NB Chapter31

By the following day, every lofty reflection from the night before had completely dissipated. What now stood before the Zhang couple was a far more immediate predicament: should they confiscate their eldest son’s electronic devices or let him keep them?

If I were merely a bystander, I would certainly say: Children are naturally drawn to play; as long as their screen time is kept under control and proper care is taken to protect their eyesight, there is nothing particularly concerned about it.

But when it is your own child, it is difficult to think that way.

When I opened my eyes, Zhang Mingsheng was already gone. His work keeps him overwhelmingly busy, every hour of his day carved into tightly measured fragments, so oversleeping was naturally out of the question. Consequently, when I rolled over and blearily opened my eyes, I was startled by the shadow beside the bed.

To tell the truth, if Zhang Mingsheng weren’t still alive and fully grown, I would have almost thought the figure by the bed was his childhood ghost.

Zhang Xiaoyuan was dressed in his white school uniform shirt, his hair freshly trimmed, with dark circles hanging beneath his eyes as he stared at me in a dazed, vacant manner. I guessed he had likely been waiting for me for a long time, considering his classes start at eight in the morning and it was already past nine. I have no desire to make my child stand apart from everyone else, but from time to time, unexpected matters arise at home, leaving us with no option but to ask the teacher for leave on his behalf.

His presence here now was undoubtedly at Zhang Mingsheng’s instruction.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed by how badly I had startled myself, I wiped my face, pushed myself upright, steadied my nerves, and composed myself into a gentler expression. I asked kindly, “What happened, Xiao Yuan? You should be at school right now.”

Zhang Xiaoyuan’s voice was very low, his face showing a rare sense of grievance, his small nose and brows all scrunched up. He said, “Mom, he said… he’s going to dismantle my computer and send it away.”

Zhang Xiaoyuan isn’t delicate like Keke, who cries “Daddy” and “Mommy” all day long. He rarely uses titles when speaking to us, only calling us “Dad” or “Mom” in a childish, awkward manner when left with no other choice. I have reason to believe he is much more familiar and natural when communicating with Siri.

In television dramas, families with several children always seem to have one exceptionally gifted kid, the sort who is effortlessly skilled with anything electronic. They usually wear glasses and look down upon other kids with a maturity that transcends their peers, their eyes often carrying a hint of stubbornness and a faint sense of loneliness. Film and television thrive on clearly defined personalities, so these precocious children are invariably endowed with remarkable talents to compensate for; or perhaps justify, their unconventionality.

But I know that in school, lively and outgoing people are always found in groups, while the children who cannot fit in are not necessarily there because they saw through the coldness of human nature at an early age. Some may have grown up under family violence, whether cold and neglectful or overtly harsh, becoming so guarded that they simply no longer know how to exist comfortably among other people.

Zhang Xiaoyuan is much like the child I once was, one of those children left to fend for themselves emotionally. His homeroom teacher, Ms. Lian, is exceptionally attentive; once, because Zhang Xiaoyuan had taken a dislike to physical education class, she even called the house to check in. Zhang Mingsheng happened to be away at the time, and after the call made its rounds through Ah Hai and Aunt Liu, it eventually ended up with me.

Ms. Lian’s voice was extremely gentle, yet her message was very clear: Zhang Xiaoyuan does not fit in, and he occasionally gets into disputes with classmates. Although he is an excellent student, she is very worried.

After hanging up, I was filled with anxiety. Given the Zhang family’s reputation, for someone to speak so directly about their concerns for the Zhang family’s great-grandson meant only that Zhang Xiaoyuan’s issues had reached a point where they could no longer be ignored.

Zhang Mingsheng, naturally, wasn’t going to play the “good guy,” so I had to brace myself to ask Zhang Xiaoyuan why he didn’t want to attend PE.

Zhang Xiaoyuan said, “Because it’s boring.”

When I was growing up, the lessons I most eagerly anticipated were physical education, music, and art. To hear a student describe PE as boring was genuinely unexpected. As I watched him stride away, I realized I didn’t even know what excuse to use to call him back.

This issue remained unresolved; ever since Zhang Mingsheng gifted him a set of computer equipment for Christmas, my adopted son seemed determined to become the kind of freakish kid often seen in TV dramas. I had no control over anything else, so the only thing I could fuss over was his eyesight; constantly reminding him, warning him again and again, and strictly forbidding him from turning into a “four-eyes.”

