Nie Jiuluo lightly pressed her lips together and moved the flame toward his collarbone.
Being roasted alive was truly torturous. Yan Tuo quickly couldn’t bear it anymore. His arms trembled, the large tendons on his forehead and the blue veins on his neck all bulged. Beads of sweat rolled down one after another. Just as he was about to break down, Nie Jiuluo moved away in time, her other hand grabbing something cool and soft, and pressing it against the edges of his wound.
Yan Tuo’s eyelashes were soaked with sweat. He struggled to open his eyes and saw, through the blur, that it was a bag of water—a freezer bag filled with cold water, heat-sealed to prevent leaking.
Looking to the side, he saw many such bags on the coffee table surface, plump and clustered together, along with an opened bottle of mineral water with a straw in it.
She was thoroughly prepared. Sculpture was delicate work—someone who could succeed in that field must have a meticulous mind.
Nie Jiuluo said: “Yan Tuo, let me ask you a question.”
Yan Tuo smiled bitterly: “Miss Nie, you know how to… pick your timing for questions. You’ve been asking since last night.”
Nie Jiuluo said: “You don’t have to answer. I’m not petty—I’ll treat you even if you don’t answer. At most, if you answer, I’ll roast happily; if you don’t, I’ll roast unhappily.”
Yan Tuo lowered his head slightly. If he had the strength, he would have laughed bitterly out loud—she spoke so casually, as if “roasting unhappily” wasn’t terrifying.
He said: “Go ahead and ask.”
The side of the water bag touching his skin probably wasn’t cool anymore. Nie Jiuluo flipped it over. That area of skin was bright red—one could imagine how uncomfortable it must be.
Nie Jiuluo looked away: “Is Xiong Hei’s group pursuing so relentlessly just to help you get revenge?”
Yan Tuo shook his head: “That’s what they say, but I feel… it’s not quite like that. From the moment they learned that Big Head could smell Gou Ya’s scent, they’ve shown great concern. Also, the one at the very top asked Pai Die about her son—it felt like her son had been taken away by Pai Die.”
Speaking so many words at once left his throat dry; even his swallowed saliva felt scalding.
Nie Jiuluo put down the water bag and handed him the mineral water with the straw: “Son? A Di Xiao’s son?”
Yan Tuo tried to raise his hand to take it, only then realizing his arms were stiff, seemingly locked onto the sofa ends. He had to lower his head to drink through the straw.
“Yes.”
A Di Xiao’s son—then he must be a Di Xiao too. Ban Ya had at most one Di Xiao in their possession.
“Grasshopper?”
Yan Tuo weakly shook his head: “I suspected him too, but it feels… really unlikely, just the sense of… different paths between human and beast.”
Nie Jiuluo put the mineral water back on the table: “Brace yourself, second round.”
The fire came again.
Yan Tuo let out a long breath, once again gathering his strength to endure. He felt like he would howl in agony the next second, yet he had to grit his teeth and bear it. He forced himself to focus all his attention on the water bag, constantly hypnotizing himself: soon, soon, the water bag would come soon.
When the “second round” ended, Yan Tuo collapsed onto the sofa, taking huge gulps of air. He couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears of pain that stung his eyes.
The water bag rolled onto his body again, but Yan Tuo felt no comfort: it was as if his soul had left his body and was floating on the ceiling, their eyes meeting, both reflecting despair.
His voice was floating too: “Miss Nie, how many more rounds?”
“Almost done… seventeen, eighteen, nineteen rounds.”
Yan Tuo’s hope, which had briefly risen at her first words, crashed with a splat into a bottomless abyss.
However, when the “third round” came, he still gritted his teeth and sat up: there was no choice. He was already “sprouting”—this was a war between him and the sprouts. If he retreated one step, the sprouts would advance one step. He couldn’t lose an inch of ground.
…
Halfway through the “treatment,” Yan Tuo was drenched in sweat like he’d been pulled from the water. Nie Jiuluo gave him a halftime break and helped wipe him down with a wet towel.
Yan Tuo suddenly remembered Sun Zhou: “Last time, did you treat Sun Zhou the same way?”
Nie Jiuluo made an affirmative sound.
She hadn’t heard Sun Zhou’s name for a long time and didn’t know where he was. Counting the days, he had probably succumbed to the condition—most likely already confined in a mental hospital, the kind where patients wear restraints and are considered extremely dangerous.
She returned to the main topic: “Last night, you said that as long as I could help you leave, I could name my conditions. Does that still stand?”
At this point, how could he say no?
Yan Tuo: “Name your conditions.”
