Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Upon returning home, Fang Bingxue didn't immediately contact Zhou Xu.

He was quite composed, first changing into pajamas and performing a quick wash-up. Only when he was settled in bed did he pick up his phone.

Zhou Xu’s message arrived right then: “Not even a woof?”

Fang Bingxue scoffed.

He knew it!

Fang Bingxue wasn't one for frequent phone chats; he hadn't even subscribed to a messaging plan. He slowly typed out an "Oh" but, after a moment's thought, sent an "Ao" instead.

Same pronunciation, similar meaning, just more casual.

Two seconds later, Zhou Xu replied with an "Ao" too.

These two could talk endlessly in person, but when texting, they were both rather laconic. Fang Bingxue chuckled for a bit before placing his phone on the nightstand. He was tired today, exhausted even, but felt a deep sense of peace.

When he woke up the next morning, it was already past eight.

Fang Bingxue recalled Zhou Xu mentioning that he should let him know when he woke up so they could check on his old arm injury. At the time, Fang Bingxue had deftly sidestepped the topic, vaguely brushing it off.

Being mindful of his health, he knew the old injury wasn’t serious. Besides, he’d just been to the hospital yesterday and was well aware of his condition—no need for another troublesome trip.

Never one to overcomplicate things, he called Zhou Xu directly and said it no longer hurt, so there was no need to go.

Zhou Xu didn’t press the issue. It sounded like he was outdoors—a faint whistling of wind could be heard in the background. Fang Bingxue casually asked what he was up to, and Zhou Xu replied, “Nothing, just out for a stroll.”

After a brief chat, they hung up. Then Fang Bingxue remembered he also needed to go out—for a haircut.

He was somewhat particular and harbored a distrust of unfamiliar barbershops. His aesthetic also diverged from the mainstream. Back when straight perms were all the rage, almost everyone not working in an office had jumped on the bandwagon—some even dyeing their hair yellow or red afterward. But not Fang Bingxue.

A friend once pulled him aside, asking, “Isn’t it cool? Doesn’t it look good?”

Fang Bingxue remained silent.

The friend frowned. “You think it’s ugly, don’t you?”

Fang Bingxue, being deliberately mischievous, feigned innocence. “I never said that.”

Back home, he used to get his hair cut at a place near his neighborhood. Across from the residential complex was a row of shops, and the one at the far east had been there for ages. No pushy sales, no membership cards, no fancy titles like “creative director” or “assistant.” Most importantly, the barber was skilled and didn’t talk much—precisely what Fang Bingxue desired.

Simple. Clean.

Even though it was a holiday, the precinct canteen still served meals, but Fang Bingxue craved something different. He stopped by a random breakfast stall and, while eating, asked the bun vendor where the nearest barbershop was. She pointed him to a place not far ahead, just down the street.

Fang Bingxue wiped his mouth and thanked her.

Ten minutes later, he walked into a hair salon.

Five minutes after that, he walked right back out.

A young man with a spiky hairstyle chased after him, the rhinestones on his shoulders glittering garishly. “Bro, wait! Trust me, this style looks really good on you—”

Fang Bingxue didn’t look back as he sped off.

He considered himself particular but not overly fussy. So why was it so hard to find a satisfactory barber? The heat was getting to him, and he loosened his collar for air.

Eventually, he asked Ma Rui for advice. Ma Rui chuckled and said, “Oh, just go to the back gate of the western market. There’s an old guy who does sidewalk haircuts for five yuan. One swipe of the clippers, and you’ve got a buzz cut. He even does hair treatments.”

Fang Bingxue smiled. “Got it. Thanks.”

So he decided to just buy some groceries and head home.

“Groceries” mostly meant eggs and tomatoes. He wasn’t much of a cook—if he got hungry at night, he’d just boil some noodles and make do.

While picking out eggs, a man in a sleeveless shirt walked in, pushing aside the small divider. This market had few proper storefronts, mostly just stalls lined up side by side. The man slipped on a rubber glove and said to the woman making change, “Didn’t turn out well.”

The woman handed him the coins. “Shabby?”

“Yeah,” the man grunted. “If I died and my daughter handled things this poorly, I’d crawl out of my coffin to smack her.”

The woman gave him a cautious look. “Don’t say things like that. Aren’t you worried about jinxing yourself?”

