Chapter Seven: Homecoming
Chen Jin and his two companions were still in the security office, lingering rather than leaving immediately.
“...So we’re just letting him go like that? Shouldn’t I keep an eye on him? What if he sneaks back into the Longevity Cemetery?” Xiao Jin listened to the fading footsteps, concern etched in his voice.
“Xiao Wu is there. Besides, we’ve made everything clear—how could he possibly go back to the Longevity Cemetery?” Chen Jin chided. “You, on the other hand, why did you say so much that didn’t need saying?”
Xiao Jin looked lost.
“A warning is enough. We all know the score—leave a little room, and he’ll back off as well. That’s the best outcome,” Old Xu said, “There are a thousand days for the thief, but not a thousand days for the guard. If we really push him, he might just wreck the cemetery out of spite. Even if we call the police and have him arrested, it’ll just make trouble for us later. Guys like him, even if they get caught, spend a few days in detention at most—they’re not afraid. He’s an old hand at this. Young, impulsive—the worst kind.”
Xiao Jin was still confused, a little aggrieved.
Old Xu looked at the young man’s face and remembered how he himself had once bristled under the director’s rebuke, full of indignation.
So young, Old Xu sighed inwardly.
“Didn’t you find the two graves he was visiting?” Chen Jin gently prodded.
“Yes!” Xiao Jin puffed out his chest with pride.
It had taken his cleverness.
“Did you look at who those two graves belonged to?”
Xiao Jin answered at once, “Didn’t I just say? Sheng Zuyi, and the other one…”
Before he could recall the other tombstone, Chen Jin continued, “Did you check the birth and death dates for Sheng Zuyi and his wife?”
Xiao Jin froze.
It was late at night—he hadn’t had time to carefully read the inscriptions. Remembering the names of Sheng Zuyi’s living relatives was already impressive. Besides, last night Old Xu and Chen Jin had already volunteered to investigate those graves. The operations department would pull the files and everything would become clear. Why should he waste time pondering over these details?
Obviously, Chen Jin and Old Xu didn’t have any superhuman powers of deduction either; they had coordinated with operations the night before, and by now the department had already figured out the details of those graves. They just hadn’t shared the information with the rest yet.
“If he really had a grandson, would that grandson be a nineteen-year-old college student?” Chen Jin scoffed. “What is this, a TV drama? ‘My grandfather was killed by the Japanese when he was eight’?”
Xiao Jin was stunned.
...
Sheng Yao hurried out of the Longevity Cemetery. All along the way, he watched the surveillance cameras, and once he passed out of the main gate’s camera range, he broke into a sprint on the smooth asphalt road.
Faster, faster…
Please let me make it in time…
Let me catch up to Bai Xiao…
...
“My guess is he set his sights on Sheng Zuyi’s grave but never found the chance to act. Offering flowers to both graves is just a cover, in case Sheng Zuyi’s family came to pay respects and happened to see him. If they did, he’d have an excuse to talk to them. Later, he probably wandered around the Longevity Cemetery to look for a better opportunity,” Chen Jin analyzed.
Xiao Jin pondered, then said, “If he was really after Sheng Zuyi’s grave to extort the family, he must know something about them, right? Why pretend to be that Sheng Yao? Maybe he’s after the other grave?”
“That’s even less likely,” Old Xu dismissed his theory. “That grave doesn’t have any family. The neighborhood committee collected donations to buy the burial plot.”
Chen Jin added, “And the lease on that grave is up this year. No chance of renewal—the remains will be relocated and interred with others. Might end up under some tree in the Longevity Cemetery.”
He changed tack, “He only claimed to be Sheng Yao after looking into the Sheng family. Don’t give these small-time crooks too much credit—getting this far is already something.”
That explanation made sense.
Xiao Jin hesitated, then nodded.
Chen Jin turned to Old Xu, “I don’t think that kid’s given up. Let me keep an eye on him tomorrow in the traditional section.”
Old Xu could only agree with some regret, “I don’t trust those young ones. And I can’t deny I’m getting old—eyesight and legs aren’t what they were. I’ll leave it to you.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let him make trouble,” Chen Jin promised.
...
There it was!
Sheng Yao spotted the west gate of Longevity Park, his eyes brightening as he scanned the area.
In the distance lay an empty parking lot, beyond which were a handful of small houses standing alone amid wild grass nearly two meters high. The wind pressed the grass flat, but no cattle or sheep appeared.
Sheng Yao exhaled heavily, slowing his pace as if afraid to startle the girl hidden in the grass.
Again, the question that had troubled him earlier surfaced. He squinted toward the horizon at those few humble houses—like children’s blocks, too ramshackle to live in, yet still houses, with walls and roofs to keep out wind and rain.
Could it be Bai Xiao hadn’t lied? Did she really live there?
The sun was setting, its last rays painting the grass orange and gilding the girl’s silhouette with gold.
That figure became faint, as if melting into the sunlight, or about to be swallowed by the grass, vanishing without a trace.
