Chapter 15

Chapter 15

What a brute.

Dining with Lao Yan, he slumped in his seat, elbows sprawled across the table, nearly knocking over a shallow dish of baijiu. A Liang held a lighter, looking utterly bewildered.

Zhou Xu commanded, "Light it."

Only then did A Liang ignite the alcohol, and a pure, ethereal blue flame whooshed to life.

"This kid’s terrified of cops," Zhou Xu said, his expression unchanged. "Got beaten as a child; people scared him into silence..."

"Can’t you eat something lighter?"

Lao Yan set down his chopsticks, eyeing the home-style dishes on the table with exasperation: chili scrambled eggs, stir-fried pork slices, and a sour-spicy soup.

Zhou Xu dismissed it casually, "Keeps the chill out."

As he spoke, A Liang swiftly dipped his fingers into the burning alcohol, then meticulously rubbed it along the inside of Zhou Xu’s forearm.

"You were reckless this time. That river swelled after the storm!"

"If I hadn’t pulled them out, it wouldn’t have looked good for your side either. And that woman—she’d have been drowned in gossip."

A Liang never paid heed to such talk. For him, unless he was watching someone’s lips, the conversation was irrelevant. He focused intently on massaging Zhou Xu’s arm.

"Actually, it’s fine," Zhou Xu said, gesturing with his eyes. "Just this spot hurts a bit. Probably a chill. Rubbing alcohol will fix it."

Lao Yan put some food on his plate. "Take care of yourself."

Zhou Xu replied, "Yeah."

The topic ended there; it was nothing major, just an everyday occurrence. After dinner, a light rain still fell outside. With his jacket slung over his shoulder, Zhou Xu offered politely, "A Liang can walk you back."

Lao Yan couldn’t be bothered to wave him off. "No need. Let the kid go home on his own."

A Liang lived nearby, just a few minutes’ walk. With night falling, he was sent off to bed.

As they reached the eaves, Lao Yan turned back and repeated, "Take care, alright? If anything feels off, go see a doctor. Don’t go twisting that old back of yours!"

Zhou Xu scoffed. "My back’s fine as hell."

People in the county preferred walking if the distance wasn’t too far—just a casual stroll home. But with the relentless rain, Lao Yan had driven this time. Even after buckling his seatbelt, he still wasn’t at ease, glancing out the window at Zhou Xu.

Zhou Xu was about to light a cigarette, his head slightly bowed, his large, bony hands cupping a flicker of blue flame near his chin—like holding a firefly with rain-soaked wings.

In an instant, the firefly vanished.

Lao Yan was momentarily speechless.

"Can’t bear to leave, huh?" Zhou Xu said around the cigarette. "If you’re that reluctant, you can crash at my place tonight."

Lao Yan shot back, "Screw off. My wife’s waiting for me at home."

The cop, who’d weathered storms for half a lifetime, rolled up the window. Before driving off, his last words to Zhou Xu were: "Listen to me. Start looking out for yourself from now on."

Zhou Xu replied, "You’re overthinking it. I’m not that nice."

But this time, it seemed he’d stumbled where it counted.

Recovering bodies from the water wasn’t just a mental challenge—it was also a technical skill. You had to open your eyes underwater, tie the corpse with nylon rope for towing, and search around bridge piers and "backwater areas." If luck was against you, you might even get tangled in discarded fishing nets.

People tended to avoid such work out of superstition. Over twenty years ago, in Lichuan County, there was a man who lived under a bridge. He could hold his breath forever, like some water ghost, but he only retrieved the dead, never saved the living. Once, a little boy fell into the water, his head bobbing in the distance. And there the man was, squatting on the shore, just watching.

Waiting for the boy to drown so he could extort money from the family.

Later, that man drowned silently in the river during a storm.

So, people in the county were far more forgiving toward Zhou Xu. Even if they complained about his prices behind his back, they remained polite to his face.

The heavy rain ended quietly, the sky clearing. The swollen river had washed ashore all sorts of things—fish, shrimp, shards of porcelain, and random plastic toys—and it had also left Zhou Xu sick.

At first, he thought it was just a chill, sore muscles that alcohol rubs could fix. But then came the high fever, his skin burning up enough to fry an egg on his chest.

Zhou Xu stayed holed up at home for two days without stepping out.

He had his fingers in a few pies. Aside from the auto repair shop he owned, the rest—internet cafés, pool halls—were side gigs with friends. Business had been good for a long time, so he didn’t need to keep an eye on things.

So, Zhou Xu just let the shop know he had something to handle and wouldn’t be around for a couple of days. No one thought much of it.

The meds helped, easing his body somewhat, but by nightfall, the fever flared again. Zhou Xu was pissed off, feeling like that old man was way too damn stubborn—he hadn’t even wronged him, so why bring him all this misery?

He wasn’t particularly superstitious, but this illness was vicious. Had enough, Zhou Xu grabbed a kitchen knife, went into the yard, and swung at the air a few times, yelling, "Get the hell out! I’ll burn you paper money once I’m better!"

It was an old custom—when a child fell ill, the mother would wave a knife around to scare off the evil spirits.

Zhou Xu had no one to have his back, no one to ward off his sickness. So, he had to do it himself.

Then came a knock at the door.

