Vol 4 – Chapter 13

Chen Fu was a tough nut to crack. With people like him, beating was useless—the more you hit, the more it showed you had no real way to deal with him, and the more pleased he became.

After venting his rage, Yan Tuo stopped.

Chen Fu could barely make a sound now, his face beaten almost concave and swimming in blood, yet still wearing a smile.

Yan Tuo stared at him for a moment, then stabbed his throat with the scissors—of course, this wouldn’t kill a Di Xiao, and he didn’t know how to truly “kill” one, but making Chen Fu die temporarily was good enough to keep him from causing trouble.

The flashlight had been on too long, its beam weakening. The pump house was much darker than before, with large pools of blood on the ground gradually congealing and blackening.

Wind had picked up outside, sweeping through vast swaths of grain stalks with a desolate sound, flowing past their tips. A crescent moon hung high above, thin as a line—just like the eerie, cold light showing through Chen Fu’s line of swollen eyes.

Yan Tuo shuddered.

Time to clean up.

Near midnight, Yan Tuo drove back to the city. As his car passed through the urban-rural junction, it felt like returning from hell to the world of the living, the lights gradually brightening until they almost dazzled his eyes.

Over the past few hours, he had done many things.

—Drew water from the reed marsh to repeatedly wash away bloodstains, covered them with soil, trying his best to disguise everything.

—Searched inside and outside the pump house, leaving nothing behind. Things he thought might still be useful, like Nie Jiuluo’s phone and dagger, he took with him. Things that were useless and could easily cause trouble, like empty shell casings and the submachine gun, he dismantled into several packages and disposed of them in different places along the way, either sinking them in ponds or burying them deep.

—Doused Han Guan’s corpse, the Tiguan’s license plates, and all personal items and documents found in the car with gasoline and burned them, throwing the remains into the deep well.

—Chen Fu had to be taken along, still wrapped in canvas and hidden in the trunk.

—The most troublesome was the Tiguan itself. Such a large object was risky to abandon and impossible to burn completely. The best approach would be to “dismember” it—modify the body and recirculate the parts back into the market. He drove on rural roads to an underground parking garage in a neighboring county, leaving it there temporarily. He planned to contact his connections in other provinces in the next day or two to quickly modify and “disappear” the car.

Though it wasn’t exactly murder cleanup, none of these actions were what a normal person would do. Yan Tuo felt somewhat dazed the whole way back. The city streets were busy with cars, and somehow he angered a nearby driver who furiously honked their horn and leaned out their window to yell “idiot.”

Startled back to awareness, Yan Tuo pulled over at the nearest street corner. Looking down, he noticed blood still on his wrist. He pulled out a wet wipe and slowly cleaned it off.

What else did he need to do?

Right, buy clothes for Nie Jiuluo—at least get her a clean, comfortable set of pajamas.

Just as Yan Tuo was about to get out, he caught his reflection in the window: his expression was terrifyingly rigid, his eyes the same.

He needed to shake off that mood—he was back in the mundane world now, had to deal with ordinary people, and go shopping.

Yan Tuo vigorously rubbed his face, occasionally slapping himself. He practiced smiling at his reflection, pushing up the corners of his mouth to force a normal smile, repeatedly blinking, and taking deep breaths until he gradually felt normal again.

He took a deep breath and got out of the car.

Walking into the street, he saw most shops had already closed their shutters. Only then did he realize how late it was. Still hopeful, he kept walking deeper into the shopping district. As luck would have it, he found a home clothing store still open—not for regular business, but because they were receiving late-night deliveries for an upcoming end-of-year sale.

A customer was still a customer, so they assigned a middle-aged female clerk to help Yan Tuo.

He first bought a blanket, then asked the clerk to help put together an outfit: “She’s about 166, 167 centimeters, very slim, probably around 45 kilos. I need sleepwear, underwear, socks, and slippers—one set of everything. The clothes should be good quality, comfortable, and breathable. Price isn’t an issue.”

The clerk asked, “Do you need a bra too?”

Yan Tuo mumbled, “Y-yes… I suppose.”

He thought since Nie Jiuluo would be bedridden for a while, she wouldn’t need a bra anytime soon, but he should get a complete set.

The clerk asked, “What size?”

Yan Tuo: “What… what size?”

“The size! We can’t use one-size-fits-all for this, we need to know the exact size.”

Yan Tuo thought, how would I know?

His palms suddenly felt hot, that mortifying feeling returning. Avoiding the clerk’s gaze, he looked up and saw rows of lacy, silky items hanging on the rack opposite him, with intricate embroidery, demi-cups, deep V-necks, and all sorts of styles.

He randomly pointed at one: “That one will do.”

