Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Fang Bingxue’s face remained impassive as he naturally lowered his hand.

As if nothing had happened.

His mood was complex at the moment. He was genuinely grateful to Zhou Xu; the man had not only fixed his car but also bravely jumped into the river to save someone. In the past, Fang Bingxue would have certainly pushed for a commendation for such an act of valor.

But this was all tied to the case.

He’d been dazed by the slap, had no walkie-talkie, and had to maintain a drenched, vulnerable appearance. He strained to look back, trying to see Wang Chuan’s situation, but it must have been a misunderstanding, as a towel came flying at his face.

Fang Bingxue’s eye twitched, and he felt a surge of annoyance.

After Wang Chuan signaled to him from the water, he left without a word, roughly bumping Zhou Xu’s shoulder.

Fang Bingxue wasn’t an ungrateful person. Most of the time, he was quite sensible, especially at work, where he was remarkably even-tempered. Even when wronged, he could understand. So, now that he’d processed what happened, he felt a bit awkward.

He was embarrassed.

Of all the people to run into, why did it have to be him again?

From Zhou Xu’s perspective, the man looked startled, red-eyed, and awkwardly withdrawing his hand.

Fang Bingxue was wearing Wang Chuan’s clothes—a loose, light gray fleece hoodie that was a bit too big for him, especially the sleeves, which covered his hands, leaving only his fingertips visible.

Zhou Xu narrowed his eyes, a strange image coming to mind: the man with his head down and hands tucked in, like a freezing cat protecting its paw pads.

“Yeah,” Fang Bingxue murmured softly, “just buying some things.”

In the narrow aisle between two shelves, Fang Bingxue stood at the very back. From Zhou Xu’s angle, he could only see the man’s lowered eyelashes—quite long, illuminated by the dim yellow light, giving them a soft, fuzzy texture. The side of his face that had been slapped was turned away, so Zhou Xu couldn’t tell if the marks were still there.

Zhou Xu licked his lips and said nothing more.

As if he had nothing better to do, he had casually walked over, exchanged a few words, then turned and left.

Fang Bingxue breathed a sigh of relief.

He quickly grabbed instant noodles and crackers from the shelf and headed to the checkout. The supermarket owner, a middle-aged man, was sprawled over the glass counter, fast asleep with his face buried in his arms. Below him, cigarette packs lay in disarray.

The TV was still on, its poor signal producing a constant crackle of static.

Fang Bingxue glanced at the sleeping owner, then looked up at Zhou Xu—the man was leaning against the counter, sitting on a small stool, idly playing with a scruffy dog.

The dog, with its patchy yellow and white fur, slowly turned at the sound. Good heavens, it even had buckteeth—hideously ugly.

Zhou Xu scratched the dog’s head: “Four yuan.”

Fang Bingxue: “Oh… okay.”

He pulled a ten-yuan bill from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

Zhou Xu didn’t look up: “No change. How about two packs of Huanghelou cigarettes instead… Do you smoke Huanghelou?”

Fang Bingxue let out a confused “Huh?”

Zhou Xu finally stood up and pulled a plastic bag from under the counter: “Just kidding.”

Fang Bingxue: “…”

What could he say? In the dead of night, in a strange, messy little supermarket, with the owner snoring, this intimidating man was making stiff jokes—using the exact same line from their first meeting.

It wasn’t particularly funny.

Fang Bingxue remembered his professional role, keeping his head down, appearing flustered and awkward.

His five-yuan change was pushed toward him. The instant noodles and crackers were packed into a light red plastic bag, which felt surprisingly heavy.

Because it also contained an entire row of AD Calcium Milk.

Zhou Xu said, “Still no change.”

He sat back on the stool and scratched the dog’s chin: “Go on, take it.”

-

Fang Bingxue didn’t stay at Wang Chuan’s place that night.

He changed back into his own clothes, which were still a bit damp. Wang Chuan yawned: “You could’ve just kept mine. Take this one—it’s new, I haven’t even worn it.”

