Part 3: Good Luck 1
The wheels rolled over the shock absorbers, causing the ornaments to sway and jingle. Zhuang Xiaodie moved her legs and glanced back at the back seat. The child was sprawled on the seat, clutching a half-eaten chocolate bread, already asleep. The air in the car was heavy, filled with the sweet and bitter aroma of chocolate bread. Zhuang Xiaodie took a sip of coffee and glanced out the window. Nian Jinsi's blurry face appeared among the rapidly receding dark shadows. The other party had a sullen face, obviously still dissatisfied with her decision to bring the child along.
It was late at night, and the road was deserted. They pulled into the rest stop, passed the dark trucks on either side, and chose a corner spot to stop. They ate a quick bite and leaned back in their chairs to rest.
The phone was off, and it was unclear what Old Man Liao thought of the dent. Zhuang Xiaodie had left the repair bill on the driver's seat—Nian Jinsi had paid for it. He'd only been working for a few days, so leaving without saying goodbye shouldn't be a problem. Zhuang Xiaodie couldn't sleep, so she got out of the car. She still had the cigarette in her pocket; she'd placed it under the windshield, hoping it would dry in the sun. It was mostly dry, a little damp in the center, but not a problem.
Zhuang Xiaodie opened the back door of the car and saw that the child's schoolbag had fallen out and was scattered all over the place under the seat. When the child was taken away, he had packed a lot of things by himself and was carrying a small schoolbag. Neither of the two adults asked him what he had packed - in fact, they didn't care. Now, in addition to clothes and pants, there were also some messy small things in the bag. Zhuang Xiaodie first covered the child with a blanket, then picked up the schoolbag and hastily put the things in. When she closed the car door, she felt something under her feet. It was a hard shell, like a coil drawing book. She had stepped on it several times and it was covered with gray marks. Zhuang Xiaodie picked it up, took a few photos, turned it over to check, and several smiling faces flashed under the dim street light. It turned out to be a small photo album. These days, electronic photos are rampant, and it is rare to see photos that have been developed and printed.
Zhuang Xiaodie looked at the child—still asleep. She closed the car door, lit a cigarette, and slowly walked to the streetlight, exhaling a puff of smoke. "May we live long," was written on the title page in beautiful handwriting.
The first page contained a single, slightly yellowed color photograph of a simple-dressed little girl and boy, along with a middle-aged woman. All were smiling faintly, their faces similar in shape, and they looked like a family. The boy was half a head taller than the girl, presumably the older brother. Below it was a date. Zhuang Xiaodie did some calculations and realized the person in the photo seemed only three or four years older than herself. Then continued the family photos, one per year from elementary school to college. The middle-aged woman's hair gradually turned gray, and she looked increasingly haggard. In a photo from a few years ago, only the two siblings remained, standing under a tree.
Flipping through the pages again, she found a photo of a baby. Behind them were photos of children, and of women and children. There was a single photo of a man. A moth struck a streetlight, casting a flustered shadow. Cigarette ash settled on the man's face. Zhuang Xiaodie quickly wiped it away, recognizing it as the child's father. Her fingers immediately grasped the edge of the photo, debating whether to pull it out, tear it up, throw it away, or even burn it. After a moment, she flipped through the pages again, still only photos of women and children.
She flipped back to the photo of the man alone. The moth struck several times, then fell, landing with a thud at her feet, its wings struggling and fluttering. Zhuang Xiaodie took a step back, frowning and smoking. Neighbors said the woman had an incurable disease and died when the child was seven.
It was all in vain, Zhuang Xiaodie thought to herself. It was all in vain. Where could they go with this child? Tomorrow, Nian Jinsi would definitely suggest leaving him behind. They couldn't take care of this child. It was just an impulse, not even kind. She didn't think taking the child away was an act of kindness. Judging from her conversations with the neighbors, taking the child away was undoubtedly the right choice—to avoid the neighbors' suspicions about not receiving the money. She didn't want anyone looking for this man. That was all.
But what to do with the children?
How to deal with the children?
When she finished smoking the cigarette, the stars were almost in front of her eyes. She stopped, put out the cigarette butt, and slammed the album shut.