The clerk found Yan Tuo unreliable and double-checked: “70C? If a girl is quite slim, the cup size tends to be smaller…”

Yan Tuo cut her off: “C. Just C.”

By the time he emerged with his bags, it was past midnight. Lu Xian’s phone was a lost cause, but that would be easy to deal with.

Before entering the residential complex’s underground garage, Yan Tuo first checked the third-floor lights: the room where A Peng and others were staying was dark, while Lu Xian’s was still lit.

The lights suggested nothing had happened.

Nevertheless, being cautious, Yan Tuo didn’t take the elevator straight to the third floor—he walked up the stairs, listened at the door for a while, and then took out his key to enter.

Lu Xian was curled up on the sofa, hugging a bag of chips and watching TV. He turned at the sound, first criticizing Yan Tuo: “Why did you deadbolt the door, what’s that about?”

Yan Tuo: “I was worried A Peng and the others might come in. You’re stupid—what if you couldn’t stop them? The lock makes me feel better.”

Lu Xian predictably took the bait: “I’m stupid? I made it through medical school, stupid?”

As he finished speaking, his eyes fixed on the bags in Yan Tuo’s hands, immediately concluding there was no phone among them. He became agitated: “Yan Tuo, where’s my new phone? I’ve stayed up waiting… How’s anyone supposed to live without a phone these days?”

Yan Tuo carelessly hung the keys by the entrance: “You know how it is in this small town. I wanted to get you the folding model, but they were out of stock. I was planning to go to Xi’an to buy it. If you’re in a hurry, I can get you something else tomorrow…”

Lu Xian exclaimed: “Wait!”

Then, both shocked and delighted: “The folding model—you mean the new one that costs over 20,000?”

Yan Tuo: “Yeah.”

Holy shit! Lu Xian felt every pore in his body tingles with excitement: “Bro! You’re too generous! No rush, no rush at all. Get it when you go to Xi’an.”

With that, he dropped the chips, turned off the TV, and happily headed for his room.

Yan Tuo called after him: “Where are you going?”

“To bed, of course.”

Yan Tuo pointed at the operating room: “You go to sleep, what about her?”

Lu Xian didn’t understand: “How does my sleeping affect her?”

Yan Tuo said: “Her condition isn’t stable, she needs observation. What if something happens in the middle of the night…”

Lu Xian got it: “You want me to stay up and monitor her?”

Yan Tuo nodded.

Lu Xian was angry, but considering the phone, tried to be diplomatic: “Bro, are you trying to kill doctors? Have you ever heard of surgeons staying up all night to observe patients after operating during the day? If you were running a hospital, how many doctors would die from overwork?”

Though it sounded logical, Yan Tuo still couldn’t quite accept it: “But if something happens to her…”

Lu Xian was exasperated by his stupidity: “What are nurses for? What are family members who stay overnight for? If something happens, they can come wake me up!”

Once Lu Xian went to sleep, the apartment fell quiet.

After washing up, Yan Tuo turned off the outer room lights and entered the operating room—it hadn’t seemed so during the day, but at night the place was eerie. The operating room lights were cold, and medical instruments were everywhere, all those gleaming knives, scissors, and forceps giving off a somewhat sinister aura.

Nie Jiuluo lay on the operating table, still in her comatose state. Her lips were dry and cracked. Yan Tuo opened a bottle of water, moistened a clean cotton swab, and dampened her lips, saying, “So you’re Feng Dao.”

She couldn’t hear him, remaining perfectly still.

Sleep was a good sign. Yan Tuo spread the blanket to cover her completely, then pulled up a chair beside the bed. Though the room had heating, winter was coming, and temperatures would drop at night—a surgical drape alone wasn’t nearly enough.

Just as he was about to tuck her hand under the blanket, he suddenly noticed it was moving.

Still the right hand, not as violently as during the cardiac resuscitation, but it was moving, twitching now and then.

How strange—her entire body was so quiet, hovering on the edge of death, except for this hand. It suddenly reminded him of when Nie Jiuluo had fallen asleep in his car, when one hand—he couldn’t remember if it was the same one—had remained slightly raised, refusing to rest with the rest of her body.

What did it mean? Did it represent some perpetually anxious, insecure nerve, like a frightened small animal that kept running and looking around restlessly, unable to find peace even when its master had succumbed to unconsciousness?

Yan Tuo reached out and gently took her hand in his.

Just like last time, her hand, and with it her entire being, immediately grew still.

Holding her hand, Yan Tuo leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling and the shadowless surgical lamp above.

The building was so quiet. His distorted reflection wavered in the cold light of the surgical lamp’s mirror.

Yan Tuo thought of his father, Yan Haishan.

When Yan Haishan died, Yan Tuo was eight years old. Two years before that, his birth mother had essentially “died”—her body remained, but her life had collapsed.

