Reunion

Since that Sunday afternoon, Qi Shuo felt as if he had been dragged into an invisible vortex.

During the day, he remains the same taciturn and well-mannered waiter at the "Encounter" restaurant, numbing his senses with mechanical labor.

But once night falls, lying alone in the quiet little room that Sister Jin prepared for him, everything that had been forcibly suppressed during the day would come back with a vengeance, even more intensely than before.

Sleep has become a luxury.

The moment I close my eyes, the scene from eight years ago replays in my mind like a persistent, insidious infection, as vivid as if it were yesterday. It's no longer fragmented pieces, but a continuous, high-definition nightmare, filled with bloodshed and desperate screams.

He saw his mother standing on the edge of the rooftop, the wind tousling her long hair. She glanced back at him, her eyes so empty they chilled him to the bone. Then, like a withered leaf, she leaped.

"Bang!"

The dull thud did not come from a dream, but from the depths of his memory, crashing heavily into his heart, waking him each time with a suffocating fright, his body covered in cold sweat.

He saw his father in the smoky casino, his eyes bloodshot, like a mad beast, grabbing anyone he could to borrow money. The sound of chips being slammed onto the table was shrill and piercing. His once gentle face was now twisted like a demon.

What tormented him most was his younger sister, Qi Shan. Six-year-old Qi Shan, wearing her favorite little white dress, looked like a little angel, yet her father treated her like trash, pushing her towards Tan Zhong…

What followed was blurry, yet more terrifying than any clear image.

He could almost hear his sister's weak cries and helpless struggles, as well as Tan Zhong's nauseating laughter... These images intertwined into a huge, dark net that tightly bound him, tightening more and more, almost strangling him.

“You are a sinner.” A voice deep inside repeatedly accused him. “You failed to protect Mom, you failed to stop Father, and you failed to save Xiaoshan… Your hands are stained with blood, you don’t deserve this peace… Do you hate? Yes! Hate everyone! Hate Tan Zhong, and hate that man’s son—Tan Huaiyu! If it weren’t for them…”

PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) is like a lurking monster that leaps out and bites him when he is least prepared. He becomes unusually alert, and even the slightest sudden sound can make his heart jump.

Sometimes in a restaurant, a customer's sudden increase in voice, or the clatter of cutlery falling, would instantly tense his muscles, a flash of barely concealed malice in his eyes, and it would take him a long time to recover.

His hatred for Tan Huaiyu became more complex and acute amidst this repeated self-torture. Rationally, he knew that the eight-year-old child was innocent, and perhaps even a victim like himself.

But emotionally, that surname was like a thorn, deeply embedded in his heart. Every time he thought of it, it was accompanied by heart-wrenching pain for his sister and overwhelming hatred for Tan Zhong.

He couldn't help but feel angry. Seeing Tan Huaiyu was like seeing the source of all the tragedies, even if it wasn't fair.

This inner torment added a touch of coldness and unapproachability to his already quiet temperament.

The conflict broke out unexpectedly one Saturday evening.

A group of boys wearing Beicheng Vocational School uniforms noisily rushed into the restaurant, about seven or eight of them, and occupied the largest booth.

Their loud voices and flamboyant manners drew the attention of other guests. Leading them was a young man dressed in designer clothes with striking chestnut-brown hair, exuding a spoiled and arrogant air. His name was Zhao Yu; his family was in the building materials business and were considered quite wealthy in Beicheng.

When ordering food, Zhao Yu was extremely picky, behaving arrogantly and dismissively towards Qi Shuo, who came to serve him. Qi Shuo, maintaining his professional demeanor, responded expressionlessly.

But when all the dishes were served, Zhao Yu took a bite of the steak and immediately spat it out with a grimace. He pushed the plate forward and shouted, "Hey! What is this? It's as hard as a shoe sole! Tell your chef to redo it!"

The other people at the table joined in the commotion.

Qi Shuo walked over and calmly explained, "Sir, our steaks are all cooked according to the standard cooking time. If you don't like the taste, we can reheat them slightly, but we need a reason to redo them..."

"Reason?" Zhao Yu suddenly stood up, almost poking Qi Shuo's nose with his finger. "Is bad food a reason? What are you, a waiter, doing here acting all high and mighty with me? Call your manager over here!"

The commotion attracted Manager Chen. With a forced smile, Manager Chen tried to soothe him: "Young Master Zhao, calm down. We can resolve any grievances slowly..."

"Solve it? How do you solve it?" Zhao Yu persisted, his anger turning directly to Qi Shuo, his tone full of disdain. "I think it's your waiter's attitude that's the problem! Who are you trying to impress with that deadpan face? I heard he's a recently released convict? Tsk tsk, you dare to hire someone like that? Aren't you afraid of bringing bad luck to your restaurant!"

These words were like a sharp knife, precisely piercing Qi Shuo's most sensitive nerve. His face instantly darkened, his hands, tucked into his pockets, clenched into fists, the veins on the back of his hands bulging. The surrounding air seemed to freeze.

Qiangzi from the kitchen, Alin from the front desk, and several other colleagues gathered around, their faces filled with indignation.

"How dare you talk like that!" Qiangzi couldn't help but exclaim.

"That's right! What did Brother Qi do to offend you!" Arlene's face turned red with anger.

"Young Master Zhao, please respect our employees!" Manager Chen's face was also very unpleasant, but he obviously knew Zhao Yu's family background and did not dare to speak too bluntly, his tone revealing his difficulty.

