Chapter 43
As the year drew to a close, Jiang Fengming asked Yu Congyi what his plans were for the New Year.
In matters like these, Yu Congyi always took a laissez-faire attitude, almost letting Jiang Fengming make the decisions. Jiang Fengming said he wanted to go out and travel this year; he was always cooped up in Tianjin, and it was time to get out and breathe some fresh air.
He asked Yu Congyi what he thought. The Tianjin Gendarmerie Command was always restless at this time of year; small battles had been constant both inside and outside the city for the past few years, showing no sign of the people's holiday bringing peace. Yu Congyi's meaning was that he probably couldn't leave the city; after all, he held an important position, and without a special reason, they would still have to remain on the front lines of political repression.
It's better to spend the holiday in the city. During the Lunar New Year, Tianjin's train station is packed with people, like a sea of mountains. Yu Congyi had seen it once and experienced the feeling of being herded like ducks on a shelf; ever since, he dared not try to catch a train on a holiday day. Rather than rushing to that crowded train with people practically shoulder to shoulder, it's better to get up leisurely in the morning, set off a few strings of firecrackers in the courtyard, and enjoy a dish of steamed flower cakes and stewed small fish. At this moment, Yu Congyi thought of Tang Zefei. He wondered if Tang Zefei's family had any concept of the Chinese New Year. Prison was always quiet; just hearing the firecrackers outside on such days would probably be lively enough. If he had some free time during those days, he would visit him, stay for a while, say a few unimportant words, or perhaps use his privileges to let him go out for a walk and experience the joy of setting off firecrackers.
The night before the eve of the Lunar New Year, Jiang Fengming took Yang Shucai away from Tianjin to relax in southern cities. It was said that they were heading to Qingdao, Hefei, and Nanjing. When Yu Congyi finished dealing with some trivial matters at the Military Police Department, he looked up at the wall clock and it was exactly nine o'clock in the evening.
By this time, Jiang Fengming should have already boarded the train leaving Tianjin. Yu Congyi did not intend to be too harsh on himself. After sorting out the telegrams at hand, he went to the confidential office and then left the Military Police Department.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs at the entrance of the military police headquarters, he called his driver and headed home. On the way home, he hesitated about whether to visit the detention center, but quickly gave up the idea. It was getting late, and he thought to himself that he should have time to go there tomorrow.
However, what he did not expect was that a change of events would occur soon afterward.
In the early hours of that night, a frantic ringing of the doorbell in the downstairs living room woke Yu Congyi from his bed. A guard from the detention center was calling, urgently reporting that the inmate in cell 107 was missing. The incident had occurred about an hour earlier; an attack had taken place during a guard shift change, resulting in a prison break, the kidnapping and serious injury of a patrolling guard, and the assistance of the escaped inmates. At least three inmates had been found to have escaped, including Tang Zefei.
The phone rang loudly and urgently, making his heart pound. Yu Congyi had just gotten out of bed barefoot and rushed to the living room. Standing on the living room floor, the director's voice came through the phone line, near and far. When he heard that Tang Zefei had disappeared, Yu Congyi suddenly clenched his fist. However, he quickly released it. In that instant when his heart truly received the news, he seemed to simultaneously hear something clearly shattered. It was as if, long ago, a bamboo cup had accidentally fallen from the wooden table in front of him, making the same sound. He had watched it shatter into countless pieces, its coolness sending a chill down his spine, but he felt no regret, only a pleasant satisfaction. Because the moment porcelain shatters is regrettable, yet the sound is so beautiful. Before he could ponder this strange association in his mind, he heard the real sound. Yu Congyi turned to look at the windowsill—the wind had picked up, a strong wind. The small potted plant outside the French windows was struggling fragilely in the wind. A daffodil on the windowsill had been blown down into the mud. He didn't have time for that. He hung up the phone, immediately put on his coat, and went out. Without waking anyone, he drove himself to the detention center.
