NB Chapter39

My body had grown so weak that after another period of being bedridden, I felt as if I might simply sink into the mattress and never wake again.

Before heading out, Zhang Mingsheng wrapped a coat around me, its fabric slightly stiff, the belt pulled tight. He even stood there unusually still, and I had the odd sensation of being an umbrella with a pointed tip; unable to tell whether the fabric was a yellow tinged with pink, or a pink washed with yellow. I felt as though I had once seen that color deep in the heart of a lily. So, when we passed through the front courtyard, I suddenly stopped and greeted the old butler standing on the lawn.

He was wearing olive-drab rain boots with blue jeans, and a white-and-blue checkered shirt, looking a bit older than he did last year. But at his age, the marks of aging are like clutter in a storage room; a little more or a little less doesn’t change the overall impression.

In this house, no one was surprised by the fact that I could actually walk. They knew my body was weak, but I wasn’t a cripple. The old butler was no exception.

He nodded to me with a smile, possessing that reserve and slowness unique to the elderly.

I looked into those eyes hidden behind layers of wrinkles and asked, “What kind of flowers can one buy in this weather?”

The old butler seemed to have some mixed heritage; his eyes were lighter than ours, and his speech was also deliberate. “Spring is wandering all over the earth right now; you can find whatever flower you desire.”

“I saw the gladiolus you put in the vase. The color is very nice; it even lifts the spirit of anyone who looks at it. Thank you.” I said softly, my voice barely carrying, my throat too weak to project any strength.

“They bloomed beautifully. I thought the Madam would like them.” He said while bowing his head as he accepted my thanks.

“I like them very much.” I said, my lips curled slightly into my first smile since the winter had passed.

Zhang Mingsheng gently tugged at my sleeve, a silent reminder that if we didn’t leave now, we might be late. We didn’t speak much this winter. It wasn’t the first time I’d spiraled into this state—dazed, muddled, as if time and space had bent out of shape. I needed medication, I needed solitude; I couldn’t tolerate even a hint of noise, feeling as though I had been flayed alive, leaving only a hyper-sensitive core exposed to the world.

Zhang Mingsheng gently tugged at my sleeve, signaling that if we didn’t leave now, we might be late. That winter, we didn’t speak much. It wasn’t the first time I had fallen into such a state; dazed, muddled, as though time and space had completely fallen out of alignment. I needed medication as well as solitude; I couldn’t tolerate even the slightest noise as if all my skin had been peeled away, leaving only a raw, hypersensitive core exposed.

Whenever I became like this, Zhang Mingsheng would go quiet. We existed in the same room like two silent animals from different worlds, our shadows passing each other without contact, only converging when it was time to sleep. The last time this cycle broke was when our daughter was born.

As we sat in the car, Keke quietly leaned against me without a word. Her cheeks were still soft and plump, flattening where they pressed against my arm. Looking down, I could see her little pout; the classic silhouette of a chubby-faced child from a cartoon. She hadn’t had many chances to see me lately; she probably missed me. According to Aunt Liu, Keke hadn’t actually lost weight; she was just starting to grow, stretching out the way plants or kittens do.

I didn’t know how Zhang Mingsheng or the other adults had explained my erratic behavior to her, but she looked up at me timidly and whispered, “Mommy, did you have to drink a lot of ginger soup?”

To a child, the first illness they ever truly learn about is the common cold.

I pulled her into a hug and whispered back, “I did. I drank so much I thought my tongue was going to burn right off.”

At that, her eyes widened and she buried her face in my chest as if ginger soup were some monsters that could snatch people away.

Meanwhile, Zhang Xiaoyuan was busy picking songs to play. His changes were less obvious; his expression remained as solemn as ever, though the dark circles under his eyes had faded slightly. During his three-month computer ban, his father hadn’t been completely unyielding, allowing him to keep a phone and a pair of headphones. When I was in primary school, I didn’t even have a spare coin for a payphone, let alone a mobile phone. I wasn’t exactly jealous, but I was worried about his eyesight. If he truly wanted to be a policeman, he certainly couldn’t be wearing lenses as thick as the bottom of a beer bottle.