Fang Bingxue said, “Wouldn’t feel right.”

His official start date was still three days away. Tomorrow, he had to handle the old lady’s funeral arrangements. After wolfing down the instant noodles, he finally felt warm again. “I’m leaving.”

Wang Chuan stood up: “Alright, I’ll hit the restroom first.”

Fang Bingxue: “Mm.”

He carried the plastic bag to the door, changed his shoes, and turned the doorknob. He was halfway out when he suddenly remembered something and turned back: “Oh, right. That Zhou Xu…”

Wang Chuan had just come out of the restroom, flicking water from his hands: “Who?”

Fang Bingxue asked, “The one who jumped in to save me. Do you know anything about him?”

At first, Fang Bingxue thought the man was a mechanic or delivery driver; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so familiar with vehicles. But then he met him again, looking idle, not sleeping at night but playing with a dog in the supermarket.

Regardless, Fang Bingxue figured Zhou Xu must live nearby.

To his surprise, Wang Chuan shook his head: “Don’t know him.”

He continued: “I’m not even stationed in Lichuan County; I’m just here on secondment for half a month. Why? Do you think something’s off about him?”

Wang Chuan immediately grew alert: “Want me to check with the precinct?”

Fang Bingxue smiled: “No, it’s nothing.”

Since the hotel was quite far, he had Wang Chuan drive him back. Yawning was contagious, and Fang Bingxue, already drowsy, was completely done for—rubbing his eyes and yawning nonstop.

Wang Chuan let out a sharp breath: “Hey, Bing, talk to me. Otherwise, I’ll fall asleep at the wheel.”

Fang Bingxue kept his eyes closed, slumped in his seat with his collar pulled up, showing only half of his tired face: “Too tired. Not talking.”

“You’re hopeless,” Wang Chuan grumbled. “Can’t you at least react a bit? We haven’t seen each other since graduation—couldn’t you fake some enthusiasm?”

When Fang Bingxue ignored him, he continued rambling: “I never asked—why’d you suddenly decide to get stationed here? To polish your resume? Get some grassroots experience?”

As college classmates, they didn’t hold back. Wang Chuan turned the steering wheel: “But if that’s the case, I’d suggest a poverty-stricken county or somewhere even more remote. Lichuan is pretty unremarkable for the Northwest.”

Fang Bingxue didn’t open his eyes: “Shut up.”

Wang Chuan fell silent for a moment, then glanced sideways at Fang Bingxue’s face: “And I remember your family…”

Fang Bingxue missed the rest of the words.

Because he had already drifted off into a hazy sleep.

When Wang Chuan woke him, he startled awake, opening his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out even after several seconds.

Wang Chuan grew impatient, slipping into his hometown dialect: “What’s up with you?”

Fang Bingxue looked a bit dazed, his cheeks slightly flushed, his nose wrinkling faintly before—

“Hah-choo!”

Well, now it wasn’t just a bad cold—he had a fever too.

Lying on the hotel bed, Fang Bingxue took a moment to steady himself, pressing the back of his hand to his face. It felt hot enough to fry an egg, his breath scorching hot, his whole body radiating heat like a furnace.

He’d forgotten to buy medicine earlier, and now it was too late—what stores would still be lit?

Perhaps in this small northwestern town, only his temporary room remained awake, a lone pinprick of light in the deep night, like a brand seared into the darkness.

Fang Bingxue got up to boil water.

He must’ve been truly out of it—pouring the boiling water into a cup, blowing on it twice before taking a sip—

And barely registering the heat.

But the scalding heat finally shocked him somewhat alert. He set the cup down and went to the bathroom to study himself in the mirror, amused by his pitiful reflection.

His allergies hadn’t cleared up—his eyes were still red at the corners, the finger marks on his cheeks lingering, his face fever-flushed, and his lips slightly swollen from the burn.

Fang Bingxue gave a weak chuckle before splashing cold water on his face.

