NB Chapter53

No one ever told me that death feels like entering a dream.

I fell into the depths of a dark green lake with its surface perfectly still. Suddenly, a sharp bird cry pierced the silence, and I saw Zhang Mingsheng’s pale face floating beneath the water. He reached out his hand to drag me down with him. I struggled, flailing my limbs against the current.

Ding-ling.

I snapped my eyes open to a blur of wheat yellow. Sitting up, I found a desk positioned beside the bed cluttered with three or four books. It was so foreign, yet so familiar. This was my own room, the place I had lived in for years after graduating from the police academy.

I spread my hands out. The skin was firm and full, and the calluses from my service weapon were still there.

Heavy pounding erupted at the door, accompanied by a man’s muffled shouting, “Senior! Get up already! Isn’t sleeping at ten and waking at eight a bit too healthy?”

…How?

I was just at the Zhang residence, leveling my gun at myself. I hadn’t even pulled the trigger yet, but a shot had rung out. I was on the floor watching Zhang Mingsheng’s white shirt soak through with blood. Zhang Mingsheng was dead; I had killed him with my own hands.

And then, someone else had fired.

I opened the door. Li Yi stood there with a toothbrush dangling from his mouth and white foam bubbling at the corners of his lips. “Why didn’t you answer? I thought you’d dropped dead.”

He looked impossibly young.

I stared at him for two seconds before ducking into the bathroom. Only half a mirror hung on the wall, its dusty surface reflecting my face. A haggard-looking man, though the complexion was still relatively decent from years of training, save for the faint shadow of stubble along his chin.

I gripped the edges of the washbasin, my knuckles white.

“What’s the deal?” Li Yi followed me in, casually nudging me aside to grab his cup. He rinsed, spat out the foam, and looked at me. “What, have a nightmare or something?”

I turned my head slowly while touching my own face. Noticing the movement, Li Yi pulled an exaggerated expression of disgust and gave me a sharp shove. “You’re acting like you’re possessed.”

The sensation of the shove was undeniably viscerally real.

Li Yi quickly wandered off, calling from the other room, “Breakfast is ready!”

I followed him into the kitchen. On the cutting board, a single tomato had been sliced in half, and a piece of toast waited for each of us. Li Yi and I had lived together for years, and this was how we always got by. Occasionally we’d steam some egg custard, but most of the time we were too lazy for anything sophisticated.

The egg steamer Li Yi bought was on its last legs, yet he insisted the machine was fine, rebranding the half-raw eggs it produced as “soft-boiled delicacies.”

I cracked an egg open; the familiar yolk oozed out.

Was it all a dream? Was I so sick with some secret crush on Zhang Mingsheng that I’d hallucinated this entire epic drama? Over a man I’d barely seen in years?

I really ought to see a psychiatrist.

I grabbed the bread and stuffed it into my mouth before chewing vigorously. The simple function of healthy teeth and tongue allowed me to draw satisfaction from the most basic things.

If it truly was a dream, it was far too vivid for comfort.

I was still living in the year before I secretly swapped out Li Yi’s egg steamer. Li Yi and I had just joined the police force, and up until that year, Hong Kong Island hadn’t seen encountered major cases.

“If your head’s not in the game, are we still going to look at those case files?” Li Yi asked while stifling a yawn.

“What case files?”

“You’re the one who told me about them last night. How should I know which ones you wanted?” Li Yi said, sounding a bit annoyed.

I couldn’t recall. Compared to the present moment, that “dream” felt far more authentic. I let out a long sigh. “Let’s skip it.”

“Just like that?” Li Yi frowned. “I’m telling you, you’re acting really strange today. You—”

“Lunch is on me.” I said, leaving the kitchen.

I changed quickly and headed downstairs. We found a relatively clean table at a small street-side shop. Li Yi ordered a basket of shrimp dumplings, and I went for a bowl of wonton soup. We sat across from each other, falling into a brief silence.