Nie Jiuluo: “You said you’re a minor character, but I feel… you’re not that minor. When you were with Gou Ya, he was somewhat afraid of you; later when you were captured, they made efforts to rescue you; last night when you were alone, Xiong Hei kept calling to find you, seeming very worried.”
Yan Tuo fell silent for a while, then smiled self-mockingly: “If you’re a dog raised by the person at the very top, no matter how minor your role, others will take you seriously.”
Nie Jiuluo hesitated: “You mean that ‘Aunt Lin’? Lin Xiyou?”
She remembered when she was “kidnapped” by Yan Tuo and shared the bathroom with Gou Ya, Yan Tuo had scolded Gou Ya, saying, “Aunt Lin said, if you behave, I’m here to pick someone up; if you don’t, I’m here to transport a corpse.”
Gou Ya wasn’t afraid of Yan Tuo—he was afraid of Yan Tuo reporting to Aunt Lin. This “Aunt Lin” seemed very authoritative.
Later, when she checked Yan Tuo’s phone, the call records showed a string of “Lin Xiyou.” She had found it strange then: wasn’t Yan Tuo’s mother already paralyzed? How could she make so many calls?
Thinking back to what Yan Tuo said last night, “The earliest one was already in my family before I was born,” it seemed like a Di Xiao had taken his mother’s identity, usurping her place while raising him—this would explain why Yan Tuo’s relationship with the Di Xiao was so strange: on the surface, he appeared to be their accomplice, but secretly he was inquiring about “how to kill Di Xiao.”
Yan Tuo remained silent for a long time. Nie Jiuluo didn’t speak either, repeatedly examining the remaining wounds that needed cauterizing. When she looked at the wound on his thigh, her thoughts suddenly strayed: it was fortunate that if it had been a few inches off, hitting the middle, she absolutely wouldn’t have helped—although she studied art and had drawn male nudes, studied the David statue, that was all academic.
He could cauterize that himself, but if he didn’t handle it properly and something went wrong…
“Miss Nie, what conditions do you want to set?”
This sudden question startled Nie Jiuluo, making her hand tremble and drop the water bag. She thought to herself, that as long as she maintained a dignified posture, no one would know what color her mind had wandered to.
She coughed twice, and it took her a while to remember what she had originally wanted to say: “Since you’re going back anyway, and when you return you’ll need to explain where you’ve been this night, and your injuries won’t be easy to hide, how about this…”
“Just say you fell into Ban Ya’s hands and got wounded, but Ban Ya’s people treated your wounds and released you to show their sincerity for reconciliation. Please help ask what it would take for them to return Pai Die and the others.”
Yan Tuo didn’t respond, but after a while, he looked up at her.
Nie Jiuluo felt uncomfortable under his gaze: “Is there a problem?”
“Miss Nie, you’ve always said you’re an ordinary person who just wants to mind your own business, that you’re just settling a debt with Ban Ya, and have no interest in investigating Gou Ya, Di Xiao, and the like.”
That’s right, Nie Jiuluo raised an eyebrow—she was still like that.
“Haven’t you realized that what you’re doing now is getting involved and helping? As I said before, money debts can be settled with money, monetary transactions are just accounts, but when people come and go, relationships form. The further it goes, the harder it is to untangle. If you have no interest in investigating, don’t even dip a finger in—once your hand is in, who knows when your whole person might be dragged in…”
Nie Jiuluo interrupted him: “I know my limits.”
“Many who fell from their horses also believed they were skilled riders…”
Nie Jiuluo grabbed the fire stick that was cooling on the edge of the coffee table and knocked it twice. Yan Tuo reflexively shuddered from head to toe.
Nie Jiuluo said: “Second half.”
…
The second half was another round through hell. Nie Jiuluo’s technique was so good it made one want to curse: she always managed to roast the flesh until it was scorched but not black, fragrant but not cooked, and ensured the water bag came just before he broke down.
During one break, Yan Tuo asked if she could just let him pass out from the pain and be done with it—at least unconscious he’d suffer less.
Nie Jiuluo’s answer made his hair stand on end: “No, those who pass out from pain will wake up to pain. Besides, what if you lose consciousness, your willpower loosens, and you lose control of your bodily functions?”
She knew how to strike where it hurt most. Under his hot sweat, Yan Tuo broke out in a cold sweat: he’d rather die than face that.
…
Fortunately, the feeling of endlessness was just that—a feeling. Time passed second by second, and even the most unbearable torment would end.
During the final few rounds, Yan Tuo had become completely numb from the roasting. His sweat was spent, his clenched teeth no longer knew what tension meant, and his throat was as dry as if stuffed with a desert—when he suddenly saw her use a glass cover to extinguish the flame, he felt puzzled.
The next second, he realized: “It’s done?”
Nie Jiuluo: “It’s done.”