Sheng Yao’s heart began to race.
...
A heartbeat echoed in the dark room.
It thudded strongly, as if urging or warning.
The doctor pressed his face to the television screen, fingers gripping the set so hard the plastic casing creaked, the sound swallowed by the laughter and sobbing of the little figures painted on his nails.
...
Sheng Yao took a step toward Bai Xiao’s silhouette, then another, quickening his pace until he was running again.
He charged into the dense grass, blades lashing his face, leaving red marks and thin scratches.
He kept his eyes locked on the vanishing figure ahead.
The sun was blood-red; the girl’s gold shadow turned crimson. The grass, too, was stained red, as though blood had burst from her body, soaking the earth.
Sheng Yao’s eyes were red as well.
No longer did he hear the rustle of grass—just chaotic noise, sirens wailing like police and ambulances.
...
“Husband... I...”
A whisper, a sigh, coming from everywhere and nowhere.
Sheng Yao forced his eyes wide open, unwilling to lose sight of the figure before him, desperately reaching out.
...
Before the TV, the doctor stretched backward, boneless as a strange creature, retreating until he slumped onto the sofa.
The noise on his fingernails ceased.
The heartbeat in the room stopped.
Only Sheng Yao’s panting drifted from the TV.
Among the swirling apricot blossoms, a clear female voice rang out.
...
“Sheng Yao?” Bai Xiao turned in surprise, seeing him drenched in sweat, her gaze dropping to where he grasped her hand.
The blossoms she’d held had scattered into the grass, swaying away with the wind.
Sheng Yao’s hand trembled; his whole body shook uncontrollably.
Bai Xiao was silent for two beats, then reached out to gently wipe the sweat from his brow and the blood from his face. “Don’t worry, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sheng Yao’s face remained taut. He carefully rolled up Bai Xiao’s sleeve, exposing her arm.
Her pale skin bore a clear gray handprint, the center marked by uneven scarring like a burn, and around the edges, a web of fine blue veins, as if some visible infection.
Sheng Yao could see the blue veins spreading outward—just barely, perhaps a trick of the light.
“It’s nothing,” Bai Xiao soothed with a smile. “Just... an allergy.”
Sheng Yao jerked his head up to meet her eyes.
“It really is just an allergy—a rare kind of skin condition. I see a doctor and take medication for it. It’s okay,” she said, as if to convince him.
Sheng Yao’s expression twisted between tears and a forced smile. “Come home with me! Let’s go home!”
When the words faded, only the sound of the wind in the grass remained.
They looked at each other, their smiles slowly disappearing.
Time seemed to stop.
...
Tap.
The doctor’s fingernail rapped his knee, making a strange sound, as if the little painted figure on his nail had been struck and its smile turned to a pout.
A sigh drifted through the darkness, its source unclear.
On the TV, the camera pulled back from Bai Xiao’s silent face, over Sheng Yao’s anxious, hopeful expression, retreating to the Longevity Cemetery.
Xiao Wu’s head filled most of the screen.
On the left, his trembling hair and goosebumps covered his nape; on the right, the two figures flitted through the grass.
“Ah!” Xiao Wu screamed suddenly and bolted.
His terrified face flashed across the screen, replaced by a close-up of Bai Xiao.
Her face wore a helpless, indulging smile.
“Hehehe…”
From the sofa, the doctor’s laugh was full of delight.
...
Sheng Yao’s heart hammered, not yet settled.
He dared not look back at Bai Xiao, nor reach out for her hand—just matched her steps, walking along the asphalt road through Longevity Park.
“Let’s have dinner first. After that, we’ll take the bus to the city and then a cab home. Taxis can’t enter the city directly from here, so it’s easier to catch one once we’re in town.” Sheng Yao didn’t turn his head, but kept talking. “What do you want for dinner? I’ve eaten near the bus stop a few times.”
All recent meals.
“There’s a good noodle shop. And a place with rice bowls—meat and vegetables, pretty decent.”
“Anything’s fine,” Bai Xiao replied.
Her voice was soft and gentle, free of resentment.
Even when she’d agreed with a resigned “okay” earlier, her tone had been the same.
Sheng Yao couldn’t help but glance over, catching the gentle smile on her face—the same as before.
He blushed and looked away, continuing forward, only to awkwardly fall into a same-side step for a few paces. “Let’s have rice bowls, then. That place also does stir-fry. What do you like?”
“Um…”
It seemed a difficult question.
“Chicken, duck, fish, pork, beef, lamb—which do you like?”
“I like chicken and beef. I don’t eat much fish, but I do like clams and mussels.”
“I like beef, too. And clams. What about veggies?”
“Vegetables... I like all leafy greens.”
“Cilantro, green onions—do you eat those?”
“Yes.”
“Ginger, garlic?”
“I don’t like garlic.”
“And spicy food?”
...
“Depends on the pepper…”
The pair chatted idly as they skirted most of Longevity Park and turned onto a side road leading to the suburbs.