Then he returned to bed, pulling the covers up high and bundling himself inside. He was actually quite self-sufficient and didn’t take the illness too seriously, just mimicking how his mother used to care for him as a child—sweating the fever out.

Except his temples throbbed, his head aching fiercely.

Soon, Fang Bingxue was soaked with sweat. Reaching up, he found his bangs already damp, his throat dry and sore from the fever. He forced his eyes shut, drawing in long, searing breaths, slowly steadying his racing heart.

Before long, thirst drove him, and he crawled out of bed for water. But the kettle’s contents hadn’t cooled—the mere touch scorched his fingers.

Pursing his lips, he opened the plastic bag on the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of AD Calcium Milk.

His hands shook, struggling to pierce the straw in.

Fang Bingxue gulped down half the bottle in one go, with a sniffle.

His voice was hoarse: “Thanks.”

Over at the supermarket, Zhou Xu picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

The boss bolted upright, his face lined with sleep creases: “Huh, what time is it?”

He’d been sleeping soundly with the background noise, but the sudden silence woke him instantly. Zhou Xu set the remote down: “Half past one.”

The boss rubbed his wrist: “Oh…”

Zhou Xu said, “Someone came by to buy something earlier. I put the money in for you.”

The boss still seemed half-asleep, mumbling again, “Oh.”

Zhou Xu said, “Count it.”

“Don’t bother,” the boss hurriedly replied. “As if I’d doubt—wait what?”

His eyes widened, and he gave his own face a sharp slap, swallowing.

Zhou Xu’s expression remained blank: “Yeah, just now. Went peacefully.”

He was still sitting on that old folding stool, its olive-drab fabric straps worn thin with age, as dull and enduring as the little supermarket itself.

But not as old as the dog in his arms.

Its patchy fur had lost its shine, its body limp, looking tiny in Zhou Xu’s embrace—completely lifeless.

“Fourteen years,” Zhou Xu said calmly, holding it. “A good run.”

The boss circled out from behind the counter, taking two steps forward and rubbing his hands: “Earlier, it kept trying to run outside. I could tell something was wrong… That’s why I called you. Didn’t expect it to really…”

Zhou Xu said, “Yeah.”

Some dogs, when they grow old and sense their time is near, choose to die outside rather than in the place they know best—maybe to spare their people the sight of their final moments, thinking it too ugly.

But Zhou Xu had seen it at its ugliest.

That day, during a downpour, Zhou Xu had nearly run over this dog—sick, it staggered toward the wilderness before collapsing on the road, only its ribs moving as it gasped. Cursing, Zhou Xu had tossed it in his car, grumbling about no-good mutts running cons, calling it a stupid mutt.

Too dumb to seek help when sick, just gnawing on random weeds. In its limited understanding, the earth was generous and kind, birthing life and offering endless food.

But some only saw its flesh.

Zhou Xu took it to a vet. No time to waste—they treated it as rat poison ingestion. Back then, dog-napping scum were rampant, selling stolen pets to meat shops. The vet had dealt with this before and knew what to do, managing to save it.

Once healed, the dog wagged its tail at Zhou Xu, coming to lick his fingers.

Zhou Xu asked, “Whose dog are you?”

The dog didn’t answer, just kept wagging its tail at him.

The tungsten filament in the bulb flickered. The boss choked up: “It really bonded with you.”

Zhou Xu: “Yeah.”

Then he added, “You said you couldn’t bear to watch, so I didn’t call you.”

He’d returned the dog to its original owner, who ran a small supermarket. During card games, the dog would lie at the entrance sunbathing, easygoing—letting anyone pet its head, never so much as nipped even when kids yanked its tail. Only after developing cataracts and losing half its vision did it start shying from touch.

Except when Zhou Xu visited. Then, it would wag its tail happily.

And Zhou Xu would scratch its chin.

With the TV off, the store fell too quiet. The boss stood frozen for a beat before sighing: “I’ll…take care of the burial.”

Zhou Xu said quietly, “Yeah. Not bad.”

That was about all he could say tonight.