But I didn’t want to be that kind of parent; the one who, having finally recovered from a long illness and made it out for a day of fun, ruins it by nagging and lecturing at every turn.

The song he played had a fierce, driving intro. When the vocals finally kicked in, I suddenly recognized the voice.

It was Andrea’s, though it wasn’t a song I recognized.

“So, you like Andrea?” Zhang Mingsheng beat me to the question.

“Yeah.” Zhang Xiaoyuan replied. He no longer shook like a leaf when facing his father; perhaps the resentment over the confiscated computer had hardened his resolve.

“That’s surprising. She doesn’t seem like the type of singer someone your age would listen to.” I teased while stroking Keke’s soft hair.

After a brief silence, Xiao Yuan finally confessed the truth, “It’s because she sang the theme song for [Friday Detective].”

That explained it. [Friday Detective] was an animated series that aired every Friday on the cartoon channel, perfect for kids anywhere from three to fifteen. Because it was so popular, it had been on a constant loop of reruns for years, likely acting as a digital babysitter for countless parents on Friday nights. It had certainly done me many a favor. I realized then that I hadn’t even noticed when Xiao Yuan had gotten his hair cut.

Everything I looked at now felt brand new, yet distant. I couldn’t tell if this was my spirit finally healing or just the final flicker of a dying candle.

I remained high-spirited throughout the drive as if this were the very first concert of my life.

Andrea’s first concert was held at an old but famous venue that wasn’t particularly large. After passing through multiple layers of security checks and finally finding our seats, I turned my head with a mask and hat on; and was still startled by the dense, dark mass of the crowd.

So many people.

In recent years, the most crowded place I had been to was a funeral.

Xiao Song had arranged our seats to be near the front, though not in the very first row. Andrea had her own circle of friends, the Song family was large, and Zhang Mingsheng always preferred to keep a low profile in public. Consequently, our seats were tucked away in a corner; prominent enough to see, but discreet enough to remain hidden.

Ah Hai and Ah Shan stood in a dark corner, mingling with the concert security guards, like a row of suited mannequins. Only Ah Hai and Ah Shan hadn’t worn black for a long time. Black suits with black sunglasses used to be their standard when they followed us out, as if we were filming a movie; far too ostentatious. Even the underworld didn’t dress like that anymore.

Before the lights dimmed and Andrea made her entrance, a strange sense of suppressed anticipation hummed through the air. Everyone was anxious and excited, yet no one shouted; they simply engaged in fervent, low conversation. The staff’s announcements hung over our heads like clouds no one bothered to notice. With so many people packed together, the air grew heavy and warm. My head began to throb, particularly at the temples as if it were being steamed in a pot.

Turning my head, I noticed the seat next to mine was empty.

Most of the people in this section were Andrea’s personal guests. It was surprising to think there was someone she couldn’t manage to bring out.

Before I could dwell on it, the stage lights suddenly flared to life. As the music kicked in, the entire audience seemed to hesitate for a split second before erupting into a deafening roar of cheers and applause.

Andrea stepped onto the stage in an extravagantly styled white dress, her hair a striking shade of red. The sharp contrast between red and white made her even more dazzling. As the lights swept and shifted across the stage, it became hard to tell whether this was the Andrea from twenty years ago, or the one who had since married and had children. The stage, the music, the lights, the concert; everything felt like a magical box from a fairy tale. Once opened, both audience and performer were instantly drawn into an entirely different world. She began with her most classic melody, reworking it with new arrangements; enough to spark a chorus from the crowd, yet still fresh enough to feel new.

I was completely entranced. After a few minutes, I let myself be carried away entirely by the atmosphere. It wasn’t often that someone had the chance to truly let go and enjoy themselves like this.