I reached into my pocket and felt my lighter and cigarette pack. The sharp edges of the box scraped lightly against my fingertips. The lingering traces of the dream seemed to be slowly fading away.

“Seriously, what did you dream about? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Li Yi said, his tone casual.

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “I dreamt I killed someone. Then you shot and killed me.”

“Well, that’s far too easy on you, isn’t it?” Li Yi burst out laughing. “Dreams are all fake. If you ever actually killed someone, I’d be the one to personally haul you off to the execution ground.”

“Officer ah, whether or not you go to the execution ground is another matter, but in a place this small where everyone smokes, how are we supposed to do business?” The proprietress wiped her reddened hands on her apron and rolled her eyes at us.

I quickly crushed out the cigarette, and Li Yi straightened up immediately. The lady running this shop had a terrible temper, but her cooking was excellent.

Regardless of what the dream was or what constituted a dream, nothing could compete with the bowl of fresh, hot soup sitting right in front of me.

I took a small sip, and my mouth was instantly filled with a subtle, savory aroma. It felt as if the days of everything tasting like flavorless wax had never existed at all.

I was just about to reach for a shrimp dumpling when a shout erupted from outside, “Catch him! Thief! There’s a thief!”

Li Yi shot up immediately, knocking over several chairs in his rush. I dropped my spoon and sprinted after him, the proprietress’s curses echoing in my ears once again.

Li Yi was already a fair distance ahead, chasing closely after the thief. I broke into a full sprint. Running at top speed felt both strange and exhilarating; each stride, at once heavy and weightless, seemed to carry me effortlessly forward. I caught up just as Li Yi tackled the man onto the pavement. The two of them tumbled into a tangled heap on the ground. The thief gritted his teeth, his hand suddenly darting toward his pocket.

Sensing something was wrong, I delivered a sharp kick to his hand. Li Yi rolled aside, and I seized the opportunity to grab the thief by the collar to haul him up. I landed a punch square on his face; his nose began to bleed as he staggered to his feet. I immediately pressed my weight onto him, pinning his arms behind his back.

A stream of filth kept pouring from his mouth, so I struck him again. That shut him up. Just as I was about to land a third blow, Li Yi’s voice came from beside me, hesitant. “…Senior.”

I turned my head and realized a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. Li Yi was frowning, his expression uneasy. “Why did you have to hit him so hard?”

I looked down somewhat dazed. The suspect’s face was already a mess of blood and swelling.

The thief was now blubbering with tears and mucus mixing with blood as he sobbed, “I’m going to report you two. I’m definitely filing a formal complaint.”

I stood there and was stunned.

In that other life, because the cuts on my wrists had been so deep, I had lost all my strength. Every time I had to throw a punch, I had to put every ounce of my soul into it just to make it land. It had become a subconscious habit, one that was proving dangerously hard to break.

Li Yi hauled the man up before slinging an arm around his shoulder in a mock-comforting gesture while fishing the stolen goods out of the man’s pocket.

I kept my head down, staring at my blood-stained knuckles.

“Clean yourself up.” A man’s voice said. Immediately after, a handkerchief was extended toward me. It was blue and white, patterned with classic cheeks.

I looked up and saw the face, the face I knew better than my own.

He was back. He had appeared in my life once again, drifting in like a phantom. My entire body went rigid; I couldn’t find my voice for a long momy.

Zhang Mingsheng. To be precise, a twenty-something Zhang Mingsheng. I used to think he was ageless, but seeing him now, I could finally discern the subtle difference between thirty-five and twenty-four.

The thief was still whimpering. A disheveled middle-aged man looks especially pitiful when he cries. He reached out, assuming the handkerchief was meant for him. “Thank you, thank you so much…”

But Zhang Mingsheng deftly shifted his hand, bypassing the thief and offering the cloth to me again.

His tone was gentle, almost kind.

“Your hand, Officer.” He spoke. “Wipe it.”

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