Yan Tuo followed Xiong Hei down to the second basement level. It was already past working hours, and the place was eerily quiet, though brightly lit. They hadn’t encountered anyone along the way.
Xiong Hei opened the door to a small room. “Take a look.”
A nauseating stench of urine and excrement hit them. Yan Tuo instinctively held his breath. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the Lame Father sitting cross-legged in the center of the room with his hands bound behind his back, grinning at the doorway. His face was swollen to the size of a basin, deathly pale, with eyelids so puffy they gleamed. His mouth was twisted, with blood and saliva continuously dripping from one corner.
These people must be used to driving their victims to death or insanity, Yan Tuo thought to himself. He reminded himself not to show any emotion—he had neither the status nor the strength to do so.
Xiong Hei looked extremely worried. “I thought the drug was working, and in my excitement, I lost control. Just when we finally had a lead, I ruined it. This is the second time… Sister Lin will have me flayed alive.”
“It’s fine, this might be temporary,” Yan Tuo said. “Don’t push him for now. Let him rest, give him some water and food. He might recover.”
Xiong Hei wasn’t optimistic. “What if he doesn’t recover… I’m finished, aren’t I?”
“We can always find other leads.”
Xiong Hei nearly jumped in frustration. “What other leads? If there were any, I wouldn’t be this desperate!”
Yan Tuo gestured toward the Lame Father. “You have a hostage. With a hostage, why fear his accomplices won’t talk?”
Xiong Hei stared at Yan Tuo as if he were stupid. “Are you an idiot? We can’t find his accomplices!”
“Weren’t you unable to find my kidnappers at first? What did you do then? His accomplices might be in hiding, but that doesn’t mean they won’t receive any messages you send out.”
It took Xiong Hei a full ten seconds to process this before his face lit up with excitement. “You’re good! Finding you was the right choice.”
Yan Tuo smiled. He knew Lin Xiru would have thought of this method anyway, but revealing it now when Xiong Hei was at his wit’s end would make him feel like they were on the same side. This would make it easier to extract information from him later.
Just then, the Lame Father suddenly let out a strange “Aha!”
The sound was both loud and eerie, almost like an opera note. Yan Tuo was startled, while Xiong Hei cursed, “Damn, not again!”
He grabbed a small towel from the table and walked toward the Lame Father.
The Lame Father started accompanying himself: “Clang, bang, dong! With blade and hound through Qing Rang…”
Xiong Hei grabbed the Lame Father’s hair and tried to stuff the towel in his mouth. The Lame Father’s head swung like a stubborn pendulum: “Ghost Hand whips pearl light bright, clang, bang… mmph, mmph, mad dog leads… mmph, mmph, mad blade sits… mmph…”
Finally, his mouth was properly gagged.
Yan Tuo pretended to be amused. “What was he going on about?”
Xiong Hei shrugged it off. “Hah, just some countryside folk opera he must have picked up somewhere.”
—
When Qiao Ya finished work, she first went to her grand-uncle’s place to check on Sun Zhou.
As soon as the door opened, she smelled a musty, fishy odor. She assumed it was because the house had been empty too long and the drains were backing up. “How can you stand this smell? Don’t you know how to open a window?”
She rolled up her sleeves and efficiently opened both the front and back windows.
Sun Zhou lounged lazily on the sofa watching TV. “If I open them, I’ll have to close them later. Too much trouble.”
“Why eat then? You’ll have to use the bathroom after eating. Might as well never eat and never need the bathroom.” Qiao Ya opened the refrigerator. “What did you eat today?”
After settling Sun Zhou in her grand-uncle’s house, she had stocked the fridge with frozen ready-to-eat meals.
“Dumplings.”
How surprising—he hadn’t touched the ready-to-eat bread and cakes but bothered to cook dumplings. No doubt he’d left the pots and dishes for her to wash. Qiao Ya stormed into the kitchen.
The sun must have risen from the west today—the counter was spotless, and the dishes were neatly arranged. Sun Zhou was usually lazy as a dog; had his stay at that medical MLM den changed him?
Qiao Ya puzzled over this for a while until her eyes fell on something odd in the trash can below.
She crouched down to look. There were dumpling wrappers that had been peeled off—raw ones, turned mushy after thawing, lying limply on top of the other garbage.
What kind of operation was this? Eating the filling but not the wrapper? Even if you wanted to do that, wouldn’t you normally cook them first? Who’d ever heard of peeling raw wrappers off frozen dumplings?
