Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Final Frenzy

After hanging up, I thought for a moment and quickly dialed Duan Feng's home. He answered, and without wasting words, I gave him Xizhen's mobile number. Duan Feng was puzzled, asking what it meant. I said, "Call this number at exactly six-thirty tonight. Tell him you discovered his wife with a man at the Sea View Tower, booked into a room. Let him investigate. If he asks who you are, tell him you're my friend and hang up immediately. Understood?" Duan Feng suddenly realized, "Got it!"

I paced the room, stroking my chin, and suddenly felt disgusted with myself. Was I being too ruthless? I shook my head and muttered aloud, "Hell, ruthless? Those adulterers are the real ruthless ones! What they've done to me is darker than a flock of crows mixed with pigs... Wait and see, this is the so-called love you’re chasing!"

I sank back into the sofa, yawned with pleasure, but suddenly felt tired. I grabbed a newspaper and glanced through it—nothing but the same empty headlines. Tossing it aside, I stood before the mirror, carefully plucked a few white hairs at my temples, tidied my messy hair with a comb, took a deep breath, and stepped out.

Lin Baobao called from the inner room, "Shunzi, where are you going again?"

I replied, "Sister-in-law, I'm not Shunzi, he's away on business. I'm Da Kuan, heading out to buy something. I'll be back soon."

Lin Baobao grumbled on and on, but I didn't catch much, only hearing her say, "You should really have Zhang Yi’s father come home too."

The afternoon sun was crisp and clear—in the dead of winter, the outside was warm, but I felt chilled, as memories, messy and fragmentary, surged into my mind, leaving me hollow inside. All that remained were the bits and pieces between me and Yang Bo, circling in my thoughts... I felt a bitter sorrow and a nameless weariness. I remembered after we signed the divorce papers at the Civil Affairs Bureau, Yang Bo lagged behind me all the way back. I turned to her and said, "Didn't you take all your things? Why are you still following me?" She didn't reply at first. As I sped up, she couldn't catch up, shouting from behind, "If you look like shit, don't blame the dog for following!" I laughed then, thinking she was hard-mouthed and hard-hearted, but deep down she really couldn't bear to leave me. Now I understand: she was only thinking about that apartment.

Unconsciously, I found myself in front of the small restaurant where, twenty years ago before fighting Hong Wu with Wang Dong, we drank together. I stopped, glanced at the unchanged sign, and chuckled awkwardly. For a moment, I was confused—so much has changed in the street, why is this little restaurant still the same? Was it warning me not to do things I shouldn’t? Damn it, I just did something even bigger a few days ago. Not do it? If I don’t, what will I eat or drink? You want me to stand in the street, freezing in the northwest wind? Shaking my head, about to leave, someone crashed out the door: "Kuan Bro, I saw you standing outside grinning like a fool. Thought you were coming in for a drink. Come on, don’t leave!"

I tilted my head, "Mumu, aren’t you always busy selling land with Wei Dalang? How do you have time to drink?"

"Ah, don’t mention Wei Dalang, he’s gone in for 'two and a half years'." Rotten Mumu didn’t let me refuse, dragged me by the waist into the restaurant. Business was sparse, almost the same as twenty years ago—several laborer-looking men eating quietly, not a sound. The private room where I once sat with Wang Dong and Jin Long was still there, only the curtain had been replaced with a wooden sliding door. The door was open, and a pig-like fat man in a wheelchair smiled at me, a cigarette dangling from his lips, twitching like something obscene. He looked familiar. I nodded, "Hello."

He struggled with the wheelchair, looking as if to stand up, but Rotten Mumu pressed him down, "Kuan Bro, you should know this guy—Shrimp. Back then, you had him overturn Guan Kai’s stall and cut up his shrimp. He’s crippled now; Guan Kai shot his leg out." My chest tightened—it was all because of me... I heard about it in prison, told Wang Dong to give him twenty thousand yuan. I’d only heard his leg was broken, never imagined he’d end up like this. About to say something, Shrimp waved his hand, "Kuan, Kuan Bro, let’s not talk... let’s drink."