Yan Tuo hadn’t felt much about either parent’s death. He was raised by Aunt Lin. “Lin Xiku” had never meant “mother” to him.

In his earlier childhood, he had only vague memories, unable to distinguish between actual memories and imagination.

For instance, he hazily remembered having a sister—adorable, beautiful, with a sweet, childish voice. When he mentioned this to Lin Xiku, she said, “You’re remembering wrong.”

He had insisted once or twice, but each time, Lin Xiku flew into a rage. Eventually, he stopped mentioning it and gradually became unsure whether he’d ever had a sister at all.

Yan Haishan died of cancer.

Before his death, he had been confused for a long time, emaciated and sluggish. The hospital recommended home care, saying further treatment would be meaningless.

He would insist on sitting beside Yan Tuo while he did homework, giggling non-stop until drool dripped onto the textbooks, impossible to chase away.

After several such incidents, Yan Tuo got into the habit of locking his door. Yan Haishan then got into the habit of squatting outside, occasionally explaining carefully to the air: “Little Tuo is doing homework.”

He would wake up early to fold clothes, piece by piece, into a suitcase, then secretly drag it to Yan Tuo, lowering his voice to say mysteriously, “Tonight’s train. Meet at the station.”

Then he would grin, his face radiating happiness.

Yan Tuo found it utterly exasperating, sick of this lunatic.

Then, to make matters worse, an ugly Lin Ling was added to the family. He couldn’t understand what Aunt Lin was thinking—hadn’t she said he had no sister? Why bring one home now?

And such an ugly one at that, with sparse yellow hair tied up like a pig’s tail!

At eight years old, he was like a pressure pump, inexplicably full of anger—perhaps because his subconscious had accumulated much resentment that he didn’t understand. Fortunately, except for Aunt Lin, everyone else could be his outlet. He had kicked Yan Haishan, who would react slowly, turning to look at him long after being kicked, still giggling. He had also hit Lin Ling, who never dared report him, just crying pathetically in corners.

The day Yan Haishan died, Lin Xiku had taken Lin Ling for vaccinations, leaving only him at home.

He remembered playing a single-player game, “Diablo,” his character named “Blazing Tuo,” absorbed in running across dark lands, killing enemies, growing stronger, aiming to become the race’s “Master.”

While deeply engaged in the game, he heard a muffled thud from Yan Haishan’s room, like something heavy falling.

Yan Tuo paused the game, the sound giving him an ominous feeling.

Sure enough, after the thud came sounds of furniture being grabbed and moved.

Yan Tuo went to investigate.

Upon entering, he saw Yan Haishan desperately crawling toward the door, his whole body violently convulsing, struggling to breathe, blue veins bulging on his gaunt face.

Even a young child could tell something was wrong, let alone an eight-year-old. He turned to run to the living room to make a call.

Yan Haishan called out urgently: “Little Tuo! Little Tuo!”

Yan Tuo stopped suddenly and turned around.

Yan Haishan’s voice was different from usual, no longer foolish—perhaps a moment of clarity before death had restored his consciousness. He used all his strength to crawl toward Yan Tuo, reaching him and grabbing his small leg with a spasming hand.

Yan Tuo stared at him blankly.

Yan Haishan looked up, fighting through waves of painful convulsions to leave his final words: “Little Tuo, remember, there’s Uncle Changxi, Liu Changxi… he can be trusted.”

Yan Tuo didn’t understand. He’d called many uncles when out with Lin Xiku—Uncle Zhang, Uncle Wang—but never an “Uncle Changxi.”

Yan Haishan continued: “Little Tuo, don’t… be like your father. Your father was useless, worthless. You can’t be worthless. The Yan family depends on you… ah, find Xin Xin, re… reunite…”

That was all he said.

He maintained his upward gaze until the end, eyes bloodshot, tears slowly rolling down from their corners.

Looking at the shadowless lamp, Yan Tuo felt warm tears rolling down his own eyes.

He raised his hand to wipe them away when suddenly he heard Nie Jiuluo moan: “Water…”

Water?

Did she want to drink?

Yan Tuo quickly sat up, but Nie Jiuluo had fallen silent again. He wasn’t sure if she had asked for water.

Besides, he wasn’t certain whether patients could drink water right after surgery.

He released Nie Jiuluo’s hand, stood up to get the water bottle and cotton swabs, and moistened her lips. Glancing down, he saw her hand trembling slightly again.

With both his hands occupied, he couldn’t hold hers. After thinking for a moment, he pulled out his shirt and tucked the hem between her fingers.

Sure enough, her fingers immediately curled around it and grew still.

Yan Tuo smiled.

So she just needed something to hold onto.

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