Along the way, for some reason, his mind became increasingly calm. From the moment he heard the news until now, after the initial shock, he felt a sense of relief and ease.
After starting the car, thick fog rolled up the windows. Yu Congyi rolled down the window, letting the cold wind rush in. Sure enough, a strong wind had picked up. In the biting wind, his mind was unusually clear, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. The wind kept blowing into his collar, making the thin fog on the window impossible to hide. He wasn't thinking about anything, nor did he feel any extra emotion. In the darkness, he sped away almost recklessly, wanting only to see what kind of mark the last glimpse of that person he hadn't had time to see would leave on his heart.
The car stopped in front of the detention center, and Yu Congyi ran inside. Several jailers and guards were gathered around the entrance, talking amongst themselves: the warden had probably sent men to chase the escaped convict, but their whereabouts were unknown. Yu Congyi ignored them and headed straight for the brightly lit corridor. All the lights came on because of this sudden turn of events. A jailer noticed his arrival and followed closely behind, wanting to report the situation, but at that moment, Yu Congyi felt the blood rushing to his head, making a gurgling sound, and he could barely hear what the person behind him was saying.
In the cells on both sides of the corridor, the prisoners were awakened by the commotion, some sitting, some standing, some standing on either side of the railings, coldly observing the situation. Yu Congyi heard the echo of his own footsteps echoing clearly in the corridor. Closer, closer. Why didn't this road seem so long before?
Standing at the door of cell 107, he didn't need to push it open to see the current state of affairs—nothing had changed, except the person was gone. The door was wide open, and various items on the bed and table were in disarray, presumably having been searched earlier. He went in and surveyed the entire cell, and from memory, he realized that the only thing missing was the book he had given away.
"When did we realize he was missing?" He sighed.
"Half an hour ago..." The young jailer behind him spoke in a voice so soft it sounded like he was about to cry.
Yu Congyi looked up and saw that outside the skylight, the sky was still deep and the night as thick as an inky blob. "That's been a long time," he said softly. A strong wind had picked up outside; the weather and terrain were perfect. This kind of environment was ideal for an escape. Where are you now? He exhaled; it no longer mattered. There was no more pressure. Tang Zefei wouldn't die here as he wished. Should he be sad now? Yu Congyi thought, perhaps. Only if Tang Zefei escaped would he have a reason to continue investigating him because of the past, even to hunt him down.
After that day, the Tianjin Military Police Detention Center issued an arrest warrant for the three fugitives, and even their homes were searched and they were placed under the control of the detention center soldiers. However, this situation did not last long - six months later, the three people seemed to have completely disappeared from Tianjin, and no one ever saw them again. At the same time, Yu Congyi received an unsigned letter from Shanghai.
"Seeing this letter is like seeing you in person." Only four words. He tore open the envelope and examined it repeatedly, but couldn't discern any trace of the person. He brought it to his nose and smelled it; there was only a faint, woody scent.
A year later, Yu Congyi was demoted along with the director for dereliction of duty in managing the detention center. He retained his rank of lieutenant general and was demoted from sergeant major of the military police command to director of the police department. The pursuit of the three people made almost no progress before the arrest warrants expired.
— The Blood of Romagna (Part 1) — [The End]
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The Polino docked steadily in Shanghai Port. Accompanied by faint white mist, the unique air of the port, mixed with the salty smell of seawater, rust, and the smell of the fish market, rushed towards Tang Zefei's face.
The boy he'd chatted with for a while earlier had vanished without a trace. Tang Zefei glanced around at the travelers carrying their luggage, heading towards the gangway. They chatted animatedly, their eyes curiously surveying this foreign port. At the top of the gangway, a senior officer in a gold-trimmed uniform smiled and looked down. Along the way, he had encountered many people, all sorts of faces. The smiles and tentative glances of men and women, revealing their interest, gradually faded from his mind. As he finally set foot on this Eastern land with the flow of people, an uncontrollable stinging in his eyes welled up.
