NB Chapter30

Right up until the moment I fell asleep, I remained restless, my thoughts drifting back to the night of my first mission. I was wearing a black jacket while following my mentor, so nervous I didn’t even know how to blink. In the pouring rain, he gave me a firm pat on the back. He was in his late forties or early fifties then; his palm was broad and thick, and that pat on my back steadied me.

My mentor wasn’t particularly tall or well-built; in fact, due to his love for drinking, he had grown somewhat stout in his retirement. His ten fingers were as rough and gnarled as ginger roots, and with his premature white hair, he looked exceptionally plain. But he had a pair of spirited eyes, and combined with his vast experience, courage, and attention to detail, he had received many commendations, graced many newspaper headlines, and even sat for a few interviews.

By rights, Li Yi and I should have called him “master,” but he felt it was too steeped in martial-world sentiment. At his Shimu’s suggestion, he instead had us call him “teacher.” Later, due to internal struggles within the police force, he was reassigned to a minor, largely irrelevant post, where he remained until retirement.

Even if he never said it, I knew he had been dealt with a heavy blow. Fortunately, his wife was kind and optimistic, and her zest for life helped dissolve much of his resentment and sorrow.

But now, she has been dead for years, and Shanshan is also nowhere to be found. I wonder how he has fared these past few years living all alone.

The bedside lamp clicked off, plunging the room into silent, ash-black darkness. I let out a soft sigh, and Zhang Mingsheng’s embrace came almost immediately after. His heart felt cold, but his arms were warm as he held me from behind.

His voice drifted lazily by my ear, accompanied by a wave of hot breath, “Do you remember what Miss Zhou said? You shouldn’t fret over so many things.”

Miss Zhou was a psychological counselor who had returned from overseas a few years ago; Zhang Mingsheng had arranged for her to speak with me. Of all the absurd things Zhang Mingsheng has done, this was the one that made me want to laugh the most. He was the kind of man who didn’t even blink at killing or pulling a trigger, who took perfectly ordinary people and remade them into “wives” and “lovers” within his own distorted version of a happy life—yet in the midst of such a horrifying existence, he even thought to arrange a psychological counseling session for his victim as if that could somehow offset everything that was happening.

Outside Miss Zhou’s office, I asked him, “Aren’t you afraid that if I’m alone with her for an hour, I’ll tell her everything?”

He tucked the collar of my overcoat closer for me and said nonchalantly, “First, I don’t believe you’d drag a stranger into this mess. Second, I believe your worries and pain aren’t entirely caused by me; I hope that aside from the trauma I’ve left behind, all the other suffering you endure can slowly fade away.”

“Is there a third point?” I asked again.

Zhang Mingsheng’s fingers brushed against my collar, a light motion smoothing out a crease. He said, “Third, you never truly open your heart completely. Just like me.”

My temples throbbed with pain. I said, “Then what’s the point of me being here? Just so you can spend a fortune?”

“Just treat it like a vacation, Laopo. I hope you have a pleasant time.” He said before turning my wheelchair around.

“If you died, the rest of my life would be a vacation.”

“And I’d better leave you a multi-million-dollar inheritance too, right?” His voice was lazy, sounding entirely unbothered. With a gentle push, he sent me into Miss Zhou’s office.

Miss Zhou wasn’t like the counselors in movies who were young, beautiful, tall, and soft-spoken. On the contrary, she was a bit older, letting the lines on her face spread naturally. She wore a camel-colored turtleneck sweater, and her slightly curly hair was tied back.

In front of her, I was almost afraid to speak.

That afternoon, I suddenly realized that the cracks in my life hadn’t started appearing only when Zhang Mingsheng showed up. Or rather, he had certainly torn a black hole in my life, but even before that, my heart already had many gaps that I had either failed to notice or intentionally ignored.

It was just that, originally, I could still manage to hold up an umbrella in the heavy rain, but once Zhang Mingsheng appeared, he pushed me directly into the sea.

Miss Zhou was good, very professional, but if she had ever asked me if I wanted to stop, I would have bolted immediately. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone seeing right through me.