Andrea appeared in a succession of new outfits, cycling through different songs and moving toward more soulful, lyrical ballads as the night progressed. There were many I could have sung along to, but my voice was in no condition for it, so I settled for humming softly under my breath. Occasionally, I glanced over at the three surname Zhang. The little ones were thrilled; while the elder ones didn’t seem particularly invested, but at least he was listening.

With the Song family sitting right in front of us, Zhang Mingsheng was naturally on his best behavior.

During the intermission, Andrea announced she had a special guest.

Another roar of approval went up from the crowd. Everyone had guessed who it was: her son, Song Yixing.

Despite her own prestige in the industry, she had always remained hands-off regarding his career. She once told a reporter that she never watched his work. “I don’t like the genres he acts in; what can I do?” she had said with a hearty laugh that won over the entire room.

Everyone knew it was a joke. Her family dynamics were clearly healthy, which likely explained Song Yixing’s likable personality. He walked onto the stage in casual clothes, and when his mother feigned indignation, he squinted and leaned into the microphone: “I didn’t want to steal your spotlight, Mommy.”

The audience erupted in laughter.

The two of them performed a duet about the relationship between parents and children. A slow piano introduction opened the song; Andrea’s voice was low and resilient, while Song Yixing’s was clear and youthful, like spring water. The two voices intertwined, singing of the sorrow and eventual acceptance between parents and children; how they walk toward each other only to pass by, drifting apart in the end. Bringing a new life into the world requires immense courage, the courage to not burden them with your own ideas or regrets and the wisdom to let them walk further and further away. Family bonds are often a tangle of resentment and attachment, forming the most difficult thicket of vines to navigate in a lifetime.

By the end of the song, I’m certain many in the audience had tearful eyes.

It was at that moment that Keke suddenly burst into a soul-piercing, heart-wrenching wail. A child’s cry is one of the most chilling sounds in the world, there’s a reason it’s a staple of horror films.

My heart constricted, and I turned toward her in an instant. Zhang Mingsheng was already crouching down to check on her before pulling her into his arms. Everyone around us turned to stare, casting us into sudden, sharp embarrassment as if we were the kind of parents who simply let their children run wild in public. Beside me, Zhang Xiaoyuan also grew visibly tense.

Up on stage, Song Yixing saw the commotion and seemed ready to crack a joke to lighten the mood. I could even hear the sharp intake of breath as he brought the microphone to his lips.

He managed only a single syllable.

Suddenly, I realized the ground itself was moving. My feet trembled as though I was nothing more than a pebble resting on the surface of the world. In an instant, the entire universe seemed to shiver, as if it might tilt or collapse at any moment. Panic-stricken screams broke out around me, rising like jagged mountain ranges and crashing like overwhelming tidal waves.

I don’t know who realized it first, but a sharp, piercing shriek cut through the confusion, jolting everyone awake.

“Earthquake!”

An earthquake of all things.

Chaos erupted. Some people dropped to the floor to shield their heads, while the more impulsive ones rushed toward the emergency exits. Strangely, a deep calm settled over me. Amid the frantic, surging crowd, I met Zhang Mingsheng’s gaze. That moment may have lasted only a second, yet it felt like an entire lifetime.

I suspect he wanted to ask me something, but there was no time for an answer.

I had already decided to leave him.

I still had to leave him.

Only this time, I wanted to leave this world entirely.

Everything was my fault. I could no longer carry the weight of it. There was only one way out.

He reached out toward me trying to catch my wrist. Pieces of the ceiling; concert decorations, mostly, began to rain down. They weren’t heavy, but they were enough to cause injury, evidenced by the sharp cries ringing around us. I suppose the concert organizers hadn’t been as meticulous with the details as they should have been.

I saw Ah Hai and Ah Shan lunging through chaos. One scooped up Zhang Xiaoyuan; the other was fighting his way toward me.

