Chapter 90: Feelings are the least important
Episode 90 "Feelings are the least important thing to take seriously"
After being affected by the shooting, I didn't stay awake for long at the scene.
The crying sounds and the crowd surrounding me weighed down on me, and I soon passed out.
When I woke up again, it was already dark outside, but I didn't know how long it had been dark. Only the light from outside could come in through the windows, a faint, quiet, cold light.
The position of this window is different from what I remember.
Suspecting that I was dreaming, I tried to control my body to turn over or fall down.
In fact, isn’t it said that if you are not sure whether you are dreaming or not, you can confirm it by slapping yourself in the face? But I've never had this actual experience. Sometimes I feel pain in my dreams. I once dreamed that I was stabbed. The injured abdomen felt heavy and the bleeding felt like I was really dying. In addition, sometimes even if you are beaten in a dream, because your subconscious mind believes that being beaten will hurt, you will essentially still feel very painful. It’s just that the pain may not be so real, and it may feel like you are not using enough strength.
So, personally, I would regard the saying "If it doesn't hurt when you slap yourself, it means you are dreaming" as a popular meme.
But if you realize that you are dreaming, then you can actually control it.
Just as I had this thought, my mind revisited the messy memory before I fainted - after the first bullet was fired, I saw my father's face in the window. How to say it? He just showed his eyes and I could recognize who he was. It was so obvious. It's as obvious as the protagonist in a TV drama wearing a mask. Only the people in the play really can't recognize him, but the audience can see it clearly.
Before the second shot rang out, I subconsciously rushed towards Cui Shi, hoping to make my father afraid to act rashly. However, Cui Shi was much stronger and more skilled than me, and he flipped me over. The bullet hit him right in the back and grazed my arm. When I held him, our blood mixed.
Later, the crying sounded like a low dark cloud pressing down on me. I lost too much blood and my emotions fluctuated so much that I passed out.
And I should be lying in a hospital bed right now.
The smell of disinfectant sprayed in hospital wards is actually not as strong as described in novels.
As soon as I pulled my shoulder, I felt like there was a burning stone embedded in my arm. The stone was so hot and heavy that it was impossible to lift it on one's shoulders. I gasped in pain.
This is obvious.
The adrenaline rush at the time made me ignore the fact that I was also injured.
Now, I can only gently move my fingers and wrists to make sure my median nerve or radial nerve is still functioning properly.
As I was moving my fingers with difficulty, I suddenly felt a strange and heavy silence in the air, as if a black mist-like monster was staring at me.
Or, to put it simply, it feels like someone is following you.
My finger movements gradually slowed down, and my gaze slowly shifted from the window back to the ward door.
This isn't a ghost story, but that's how ghost stories are played out.
There was a person sitting at the head of my bed, silent, like a sculpture.
I was startled. But soon, my heart was swallowed by a complex feeling as if it was soaked in hot water. I subconsciously held my breath and carefully observed the person beside the bed.
The person who stayed overnight in the hospital as a caregiver was my father.
There was also a lower bed next to me, but he didn't lie down on it. He just crossed his arms to maintain his balance and prevent himself from falling to the side. The hem of the shirt he was wearing at the Forensic Identification Center had been pulled out from his waist and was hanging wrinkled. He had his head down and was hunched over. Perhaps he was too tired and was sleeping while sitting on the chair.
Has the crime not been discovered yet?
So he can still be here...
I'm thinking.
I thought that as soon as I opened my eyes, there would be a group of police officers coming to inform me and ask me to be investigated as well.
I don’t know why, but all the thoughts that were boiling in my head were suppressed by my calm emotions.
When did I start to doubt my father?
It's not so much a suspicion as it is a feeling of something being wrong.
I never actively doubt my family. Because… I can’t think of any reason to doubt my family. I just feel something is wrong. The source of what was wrong was that it was the first time we had guests at home; and also that when my father first talked to me about Vita, he didn't follow up the topic and didn't intend to have a deep conversation with me.
But I never really thought about what this meant.
Because I still believe that there were chances, coincidences, accidents and possibilities in my parents' lives, and I also believe that I might have made a misjudgment.
Furthermore, maybe I was also thinking in my heart that my father and mother might not be good people. I may not be a good person either. That's why I was punished.
I stared at my dad's sleeping face and fell into silence, "..."
I don't know how long it took, but the "sculpture" made a sound, "Unfilial son, you see your father sleeping and don't you help cover him with a quilt?"
As soon as these words were spoken, the haze in my heart instantly disappeared, and I even felt like laughing.