I shook his hand awkwardly, "How did you get so fat? Maybe Shrimp isn’t the right nickname anymore."

Shrimp laughed, "You think I want to be like this? Try sitting still for months—give it half a year, you'll look the same."

Feeling uneasy, I turned to Rotten Mumu, "You said Wei Dalang’s gone in?"

Rotten Mumu nodded, "Eight years. You know the charge... Haha, now I’m an orphan again."

I said, "We’re all the same. After being grandpa, you’re a grandson again. As Kuai Bin says, there’s no solution."

Rotten Mumu gave a bitter smile, "Every grandpa gets there by being a grandson first. Didn’t expect I’d barely be grandpa for two years before falling back."

Drinking, Rotten Mumu rambled about the coldness of the world and changing hearts, finally raising his arm in a flourish, "The road ahead is long and winding, I must search high and low!" I laughed, "Are you still searching with Wang Jiao?" Rotten Mumu grunted, "Haven’t gotten to search in ages..."

He told me Wang Jiao opened several clothing shops in the market, then moved into real estate and made a fortune. Speaking of his old affair with Wang Jiao, Rotten Mumu's eyes reddened, "It was my fault I treated her like an old shoe—she was really good, aside from a sharp tongue, she had a kind heart. In my life, I’ve liked few people. Wang Jiao was one." Seeing the pain on his face, thoughts of Yang Bo welled up in me, the bitterness almost overwhelming as I lowered my head and drank. A tear the size of a bean dropped into my glass—not sure if it was mine or Rotten Mumu's.

Unnoticed, night had fallen. I grabbed my phone—five-thirty.

Rotten Mumu was thoroughly drunk, clutching Shrimp’s arm and singing, "See success or failure, life is bold, it’s just starting over..."

I drained the remaining half bottle of beer in front of me, staggered out.

The taxi raced down the lower street toward Sea View Tower, the shop lights on either side flashing by like steel sparks. In just a few years, the lower street had the look of a bustling metropolis. My grandfather once said, when he was young he went to Shanghai, "Now that’s a big city—crowded, tall buildings everywhere, streets wide as the sea," he said, "If I pulled a rickshaw on a road like that, I’d go fast, even cars couldn’t catch up." He’d pound his twisted legs, tilt his head at the door, "If only the lower street had roads that wide someday. Then I’d dig out my rickshaw, pull our whole family down the street, run... Could I still run? Doesn’t matter, I’d go to the street committee, tell them to start a rickshaw company—call it the Great Rickshaw Company. Add ‘Great’ and it’s ‘Heaven’!" He had a thing for the word ‘heaven’, often saying, "Heaven kills without blinking," "The world’s biggest thing is eating." Once during a parade, he saw Old Wang holding a Quotations book, shouting blessings, and rubbed his bald head muttering, "This guy’s a bastard, sooner or later thunder’ll crack his skull." He was wrong—Wang was indeed a bastard, but thunder never visited his head. He thrived, strolling the street with a birdcage like an old lord.

I went up to the third floor of Sea View Tower, settled into a private room, ordered four dishes, and stood by the window watching the entrance.

The gate was peaceful, rows of cars parked in the yard like iron coffins.

What should I say to Yang Bo when she arrives? I truly hadn’t figured out the opening line—should I just call her a whore?

My phone rang—Yang Bo’s voice: "Zhang Kuan, I’m here. Where are you?"

I slipped behind the curtain, glanced at the entrance. Yang Bo was standing quietly beside a red sedan, the ambiguous light from the gate washing over her. Her long hair was lifted by the breeze, making her look beautiful, just like the time she stood in the snow, waving a yellow scarf at me. My vision blurred, my heart wrenched—"I..." My breath caught, brain starved for air. Should I really go through with my plan? In that moment, against all reason, I changed my mind. "Yang Bo, I’ve changed my mind. I didn’t come. I’m at home..."

"What’s wrong with you?" Yang Bo slammed her hand on the car, voice hoarse, "What do you take me for? Your toy? I saw you coming..." Suddenly she stopped, staring into the distance, "Xizhen, why are you here?"

