“The three questions. I haven’t asked them yet.”
“Officer Yu, another day, for sure.”
Zhang Mingsheng was a man of his word; he started the yacht and steered it toward the shore.
At the pier, two men were smoking with one of them standing and the other crouched down. Zhang Mingsheng walked over to talk to them, and I trailed behind at a slow pace, wrapped in a blanket.
As I drew closer, I realized the two men were Ah Shan and Ah Hai.
They were wearing suits of similar colors with messy shirt collars that clearly hadn’t been ironed. This was their first year being expelled by Mrs. Tang and their first year trying to make a living under Zhang Mingsheng. Dressed in black suits with amber ties, their collars rumpled and leather shoes coated in dust, they appeared distinctly worn and somewhat bedraggled.
I had heard Ah Hai and Ah Shan say they were transferred from the military and had always been indifferent to their appearance. Given Zhang Mingsheng’s fastidious and germaphobic personality, they were in for quite a bit of “polishing” over the next two years.
I studied Ah Hai’s youthful face. He was a bit darker and thinner than I remembered, with the corners of his mouth turned down in a serious expression that made him look older than his future self. The death of Mrs. Tang’s husband must have been a significant blow to him.
Ah Shan, who was beside him, hadn’t changed much at all; he looked like this in his twenties, and he’d look exactly the same at thirty.
The two of them frowned as they surrounded Mr. Zhang. They glanced at me, then stiffened their necks and spoke in low voices. Ah Hai would speak ten sentences, Ah Shan might add three, while Zhang Mingsheng would only toss in one. The three of them went back and forth like a card game where the person who spoke the most lost.
I was planning to slip away quietly when the phone rang. Ah Shan and Ah Hai’s gazes bypassed Zhang Mingsheng and swept over me with suspicion.
I raised my hands to show it was just my phone. Zhang Mingsheng turned around, reached out, and plucked the gun from my hand.
Then, I walked away to the side.
As I brushed past them, I heard Ah Hai ask, “Was it him who beat you like this?”
Beat him like what? It was nothing more than a split lip and a bruise on his cheekbone. He hadn’t lost any teeth or broken any bones, what was there to make a fuss about? He hadn’t even blinked when he dislocated my arm back then.
After walking a dozen meters, I looked back and saw the three of them still standing there. Belatedly, my heart began to race.
Once again, I had made a safe escape.
“Hello, Uncle, what is it?” I answered the phone. I called the old director “Uncle” to try and make him happy.
The director cut straight to the point: he had been rummaging through his office and finally found the note Auntie Yang had given him all those years ago.
On it was a string of phone numbers and a name: Pang Azhu.
I typed the number into my notes.
During those eight years, Zhang Mingsheng had gone to the orphanage to investigate and had even conversed with the old director; how could he not know about this “Pang Azhu”?
Every holiday, the only gifts the children received from elders were from Zhang Yaonian and Mrs. Tang; there was never anyone with the surname Pang. Zhang Mingsheng had never mentioned this person either.
As I was reflecting on this, the old director’s voice boomed.
“I’m warning you, when you come back in the future, you aren’t allowed to speak nonsense. That child you are scaring is even more terrifying of people now. No one knows what to do with him.”
The child I had scared.
Zhang Xiaoyuan.
I had almost forgotten about that kid.
I had even thought about getting ahead of Zhang Mingsheng and raising the boy to be one of my own; how did we end up as enemies after just one meeting? After enduring a lecture for a good five or six minutes, I finally found a chance to hang up. The price was that the next time I visited the orphanage, I would have to spend half my salary on toys and snacks for the children.
I glanced back.
In the distance, Zhang Mingsheng stood with his jacket slung over one arm, his white shirt damp and clinging to him, tinged faintly blue beneath the night air. He seemed to spot me at once, subtly tilting his head as his gaze turned in my direction.
For some reason, the sound of a ticking clock echoed in my ears.
Click. A brief, crisp sound from an intricate mechanism, delicate yet precise, setting into motion the very thing that marked the passage of time.
I thought of Zhang Mingsheng.
The thirty-five-year-old Zhang Mingsheng.
He walked without a sound; if he ever did make noise, it was because he wanted to assert his presence. He was more composed and self-assured, no longer seeking anyone’s approval or reassurance, nor acting on impulse so easily.
They were different after all, I thought. The Zhang Mingsheng who first moved me and the Zhang Mingsheng who lived with me for over eight years were completely different.
They were the same person, and yet somehow, they were not.
The young and innocent Zhang Mingsheng only filled me with a sense of sorrow.
Exactly when did this young man begin to grow, to transform, to start manipulating situations with a far-reaching vision and effortless finesse? And when did he begin to magnify those moments of madness shown while dancing; like a black curtain being pulled back to reveal a shimmering dagger, rising out of nowhere, only to plunge straight into my heart?
I went home to shower and sleep, then applying some iodine to my bruised face in the mirror. At this stage, Zhang Mingsheng’s strikes were mostly brute force; I could still handle it.
As I lay in bed, my whole-body aching, I planned to check my messages and go to sleep.
The entire day had passed, and I had only received two texts.
One was from Li Yi, sent at seven in the morning, saying he was heading out with some friends and wouldn’t be back today. There was no period at the end, only a tongue-out emoji.
The other was from Zhang Mingsheng and was delivered just five minutes ago. He asked: Why did you just leave?
What else was I supposed to do? Spend the night in your haunted mansion?
The current Zhang Mingsheng had not yet moved out of the old family mansion.
I didn’t intend to reply, but then I thought of that name, Pang Azhu…
Yu: I’ve made some progress investigating your mother’s matter. Did you know your mother had a sister?
Zhang Mingsheng: ……
Zhang Mingsheng immediately called.
Looking at the large “Z” on the screen, I answered and put it to my ear.
He asked in a relaxed tone, “Are you talking about Pang Azhu?”
“You know her?”
“Officer Yu, perhaps you’re the only person in all of Hong Kong who doesn’t know her. But it’s understandable; most people just call her Sister Azhu.”
“Sister Azhu?”
“Sister Azhu, Sister Bamboo[mfn]Sounds the same as Azhu.[/mfn], it’s all the same.”
“Are you telling me she’s…” I suddenly sat up in bed.
“I know you want to investigate my mother’s business, but I’m afraid I can’t help you on the Pang Azhu front. She hates me; she’s threatened to turn my head into a ‘Lion’s Head’ meatball. I wouldn’t recommend you go asking either.”
I rushed to my computer, opened a forum, and typed in a few keywords, and almost instantly the screen was filled with streams of blue text against a white background.
From being a gangster boss’s mistress to becoming a gangster boss herself, Pan Azhu had taken ten years to get there.
