Cicadas chanted, fish slept, and Lin Chubai felt a sense of bewilderment as he looked at the scenes unfolding by the river.
His thoughts drifted back to the small apartment he had rented with his scholarship after entering high school. It had two bedrooms and a living room, and every time he returned from school, he would see Nanzhi quietly lying on the bed, her ten fingers gently clutching the corner of the pillow.
On the dining table, there would always be a midnight snack and a note prepared by the little girl: “Big Brother, go to sleep early.”
Whenever the weekend or holidays arrived, Nanzhi would stealthily sneak over to her brother’s side, though she was caught every single time.
Lin Chubai knew Nanzhi’s little thoughts, so he would take out a newly bought jigsaw puzzle from beneath the TV cabinet to piece it together with her.
They had lived two years of peaceful and heartwarming life in this manner. He had originally thought they could keep going like this forever, watching the little girl grow up and stride toward a new happiness.
Then he would leave alone, quietly dying in some unknown place, erasing his traces from this world so as not to disturb anyone else’s happiness.
Yet the emergence of this game had disrupted so many things. Lin Chubai murmured inwardly.
When Ye Zhou came out for his shift, he saw Lin Chubai sitting by the doorway with a cigarette hooked between his fingertips, while the ashtray beside him already held four or five cigarette butts.
Hearing the footsteps behind him, Lin Chubai did not turn around. He gently stubbed out the cigarette, which still held a trace of glowing ember, against the ground, and with a casual flick, the ash in the ashtray scattered into the river.
“I was in a car accident before, and I cannot remember many things,” he said out of nowhere.
“Why do you say that?” Ye Zhou understood the abrupt remark, patted the seat next to him casually, and sat down.
“I always feel like we know each other, but I cannot remember.” The moonlight cast a pale glow across his face as the corners of his lips curved slightly.
“Then you do not need to think about it.”
Hearing this, Lin Chubai did not move. Instead, he leaned back against the chair, raised his head to gaze at the starry sky, and fell into silence.
Just as Ye Zhou thought he would not speak again, a low and slightly hoarse voice penetrated his eardrums.
“How many points do you have left? Is it enough for food?”
“Five hundred. Enough for food.”
With that sentence, the two returned to silence once more as the midnight cicadas resumed their song.
His eyelids began to droop gently, and he drifted into a daze of sleep.
His slender eyelashes drooped downward, lending a touch of tenderness to his usually aloof features. The shadows cast by his jawline blurred the tight and alluring contours of his neck.
Ye Zhou stood before him, looking down. His gaze drifted past the wide collar of the school uniform toward his chest, where a modestly sized amulet awakened memories long sealed away.
Four years ago, City A, Xiaonan Alley.
Several dark figures sprinted at high speed through the alley. The youth running at the very front was unmistakably a teenager, closely pursued by four well-trained men in black who were about to catch up, faint flashes of cold light visible around their cuffs.
The young Ye Zhou had been driven to a dead end. The twin illegitimate children older than him should not have driven him to such a desperate plight until his father intervened, blocking the bodyguards and logistics backup under his command.
Suddenly, a cold light flashed. The closest dark figure drew a dagger and slashed straight toward Ye Zhou’s carotid artery. He intended to dodge to the right, but his peripheral vision caught sight of another sharp blade held by someone approaching from the right rear.
The collision of blade and flesh sent a spray of blood toward the horizon, staining the face of the leading shadow. The dagger from behind did not spare him either, burying half of its blade into his scapula.
Ye Zhou blocked the fatal blade aimed at his neck with his arm and kicked back.
Hardly yielding despite the bone-chilling knife wound on his back, he exerted a sudden burst of force and shattered the man’s kneecap with a backward kick.
With eyes burning red, he glared at the rushing river beside them and plunged headfirst into it.
The icy river water relentlessly battered his battered body, and surges of water flooded into his nasal cavity and wounds, leaving him nearly suffocated.
In his blurriness, he saw a serene woman lying at the deep, tranquil riverbed. With just a single glance, Ye Zhou recognized her: it was his mother.
The agony of drowning had already swallowed the remnants of his dwindling consciousness. Before closing his eyes, countless bitter and sour aches seemed to drill into his pores.
He fell into a familiar and gentle embrace, surrounded by a faint scent of gardenia as a long-forgotten voice echoed in his ear: “Ah Zhou, live on.”
“Mother.” The young Ye Zhou could not help muttering aloud.
Yet his mother gave no reply, her eyes filled with an unshakeable sorrow and a desolate smile curving her lips.
Then, with a hardened heart, she pushed him away and spoke once more: “Live on.”
Ye Zhou struggled, wanting to draw closer to his mother once again, but he no longer had any strength left. Not a shred.
In a trance, the voice faded into the boundless darkness, and his consciousness wrestled within a swamp resembling the abyss.
He mustered every last ounce of strength to open his eyes once more, his trembling hands reaching out to grasp the figure drifting further and further away, clinging desperately to that final shred of warmth.
However, his mother offered no response, only gently stirring the ripples of water to push him further into the distance.
His consciousness completely sank, burying itself in a corner where no one cared.
Might as well. Just forget it. This world is utterly meaningless.
So tired. What is the point of living?
No. I must live on. Live on. Live on.
As he thought this, a slender hand suddenly reached through the abyssal swamp, picked up his shattered soul piece by piece, pieced it back together, and dragged him out.
Fair hands covered in thick calluses gently hovered over his wounds, meticulously helping him apply medicine and bandage them.
A cotton swab dipped in glucose water touched his cracked lips, and a trace of sweet fragrance replaced the metallic taste of blood.
He opened his eyes, wanting to see the savior who had rescued him and remember him.
Yet before him lay only a blurry figure and a dilapidated rented apartment. He could vaguely deduce it was a teenager of similar age, accompanied by a little toddler who poked him and asked: “Big Brother, is he dead?”
The teenager bent down to place his fingers on his pulse, then patted the toddler’s head: “Not yet.”
The gardenia scent belonging uniquely to his mother pierced his nasal cavity once again, diluting the bloody stench. Ye Zhou caught sight of the amulet hanging across the teenager’s chest, which seemed to emit a red thread connecting two strangers who should never have crossed paths.
Amidst his feverish haze, he felt as though he had fallen into endless darkness once more, but that red thread always pulled him back tightly, preventing him from plummeting into the abyss.
When he opened his eyes again, it felt as though a century had passed. The glaring, stark white lights of the hospital emitted a desolate and piercing brightness. With the slightest movement, the instruments attached to his body chimed, drawing the gaze of a man dressed like an upper-class elite who had been staring at a laptop.
It was his eldest brother, his biological elder brother.
Past memories were blurry yet deeply engraved into his soul. The two people who thought they would never meet again had reunited within this absurd game.
Although he had not clearly seen the teenager’s face, the moment he first laid eyes on Lin Chubai, he recognized him instantly. This was the deity who had saved him.
The barking of a dog in the distance pulled the distracted Ye Zhou back to reality. His gaze refocused onto Lin Chubai’s pleasant sleeping face, and he could not help losing himself once again. Those brows and eyes bore such a striking resemblance to his mother’s.
He bent down and gently scooped up the sleeping Lin Chubai. The person in his arms was not as heavy as he looked; rather, he was exceptionally slender, and his protruding bones kept pressing against the muscles of Ye Zhou’s arms.