But seeing him now, it suddenly felt like being a “four-eyes” would’ve been far better than ending up as a dark-circled little brat lingering at someone else’s bedside.

I slowly sat up, still feeling somewhat drowsy, and could only prop up my forehead while closing my eyes as I asked him, “What did you do to make your dad so angry?”

Zhang Xiaoyuan’s gaze instantly dropped, not daring to look at me.

Just as I was about to press further, the phone by the bed rang. I reached out to answer, and as soon as I let out a “Hello,” I heard Zhang Mingsheng’s voice, “Ah Yu, I want him to stay home and reflect and watch with his own eyes as the computer is dismantled and taken away. If he goes to see you, do not be soft-hearted.”

“And what if I do go soft?” Sometimes I really couldn’t stand Zhang Mingsheng’s act of being a loving father in public while being cold-blooded in private, and I felt the need to speak up for the kid from time to time.

“If you still go soft on him and refuse to punish him after hearing what he said, then naturally I won’t say another word… Jessie, pass this one along for me as well. And close the door, thank you… Hello? Ah Yu, are you still listening?”

Jessie was Zhang Mingsheng’s assistant. I had met her a few times; she had wheat-colored skin and looked like the type of person who played tennis.

I gave an “Mhm” to indicate I was still on the line.

“He played games until three o’clock this morning.” Zhang Mingsheng said succinctly, making everything clear.

My head spun, and I abruptly hung up the phone.

“Three in the morning? If your dad isn’t lying, you’d better explain yourself. How did you keep it from Ah Hai? Doesn’t a computer screen give off light?”

“I didn’t keep it from him. Ah Hai found out, he just found out a little too late.”

He was quite honest, even having the leisure to pick apart the loopholes in my words.

“You’d better have a reason that can convince me.” I sighed, finally sitting up straight to face him properly.

“I had an appointment with a friend.”

“What friend? That ‘Little Fish Eating Bubbles’ person again?”

Just thinking of those words made me seethe with anger. I didn’t go online much and didn’t know what online friendships were based on these days, but it felt like I should be calling the police station for a primary school student to play games until three in the morning with someone who had such a sharp tongue.

Zhang Xiaoyuan seemed prepared; he pulled out a stack of photos to show me.

They appeared to be game screenshots filled with pixel blocks that looked like building bricks. They were colorful, but upon closer inspection, they were all strangely familiar. I shifted through three or four photos, looking again and again, and suddenly realized these were the houses our family had lived in over the years.

The last one was Red Residence.

It suddenly dawned on me: no wonder Zhang Xiaoyuan asked Ah Hai to take photos for him every time we moved. I thought the kid was just sentimental and couldn’t let go of our old homes, but it turned out he was using them as references.

My heart softened instantly. I let out a sigh, but just as I was about to speak, I spotted half of a metal bunk bed in one of the photos. Looking closely, it bore a striking resemblance to the bed I used to sleep in back at the police academy.

However, many dormitories look like this; it’s just that I’ve only ever slept in a bed like that at the police academy, so it momentarily brought back old memories.

I pointed at the rather shabby iron bed and asked, “What made you think of building this? I remember your school beds don’t look like that.”

“Ah,” Zhang Xiaoyuan said while leaning over the edge of the bed. When I lowered my gaze, all I could see was the top of his head. He braced his little hands against the mattress and stared at the photo of the bed. “Little Fish made this one.”

As soon as I heard that, I lost interest and gathered the photos. “Maybe he’s been to prison; they used to use beds like that in jail too. You’ve done a good job, these houses are very beautiful; but there is one very important thing, and that is…”

Before I could finish, I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Since Ah Hai wasn’t around, Aunt Liu naturally went to answer it.

Li Yi and my old mentor were coming today; I had almost forgotten.

I opened the bedside drawer, fished out the remote, and pulled up the real-time surveillance feed.

My mentor had thinned out quite a bit, and his hair had become even sparser. He wasn’t at all awkward facing Aunt Liu for the first time; that’s how it is when you’ve been a policeman for a long time, you aren’t afraid of strangers. By contrast, Li Yi looked downright haggard today; his hair was disheveled, his expression gloomy, and it was obvious at a glance that he hadn’t slept well.

He must have stayed up late again.

Back at the police academy, he slept in the top bunk above me. He would often read martial arts novels by flashlight at night; sometimes, when the blankets weren’t tucked in tightly, the light would leak through the gaps. I woke up once in the early hours of the morning to find that cold white light still spilling onto my pillow.

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