The truck had been bumping along the bumpy dirt road for nearly six hours, and a thin layer of frost had formed on the seams of the iron sheets of the refrigerated compartment.
Lin Xiaoman's fingertips turned purple, and her breath condensed into white mist in the cold. Li Zhou passed on the last bit of his body heat to her. The two of them huddled together in the pile of frozen chicken like frozen cubs, listening to the sound of tires crunching over gravel outside.
"We're almost there." Li Zhou licked his cracked lips, his voice hoarse.
The roar of a diesel engine could be heard in the distance, and the truck finally slowed down and stopped.
The carriage door was opened with a "crash", and dazzling sunlight suddenly poured in. Lin Xiaoman subconsciously closed her eyes, and the ice on her eyelashes melted into water droplets and rolled down.
Old Liu stood in the light, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. "Come down and stretch your legs. We'll change cars in ten minutes."
The transfer station was an abandoned gas station, its rusted pumps sticking out of the concrete floor like dead tree stumps. The paint on the restroom walls peeled, revealing layers of graffiti underneath—creditor threats, lovers' vows, and records of someone visiting this place in a certain year and month.
Lin Xiaoman found a dried-up tube of rose-red lipstick in the women's restroom cubicle. She unscrewed it and drew a crooked heart on the mottled mirror.
When she emerged, Li Zhou was waiting for her, leaning against the outer wall of the men's restroom. Sunlight filtered through the broken roof, casting spiderweb-like shadows on his face. His expression was off.
"We've been sold." He lowered his voice and grabbed her wrist.
Lin Xiaoman followed his gaze and saw three black SUVs parked at the back door of the gas station, with the Starlight Group's falcon logo painted on the bodies of the vehicles.
Old Liu was talking to a man in a black suit, a wad of banknotes in his hand. The man had a Bluetooth headset on his left ear, and a tattoo on his sleeve revealed a snake wrapped around a number.
It’s the debt collection team of Xinghui Finance.
Li Zhou's pupils suddenly constricted. Lin Xiaoman knew what he was remembering: three months ago, they had seen the same tattoo—on the hand of a debt collector who broke into Li Zhou's house in the middle of the night, when that man had pressed a stun gun against the back of Li Zhou's neck.
"Climb out the window." Li Zhou pulled her back into the bathroom, her plastic slippers slipping on the wet floor tiles.
They squeezed out of the shattered air vent and jumped into the waist-deep weeds. Immediately behind them, a sharp whistle sounded, followed by the roar of the off-road vehicle's engine.
Lin Xiaoman's canvas shoes got stuck in the mud, so Li Zhou simply picked her up by the waist and rushed to the cornfield a hundred meters away.
The dry corn leaves scratched their exposed skin like blades. Bullets followed their footsteps and pierced the earth, the dull "puff puff" sound like death knocking at the door.
Lin Xiaoman's right shoe was lost at some point, and the sole of her foot was cut bloody by the gravel.
"Run separately!" Li Zhou suddenly pushed her towards the riverbank. "See you in Jiangcheng! Remember the old place!"
When she rolled down the steep slope, she looked back for the last time and saw Li Zhou grabbing a piece of rusty iron pipe on the ground and rushing towards the pursuers.
The sunlight reflected on the piece of iron pipe, creating a dazzling spot of light, as bright as the rain they had received in the unfinished building.
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Lin Xiaoman hid in the bottom hold of the coal ship for three days.
Coal dust fell like black snow, settling into her hair, the cracks between her fingernails, and every flutter of her eyelashes. Every day the mute boatman tossed her half a compressed biscuit, hard as a rock, with mold stains tinged with green around the edges.
At night, she huddled in the deepest part of the coal pile, listening to the roar of the diesel engine and the dull thud of the ship hitting the waves. The old radio on the boat crackled, occasionally emitting a few clear words:
"Xinghui Group... offers a reward... for two fugitives..."
She didn't dare sleep too deeply, for fear that she would call out Li Zhou's name in her dream.
On the morning of the fourth day, fog covered the river.
Lin Xiaoman was awakened by a violent jolt—the freighter was approaching. Through a rusty vent, she caught her first glimpse of Jiangcheng: a forest of steel skyscrapers piercing the morning mist, their glass curtain walls reflecting a cold light.
The mute boatman suddenly opened the bottom hatch and gestured to her, "Go!" In the distance, the whistle of the dock patrol came.
She stole a set of oil-stained overalls from the boat, tucked her long hair into her baseball cap, and took a last look at the mark left by Li Zhou in the corner of the cabin - he used coal to draw a crooked little boat on the iron plate, exactly the same as the graffiti on the wall of the unfinished building.
The pier is more secure than I imagined.
Smart security gates scanned every worker's iris, and electronic screens continuously displayed the latest wanted posters. Lin Xiaoman lowered his helmet and blended into the line of tricycles delivering vegetables.
The old man on the bicycle glanced at her and said nothing, but just piled a basket of cabbage on her curled legs.
"Labor dispatch for District D. I'll change shifts after delivering this car." The old man suddenly whispered, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper.
She was stunned for a second before she realized it was a cover. The tricycle passed through three checkpoints. The patrolling security guards were busy checking a luxury yacht, and no one noticed the muddy, dilapidated tricycle.
The subway station in Jiangcheng looks like a glowing crystal coffin.
The holographic advertisement projected a virtual salesperson in the air: "Yuanmeng Smart Travel, escorting you!" Lin Xiaoman stared at the only cash ticket window in the corner. The line was full of elderly people and ragged migrant workers.
"Terminal." She pushed the sweat-soaked coin to the conductor.
As the machine dispensed the ticket, an alarm suddenly sounded from the ceiling. Two uniformed security guards blocked the exit: "This is a random inspection. Please cooperate with facial recognition."
Lin Xiaoman dug her nails into her palms. She backed into the crowd, knocking over a beggar's enamel bowl. The clinking of coins caused a commotion, and while the security guard bent down to pick up the money, she dodged into the emergency exit.
In the dark stairwell, her cell phone suddenly vibrated.
It was a text message from an unfamiliar number:
"D17 crooked neck loose, bring iodine and compressed biscuits. - Chen Zhao."
Lin Xiaoman buried her face in her sleeves covered in coal dust and cried silently.
This was the code word agreed upon by Li Zhou and the others; "Chen Zhao" was a pseudonym they had created. The iodine meant he was injured, and the compressed biscuits represented a food shortage.
She wiped away her tears, broke her phone card into pieces, and flushed it down the drain. As she exited the subway station, the setting sun was dyeing the glass curtain wall of the Xinghui Building blood red.
On the electronic screen in the distance, her and Li Zhou's wanted photos flashed side by side, and the reward amount had just been updated to 250,000.
The wind carried the aroma of street food stalls, and Lin Xiaoman realized she hadn't eaten hot food in three days. She counted the change in her pocket and walked over to an old woman selling roasted sweet potatoes.
"I want the smallest one." She said in a hoarse voice.
The old lady opened the iron bucket, picked out a caramelized one and handed it to her: "Girl, your hands are all wounded."
The sweet potato burned her fingertips red, and the moment the sweet fragrance penetrated her nose, Lin Xiaoman suddenly remembered what Li Zhou had said in the unfinished building: "When we get to Jiangcheng, I'll buy you a whole one, and you won't have to share it with anyone else."
She took a big bite, the hot potato flesh burning her throat, the pain made her sure she was still alive.
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