Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Fang Bingxue had never really drunk AD Calcium-Fortified Milk.

To be precise, he had hardly touched any tangy-sweet beverages, even during the heyday of Jianlibao when other kids loved it, waiting to burp in unison after drinking. At most, Fang Bingxue would glance curiously before stopping there.

His family was quite traditional—his father a doctor, his mother a teacher. From kindergarten, Fang Bingxue had been the most prim-and-proper child, sitting with his legs together and hands neatly folded.

Enrolling in the police academy and choosing a job most saw as tough and dangerous was Fang Bingxue’s first act of defiance.

His parents dismissed it as a belated rebellious phase, and after much arguing, they eventually let it go.

His year-long posting in the Northwest was yet another silent rebellion.

"...Not happening."

Fang Bingxue’s voice was muffled into the pillow. "Don’t set me up with any of these blind dates."

"I’m not saying you have to meet them now," Qin Sumei pressed patiently. "Once you’re back from your business trip next week—I’ve already asked your uncle about this girl..."

"Mom," Fang Bingxue coughed for a moment. "I’m not coming back next week."

Qin Sumei let out an "Oh," then asked, "What’s wrong with your voice?"

Fang Bingxue replied, "Just a minor cold."

"Remember to take your medicine and drink plenty of warm water," Qin Sumei said sternly. "And dry your hair properly after washing it."

"Yes ma'am, Teacher Qin," Fang Bingxue chuckled. "Don’t worry."

His mother had worked in kindergarten for thirty years, evolving from a young Teacher Qin to a seasoned Principal Qin, her gentle and sweet voice never changing. She also insisted on meticulously advising everyone around her. Fang Bingxue had met many people who strictly separated work and personal life, and he used to wonder how his mother could remain so consistent all these years.

But Fang Bingxue didn’t find it annoying—he was happy to humor her.

At most, he just didn’t take it to heart.

Lately, though, it had become a bit unbearable. The reason was that his parents had attended a few banquets and came back side-eyeing him, complaining about how all their colleagues’ kids were married, how the new nurse in the department was Fang Bingxue’s age and already had children, and so on.

At the time, Fang Bingxue was casually eating blueberries and offhandedly suggested, "Maybe you two should get a dog instead?"

Honestly, he hadn’t meant it sarcastically at all.

It was just that Auntie Yang downstairs had also been frantic about her child’s marriage, until her daughter brought home a beagle, and the nagging stopped. Fang Bingxue figured Auntie Yang must really love that dog, taking it out for walks every day.

Chewing on a blueberry, he added, "While other parents are picking up their kids from kindergarten, you and Auntie Yang can walk your dogs together. I saw that dog wearing little clothes—looked way cuter than a kid."

Before Teacher Qin could respond, Doctor Fang took a sip of tea and remarked coolly, "Yeah, better than a kid—won’t give us grief every day."

Fang Bingxue remained unfazed, letting the words go in one ear and out the other. But he hadn’t expected Teacher Qin to act so swiftly this time, introducing prospective matches left and right—even bringing them home.

More than once, Fang Bingxue had stopped dead in his tracks, too afraid to enter.

After this back-and-forth, faced with Xiao Fang’s strong cop's avoidance tactics, Qin Sumei finally couldn’t take it anymore. She sat him down for a carefully worded intervention: "Do you have some kind of... physical or psychological issue?"

Fang Bingxue: "..."

"I remember you’ve never been in a relationship," Teacher Qin said with the concern of an educator. "Level with me. If there’s a problem, early detection means early treatment."

Fang Bingxue didn’t remember how he brushed it off.

In any case, he considered himself perfectly normal.

And precisely because he was normal, he valued his future partner all the more.

"...See? When you’re sick out there alone, there’s no one to take care of you."

A thousand miles away, Fang Bingxue lay with his arm under his head, half-asleep by the call's end.

He didn’t even remember how it ended.

That night, he slept poorly, wriggling like a nightcrawler through soil—one moment cocooning himself tightly, the next kicking the blanket to the corner. When he woke up in the morning, groggy, he touched his forehead and found it drenched in sweat.

Feeling gross, Fang Bingxue dragged himself to the shower.

Afterward, feeling hungry, he opened last night’s crackers and took a few bites, then drank a bottle of AD Calcium-Fortified Milk, finally perking up a bit.

Except his voice was still hoarse.

When he went to extend his stay at the hotel, the proprietor gave him a once-over and nodded knowingly. "The Northwest’s dry air—you’re lucky you’re not bleeding from the nose. Lots of outsiders come here and can’t adjust, their noses pouring like faucets."

Fang Bingxue, still sick, was dressed a bit too warmly today, wearing a black mask that left only his expressive eyes visible. He chuckled at the remark. "Guess I got lucky then."

When he smiled, the corners of his eyes curved too. Fang Bingxue had beautiful eyes—large, round amber irises, clear and bright. When he looked at someone like this, he seemed downright earnest, without any sense of intimidation—

Of course, that was him outside the interrogation room.

Very good at connecting with locals.