The moth was no longer moving.
There was only one. She walked back. There was only one, it wouldn't get in the way.
The street light shone from behind, and the shadows piled up at her toes, and she stepped into the shadows with every step.
-
"You can't say you haven't thought about it yet. You should say where it is and who it is," said Nian Jinsi.
They sat around a greasy wooden round table, forming a seemingly stable, but actually shaky, scalene triangle. The child drooped, picking at his fingers. Zhuang Xiaodie kept drinking water because Nian Jinsi was asking her questions she didn't want to answer and was desperate for a cigarette. Nian Jinsi placed her hands on her knees, a serious expression on her face, still waiting for an answer.
Zhuang Xiaodie said nothing, pulling out her lighter as she walked out. It was a disposable lighter she'd received as a gift when she bought cigarettes at the rest stop last night. The red, greasy-looking plastic shell felt dry to the touch. When I was a kid, these things always had pictures of beautiful women in all sorts of poses printed on them, but now they only have two lines of advertising, or nothing at all. She walked to the side of the road to smoke, squinting as she watched the wheels of the car churn and kick up dust. Nian Jinsi didn't follow her out to question her because she had a child with her. Nian Jinsi's face was cold, but now he was surprisingly responsible.
They drove all morning, and near noon, they passed a roadside village and saw a small restaurant sign, so they stopped to eat before continuing. The child looked listless and listless. But he was very well behaved, following behind without crying or making a fuss. He sat down, drinking from his cup, and was quiet, unlike a child. Zhuang Xiaodie looked back at the child, who was still sitting there, thinking about the photo in the album.
Perhaps one day, this child will find out that it was him and Nian Jinsi who killed his father. What will he think then? This speculation is so pretentious that it is ridiculous.
Before waking the child, Nian Jinsi asked her what kind of family she would look for to raise the child. Zhuang Xiaodie answered honestly: I haven't decided yet.
Nian Jinsi wasn't satisfied with this answer. Zhuang Xiaodie knew what she was thinking. They weren't going on a picnic, but rather dealing with a corpse whose decomposition was unknown. They didn't know if the body had been discovered, and they had no idea what they would face once they arrived at their destination.
This child must not be brought with me. But who can I leave him with?
The boss started serving the dishes: a home-cooked chicken stew and two stir-fried dishes. Both were filled to the brim. Zhuang Xiaodie walked back and saw the boss bend down to look at the child, then look up and say something to Nian Jinsi. Her heart skipped a beat as Nian Jinsi raised the back of her hand to the child's forehead, then touched her own. Then Nian Jinsi turned and waved to her.
"I have a fever." Nian Jinsi said, "Touch it, it's so hot."
"Where is the pharmacy?" Zhuang Xiaodie asked the boss.
"There's a clinic two hundred meters ahead," the boss said. Zhuang Xiaodie and Nian Jinsi exchanged a glance; they didn't want to increase the number of people who had seen their faces. In fact, if there hadn't been a child in the car, they wouldn't have had a proper lunch.
Zhuang Xiaodie asked the owner if she had a thermometer and fever-reducing medicine, and they paid the price. The owner, a woman in her forties, was forthright and warm-hearted. She offered to let the child sleep on the cot in the back room, saying she had children at home and might have some children's fever-reducing medicine left, so she found some for them.
The child ate a few pieces of chicken, drank half a bowl of soup, took the medicine obediently, and lay down. Zhuang Xiaodie sat by the bed. Nian Jinsi finished talking to the boss and came back to the room, looking a little anxious. Zhuang Xiaodie knew she was calculating the time.
"What's the answer to that question?" Nian Jinsi asked.
"You know that square next to the neighborhood where I lived a few days ago?" Zhuang Xiaodie said, "There was a kid there who'd been wandering around there by himself since he was ten, making a living by picking up empty water bottles and selling them, or doing odd jobs. He worked during the day and slept on the street at night. He's probably thirteen or fourteen now, malnourished, and sick all over. He was just sent home a while ago."
Nian Jinsi said nothing, his brows furrowed in impatience.
"I just don't want this child to become like him," said Zhuang Xiaodie.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
