NB Chapter74

The greatest fear in life is suffering from a major physical injury. The terror of being bedridden seems to be an ancient inheritance. In the vast wilderness, predators lurk in the shadows, ready to strike at any moment; while a healthy person can run for their life in times of danger, but someone in pain can only lie on the grass, gazing helplessly at the night sky, listening to the howling of the wind and the cries of beasts. Even if the future is unpredictable, very few people are willing to surrender their lives to the unknown.

Most people will still struggle.

Having been hospitalized for nearly a month, I, who insisted on leaving on crutches, was no different.

I rose slowly with one foot in a slipper touching the ground while the other leg remained slightly bent and suspended. Li Yi had packed my belongings; I was being discharged this afternoon. The gifts tucked away in the corner of the headboard had gathered dust. They were apples brought by my mentor. He had arrived in a hurry on a rainy night with his face masked with guilt. Shanshan wasn’t there that day, so Li Yi and I ended up listening to a great deal of our mentor’s heartfelt revelations.

He said the past few years had been difficult, the pressure weighing on him too heavily. Having reached middle age, he felt death inching closer while he still had nothing to show for himself. When Shimu suddenly fell ill, he found himself at a loss over how to keep the family afloat. He looked utterly drained, and after speaking, he lowered his head and buried his face in his broad hands.

Li Yi sat to the side, fiddling with his fingers in silence.

He had a family of his own, and his mother was a humble yet resilient woman. Not only had Li Yi stayed out of trouble, but he had also remained firmly on the right path, doing better than most. I could tell as well that, in many situations, my mentor actually showed a certain favoritism toward Li Yi. At this point, he had neither seen our mentor’s frightening outbursts nor had any idea what changes awaited our lives in some distant, derailed future. To him, the estrangement and conflicts of the present likely seemed no more than ordinary family matters, the kind casually discussed over tea.

If I were to tell Li Yi now, “Go and get me a glass of warm water,” he would surely comply eagerly.

I was the only one who could take up the conversation.

I forced myself upright, adjusted my posture, and awkwardly cleared my throat. Just as I was about to say something, I saw my mentor wipe his face twice, mention that he had matters to take care of, and rise to leave.

As a result, the words that left my mouth became polite farewells and gestures of hospitality, sounding almost warm, as though all estrangement had vanished. Li Yi insisted on seeing him out, draping our mentor’s coat over his arm as he followed a few steps behind at an unhurried pace.

My mentor never returned. According to Li Yi, he visited Shimu once. Much like the situation here, the two of them sat in shared silence. Meanwhile, Shanshan was like a cat spotting a hiding place; the moment she heard her father was coming, she disappeared without a trace.

Amidst these predicaments, the only saving grace was that Shimu’s treatment was going smoothly, and the costs were lower than expected.

Gazing at that dusty gift box of fruit, I couldn’t help but drift off.

If I hadn’t urged her to get a physical exam, perhaps she would never have known my mentor’s other side.

Small conflicts between people are inevitable. But major conflicts often strip away the masks of those skilled at pretending; at the same time, seemingly deep bonds and relationships are suddenly torn apart, perhaps never to heal, leaving behind scars and shadows.

If there were a choice, would it be better for such a conflict to erupt when one is nearing death or when one is still in good health?

If your partner is willing to play the part you like and is willing to perform it for a lifetime, would you choose to see through it?

Sitting in Li Yi’s car, I asked him these questions.

He was busy turning the steering wheel, his mind clearly elsewhere, offering only a distracted hum in response. It wasn’t until he drove our beat-up Santana past a Mercedes that had been crawling along at a snail’s pace that he let out a whistle, glanced at me sideways, and asked, “What did you just say?”

I tugged at my seatbelt and repeated, “If you knew your partner was willing to play the part you liked and was willing to perform it for a lifetime, would you choose to see through it?”

“Of course,” Li Yi said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t want to live my life that way.”

His personality wouldn’t allow him to enjoy a muddled sense of submission and happiness.

I suddenly felt a wave of emotion.

“But why ask me that all of a sudden? Are you still thinking about that ex-boyfriend of yours?” Li Yi’s scrutinizing gaze reflected in the rearview mirror.

“No way.” I said while waving my hand hurriedly.