That’s it? Was the cauterization thorough? Are you sure nothing was missed?
Yan Tuo looked at his waist and abdomen: “Have all those sprouts been driven back?”
Nie Jiuluo picked up a tissue, sweeping the debris on the table into the trash bin: “What sprouts? There were never any sprouts.”
Yan Tuo: “Those just now… you even asked if I wanted to touch them.”
Nie Jiuluo made an “oh” sound: “Those? My hair.”
The trash bin was too full to hold more, so she took an empty mineral water bottle and pressed down on the trash to compact it: “I twisted a few strands of my hair, heat-set them with fire, cut them, and placed them there… to give you some pressure. That way you’d feel the crisis and cooperate fully. Otherwise, with all that crying and shouting, it would’ve been unsightly.”
Yan Tuo: “…”
He wanted to say something in response, but he truly had no strength left. His eyes closed, and he fell into a deep sleep.
When he opened his eyes again, it was the sound of a door opening and plastic bags rustling that woke him.
It was already sunset. The light filtering through the window was an oily egg-yolk yellow, carrying a hint of coolness. He had a wool blanket over him, and Nie Jiuluo was receiving items from a delivery person.
As she closed the door, Yan Tuo heard the delivery person saying politely: “Thank you for the tip.”
Then Nie Jiuluo came in carrying various bags, large and small.
She placed all the bags on the coffee table: “Awake? I figured you’d wake up soon. Change into these clothes and eat. After eating, you can leave.”
As she spoke, she handed him several bags: “Try not to get the wounds wet, don’t shower for three days. If you really can’t stand it, use a wet towel to wipe yourself. You can wash your hair though.”
Yan Tuo took them. His clothes had been cut to shreds, his pants were torn—he did need a new set.
A glance showed everything was complete. Besides the coat, shirt, and pants, there were even socks and underwear. Though not luxury brands, they were top-tier for what could be purchased in a small third or fourth-tier county town.
Nie Jiuluo was busy unfastening the takeout containers: “I had the delivery person stop by the central mall, had the sales staff put together a complete outfit. It shouldn’t be too bad. You sweated like you’d been in a bath, better to change everything.”
Yan Tuo: “The money…”
Nie Jiuluo didn’t look up: “Don’t worry, it’s all on your tab. I’ll give you the account number later.”
That was fine. Yan Tuo went to the bathroom to clean up. The clothes sizes all fit well, wearing comfortably. He stuffed his old clothes into a bag, planning to take them out and dispose of them when he left.
When he came out after washing up, Nie Jiuluo had already started eating. His portion was uncovered too, the aroma filling the room.
It was just ordinary steamed noodles, baked buns with vegetables, and two small stir-fries as side dishes. The taste wasn’t necessarily exceptional, but Yan Tuo was starving, so everything tasted especially good. He even drank up all the soup.
After eating, it was dark outside. Yan Tuo wiped his mouth with a tissue: “I’m leaving.”
Nie Jiuluo made an affirmative sound and pushed a phone toward him.
Yan Tuo was startled: “Mine?”
He picked it up to look. The phone was powered off. From the model and scratches on the screen protector, it was indeed his—though it now had a charcoal black case.
Nie Jiuluo said: “In the case, I taped a needle. Don’t touch it carelessly. Next time you see Gou Ya…”
She lowered her voice: “Press the needle into his wound, any wound will do.”
Understanding, Yan Tuo pocketed the phone and stood up.
Nie Jiuluo saw him to the door, watching him walk a few steps before suddenly remembering something: “Yan Tuo!”
Yan Tuo turned to look at her.
Nie Jiuluo said: “Remember, I’m not part of any of this.”
She wasn’t part of any of this.
She was in her small courtyard filled with various plants and flowers in that bustling southern city, quietly reading, practicing her craft, creating sculptures worthy of exhibitions, occasionally socializing, accepting interviews, or traveling to various places for inspiration.
—I’m not part of any of this.
Yan Tuo said: “You trust me that much? What if I insist on dragging you into it?”
Nie Jiuluo said nothing, her clean and delicate chin slightly raised, looking down at him as if calculating how many of his bones she might need to break right now.
Yan Tuo smiled: “I’m joking.”
As he turned to leave again, he said softly: “Being an ordinary person… that’s pretty good.”
…
As soon as he stepped out of the hotel’s main entrance, a blast of bitter cold hit his face. Yan Tuo’s skin tightened all over, and he involuntarily shuddered, pulling his coat tighter before looking up at the sky.
Countless fine lines of snow danced chaotically in the wind against the black night sky.
Today was the eighth, just past the Great Snow solar term.
The snow that hadn’t fallen two days ago had finally arrived, sweeping magnificently across the sky.