The port's hustle and bustle reached its peak as the setting sun cast its golden rays across the sea and land. The city, shrouded in twilight, may have already changed beyond its appearance decades ago.
Tang Zefei found Beijing East Road based on her memory. It was an old street located opposite the Bund along the riverfront, quite long, and the easternmost boundary of the former British concession. The buildings retained the Neoclassical and Renaissance styles of thirty years ago. The buildings with massive columns, domes, and metallic spiral columns had not been demolished. The gray-blue pavement, soaked by last night's rain, formed varying shades of mirror, reflecting the gradually setting blue-purple sky.
On the granite and marble walls along the street, the numbers on the house numbers have become blurred by the ravages of war and the erosion of time, but Tang Zefei still remembers them vividly. Like someone who has just left home, he wanders around until he arrives at the front of his former house in the British concession.
It was an English-style building with a courtyard. Approaching the gate, Tang Zefei brushed the dust off the nameplate and looked up at the three-story building. It was the home he had temporarily stayed in during the early spring of 1928 when he fled south from Tianjin to Shanghai after being imprisoned. He lived here for almost a year, then returned to Tianjin for some reason. Not long after, in the autumn of 1929, he returned here again, this time to recuperate for about a month, before leaving and leaving China.
Tang Zefei's hand touched the doorplate, his own face reflected in the silver-bronze surface. The metal lettering was covered in a dark green patina, and one side of the red brick building was overgrown with unknown climbing vines, which extended upwards along the metal pipes on the side of the house. So many years had passed; he truly had no idea what the inside was like. Perhaps opening the door would cause him to cough up a cloud of dust, perhaps the furnishings inside had long since been corroded by time…
He was back, finally back. Standing at the door, he hesitated for a moment, then turned and sat on the steps. He no longer wanted to calculate how long he had been away from this continent. All the memories of a certain person from his youth were left here, and now, returning suddenly, Tang Zefei felt a mixture of relief and loneliness.
He originally thought he would never set foot on this land again in his life.
"Hey, what's up?" Someone from the next house opened their window and asked him from across the yard, "Are you here to see a friend?"
When the other person turned to look at him, he changed his tone, "Foreigner... hello?"
Tang Zefei was both amused and exasperated. She stood up, patted her coat, and waved to the man, saying, "I can speak Chinese."
"Wow, you speak fluent Chinese!" The person was surprised for a moment, then switched to more understandable Mandarin, "Have you come to the wrong place? Who are you looking for?"
"This house," Tang Zefei pointed behind him, "is anyone living here?"
"Oh dear, this house was taken over by the government a few years ago. Is this your friend's house?" The man waved his hand. "They probably moved out a long time ago. This house hasn't been occupied for at least ten years. I told you you came to the wrong place."
“It was taken over by the government…” Tang Zefei sighed. His guess was correct. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, many previously rented buildings were taken over as state-owned housing. His house, which had been unoccupied for a long time, was probably no exception.
Thinking of this, Tang Zefei could only helplessly pat the wall. "Old friend," he said, looking at the house, "since that's how it is, there's nothing I can do. Goodbye."
"Well," the man asked before closing the window, "do you have a place to stay? Is that not possible...?" Perhaps he was probing because he saw the huge box Tang Zefei was carrying.
"Thank you," Tang Zefei said. "Don't worry about it."
Before leaving, he asked the other party for the current address of the Shanghai Municipal Government. Regarding the confiscated property, he planned to first find out the situation before making any further plans. If it was truly impossible to recover it, he would find temporary accommodation and then consider where he would live permanently later.
These were all within his considerations when he came. Tang Zefei left Beijing East Road and unknowingly walked to Zhongshan East Road.
As dusk settled, countless lights illuminated the deep blue-purple sky, and the gentle breeze swept across the once bustling Bund, now a vibrant and ever-shining spectacle. In the distance, the river waves lapped against the embankment, and cruise ships emitted deep, resonant hums, marking the beginning of night on the Bund.
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