Here, streetlights stood by the roadside. Night had fallen, the lamps casting dim pools of light onto the pavement.
“Still twenty minutes to go,” Sheng Yao apologized, then quickly asked, “Are you tired? Want to call a car?”
As he spoke, he grew vexed. Out here, with no shops or villages nearby, by the time a car arrived, they’d have walked to the residential area themselves.
He changed his tune. “If you’re tired, I’ll carry you.”
Bai Xiao laughed. “It’s not far at all—how could I be tired?”
Sheng Yao scratched his head, embarrassed. He’d been walking this way back and forth for days, from dawn to dusk, never feeling tired—he’d forgotten Bai Xiao was a girl… If she really lived nearby, she must walk this much every day too. But her direction would be across that wild field…
Letting his thoughts wander, Sheng Yao shook himself out of it, silently resolving to buy a little electric scooter for next time, so it’d be easier to take Bai Xiao into the city.
But as soon as the idea formed, he suppressed it.
Some instinct made him resist his own plan.
...
On the TV screen, the bus traveled through the night.
Few people sat aboard; the lights were off. In the dark, you could hear a passenger snoring at the back, and the cheerful conversation between Sheng Yao and Bai Xiao.
Outside the window, the moon shone, rare stars dotting the sky. City neon and rural night were split by the highway—one side bright, the other dark.
The light of the screen and the shadow of the room divided the doctor’s figure into halves.
A new desk and monitor had appeared beside the sofa.
The doctor glanced between the TV and the monitor. He didn’t touch a thing, yet the console’s buttons moved on their own. On the monitor, Sheng Yao sprinted along the asphalt road.
He was like an arrow loosed from a bow, running so fast he nearly outpaced the cars.
His trousers clung to his legs, outlining flexed muscles that, if watched closely, seemed to ripple oddly, as if extracting every last ounce of strength from every cell.
Music swelled, stirring and heroic. The sunset hues softened, apricot blossoms drifted in slow motion to gentle melodies, falling between Sheng Yao and Bai Xiao. Their eyes received close-ups.
The doctor’s blue eyes curved with undisguised delight outside his mask.
The pleasure didn’t last.
The doctor frowned, looking toward the darkness.
A door appeared.
Displeased, he walked over, fingernails muttering with noise—sobs and laughter, as if complaining.
He opened the door, and outside was a bright consultation room, fully furnished, the overhead lights fresh and bright, a clean examination table and a large medicine cabinet.
On the desk, a brand-new all-in-one computer sat, complete with keyboard and mouse. There was nothing else.
The room’s light could not pierce the darkness behind him.
But the clamor from outside came through unhindered.
“Doctor! Doctor!” The voice was strong—not a patient in distress.
The doctor closed the dark room’s door, opened the consulting room door, hands in his pockets, and stepped out.
With that step, his white coat became immaculate.
The lobby was lined with medical posters and price lists, all laminated. Though there was no receptionist, the equipment was complete.
“Ah! Doctor, you’re finally here! Look at my wound—give me some medicine!” A young man by the front desk, face pale, grinned broadly, his hand wrapped in a towel—mostly white, but red where it touched his skin.
The doctor frowned and returned to the consultation room.
He fetched gauze and antiseptic from the cabinet, turning to see the young man already sitting obediently inside.
Saying nothing, the doctor sat and held out his hand.
The young man cooperatively extended his towel-wrapped hand.
“By the way, Doctor, I referred an acquaintance here—did he come? His surname’s Sheng, but I don’t know his full name…” The young man looked unabashed. “An older gentleman. He’s not doing well…” He sighed, for once looking troubled.
When the towel was removed, a deep wound gaped to the bone.
The doctor didn’t blink, pouring antiseptic straight into the gash, none spilling.
“Hsss—” The young man sucked air through his teeth in pain.
“He’s receiving treatment,” said the doctor.
The young man forgot his pain, perking up. “He’s better now?”
“He’s receiving treatment,” the doctor repeated, wrapping the hand tightly with gauze, tying a rough knot.
It was so tight the young man’s arm looked bloodless.
He was puzzled. “Receiving treatment? Isn’t that… enough?” As he spoke, he untied the awkward bandage himself.
All that remained was dried blood—no wound, not even a scar. Only the red marks from the gauze remained.
“Don’t you treat psychological illnesses? Didn’t you say you could?” The young man waved his hand, growing anxious.
The doctor replaced the medicine in the cabinet. “If you’re healed, leave.”
“Oh… and Uncle Sheng…” The young man didn’t get up.
“He’s receiving treatment,” the doctor said for the third time, blue eyes narrowing.
The young man cocked his head. “Fine… but you have to make Uncle Sheng better. You promised.”
The doctor’s blue eyes stared him down.
The young man raised his hands in surrender and obediently left.
At the door, he poked his head back in. “You promised!”
He finished, and before the doctor could scowl, darted out of the clinic.