June 11, 1995 / Sunday / Light Rain
My body is getting heavier.
The ultrasound says it’s a girl this time. Xiao Tuo’s name was chosen by Dashan, so I should name our daughter.
I’ve always liked the word “kaituo” (pioneering). Xiao Tuo used the character “tuo,” so logically, the second child should use “kai” to make it complete.
But for a girl, Yan Kai would sound awful. Let’s call her Yan Xin. Her nickname will be Kaixin (happy), she’s Mama and Papa’s precious darling.
Ever since I got pregnant with Xin’er, Xiao Tuo has been in Shuangxiu’s care. These days, Xiao Tuo is closer to Shuangxiu. When I try to hold him, he pouts unhappily. I pinch his lips and tease him: “Xiao Tuo, your mouth’s puckered like a little duck, should mama buy you a little duck?”
Finally got him to smile, but in the blink of an eye, he’s gone to find his Auntie Shuangxiu again. I feel quite upset and quite jealous, but what can I do? With another one in my belly, I can’t be in two places at once.
June 22, 1995 / Thursday / Sunny (Summer Solstice)
Went for a prenatal checkup today. Shuangxiu was supposed to accompany me, but Xiao Tuo caught a cold, coughing non-stop, his little face flushed red, looking quite pitiful.
I left Shuangxiu at home to look after Xiao Tuo and called Minjuan to take half a day off to accompany me.
Minjuan did come, but she nagged the whole way, saying, “Where’s your Dashan? The child isn’t yours alone—he helps make them but doesn’t care after?”
I explained to Minjuan that Dashan is busy, the city is building a mall, and his construction team is busy bidding. These days, he’s even handed over the mine’s affairs.
Maybe I’m overthinking, but I feel Minjuan’s words have become quite acidic lately. She said: “Men, you need to keep them on a tight leash. Now that your Dashan’s pockets are full, those little vixens outside are eyeing him.”
I said that’s impossible, Dashan is very family-oriented, stays home whenever he’s free, and won’t leave even if you chase him away.
Minjuan said: “Of course, with such a pretty young nanny at home.”
What kind of talk is that? I got angry and left her behind.
And this is supposed to be a good friend, speaking with such insinuation.
On the way home, I passed by the market and thought to buy some pears to stew with rock sugar for Xiao Tuo’s cough.
Unexpectedly, I ran into Changxi. This muddle-headed child had picked out fish and had it cleaned, only to find he didn’t have enough money. The vendor was unhappy, yelling and cursing loudly. Honest Changxi just stood there like a wooden post taking the abuse, his neck turning red.
I couldn’t stand it, went over to pay, and gave the vendor a piece of my mind. Changxi was frightened, and kept pulling me away, saying he was afraid the vendor would hit me.
I wasn’t afraid at all—I’m pregnant, just try and hit me! You can’t afford to!
Changxi walked me home, and the whole way, I felt he had something to say.
I asked if he was short on money and wanted to borrow some, and told him not to be shy, just speak up.
Changxi hemmed and hawed, finally squeezed out: “Sister Lin, you should… dismiss that nanny of yours.”
Why? I got a bit nervous, and asked him: “Is Shuangxiu secretly mistreating my Xiao Tuo?”
Changxi quickly shook his head, and said: “You’re the only one who doesn’t know, everyone outside is saying…”
He glanced at my belly and stopped talking. When I pressed him further, he turned and ran away.
Must be something bad, afraid of upsetting me in my condition.
My feelings suddenly turned terrible. Could Minjuan have been right?
When I got home, I was like a thief, slowly, holding my breath as I opened the door, only to realize how foolish I was once it was open: Dashan wasn’t home these days, what was I expecting to catch?
Xiao Tuo’s room door was open. I quietly crept over and saw Xiao Tuo lying in bed, Shuangxiu telling him mythology stories.
Listening for a while, it seemed to be about Kua Fu chasing the sun.
“Kua Fu said, nothing could stop him from bringing the sun back for everyone.”
“He encountered countless dangers, and finally his strength gave out, and he fell. But he wouldn’t give up, he desperately clawed forward with his fingers, clawing until they bled, until the white bones showed through, but he kept clawing…”
Are children’s books written too scary these days? This seems quite different from what I heard as a child.
I heard Xiao Tuo stumbling over his words as he asked: “Then… then wouldn’t Kua Fu’s hands be ruined?”
Shuangxiu said: “Yes, he clawed until he died, still unsuccessful. He even wore away three fingertips, how tragic.”
Xiao Tuo’s face scrunched up as he counted his fingers as if he could feel the pain himself.
It made me laugh.
—[Excerpts from Lin Xiyou’s Diary]