Another violent tremor shook the building, bringing everything to a halt. People stumbled and fell, and abandoned belongings lay scattered across the ground. Gravity seemed to betray me as the world tilted and spun, and I lost my balance. Someone caught me, their hand closing firmly around mine in a sudden, steady grip.

The person leaned close while whispering into my ear, “Can you run?”

I reacted instantly, a jolt like an electric current racing through my body as I looked into those eyes. I blinked twice and squeezed back, it was my silent answer. He pulled me into the shadows of a corner. In the frantic rush of the crowd, faces blurred together until they were no longer distinguishable.

Finally, during those few golden seconds of respite between tremors, he pulled me into a dead sprint.

As we ran, I thought I heard a heavy, muffled thud behind us, followed by a child’s heartbreaking cry. My legs felt like lead, each step unsteady, as though I were treading on cotton, my whole body shaking so violently I feared I might fall apart at any moment. As we disappeared into the throng of people, my mind went completely blank.

We might be trampled to death. We might be crushed right here.

That had been my wish, after all.

Amidst the terror, I turned my head and caught a sudden, fleeting glimpse of Andrea and Song Yixing locked in a desperate embrace in a corner. Zhang Mingsheng and the others were nowhere to be seen.

That person gave my arm another sharp tug, hauling me close to his side. He was fully geared up with hat, sunglasses, and mask on. His grip felt like iron shackles, making my fingers throb with pain.

We made it out.

After waiting in an open clearing for a while, I stayed on high alert, my nerves stretched taut, afraid that a familiar face from the Zhang family might suddenly appear. But they never came for me. I remembered that heavy, muffled thud from before, and an ominous feeling clawed at my heart. I wondered if something had fallen on Zhang Mingsheng or if Keke had been caught in it. For a fleeting second, I even considered going back.

But in the end, I climbed into his car. Communication was restored quickly; the radio reported that the earthquake hadn’t been severe; at least, no buildings had collapsed. We sat in the car in a daze like two rookies who had just seen their first corpse on the job and were stunned into stillness, unable to eat or speak, just sitting there in silence.

I was gasping for air, feeling as though I might faint at any moment. My eardrums throbbed with a high-pitched ringing. I couldn’t believe I had managed to run that far.

He pulled out a bottle of water and twisted it open.

He still had that indifferent, unconcerned expression as he handed me the water, asking, “Why cut your hand with a knife? You even need someone else to twist open the bottle cap for you.”

I didn’t say a word while taking the water in silence.

Li Yi looked at me and asked again, “Hey, say something. Don’t tell me I grabbed the wrong person. I have no interest in kidnapping some rich man’s wife.”

So, he hadn’t even been sure it was me, yet he’d dared to grab me and run. After such a narrow escape, it was typical of him to have the mind to say something like that.

I glanced at him, taking a long moment to steady myself. “Do you have any other clothes or shoes?”

“Of course I do.” Li Yi said, rummaging through a paper bag next to the seat, only to pull out a sandwich.

I looked at the sandwich, then back at him, knowing my expression must have looked terrible.

Li Yi was still a bit afraid of me, even though he had spent all these years acting like he was the senior. He was far too impulsive; we could have easily died back there. But without that impulsiveness, we never would have made it out.

Of course, Li Yi didn’t know what I was thinking. Under my glare, his bravado crumbled. He averted his eyes guiltily and turned the ignition to start the car.

“I’ve got plenty of clothes at home.” He muttered under his breath.

I ignored him. After resting for a bit, I reached for a sleep mask tucked into the seat pocket. Since it was just an elastic band, I used it to tie my hair back in a few quick motions.

“Do you know how to cut hair?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Li Yi replied. “I’ve been practicing for a long time.”

“Then who cut yours?” I turned to look at his profile.

“Uncle Liang at the barbershop downstairs.” He said, a trace of post-escape relief finally broke through his voice. He kept his eyes on the road with a wide, toothy grin spreading across his face.

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