So, Fang Bingxue not only got detailed directions to the pharmacy but also learned which place served the best beef noodles. As he left, the owner insisted he try some homemade sweet grain ferment, claiming it was something you couldn’t buy elsewhere.

The sun glared.

Fang Bingxue took his fever medicine in the driver’s seat, the seatbelt clicking into place. He exhaled deeply and addressed the urn in the passenger seat: "Shall we go?"

In the small photo on the urn, a gray-haired grandmother smiled faintly, lips pressed together.

"Don’t worry," he said, turning the steering wheel. "We’re going home now."

The old woman had no family left to speak of. When she passed, her only living kin was a grandson doing time—his request for a final visit was denied due to his remaining sentence and poor behavior in prison.

Fang Bingxue smoked a cigarette outside the hospital, waiting for the smell to fade before returning to explain the situation.

The old woman, an oxygen mask over her mouth, turned her face to look at him. Fang Bingxue reached out and gently smoothed her hair back.

He ached with sadness, wondering what kind of life this particular old woman had lived. The few lines on her family registry couldn’t possibly capture her entire existence. Early in his career, Fang Bingxue’s mentor had scolded him: "You’re just a bleeding heart."

But after the scolding, the mentor added, "Though being soft-hearted isn’t a bad thing."

—Fang Bingxue didn’t agree.

After an hour and a half on the road, he arrived near a desolate, unfamiliar village. Following the old woman’s instructions, he found the sea of red willows.

Fang Bingxue considered himself quite hard-hearted.

Standing on the anvil-hard ground, he opened the urn and, under the gaze of the endless mountains and windblown sand, steadily let fall the ashes.

It was dusk. The setting sun over the dunes bled red across the sky, casting the distant mountains in stark relief—bereft of greenery, just gnarled gray-brown bones of the land, wordless and enduring. It was the most familiar and forgiving native soil, the place of her birth.

Now, she had returned to the Northwest of her dreams, resting peacefully among the red willows.

This place is even more barren than Lichuan County, with few young people left in the village. Fang Bingxue lit a cigarette but had barely taken two puffs when someone called out to him.

"Uncle, watch out for the sheep pellets!"

Fang Bingxue turned around and saw a child wearing a headscarf sitting on a donkey cart, swinging their short legs and grinning at him from a distance, cheeks flushed red.

"Alright," Fang Bingxue smiled back. "Thanks."

The old woman who sold tofu had hardly ever taken photos in her lifetime. It wasn’t until her funeral arrangements that her archived photo was pulled from the Ministry of Public Security’s population database. Following the village head’s directions, Fang Bingxue found the abandoned old house and left the empty urn there. But the ID card with its corner clipped off was taken by Fang Bingxue.

He figured that when the old woman’s grandson was released, he might want a keepsake.

The village head knew Fang Bingxue was a stationed officer in Lichuan County and insisted he stay for dinner. Fang Bingxue wasn’t great at handling such situations, with folks pulling at his arms. It took him a long time to politely excuse himself. When he finally got out, he found a large bundle of dried fiddleheads wrapped in newspaper placed in the back of his SUV.

"Sun-dried at home," the village head said, rubbing his chapped thumb against his face. "Soak them for a couple of days before stewing them with meat—it’s delicious!"

Fang Bingxue’s voice was still hoarse as he thanked him again.

—The northwest’s not bad.

That phrase lingered in Fang Bingxue’s mind the whole way back.

At 9:30 p.m., the night wind howled.

Behind the wheel of his SUV, Fang Bingxue considered running the car through a wash before officially starting work. The local police station thought he’d arrive the day after tomorrow. After all, working with Wang Chuan was just that—a temporary thing. When Wang joked about second-class merits, Fang Bingxue didn’t bite. Who would show off right after arriving somewhere new?

Beat cops had it rough, often too busy with cases to even go home. In Fang Bingxue’s view, he was just pitching in.

Though he still had some recklessness in his bones, Fang Bingxue had been raised well by his parents—he knew how to act right.

So he parked his car neatly by the roadside and entered the same small supermarket from the night before.

They’d given him an extra pack of AD Calcium Milk last time, so now Fang Bingxue planned to buy two packs of cigarettes as a way to support their business.

The fever reducer had worked well. Apart from his scratchy throat, he’d mostly recovered, with none of last night’s mess. Only his allergies hadn’t fully cleared—his eyes still stung and reddened in the wind.

The owner, who’d been sound asleep last night, was now wide awake, zoned into the TV. Fang Bingxue browsed around, picked up some snacks, and asked at checkout, "Got any Huanghelou?"

"Yeah," the owner said, sliding open the glass drawer. "Do you want the soft blue or..."

Fang Bingxue glanced around. "Whichever’s fine."

He didn’t see Zhou Xu, nor the scruffy mutt. Even the stool had been put away, leaning against the corner.

The overhead bulb cast a dim, unwavering yellow light.

After paying, the owner handed him a plastic bag and asked warmly, "Need anything else?"

Fang Bingxue looked away. "No, that’s all."