Knife in hand, he strode over and shoved the bolt aside with a scowl.

Outside stood Fang Bingxue and A Liang, both gaping at him.

Fang Bingxue exclaimed, "Jesus!"

He hesitated, lips parting. "Zhou Xu… have you lost it?"

Logically, a fever shouldn’t melt your brain—it’s just a symptom, after all. The real issue lies in the cause.

But… what if it did?

He never imagined that peering through the door, he’d see Zhou Xu swinging at nothing.

Fang Bingxue subtly stepped forward, pulling A Liang behind him, and said gently, "Put the knife down first."

Zhou Xu: "…"

He turned and walked away, returning the knife to the kitchen before growling, "What are you two here for?"

A Liang peeked out from behind Fang Bingxue and made a gesture. Zhou Xu didn’t get it—his focus was on Fang Bingxue’s face, because the way the man was looking at him now was downright pitying, like he was some kind of idiot.

"For fuck’s sake!"

He dragged a hand down his face and snapped, "If you’ve got nothing important, beat it. Don’t bother me."

Fang Bingxue set the things he’d brought on the table. After work today, he’d gone grocery shopping and run into A Liang—the boy’s wounds had scabbed over, and he’d been gesturing to the shop owner when he spotted Fang Bingxue in his periphery, waving excitedly.

"Hello," Fang Bingxue greeted with a smile. "Doing some shopping?"

A Liang looked antsy, waving his hands urgently. The shopkeeper behind the counter translated, "Oh, he said he's afraid Zhou Xu might be dead and wants to go check on him."

Fang Bingxue: "Huh?"

The shopkeeper continued casually, "He said his father once stayed home for three days without going out and was found dead. Zhou Xu hasn’t been seen for days either, so he’s worried."

Fang Bingxue: "..."

He suspected A Liang was messing with him.

But A Liang’s expression didn’t seem fake. He had even bought a pack of cigarettes, intending to visit under the pretense of delivering them. Holding the purchase, he looked at Fang Bingxue hopefully.

Fang Bingxue hesitated, speaking slowly, "You want me to come with you?"

A Liang nodded like crazy.

Fang Bingxue glanced at the shopkeeper, who couldn't care less about Zhou Xu’s well-being, absorbed in his TV show and munching on sunflower seeds, the shells piling into a small mountain on the counter.

Without another word, Fang Bingxue went to the shelves and picked up three cartons of AD Calcium Milk.

"...For you to drink."

Fang Bingxue said seriously, "A Liang was worried you might be dead, so we came to check. Looks like you're still kicking, but... you haven't lost it, have you?"

Zhou Xu sat on a stool, breathing hard.

A Liang had already set down his things, gave a quick wave, and slipped into the kitchen, saying he’d make food. For a moment, the large courtyard was left with just the two of them, staring at each other.

Fang Bingxue kept at it, "Really not insane?"

Zhou Xu gritted his teeth, "You always this annoying? So much talk."

Fang Bingxue ignored him, taking out a bottle of calcium milk, inserting the straw, and starting to drink.

He figured out Zhou Xu was extremely uncomfortable with this kind of "concern." The man seemed not used to people caring. When hurt, he’d retreat like a wounded beast into a dark cave, silently waiting to recover. The moment anyone noticed, he’d grow defensive, snapping at anyone who came near.

No wonder A Liang had hesitated, too afraid to come alone.

Fang Bingxue wasn't having any of his bad habits. He drank his milk at his own pace until, eventually, Zhou Xu couldn’t take it anymore and finally snapped, "Why are you here?"

Fang Bingxue replied, taking his time, "Heard you were sick, came to see you."

Sure enough, the man immediately got defensive.

"It’s just a cold. A couple days’ rest and I’ll be fine," Zhou Xu rasped, his voice rough as sandpaper. "No need for your concern, going out of your way and all. Was it really necessary?"

Then, as if realizing his tone was too harsh, he fidgeted with his hands. "I mean... it’s nothing serious, no big deal."

Only then did Fang Bingxue look up, giving him a lazy glance.

The usually fierce and domineering man looked wilted, sitting quietly on the stool, his face flushed, lips chapped, chest heaving. Even as dusk settled and birds returned to their nests, the courtyard dimming around them, Fang Bingxue could practically feel the heat coming off him.

Zhou Xu coughed twice. "Anyway... thanks."

Fang Bingxue smiled, letting go of the straw from his lips. "Want some? I’ll get you a bottle."

Zhou Xu clamped his mouth shut, silent.

Fang Bingxue stood, opened the plastic bag, inserted a straw, and walked over, handing it to Zhou Xu.

A small sparrow with gray feathers fluttered away, leaving the branches swaying gently behind.

After a moment’s hesitation, Zhou Xu took it.

The moment his fingers touched the bottle, Fang Bingxue abruptly reached out with his other hand, pressing it against Zhou Xu’s forehead.

Fang Bingxue frowned. "You’re burning up."

Zhou Xu froze, tilting his head back to stare blankly at him.

Fang Bingxue let out a hiss, shaking his head.

"Damn, you’re fever-dumb too."

Author’s Note:

PS: Lighting alcohol for treatment is dangerous and its effectiveness is debated. Let’s not follow Zhou Xu’s example—don't go trying this yourself.