Chapter 19#

It wasn’t until we moved into the new house that I still hadn’t learned much more about the twin death-row inmates.

A long-closed case that seemed long settled, whose instigator should have long been dead by gunfire, had instead had his life extended behind the scenes by an indescribable force.

I couldn’t help but think: if I had never met Zhang Mingsheng, and had never become Yu Huaiqing, from what turning point would I have uncovered the truth? In the vast sea of people, even if I brushed past those two brothers, catching them from the corner of my eye, would I have suspected and recognized them as criminals who should have had two bullets pierce their skulls?

Zhang Mingsheng says I am a jingwei bird filling the sea, but I am not a god. My life is only a hundred years long, perhaps even shorter. If time could be reversed, and I had avoided the calamity of meeting Zhang Mingsheng, how much suffering could I have saved, and how much evil could I have uncovered? Would I have been in time, could I have calculated it all? I have seen so much death, yet it is the first time I realize how viciously time passes—living people, like mustard seeds in the world, if they are not careful, get crushed and erased by unspeakable forces, turning into nothing.

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my thoughts. With each breath, I heard the sound of rain.

Our family was going to attend a funeral. That child with the surname Zhu was being buried today.

I guessed Zhang Mingsheng had let the Zhu family know something, either by virtue of being the eldest grandson of the Zhang family, or in his role as a father who had nearly lost his own child and understood their pain. He must have told the Zhu family: the instigator has been dealt with, no need for further words, all for the sake of the child.

The Zhang family’s influence spanned both legal and underworld circles. When Zhang Mingsheng said such things, they carried weight.

The Zhu family immediately wept with gratitude, feeling their great revenge had been avenged, and sent us many congratulatory gifts for our move.

They congratulated us on our new home, and we had to give them face by attending the funeral of their wrongfully killed child.

This kind of social reciprocity was somewhat laughable.

From what Zhang Mingsheng said, today was an auspicious day for burial. I didn’t understand his logic—since it was a burial, how could it be auspicious? Then I thought, perhaps the Zhu family had consulted someone to pick a favorable time, so that their suffering grandson could be buried and rest peacefully, hoping for a smooth afterlife.

Zhang Mingsheng sneered at this.

The Zhu family had been butchers for three generations, rising from meat stalls in the market. They had killed countless livestock and worn out many cleavers, yet now they believed in karma and reincarnation, and not very discerningly—whatever the Taoist priest or Buddhist monk said, they believed. When people hit rock bottom, even a blink is taken as a sign from the gods.

Zhang Mingsheng didn’t believe in any of this. He found it ridiculous.

The old man who had read Ke’s fortune was considered a notable charlatan in Hong Kong. Ever since he said Ke was the Zhang family’s lucky star, his health had deteriorated day by day, and he died within a few days. I once suspected Zhang Mingsheng was behind it, but then I thought about it—Zhang Mingsheng had never believed in ghosts or gods. It probably wasn’t him.

He had said that if there really was divine punishment or hell, they could take him away, and he wouldn’t even blink. Seeing his frankness, I silently prayed, hoping his wish would come true.

Yet he lived so well—on the surface, with a wife and daughter; in private, with a hand that could cover the sky. It seemed there was no retribution in this world.

I had lost count of how many times I had been out this month. Hong Kong had entered autumn, with a light drizzle. I leaned by the window, watching raindrops the size of beans fall onto the tea-colored glass, then slide down, rolling to places I couldn’t see.

Before going out, Zhang Mingsheng picked out a huge pair of sunglasses for me, brown-tea-colored frames that covered most of my face. I didn’t like my long hair, nor was I good at managing it. I simply twisted it and fastened it with a clip, the stray hairs tickling my neck, making a dull irritation rise within me.

I said, “I used to hear from the elders that it’s not appropriate to hold a grand funeral for a child who died young, isn’t that right?”

Zhang Mingsheng hummed in acknowledgment, lowering his head to adjust his cufflinks. He said nonchalantly, “The little one died, and the big one followed too.”

I was taken aback at his words. Before I could ask further, Zhang Mingsheng scooped me up. Over thirty, he still had considerable strength. Zhang Mingsheng had always been meticulous about physical health—not just his own, but everyone’s. Even if Ah Hai coughed once, he would give him half a day off, insisting he get his illness fully diagnosed and treated before reappearing.

Sometimes, I felt he was like a beast on the savanna. Before the sun rose, he would do his utmost to stay in peak condition to survive.

Psychologically twisted, physically healthy, and full of vitality.

An average person had no way to deal with him, and I was no exception.

He carried me with long strides out of the living room. Outside the door, Ah Hai was holding a black umbrella. When Zhang Mingsheng stepped out from under the eaves, Ah Hai dutifully tilted the umbrella, covering both Zhang Mingsheng and me completely.

Ke was already in the car. Xiao Yuan stood by the car, watching us from a distance, in a full black uniform, with Ah Shan holding an umbrella for him.

As Zhang Mingsheng lifted me into the car, I stole a glance at the general appearance of our new house. Compared to our former residence, this building was slightly older, European in style, with the outer walls painted a pale red. I had heard it was Zhang Mingsheng’s parents’ former home, and it even had its own name—it seemed to be called the Red Mansion. It was said to be the only asset his parents had left him. Now, he was moving his cobbled-together family into it.

For some reason, I suddenly felt like sighing.

But I didn’t have the time. This Rolls-Royce was already spacious, specially bought by Zhang Mingsheng for family outings. But for me, no matter how much space there was, as long as I couldn’t walk, it was always inconvenient. Zhang Mingsheng carefully supported my head and helped me sit up. Amid the bustle, I glimpsed my youngest daughter sprawled across the seat, fast asleep. My head began to ache again.

“Do we have to make her come?” I said worriedly.

I wasn’t superstitious, but she was still too young. She shouldn’t be attending a funeral—the unclean things were one issue, but explaining life and death was another.

Zhang Mingsheng said softly, “After all, they were classmates.”

I stared at him, incredulous. I couldn’t believe those words came from him—he had always been contemptuous of worldly affairs.

He shrugged, took a thick blanket from Ah Hai, unfolded it, leaned halfway into the car, and covered my legs and Ke’s body with the blanket.

When everything was ready, Zhang Mingsheng said, “Not everyone gets a chance to attend the funeral of someone they hate. Ke is lucky.”

I knew it! This psychopath!

He sat in the passenger seat, followed by Zhang Xiaoyuan.

The boy sat down very carefully, occupying only a small space. I casually felt his sleeve and found it slightly damp. There was wind today, and the rain was blowing sideways onto people.

Ah Shan wasn’t as meticulous as Ah Hai; he didn’t know how to adjust the umbrella’s angle. Zhang Xiaoyuan was also a taciturn sort, not as skilled as Ke at giving orders.

I held back the sigh I had been saving for Zhang Mingsheng, but in the end, it escaped for little Zhang. I took out my handkerchief, wanting to dry his damp ears.

Before I could get close, Zhang Xiaoyuan, like a wary animal, jerked his arm up in defense.

I was startled by his reaction.

He, too, realized his loss of composure. He slowly lowered his arm, sat upright rigidly, and looked away, waiting for my next move.

I didn’t know why he responded like that.

Zhang Xiaoyuan had lacked for nothing in the Zhang household; no one had ever bullied him. Even though Zhang Mingsheng was moody, he was willing to play the good father in front of both him and Ke. Even if he had been bullied at the orphanage, he was so young then—he shouldn’t retain such muscle memory.

Without changing expression, I glanced toward the front seat, meeting Zhang Mingsheng’s cold, starlike eyes in the rearview mirror.