Fang Bingxue had finished picking his eggs—not many, just a small bag hung on the scale’s hook. The man snorted. “Zhou Xu doesn’t care about bad luck, so why should I? Making money off the dead with a clear conscience, driving the Chen family to ruin…”

His voice dropped toward the end, but Fang Bingxue caught every word. His face remained neutral as he quietly watched the woman adjust the scale. A few seconds later, the long scale beam balanced. “Two and a half jin. Nine yuan is fine.”

Fang Bingxue took the bag, then grabbed another plastic bag and placed his phone inside. “Miss, could you weigh this too?”

The woman blinked. “Huh? Why—”

Fang Bingxue smiled. “What, is a phone bad luck? Can’t go on the scale? Don’t worry, I just wanna see how much it weighs.”

His hair was a bit long, falling over his eyes and hiding their sharpness. With his fair complexion and soft-spoken manner, he looked like nothing more than a harmless outsider.

The woman quickly caught on and stuffed a handful of cilantro into the bag. “Ah… take this, on the house.”

Fang Bingxue’s face remained neutral. “No need. Money should be earned with a clear conscience. I can’t accept handouts—it’d make me uncomfortable.”

He stood there calmly, but the market was crowded, stalls packed close together. Nearby vendors had already started glancing over, some with morbid curiosity.

The man pulled off his rubber glove and jabbed a finger at Fang Bingxue. “What’re you trying to say? Say it straight!”

“Not implying anything,” Fang Bingxue said, wanting to tie his hair back—they were really bothering his eyes. “Just saying money should be earned honestly.”

He pointed at the scale’s counterweight. “Too scared to profit from the dead, but not from ghosts?”

The man kicked over the divider. “Who the fuck said I’m using a cheating scale?!”

Fang Bingxue had seen plenty of these scams. Most “ghost scales” relied on quick movements to obscure readings or a pinky pressing down on the beam to cheat out-of-towners. But this one was different—the scale had a two-part blade mechanism, offset to ensure anyone buying here would get shortchanged.

Amid the shouting, the woman clung to her husband from behind, pleading, “Forget it, just let it go.”

The man kept pointing at Fang Bingxue, hurling abuse. “Busybody! Keep running your mouth, and I’ll beat you up every time I see you!”

“Don’t wait,” Fang Bingxue said coldly. “Do it now.”

The man strained against his wife’s grip, face flushed with anger. “You motherf—”

This wasn’t a matter for the police—not their jurisdiction. Fang Bingxue debated whether to report it to market management or the commerce bureau. The man struggled for a while but didn’t break free. The crowd grew, but his bluster faded. Finally, he slapped his wife across the face. “Useless woman! Stop holding me back!”

The blow was vicious. The woman staggered, clutching her nose as blood seeped between her fingers.

Fang Bingxue’s brow furrowed.

An hour and a half later, he finished giving his statement to the on-duty officer. Standing up, he worked the kinks out of his back.

Holidays always mean more police calls. Xiao Li, who had just finished his work in the interrogation room, spotted Fang Bingxue and asked if he wanted to smoke together.

Fang Bingxue said, "Let's go."

They leaned against the ping-pong table in the wind-protected backyard, chatting casually. Xiao Li did most of the talking, mentioning how the man they had just dealt with had been in the system before—not only for petty theft but also for frequently beating his wife when drunk. Neighbors had reported him several times, but it never amounted to much.

"The kid’s in middle school, right? I remember the last time the police were called, it was the child who dialed. But the mother always forgives him, saying she’s afraid it’ll affect the kid’s future government job background screening."

Fang Bingxue looked down without responding.

That's just how life is sometimes. You knew what the right choice was, but too many things held you back—considering and accommodating everyone else, only to end up wronging yourself.

Xiao Li sighed, sounding a bit melancholic. "Stuff like this happens a lot."

"I know," Fang Bingxue said, his cigarette nearly burnt out, a small piece of ash falling. "We’ll just keep chipping away at it."

They didn’t stay out there long—just a quick break to clear their minds. Before heading back, Fang Bingxue asked about the suspect’s family member, Chen Xiu, and how she was doing now.

Xiao Li thought for a moment. "She’s probably holding the fifth-week ceremony these days. Local custom—after the funeral, there’s another ceremony a month later. It's expensive… But to be blunt, with her father gone, she probably feels some relief."

Fang Bingxue lowered his head and crushed the cigarette butt.