Qiao Ya left the kitchen, initially planning to ask Sun Zhou about this, but when she entered the living room and saw him still lounging in the same position as when she’d arrived, she grew angry. She strode over and stood between him and the TV. “Hey!”
With nowhere else to look, Sun Zhou finally raised his eyes to her. “Huh?”
Qiao Ya could barely contain her anger. “What are you thinking? You lost your travel agency job because you lost customers and disappeared. You were gone for a month, first saying you were starting a business with friends, then saying it was an MLM scheme promising to heal you. Fine, I won’t mention any of that since it’s in the past. But now that you’re back, can’t you at least show some proper attitude? How long are you going to lay around like a lord on that sofa? Are you rich? Do you own a house? Getting married empty-handed…”
Her phone rang—couldn’t even have an argument in peace. Qiao Ya checked the phone, seeing an unfamiliar number. Probably a Taobao seller, since she shopped online frequently.
She stepped aside and answered the call, still annoyed. “Hello?”
A woman’s gentle voice came through: “Is this Miss Qiao Ya? Is Sun Zhou with you?”
Who is this? Before Qiao Ya could react, the voice continued: “If he is, stay calm. Don’t panic, and don’t let him notice anything unusual, in case he suddenly attacks or hurts you.”
“Oh,” Qiao Ya responded blankly.
She looked at Sun Zhou, who had returned to watching TV, his expressionless face alternating between light and shadow with the changing screen.
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Qiao. Sun Zhou has suffered a severe viral infection. The altered facial muscle patterns are just one of the symptoms…”
Qiao Ya didn’t dare look at Sun Zhou, afraid her eyes would betray her. She had indeed noticed that his face looked much worse since his return.
“He has severe delusions, and despite our attempts to stop him, he’s become extremely dependent on raw food and blood…”
Qiao Ya’s mind flashed to the dozen or so mushy dumpling wrappers in the trash. Could it be… he ate the raw filling?
“If you don’t believe me, you can test it. Do you have any raw meat at home? Remember not to observe him directly—he’ll try to hide it. Try it out, but don’t hang up.”
Qiao Ya made an affirmative sound and, though skeptical, tried to act natural as she put down her phone. “So annoying, this seller keeps rambling on and on, totally inefficient.”
Sun Zhou responded with an “Oh.”
His head felt heavy, his attention scattered. When listening to the TV actors’ dialogue, he’d barely understand the first line before they’d already moved on to the fourth or fifth.
Qiao Ya opened the refrigerator door and rummaged around for a while before forcefully tearing open a package of hotpot beef slices. She sniffed it and frowned. “What’s wrong with this? Smells strange—could it have gone bad?”
She held it out toward Sun Zhou. “Don’t you think? I should complain about this.”
Sun Zhou didn’t take it. “Why do you care?”
Qiao Ya slammed the meat package onto the coffee table. “Oh, so you’re too good for this? Sitting there doing nothing—too tired to even smell something?”
Like during their usual quarrels, she stormed off to the bedroom in anger—except this time, it was an act.
After waiting about half a minute, she very carefully cracked open the bedroom door.
She saw that Sun Zhou’s attention was no longer on the TV. He kept staring at the package of meat, occasionally glancing toward the bedroom.
Qiao Ya pressed her hand against her chest, trying to steady her violently beating heart.
Sun Zhou’s hand slowly reached for the package opening. His fingertips pulled out a slice of meat. The frost on the meat slice gradually melted at room temperature. After a pause, Sun Zhou, like a thief, quickly stuffed the meat slice into his mouth, eating like a dog.
Qiao Ya’s mind exploded. She felt faint. She closed the door, quietly locked it, and brought the phone back to her ear with trembling hands. Her voice was barely audible: “Hello?”
At this moment, that woman’s gentle voice became her greatest comfort.
“Miss Qiao, you must stay calm. This disease has some contagious properties…”
Qiao Ya’s legs went weak.
“Have you had any sexual contact with him these past few days?”
Qiao Ya shook her head frantically, her voice breaking with tears: “No, no, but we did kiss…”
That would count as fluid transmission, wouldn’t it? A wave of nausea hit her, and she desperately wanted to vomit.
“Has he scratched or clawed you?”
Qiao Ya felt a moment of relief: “No, no.”
“Then it shouldn’t… be too serious. He hasn’t suspected you, has he? Send us your location, then try to act normal and leave. Miss Qiao, if he attacks you while you’re leaving, don’t resist. Cooperate to protect yourself. We’ll figure something out when we arrive.”
