Vol 3 – Chapter 6

Thinking back now, Jiang Baichuan still felt endless emotion: That year was like green recruits walking through Qingrang—the Dao family couldn’t wield their blades well, and the Dog family couldn’t track well with their noses. After secretly informing the whole village, fewer than twenty people were willing to risk trying, and the emergency training relied on elderly people’s memories and some manuscripts that survived the Cultural Revolution.

He said, “Lame Dad is a veteran. If there was no news, we couldn’t save him, that would be that. But now that we have a word, how can we ignore it? It would dishearten others who see this. Besides, this wasn’t just my decision—I asked Xing Shen and the others for their opinions.”

This wasn’t just about saving Lame Dad; the essence of this matter was about saving companions. Everyone was a “companion” and could face the same predicament. Voting to save Lame Dad now was like voting to save your future self if you fell into trouble.

Nie Jiuluo: “So where should I… go? Banya or Shihe County?”

“Head to Shihe first. I’ll contact you later about the details.”

Nie Jiuluo made a sound of agreement, but just as she was about to hang up, something stirred in her heart: “Uncle Jiang?”

Jiang Baichuan: “Yes?”

“When my mother died in Qingrang back then, did you see it with your own eyes?”

Jiang Baichuan was startled: “Why are you asking about this?”

Then he said: “I saw it. She was dragged away by the ground hawks, blood trailing all the way. We couldn’t outrun those beasts, couldn’t catch up. Later we only found one shoe. Your father nearly went mad—if several people hadn’t held him back, he would have rushed straight into Black-White Rapids… Why are you suddenly asking about this?”

Nie Jiuluo said: “Nothing, just asking.”

Que Cha took a taxi back to the villa alone.

Originally, she was returning with Datou and the others, but when they entered the city, Jiang Baichuan called saying the basement was too small and no longer suitable for Sun Zhou, so they needed to move him somewhere else.

And clearly, the new location wasn’t somewhere she should know about, so the car pulled over and let her off, alone.

Que Cha felt awful, not because she particularly wanted to be involved, but because this feeling of being “treasured when needed, discarded when not” was truly fucking miserable.

As she approached the villa, she happened to look up and saw someone standing on the roof.

Xing Shen?

When she left, Old Dao had driven away with Xing Shen—she thought it would be ages before she saw him again.

Que Cha’s gloomy mood instantly brightened. She called up to him: “Xing Shen, step back a bit! Don’t fall!”

Xing Shen looked down, even lifting his sunglasses slightly to prevent the lens color from interfering.

He saw the soft light of a human form below, with graceful contours. From the voice, he recognized Que Cha. Her light had color—a pale sparrow-brown that easily brought to mind the phrase “sparrow-colored dusk.”

The first time he encountered this phrase, he didn’t understand its meaning. He couldn’t find it in any reference books, so he interpreted it naturally—sparrow color must mean the soft, pale hue of dusk.

Sparrow-colored dusk, a faint warmth and tranquility.

Also was different. A’Luo was moon-white. Many people thought moon-white was simply white, but it was a very pale blue, like the subtle blue tinge of a distant cold moon—Aluo was that cold moon, hanging high in a place very far from him.

Footsteps thundered behind him as Que Cha rushed up: “Xing Shen, you… you, step back two steps, there’s no railing at the edge, you… don’t move forward! Where’s Old Dao, isn’t Old Dao watching you?”

Xing Shen couldn’t help but smile. In the sparrow-colored soft light, her movements were clumsy and tense—this must be what fluster looks like.

He said: “I’m fine.”

Que Cha was terrified: “You should still come down, there’s no railing up here! If the wind blows…”

As she spoke, the wind came. Que Cha instinctively crouched down, afraid that standing up straight would get her blown away.

Xing Shen sat down on the sofa in the living room.

In the kitchen, Que Cha rummaged through cabinets, busy preparing drinks: “Xing Shen, we have white peach oolong, jasmine black tea, and I can also make fresh orange juice, pear juice, or coffee—what would you like?”

Xing Shen: “I’ll have coffee.”

Que Cha responded and excitedly got to work. For a moment, a trace of guilt flashed through her heart: was she being unfair to Jiang Baichuan by being so happy and excited?

On second thought, what had she done? It’s not like she had any intentions toward Xing Shen. These feelings were probably similar to a young girl following her idol. But at her age, she no longer had a young girl’s fantasies and daydreams—being able to meet and talk was enough to satisfy her.

Soon, she came over with a tray holding two steaming cups of coffee, cream, and sugar cubes.

After sitting down, she helped prepare Xing Shen’s coffee: “The coffee I bought is a bit bitter, adding some sugar and cream will make it taste better…”

Xing Shen said: “It’s fine, I like black coffee—the more bitter the better.”

He spoke too slowly, and Que Cha’s hand was too quick—the sugar and cream were already added.

Que Cha reacted quickly, immediately passing him her cup instead: “I guessed you’d like it bitter, so this cup has nothing added.”

It was her first time lying to someone’s face, and her cheeks burned. Fortunately, she thought, Xing Shen couldn’t see.

Xing Shen smiled and said, “Thank you.”