Xizhen staggered toward Yang Bo, drunk, his face under the lights looked like a cabbage gnawed by pigs.

I couldn’t stay here! I retreated to the door, slipped into the restroom across the hall.

No sooner had I caught my breath behind the door than a sharp, grating voice sounded outside, "Zhang Kuan, come out!"

How was it Wang Hui’s voice? I peeked outside, Wang Hui stood with hands on hips, glaring like a heroic woman, "Why did you ask Yang Bo here?"

I was stunned, "Wang Hui, let me explain—"

Wang Hui shouted, "I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear it! Pervert—" She dashed down the corridor, wild.

Damn, what a mess! A strong urge to pee hit me, I shivered, cold sweat breaking out. Standing at the urinal, just as I undid my belt, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Yang Bo coming for me? My heart tightened, I spun around. Two men with murderous faces walked toward me, hands tucked in their coats. I saw the killing intent in their eyes. Police? No, police wouldn’t look at me like that. Little Wang’s men... bad! No time to think, I grabbed the window ledge and jumped. Rolling onto a platform below, I ducked into the shadows, hearing a low voice above, "No mistake, it’s Zhang Kuan! After him!" I recognized the voice—not police. My heart eased, I grinned, come on then.

Footsteps rushed overhead, a dark figure jumped down, the moon glinting off the shotgun in his hand. I crouched by the drainpipe, watching. He glanced up, then ran to the west end of the platform, scanning around, tucked the gun in his waistband, and climbed over into the yard. I crawled to a chimney, coldly watching below. He ran to the yard’s gate, yanked at it, couldn’t open it, gave up, drew his gun and circled the pile of junk, searching. I saw the other man dart past the gate, running north. The first seemed to spot him, the shotgun flashed in the moonlight, he leapt to the gate’s midpoint, tried to climb over. As he struggled, I saw my chance and jumped him. Midair, one hand grabbed for his gun, the other for his neck. He looked up, eyes flashing with fear. We toppled to the ground. Before he could get up, I seized the barrel and smashed the stock into the back of his head. He dropped without a sound, face down. Bending over, I dragged him behind the pile of junk, caught my breath and looked outside—nothing but the occasional passing car. I crouched over his head, prodding his face with the gun barrel, voice low, "Who are you?"

No sound—was he dead? So little resistance? I checked his breathing—it was faint, but still there.

Probably unconscious, I dragged him deeper, tucked the shotgun under my arm, peered at the gate—still calm.

I slipped out the other side of the junk, hugged the wall to the gate, just about to climb over when voices came from the north.

Qian Feng’s voice: "Strange, I clearly saw him jump out, and now he’s gone. Could he be in this yard?"

Footsteps stopped, Jia Guan’s voice rang out, "I don’t care, tonight we finish this—go in and look!"

Well, Little Wang’s finally lost patience, coming to grab me himself! Gripping the gun, a reckless urge surged up. Quietly, I retreated to the west side of the junk, climbed onto the platform, lay by the chimney, watching the gate. I was ready—when they rushed in, I’d finish him with a shot! It’s not my gun. After firing, I’d wipe the fingerprints, toss the gun, and walk away. Let them investigate—it might turn into a perfect unsolved case! Unsolved case? Suddenly I thought of the Tang Yiming kidnapping—that was like an unsolved case. As long as Tang Yiming kept quiet, no one knew I was the "kidnapper." Just as I raised the gun and took aim at the gate, a flash of fire erupted at the entrance, followed by a thunderous roar. Jia Guan’s bear-like body spun and crashed to the ground. A black shadow flew past him like a giant bird, vanished in an instant. Qian Feng chased a few steps, then ran back, waving his hands and shrieking like a banshee, "Murder! Murder—"

This place wasn’t safe! Instinctively, I threw away the gun, jumped into the alley behind, darted into another passage.

My phone rang—it was Yang Bo’s number. I answered.

"Zhang Kuan, you’ll die a miserable death, you’ll die a miserable death!"

I smiled bitterly and shut off my phone. Cold sweat drenched my back, the wind stung like needles.