After all that, he still hadn’t gotten his hair cut or bought groceries. Fang Bingxue picked up a to-go lunch from the unit cafeteria and brought it back to his dorm.

He still felt off.

Honestly, he didn’t agree with some of Zhou Xu’s views either. But judging a person by their actions rather than their thoughts—Zhou Xu was the one who saved lives, the one who pulled bodies from the swollen river after heavy rains. That was risking his own life, and Fang Bingxue respected that.

The river water was really, really cold.

Lost in thought, he ate slowly, and by the time he realized it, his tomato and egg noodles had turned to mush, making them hard to swallow.

Fang Bingxue put down his chopsticks, went to the kitchen, found a sausage, sliced it up, and mixed it in before finishing the meal.

On his days off, Fang Bingxue was picky and particular, but he never wasted food. After eating, he washed some fruit and arranged it on the table—just because it looked nice, to make the place feel more like home.

Just as he was thinking that, Doctor Fang called, asking how his holiday was going. Fang Bingxue immediately complained that he hadn’t eaten well and was feeling pitiful.

He only dared act like this in front of his dad. Otherwise, his mom would start nagging, saying, *"This is why you should find someone who cares about you—then you’d at least have a hot meal when you get home!"*

Once, Fang Bingxue had grumbled, *"So I should date someone just to cook for me?"* Qin Sumei immediately fired back, *"You can’t even cook—no wonder you can’t find anyone."*

Doctor Fang was much calmer. "Then call a couple of friends tonight and go out for barbecue or something. I hear the beef and lamb from the northwest are good."

That reminded Fang Bingxue of yesterday’s lamb ribs. "Yeah, they’re great—not gamey at all, so flavorful… Next time I go back, I’ll bring a couple of lambs for the family. Give some to relatives and freeze the rest to eat slowly."

"Sounds good. Just don’t forget because of work."

Fang Bingxue chuckled. "Don’t worry."

After hanging up, Fang Bingxue started missing home again—or rather, missing that Plum Ribs dish.

With the long holiday, he finally had time to try making it. Fang Bingxue didn’t like cooking, but he believed knowing how to cook was basic survival. Still, the thought of calling Zhou Xu to ask for advice made him hesitate.

He had a feeling Zhou Xu would laugh at him.

So by evening, Fang Bingxue had burned two pots of ribs.

…For someone who hated wasting food, this was a huge setback.

He fished out the blackened ribs from the pot one by one, soaked them in hot water, and washed off the charred parts. The meat inside was still cooked and clean—enough to fill a whole plate.

Fang Bingxue packed the rinsed ribs into a plastic bag and took them downstairs to feed to dogs. But strangely, there weren’t many dogs in the apartment complex. As he walked further out, he spotted two tabby cats going at each other viciously by the wall, fur flying everywhere.

The scene was too brutal. Fang Bingxue couldn’t break it up—he was afraid the cats might come after him. So he grabbed a stick and tried to separate them.

But the tabbies were too fast, moving like lightning from the wall to a tree, then rolling down in a furry ball before facing off again, backs arched and hissing threats.

Fang Bingxue glanced around. The only spectator was an old man sweeping the street in the distance—no help there. He hung the bag from the stick, trying to lure them. "Mimi, want some ribs?"

The cats ignored him.

Fang Bingxue sighed. "Come on… stop fighting."

He tossed a piece of rib to distract them, but the lead tabby, startled, suddenly charged straight at him—looking absolutely murderous!

Officer Xiao Fang beat a hasty retreat, turning and running.

Only after crossing the street did he stop, out of breath and frustrated, before pulling out his phone to make a call.

Zhou Xu answered quickly. "Yeah?"

"There's no justice," Fang Bingxue panted. "Where are you? I’ve got a bag of ribs here—let’s give them to a dog."

Zhou Xu paused. "…I don't eat ribs."

"Not for you," Fang Bingxue clarified. "I mean a real dog—the furry kind. You know that homely but cute one from the supermarket? Can I bring it over now?"

That dog wasn’t much to look at—with its patchy coat and all—but at least it wasn’t aggressive toward Fang Bingxue.

Good dog!

This time, Zhou Xu was silent for even longer. "Where are you?"

Fang Bingxue glanced around—coincidentally, right where they’d parted ways yesterday. "Same place as yesterday. Coming to get me?"

Zhou Xu said, "Yeah."

Author’s Note:

Bingxue, just stay right there. Bro Xu’s off to get some oranges…