. I don’t know your contact information. If I don’t follow you, how will I get the money?”
The man looked at him in silence and said, “They took my card, but once we get to the hotel, I can borrow some money from a friend to give you. Once you get the money, you can figure out how to get back.”
Wen Di nodded.
The man took two steps, then turned around and saw Wen Di still standing in the same place. He asked him what was wrong.
Wen Di’s emotions were complicated. A quarter of an hour ago, the plan was to follow the man back to the hotel. In just fifteen minutes, life had turned upside down, with great sorrow and joy. Even though he was still following the man back to the hotel, his mood was completely different.
“What is your name?” Wen Di asked. After they had gone through life-and-death turmoil, he still did not know the other person’s name.
“Ethan.”
“Ethan from Mission: Impossible?”
The man did not answer, just looked at him with questioning eyes.
“Samuel,” Wen Di said, “Just call me Sam. How far is that hotel?”
“About six miles.”
“Six miles?!”
The man looked at him indifferently and asked, “Still going?”
Wen Di thought about the seven hundred dollars, gritted his teeth, and said: “Let’s go.”
Then Wen Di embarked on the most tortuous and bizarre twelve hours of his life.
The author has something to say:
This beginning is already twisted and bizarre enough.
T/N: so here is how Wen Di lost 700 dollars ahahha