We met a few more times after that. I can no longer remember clearly what we talked about, only that she mentioned she had once been the psychological counselor for Zhang Mingsheng’s mother and that her brief return to Hong Kong this time was to pay respects to the deceased. That was our final meeting; she looked deeply at peace.

She said it had taken her many years to accept the fact that “the dead were once alive, and the living will also die.”

It sounded like a tongue twister, and at the time, I only half-understood it.

The only gain from that abruptly ended journey of psychological counseling was the Kaffir lily Miss Zhou gave me.

Unfortunately, having lived as a rough sort of person for nearly thirty years, I hadn’t the slightest clue how to tend to plants. The old butler and Aunt Liu were trustworthy enough, but placing this pot among the other flowers seemed to betray Miss Zhou’s intent.

In the end, Zhang Xiaoyuan took it and put it on his bedroom balcony. A child who had loved reading encyclopedias from an early age, he developed a deep affection for plants. The sword-like bluish-green leaves and the orange-centered flowers made his usually evasive gaze become firm for the first time.

He told me he wanted to raise this flower.

Thinking of that look in his eyes makes me feel a sense of dread.

Beside the black hole created by Zhang Mingsheng, the troubles Zhang Xiaoyuan brought me were like the tiny punctures of a stapler; shallow, cold teeth marks.

In my heart, it felt like a form of betrayal.

He indeed betrayed me, just as I betrayed him.

Years ago, I fled with Keke while she was still in swaddling clothes. I ran far, but Zhang Mingsheng pressed on, following close behind, finally finding us in a deserted restroom in some shopping mall. It wasn’t until later that I learned it was Zhang Xiaoyuan who had tipped him off, alerting him just in time.

From then on, my legs were officially shackled.

Zhang Xiaoyuan hates me because I only took Keke with me. And I hate him because my freedom was within reach.

We are both orphans, both without parents; yet after finally forming a parent-child relationship, we treat each other like enemies.

Thinking of this, I sighed once more.

This clearly rubbed Zhang Mingsheng the wrong way. His arms tightened, pulling me deeper into his embrace as if by restraining my body he could, for a brief moment, restrain my thoughts as well.

“What are you thinking about?”

“……”

I didn’t answer immediately.

“Thinking about Li Yi?”

His hand moved like a snake, slowly finding its way to my throat, his thumb and forefinger settling at the hollow of it.

I had no choice but to say, “Thinking about Zhang Xiaoyuan.”

The grip seemed to falter for a moment, grazing my throat gently before moving away to wrap around my waist again. Zhang Mingsheng rested his chin on my shoulder and said in a low voice, “Actually, I don’t think you hate him anymore.”

“He is a child, and I am an adult; there is no sense in speaking of hate.” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“That’s good then, Officer Yu,” Zhang Mingsheng chuckled. He said, “I actually feel like you’ve never truly hated anyone; you’re just torturing yourself.”

Then he kissed the side of my ear and said, “If hating others makes you miserable, you might as well throw it all onto me. Hate me instead.”

I gave no reaction, feeling only a flicker of impatience at the stifling heat of his body. In recent years, Zhang Mingsheng has become increasingly fixated on this kind of intimacy. It was his own way of exploring life, something that had nothing to do with me.

Sharing the same bed but dreaming different dreams, I had my own concerns to deal with:

What kind of life should I lead after Zhang Mingsheng dies?

I have always told myself that as long as Zhang Mingsheng is dead, everything will end.

But is that really true? I have been forcing myself to ignore this question.

If one day my colleagues from the police station were to rescue me from the Red Residence, leaving behind Zhang Mingsheng’s body and the wailing Zhang Xiaoyuan and Keke, I would be met by the flashing of cameras and the astonishing stares of friends and strangers alike. My story would turn into news, anecdotes, gossip, and entertainment videos; they would circulate in the world forever, impossible to erase.

I haven’t grown; my life has stagnated.

Eight years… the weight of it is too heavy to reverse.

My legs might still be able to walk, but it seems there are no paths left in my world.

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