That smile dazed Que Cha. She stared at Xing Shen, thinking: How wonderful.

So cultured and polite, refined and handsome, a young face whose smile was like a spring breeze. Taking a slight breath, she seemed to smell that fresh scent that only emerges when spring buds are warmed by sunlight.

She fell in love with Jiang Baichuan when she was seventeen. Back then, Jiang Baichuan was twenty-one years older than her. Men don’t show their age easily—at thirty-eight, he still looked like he was in his early thirties, and he was handsome, mature, and wealthy.

Que Cha fell head over heels, completely dismissing the young men and talented youth around her. Only now, fifteen years later, did she first discover that youth was truly wonderful.

She lowered her head and sipped her coffee. This cup had just been sweetened with sugar and cream, but it tasted bitter going down. She wasn’t sure if it was the aftertaste coming through or if her heart was just bitter.

Que Cha tried to make conversation: “What were you busy with? Just got back?”

It would have been better not to ask—as soon as the words left her mouth, she noticed Xing Shen’s expression change. His mood, which had been upbeat moments ago, was now clearly downcast.

Que Cha knew she’d said the wrong thing: “I… I shouldn’t have asked. I just… talk too much.”

She laughed awkwardly, anxiously running her fingers through her hair, then felt disgusted at this high-school-girl-like panic. What was wrong with her? It’s not like she was giving a speech on stage facing hundreds of scrutinizing eyes. Xing Shen didn’t even have eyes—what was she flustering about?

Que Cha pinched her thigh hard, ordering herself to act normal.

Xing Shen gripped his cup tightly, the coffee’s heat seeping through to his fingertips.

He said: “It’s nothing. I went to see my… former girlfriend.”

Former girlfriend?

Que Cha’s first thought was that this girl must be quite exceptional, willing to date Xing Shen—after all, he was blind. No matter how good his other qualities might be, most girls would probably keep their distance.

So she couldn’t help but say: “Then… why did you break up? It’s a pity.”

Great, she’d said the wrong thing again. Such personal matters weren’t for her to pry into. Que Cha stammered again: “For-forget I asked. I’m just like this, really…”

She gave an awkward laugh.

Xing Shen said: “Because once, I was determined to do something, and she strongly opposed it.”

Que Cha wanted very much to ask what it was, but she didn’t dare ask randomly anymore. She just lowered her head, took a sip of coffee, then another sip, ears perked up, hoping Xing Shen would say more.

“She was extremely angry—I’d never seen her that angry since I’d known her. She liked clay sculpting, had just started learning, and said she wanted to make one of me. She was very talented, made it look very much like me, it was almost finished. But to show just how angry she was, she smashed the sculpture.”

He stopped here as if returning to the day the sculpture was smashed: when Nie Jiuluo was making that sculpture, she truly treasured it, wouldn’t let anyone look at it or touch it, would get angry if anyone got too close as if his breath alone could topple it. Yet when she smashed it, she was truly resolute.

Uncle Jiang was right—when she wanted something, she would go after it; when she didn’t want it anymore, she truly didn’t want it.

He said: “She said, ‘Xing Shen, you can insist on doing this if you want, but we’re done, done for life.'”

Que Cha carefully offered her opinion: “Was it that serious?”

Then she added: “Actually, many things are just communication problems. Why don’t you sit down and talk it through, both try to… understand each other?”

Xing Shen smiled and said: “It can’t be understood.”

Que Cha really couldn’t imagine what it could be: “Actually, as long as it’s not illegal, criminal, or morally corrupt, I think you should do what you want to do. When you’re young, it’s easy to get red-faced arguing over small things, but looking back after a few years, you realize it wasn’t worth it at all. What did you want to do so badly back then?”

Xing Shen said: “I blinded myself.”

Que Cha nearly jumped up, spilling coffee all over herself: “What?”

Xing Shen remained silent. In the sparrow-colored soft light before him, a dark brown stain spread.

He set down his coffee cup and said: “Your clothes are stained.”

Before leaving Anta, Nie Jiuluo went to find Zhan Jing once more.

In the past two days, she had learned some new information: When Zhan Jing was young, he had indeed been a Chinese language teacher at a middle school. Around 1999, he was fired for “lifestyle conduct” issues. The so-called “conduct issues” were that he had interfered in a young couple’s marriage. The husband complained to the school administration, saying Zhan Jing was unfit to be a teacher. The school, fearing the situation would escalate, dismissed him to settle the matter.

1999—Nie Jiuluo calculated—she was four years old, and her parents were indeed a “young couple.” A year later, her mother died, and a year after that, her father jumped to his death.

The foot massage parlor where Zhan Jing worked wasn’t large. He juggled multiple roles: cleaning, preparing foot baths, and preparing meals for the massage therapists.

After eight o’clock, Zhan Jing finished his shift on time, massaging his sore old back as he came out of the massage parlor entrance. Above the door, a poster showed delicate jade feet splashing water, with the words “First-class Service, Superb Technique” printed above.

Nie Jiuluo approached him, saying: “Let’s talk.”