Mentioning Xu Yanzhou still gave me a headache. I had given my statement and endured several rounds of questioning; with my testimony and the irrefutable evidence, it was expected that he would be sentenced to death. As the countdown to the end of his life ticked away, his letters scattered outward like drifting snowflakes; some sent to lawyers and supporters, others addressed to me.

With my consent, I received several letters he had written to me personally.

His wording was restrained, his prose filled with remorse, and at the end, he even made a soulful confession, hoping I wouldn’t hate him.

What a truly malicious and selfish person.

Through this ordeal, I had effectively come out publicly, though the police station hadn’t treated me any differently. Yet, Xu Yanzhou’s repentance in his letters, along with his reminiscence of old times, was nothing less than the exploitation and airing of my privacy. He wanted to make me soft-hearted on one hand while ensuring my life remained difficult on the other.

I felt nauseated.

As for hatred… looking at the signature, I suddenly realized that I didn’t hate Xu Yanzhou. I had no deep feelings for him whatsoever. Even though he caused my injury, made me suffer, and exposed my sexual orientation and privacy to the world, I still felt no hate. I felt only disdain, contempt, and disgust.

My only trace of fear toward him stemmed from being in his clutches and once again coming so close to death.

But I did not die.

As long as I am alive, he cannot shake my life.

Or rather, I will not allow a second person to shake my life.

Zhang Mingsheng had not contacted me for nearly a month, nor had he shown his face.

Since the day he stuffed me into the trunk of that car, we had never been apart for this long.

My fingers have brushed over the keys countless times, but in the end, I never pressed call.

In truth, this might be for the best; a sudden severing of all entanglements, leaving us to become strangers to one another. Though Hong Kong is small, as long as one isn’t obsessed with searching, there is a chance of never meeting again for a lifetime.

As for the clouds of doubt in our lives, I can clear them away on my own.

I don’t know what methods Sister Azhu employed, but the data sat before my eyes were clear and undeniable.

Looking at the documents in front of me, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

It seems she really wants me to go to Southeast Asia to work for her.

Cases of corruption and murder are both easy but also difficult to investigate. If I were to charge in recklessly and file an anonymous report, I might end up a corpse at the bottom of the ocean three days later. The police murder cases had not yet occurred, and there was still no unrest within the station. The greatest taboo in the force was suspicion and betrayal among colleagues; even the ICAC would not easily move against someone without solid grounds. Any evidence from that time had long since been wiped clean, and with only what I currently held, it would be difficult to bring them down. Moreover, Zhang Yaonian is now several years further away from death; shaking his foundation will be incredibly hard.

No wonder Zhang Mingsheng resorted to intimidating them to see if they would surrender. He was prepared to use unconventional means if they didn’t.

Who else, like Zhang Mingsheng, has reached the point of having no choice but to kill?

I already had the answer in my heart.

However, this answer bypassed both inference and evidence.

I sighed and put the documents away. Preventing everything before it happens is not as simple as I thought.

My sick leave still hadn’t ended; I still had time to think things through.

When I had a moment, I went to the orphanage to visit Zhang Xiaoyuan.

According to the old director, he has become a bit livelier lately and no longer needs the staff to chase him around to feed him.

Amidst the relief, the old director also berated me for my lack of professionalism and caution, “A police officer actually being kidnapped and tortured by a criminal, it’s pure negligence. I told you back then that being a cop means enduring hardship, and for someone as soft-hearted as you, you were bound to suffer even more.”

Whenever I tried to offer an occasional explanation, I was met with even harsher criticism until finally, I could only hang my head and listen to the lecture.

Fortunately, Zhang Xiaoyuan burst in just in time to rescue me from the line of fire.

In the old director’s office sat a computer with an outdated system, capable of playing simple stand-alone games like “Plants vs. Zombies.”

Sometimes, when he had nothing to do, the director would click it open to engage in a fierce battle with the zombies.

Once Zhang Xiaoyuan stumbled upon this, there was no turning back.

According to the old director, the kid’s eyeballs were practically glued to the monitor; he was always crouching by the director’s legs, looking on longingly.

The old director, whose bite was worse than his bark, would always pick him up and slowly click the mouse while holding him.