"I don't have hands..." I said innocently and seriously, pretending to cover him with the quilt, "Do you want to squeeze in here?"
My dad raised his head, not in the joking manner as before, and just asked, "Are you hungry?"
I'm not hungry, but I don't know how to say it, so I just say I'm hungry.
Isn't that how people are?
Sometimes when I don’t know how to refuse, I will just nod and agree, because obedience is always the easiest thing to do.
My dad took out the lunch box from the thermal bag, went outside to heat it up for me, and turned on the light.
I sat up and checked the medical records on my bedside table - my arm had skin ruptures and burns from the bullet hole. I had four stitches so far, and there was no serious damage to the nerves in my arm. All that remains is routine checkups and observation in the hospital.
I guess it’s because of the anesthetic. Now I only feel a dull and hot pain in my arm, but it’s not the kind of pain that makes me cry out in pain.
I put the medical record back to its place and sat in a daze under the lamp for a while, not knowing what else I could do. But this thought didn't last long, my dad came back.
The soup is corn, carrot and pork ribs soup.
The dishes were eggplant, potatoes, braised pork, and a plate of pre-peeled shrimps.
A bowl of rice.
My dad helped me mix the food so that I could eat it in big mouthfuls. "I will be very busy later, so you may need to eat alone. I will only accompany you overnight this once."
I am very sensible most of the time (after all, I am an adult), and sometimes I don’t need to make others worry about me when I am sick, so I can usually do it by myself.
But this time I felt something was not right. Because I have never been successful in retaining someone, so I don’t know how to do it successfully?
Can't you just say "please"?
I don't know how to say it.
Speaking of which——
I don’t know why I brought up this topic, but I still said, “By the way, I don’t really like peeling shrimps.” But every time I have shrimps, I will want to peel them.
Because I heard that shrimps are given to people you like to eat.
So I think it's a way of showing love.
I am not saying this because I suddenly want to act coquettishly or complain about my parents' occasional neglect and indifference.
I just want to say that I still like my father and mother, and if there is a chance in the future, I will keep peeling them.
So, so——
I looked up in my dad's direction and said calmly, "Dad, will you give me a chance?"
My father choked for a moment, his mouth twitched slightly, but he didn't respond to this sentence. He even looked away and said, "Your mother's health has not been very good. When you are hospitalized, I will arrange for her to go to the hospital with you..."
"So you're going to stay with her?" I interrupted him. "Have you ever thought about it? Maybe I might need you more."
My dad then looked up at me and said, "Li Zhi..."
I looked at him steadily. “So, the bond between children and parents isn’t that strong to begin with, right?”
I told him, if you just tell me this, I will understand. There was a long-lost calmness in these words, even a kind of indifference.
"Understand what?" My father's voice trembled slightly.
Of course, feelings are the least worth taking seriously.
I put down the spoon. "Did you fire the shot that killed Cui Shi in the end? Even if you saw me rushing forward, you were still prepared to sacrifice me to complete the mission, right?"
My dad: “…You already know everything…”
I suddenly got furious and really wanted to overturn the table in front of me with one hand. "If it's not, then it's not. If it's yes, then it's yes. Why do you have to go through so much trouble? The bullet was in the wrong direction at that time. There was a tree behind the position where you sniped us, blocking your view. If it was still like the first shot, the second shot should have hit our heads instead of our backs. Moreover, the shapes of the two bullets are completely different. What are you afraid of?"
My dad shuddered and said, "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed in me..."
This voice also contains sadness, frustration, and a hint of fear.
But I wasn't angry at the moment. It was only afterwards that I felt like an angry patriarch.
"What are you disappointed about? You're my dad! If I were really disappointed in you, I wouldn't tell you a word. Do you understand this? Also, you made eye contact with me, but you wanted to pretend that nothing happened? Is this how you taught me to be a man? Were you still thinking about escaping from the crime? Or even if you turned yourself in, you didn't want to tell me, and wanted me to be kept in the dark for the rest of my life? How can you be a parent like this?"
My dad hung his head, his voice dropped, and said, “…I’m sorry.”
"I don't want to be sorry." I put the spoon in front of him and said, "My hands are sore, feed me."
My father quickly scooped a spoonful of rice for me and put one hand under the spoon to prevent my rice from spilling on my quilt.
I didn't even check to see if he was being careful or not. I just followed his lead and started eating. After chewing for a while, I mumbled, "I want some more soup."
A mouthful of soup was served.
I took a sip of soup and then swallowed the rice. "In short, don't leave me. Otherwise, I don't know what I will do."
I said it so fiercely!
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