The bedroom had a window, but it had security bars—no escape that way. The thought of having to open the door and walk past the terrifying Sun Zhou almost brought tears to her eyes.
“Can I just stay in the bedroom with the door locked? Sun Zhou is… in the living room.”
The woman pondered briefly: “That works too. Better barricade the door with something.”
Though she knew the woman couldn’t see her, Qiao Ya nodded frantically. She’d seen the old horror movie “The Shining,” and the scene where the crazed husband chopped through the door with an axe and forced his head through had left a deep impression.
After hanging up, she sent her current address with trembling hands, then breathed deeply, trying to quietly push the dresser inch by inch to barricade the door.
[…]
Sun Zhou didn’t come knocking; he just kept watching TV. She couldn’t tell what program was playing, but the music was unusually cheerful. Qiao Ya sat against the dresser clutching a lamp base, alternating between shivering with fear and struggling to breathe. The woman had said it “shouldn’t be too serious”—but was that true?
Extreme tension can make one unusually alert but also extremely tired. As time ticked by, despite her fear and confusion, Qiao Ya somehow fell asleep.
She was awakened in the middle of the night by sounds of struggle and fighting from the living room, but they quickly subsided.
Footsteps approached and stopped at the bedroom door, followed by a gentle knock: “Miss Qiao, are you alright?”
It was that woman. Qiao Ya felt immense relief, her tongue almost stumbling: “Yes, I’m fine.”
She grabbed the table leg to stand up, then used all her strength to move the dresser away.
When the door opened, she saw a woman in protective gear and a mask, showing only gentle eyes with slightly upturned corners that gave a kind impression.
In the living room, several figures in protective gear moved about.
Qiao Ya wanted to cry again: they were so well-protected, while she had been completely “exposed.”
The woman first showed her credentials, though it was just a quick flash before Qiao Ya’s eyes. She only vaguely saw the character “XX Branch,” along with an official seal and a prominent red stamp.
“Miss Qiao, I suggest you get a blood test in the next couple of days. This disease mainly spreads through blood. If your blood cell count shows no significant abnormalities, you should be fine.”
Blood? Then she should be okay. Qiao Ya calmed down, though the relief left her weak. She nodded feebly.
“We’ll contact the immediate family about follow-up matters and sign relevant confidentiality agreements. I won’t say more now.”
Qiao Ya nodded mechanically. The personnel in the living room had all withdrawn, and the woman was turning to leave.
“Um…” Qiao Ya couldn’t help asking, “Can Sun Zhou… be cured?”
The woman said: “We’ll do our best, but I should warn you that even if cured, he’ll likely remain a carrier for life. The host loses fertility, and there’s a risk of paralysis in later stages.”
Qiao Ya had intended to see them off downstairs, but hearing this, her legs went numb, and she could only grip the doorframe.
She watched the woman’s figure disappear through the doorway, heard the cars drive away, and then the building fell silent—a chilling silence that left her chest feeling hollow.
Shouldn’t she feel sad and upset at this moment? But she didn’t. She suddenly understood the meaning of “couples are like birds in the same forest, each flying their way in times of danger”—and she and Sun Zhou weren’t even married.
A lifelong career wouldn’t work—she couldn’t be with someone who was sick. Her family had warned her against even dating someone with hepatitis B.
Moreover, he wouldn’t be able to have children.
And paralysis… she was in the prime of her life; how could she spend it caring for a paralyzed patient until old age? What had she done to deserve such misery?
Better to cut ties early, she thought. It seemed heartless, but wasn’t it better than living a difficult life later?
[…]
In the spacious SUV’s backseat, Que Cha removed her hood and sighed deeply. Being lazy, she roughly cut open the one-piece protective suit with scissors.
Da Tou turned from the front passenger seat to look at her. “Everything went smoothly?”
“Very smooth,” Que Cha examined the fake work ID. “Young girls, you know, not much social experience. Easy to fool.”
Beside her, Shan Qiang chuckled: “Look at you—you were once a young girl yourself, and now that you’re a grown woman, you’re deceiving other young girls. Why must women make things difficult for other women?”
The SUV erupted in laughter. In the trunk, Sun Zhou occasionally thrashed about like a dying fish.
Que Cha laughed along, but as she turned toward the window, her eyes were filled with hidden thoughts.
What a sin, she thought.
Then again, taking Sun Zhou away from Qiao Ya was necessary. She might have been cruel to Sun Zhou, but for Qiao Ya… this was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?