So this was where his addiction to electronic devices was cultivated. I shot the old director a glare; he looked a bit dazed at first, then averted his eyes.

I caught Zhang Xiaoyuan as he rushed in toward the director and made him face me.

He widened his eyes, froze for a moment, and then pouted.

It seemed he recognized me.

I looked into his eyes and said, enunciating every word, “You can’t look at the computer too much, or else…”

Before I could even finish my hypothetical, tears welled up in Zhang Xiaoyuan’s eyes. His sobbing grew more intense, his mouth agape as he broke into a childish wail.

Once again, the meeting came to an unpleasant and bitter close.

The old director showed no intention of helping me either. When I looked toward him, he immediately looked elsewhere.

It seems I will have to dip into my salary again to buy Zhang Xiaoyuan a new toy.

The process of building a bond with him has been exceptionally difficult.

I hailed a taxi as I walked out of the orphanage feeling utterly dejected. Just as I was about to open the door, my phone rang. Seeing that I was struggling, the taxi driver got out to help me; it took over a minute of maneuvering before I was finally settled in.

By then, the ring had stopped. I pulled out my phone and saw that the caller had been Zhang Mingsheng.

Just as I was hesitating over whether or not to call back, the screen lit up again.

Wanting an escape, I turned my gaze out the window and saw ahead a red billboard advertising a carbonated drink popular among young people. The car was moving at a steady pace; as we drew level with it, a magpie landed lightly and gracefully on top.

The phone was still ringing.

The driver was an elderly man. Perhaps seeing that I wasn’t answering, he spoke up with a chuckle, “Having a spat with the family?”

I gave a couple of forced laughs.

“Then it must be a fight with the girlfriend, she’s mad and giving you the ‘deadly’ chain-call treatment.” The driver continued to speculate.

I didn’t dare say another word. I grabbed the phone, pressed the answer key, and held it to my ear. “Hello?”

“You’re discharged so soon.” Zhang Mingsheng said on the other end.

I couldn’t read his tone.

“En ” I replied while looking down at the buttons on my jacket.

“I’ve been very busy lately, I’m moving house. It’s always very late by the time I finish work, so I haven’t contacted you,” Zhang Mingsheng added.

“Moving?”

“Yes,” Zhang Mingsheng said. “I’m at the Red Residence.”

I froze for a moment.

He had moved directly into the Red Residence.

For a moment, I was speechless.

Zhang Mingsheng spoke again, “Do you want to come see it?”

I hung up the phone.

I had lived there under another person’s identity; I should have had no lingering attachment to it whatsoever.

Yet half an hour later, the taxi door opened, and that familiar old building with its multicolored masonry came into view before my eyes once more.

There were no guards nor security gates, the main entrance stood wide open.

Walking through the desolate garden and stepping inside through the front door, I saw that all the curtains in the living room had been pulled open, flooding the space with bright light. There wasn’t much furniture inside, and not even the carpets had been laid down. Only the lonely sofas sat there like a few soft, low fortresses.

The foyer, the living room, the stairs.

Everything felt familiar and unchanged; if anything, it looked even newer than I remembered.

In the corner sat a wheelchair.

“As long as I close the door, we go back to the way we were.”

A voice sounded from behind me.

I turned around.

I didn’t know where Zhang Mingsheng had emerged from. He took a few steps forward, maintaining some distance from me.

I looked at him and said, “The way we are now is how we were.”

With that, I turned my head and tilted it slightly upward, watching the dust motes drift and swirl slowly through the bright light.

“I just thought that if you and I stood together, many things would be different.” Zhang Mingsheng moved a bit closer.

“Together? Do you mean dying together?” I said flatly.

The two of us are dying right here, together.

Zhang Mingsheng’s voice sounded again as he caught the ends of my hair with his hand, “Your hair has grown.”

“It reminds me,” Zhang Mingsheng paused, “of the future. A certain future.”

I took two steps forward without hesitation to put some distance between us while leaning on my crutches.

I turned around to face him.

He was looking at me too.

He had lost some weight, and with a faint smile on his face, he said, “That version of you could belong to me completely.”

“But this version of me never will.” I spoke.

We stood face to face like two ghosts with heartbeats wandering in a world that did not belong to us.

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