The place chosen for their talk was a dimly lit bar. Zhan Jing had never been to such a place and felt completely uncomfortable, sitting at an angle near the edge, as if ready to escape at any moment.

He stammered an apology to Nie Jiuluo: “Xixi, I spoke nonsense before, don’t… don’t take it to heart.”

That day, suddenly seeing that jade necklace, memories had flooded in like a tide, instantly breaking down the fortress of caution and near-cowardice he had built up over half a lifetime of hardship, and he had said many things hysterically.

Later he calmed down and felt foolish: Pei Ke had been dead for twenty years. Twenty years—why try to reheat cold soup from old times? Whether hot or cold, wasn’t he drinking it alone anyway?

Better not let past matters affect the younger generation.

Nie Jiuluo said: “Since you’ve already said it, say a bit more. What exactly happened between you and my mother back then?”

Zhan Jing nervously looked up at her.

Nie Jiuluo smiled: “Don’t worry, I’m an adult. I’ve been in love, seen plenty of messy situations, I’m very open-minded. My parents weren’t saints, they were just human, with human feelings. Good relationships are precious, bad ones are normal too. Just tell me everything.”

Zhan Jing stared at her for a good while. Her features somewhat resembled Pei Ke’s, but her personality was completely different. They say personality determines destiny—if Xiaoke had had Xixi’s personality, her life… would have been very different.

He hesitated for a long time before speaking: “Do you know your parents lost a child before?”

Nie Jiuluo nodded: “Yes, unfortunately, it died in the womb. My parents were very sad. Even after I was born, when introducing me to others, they would say I was the family’s second daughter.”

Zhan Jing couldn’t look at her, his head bowed as low as possible, his voice barely a whisper: “That first one… was mine.”

A faint buzz rang in Nie Jiuluo’s ears, like a fly or moth passing by. She even raised her hand to wave it away, catching nothing but air.

Zhan Jing suddenly thought of something and quickly raised his head, frantically clarifying: “But don’t misunderstand—it wasn’t adultery, your father knew about this. I… I had broken up with Xiaoke due to some misunderstandings and angrily left town. Afterward, she… she discovered she was pregnant, but she was stubborn and wouldn’t… wouldn’t contact me. Your father had always liked her, so he told her he was willing to take care of her and would treat the child as his own. Back then, in our small county town, gossip was terrifying, so Xiaoke… accepted your father.”

“When I came back and learned about this, I tried to meet with Xiaoke to talk, but she refused. She told me Xi Hong was a good person, and she had decided to live a good life with him, to let the past be past.”

Zhan Jing was filled with regret but had no way to change things. He could only find a job and settle down, silently watching Pei Ke from afar, and watching for the child that would soon be born.

“But what I didn’t expect was that in the seventh month, the baby couldn’t be saved. They said it was due to a lack of oxygen in the uterus. Xiaoke was devastated, and I was very sad too. But later I thought, maybe it was for the best—they were both young, they would have their children in the future.”

Indeed, two years later, Nie Xi was born, and Zhan Jing gradually moved on from this heartbreaking relationship. Through a colleague’s introduction, he even met a girlfriend.

“When you were about three years old, one day after work, I suddenly saw Xiaoke waiting at my door. She was in a terrible state, must have been crying, looking completely haggard. I quickly invited her inside. Then, Xiaoke told me she suspected…”

Here, he glanced fearfully at Nie Jiuluo, his voice dropping even lower: “She had pieced together many details and clues, and suspected… your father had deliberately… caused the miscarriage.”

Nie Jiuluo said: “Oh.”

She didn’t know why she was so calm, maybe because she had already prepared herself for the worst.

Perhaps stung by her indifference, Zhan Jing suddenly became agitated: “Your father… he hated that child, he just pretended to be loving to win Xiaoke’s trust, then secretly did horrible things. How terrifying is that kind of person, right?”

“Xiaoke was rather introverted, and didn’t have many close friends, so she often came to me during that time. I… I’m not afraid of you laughing at me, I still had feelings for Xiaoke, so I was particularly concerned about her affairs. Later, your father secretly went to the school, and I lost my job.”

The “lifestyle conduct” issue was enough to make Zhan Jing socially dead in their small county town at that time. He lost his job, and his girlfriend left him too.

This incident strengthened Pei Ke’s resolve to leave Nie Xi Hong. She asked for a divorce.

Nie Jiuluo’s lips felt dry. She picked up the lemon water in front of her and moistened her lips slightly: “By rights, I was four or five then, old enough to remember things, but I don’t remember them having any big fights at all.”

Zhan Jing smiled bitterly: “In our generation, most people cared about face. They might sleep in separate beds at home but still appear harmonious to others. They wouldn’t fight in front of you, you were still little.”

“Anyway, things were tense for a while. One day, Xiaoke told me she was going to travel with your father for a few days. She said it was about time, and after this trip, they would probably formally separate.”

A sourness rushed up his throat and then to his eyes. Zhan Jing’s vision blurred: “After that, she never came back. Nobody, not even ashes, they said she was buried elsewhere. Xixi, can you believe it was just an accident? Even if it was an accident, as long as your father was present when it happened, I believe he absolutely couldn’t have been uninvolved!”

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