Seeing that someone was chiming in, Zhao Yu became even more smug and intensified his mockery: "Oh ho, so united? A bunch of lowlifes sticking together for warmth, huh? Let me tell you, if we don't fire this convict today and make this kid kneel down and apologize to me, this isn't over!"

"You fucking fart!" A furious roar came from the restaurant entrance.

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound and saw Qin Zhou rush in like an enraged leopard cub, bringing a gust of wind with him. Behind him followed Song Yungui, who was always by his side, and two tall, strong boys wearing the same Beicheng No. 1 Middle School uniform—Cheng Rui and Lin Zhiyu, the core members of their little group.

What was even more surprising was that outside the restaurant, there were a dozen or twenty students dressed in orange and white No. 1 Middle School uniforms standing in large numbers, staring at the inside with unfriendly expressions. They were obviously called by Qin Zhou to "support the restaurant".

Qin Zhou rushed in front of Qi Shuo, shielding him with his body, and glared fiercely at Zhao Yu: "Zhao Yu, are you fucking looking for death? How dare you cause trouble for my brother!"

Zhao Yu clearly recognized Qin Zhou, the notorious school bully of Beicheng No. 1 High School. He hesitated for a moment, but relying on his superior numbers, he refused to back down: "Qin Zhou? This is none of your business! Get out of my way!"

"If you mess with my brother, it's none of my business." Qin Zhou stood his ground.

The two groups immediately became tense, pushing and shoving each other while shouting insults. Chaos erupted in the restaurant, and customers scattered in fear. Manager Chen, sweating profusely, tried to mediate, but no one paid him any attention.

Qi Shuo, protected behind Qin Zhou, looked at the chaotic scene before him, at Zhao Yu's arrogant and domineering face, and at those insulting words... The hatred from eight years ago, the suppressed anger over the years, and the sense of collapse tormented by nightmares in recent days all intertwined at this moment, like gasoline meeting a spark, and burst into flames.

The bloodshot in his eyes grew heavier, and his rationality was stretched to its limit. Qi Shuo, who had killed his own father and nearly destroyed everything in his nightmares, seemed about to break free and rush out again.

He could almost hear the sound of his blood rushing through his veins, a violent urge to destroy everything screaming wildly in his limbs—smash it all! Shut this arrogant bastard up!

Just as his eyes turned completely cold, and he was about to lose control and take that step—

A clear and calm voice, not loud, yet strangely pierced through the noise and rang out:

"Zhao Yu."

Everyone was taken aback and looked in the direction of the voice. A boy wearing a light purple crew-neck hoodie under a bright orange-white school uniform from Beicheng No. 1 Middle School had appeared at the restaurant entrance. He was slender, with a fair and delicate face like a porcelain doll; it was Tan Huaiyu.

He didn't look at the chaotic scene, but just quietly looked at Zhao Yu. His clear eyes were devoid of any emotion, yet they carried an undeniable pressure.

Upon seeing Tan Huaiyu, Zhao Yu's arrogance visibly diminished, and a clear hint of fear flashed across his face: "Tan... Tan Huaiyu? What are you doing here?"

Tan Huaiyu didn't answer his question, but simply said, "Take your men and leave now. I'll take responsibility for all the losses here today. If your father wants to know why you're causing trouble again, I don't mind giving him a call."

His tone was calm and even, yet carried a condescending and intimidating air. Zhao Yu's face flushed red and then paled; his family's business was nothing compared to the Tan family's.

He gritted his teeth, glared fiercely at Qi Shuo and Qin Zhou, but ultimately didn't dare say anything more. He waved his hand sheepishly and said, "Let's go!"

A group of vocational high school boys arrived quickly and left just as quickly, disappearing in an instant.

The restaurant fell silent. Everyone stared in astonishment at the boy who had suddenly appeared and resolved the crisis with just a few words.

Qin Zhou also breathed a sigh of relief, but his gaze towards Tan Huaiyu was still complicated. He said in a low voice, "Thanks."

Tan Huaiyu shook his head slightly, but his gaze passed over Qin Zhou and landed on Qi Shuo behind him.

Qi Shuo was also looking at him.

It was him, the boy under the tree on the day he was released from prison.

He is Tan Huaiyu.

Sixteen-year-old Tan Huaiyu had grown much taller, but still retained a youthful thinness. His delicate features had matured, making him even more handsome, but his unusual calmness, even bordering on indifference, perfectly overlapped with that of the little boy eight years ago who hid by the wardrobe, tugging at his clothes, and quietly watching him break down and cry.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

Qi Shuo's rage was strangely calmed by Tan Huaiyu's appearance, but another, more complex and turbulent emotion surged up—was it hatred? Was it resentment? Was it the immense sense of injustice of seeing the "enemy's son" living a glamorous life while his own sister was gone forever?

Or perhaps... a hint of bewilderment about the consequences of that moment of soft-heartedness back then, a feeling he himself was unwilling to admit?

He looked at Tan Huaiyu, and Tan Huaiyu looked back at him quietly. Between them lay eight years of blood and tears, an insurmountable grudge, and the restaurant now a mess after the commotion.

Qi Shuo felt a tightness in his chest, as if a huge boulder was pressing down on him. He stared intently at Tan Huaiyu, his lips pressed into a pale line. In the end, without saying a word, he turned abruptly, pushed aside the still-dazed Qin Zhou, and strode away towards the back door of the restaurant.

He needs to escape this place.

They escaped Tan Huaiyu's sight.

Escape from this bloody past that has been forcibly torn open once again.