Chapter 132 An unexpected incident?
It was the end of September, but the weather in the south was still scorching. At 7:30 p.m., lights were everywhere. However, in our suburban area, the lights weren't as dense. Occasionally, there were a few dark spots; they were construction sites; I heard they were going to build retirement apartments.
When I arrived at the studio, Yifan had already cleaned it thoroughly, washed the tea utensils, and lit a stick of Indian incense. Seeing his diligence, I nodded. "That's what an apprentice should do."
He grinned at me and walked away.
I brewed a pot of tea and slowly read a medical book. It was called "Six-Jing Therapy," authored by the renowned Chinese medicine practitioner Yang Zhiyi. Born in Jiangxi in 1905, he was renowned for his treatments of difficult and complicated illnesses. He was once known as a "miracle doctor" during the Republican era.
After reading more than ten pages, I came across the section "Why do children not like to sleep?" Mr. Yang actually suggested that it was a problem with the nose. I thought his argument was ingenious, so I wrote a comment next to it:
"Next time you encounter this kind of situation, you can try the advice in this book."
Just as I finished writing, I heard footsteps. I looked up and saw a man in his forties standing across from me. He smiled faintly and said, "Are you Mr. Wan?"
I stood up, extended my hand to signal him to sit down, and said with a smile, "Yes, my last name is Wan, and my name is Wan Shanhong."
He bowed to me and sat on the sofa opposite.
As I brewed tea, I studied him: square face, wide mouth, thick eyebrows, large eyes, and a high nose. He wore a casual zip-up top. From his appearance to his attire, he exuded a sense of grandeur and maturity.
Of course, for me, it all depends on a person’s mental state.
This person had a dull complexion, especially his brows which were dark and bright. His face was grayish green and his expression was indifferent. Although he was sitting upright, he looked listless inwardly.
Preliminary diagnosis: Depression in the heart, affecting the liver, causing day and night thoughts and severe insomnia.
I poured him a small cup of tea, looked at him and smiled kindly, then took out a pack of cigarettes and gave him one without asking him if he wanted to smoke.
I lit one and took a slow puff, maintaining that smile that was both friendly and insightful. He lit the cigarette, took a deep puff, and exhaled, sending the smoke flying far into the distance.
"Sir, you can use a pseudonym so we can communicate. Without you even saying anything, I know you have a secret. Judging from the symptoms on your face, it's been three years. Otherwise, your forehead wouldn't have turned so dark and translucent, and the outline of your ears wouldn't have been so blue.
Since you've come to me for consultation, I appreciate you opening your heart. Everything you say, once you leave this door, will vanish like a wisp of smoke, carried away by the wind."
"My last name is 'Zai', you can call me Lao Zai."
Although there is no surname "Zai" in the world, I still nodded seriously.
"Mr. Wan, I want to tell you the truth. I just want to die."
I nodded slightly. At this time, I must not talk to him about the meaning of life. Doing so will only make him fight me to the end.
I took a drag of my cigarette, a look of sadness on my face. "Yes, ninety percent of people have had this thought at some point. For example, I failed the college entrance exam, and a classmate from the same village came to visit me. He had been admitted to Tsinghua University. At that moment, I had only one thought: to die quickly."
"Your story isn't worth dying for, but mine, well, it's a long story. I want to find someone to talk to before I die. At least, there's someone in this world who knows I'm not unfaithful, unfilial, or mentally ill."
I handed him another cigarette.
It’s not that I want to suffocate myself, but according to criminal investigation, if a person starts smoking continuously, it means he can’t hold it anymore and is about to “confess”.
He really lit a new cigarette with the cigarette butt.
At this point, I have to give him some catalyst:
“Mr. Zai, I have a sharp eye and can see that you are a rich man. If you really want to die, there are many things you need to do before you die.
For example, if you're handing over your bank cards to your parents or wife, make sure you clearly write down the passwords for each card. You should also write a will detailing how much money will be given to whom. Otherwise, after you die, family disputes over your assets could turn relatives into enemies.
Also, we need to check whether the crematorium is crowded. If there is no room for a room for several days, the relatives will suffer waiting there."
The last sentence made him smile bitterly.
"Suicide is not an easy thing. Judging from your face, you are a filial person. You must explain all your problems clearly before you can leave. However..."
"But what?" he asked, staring at me.
"But once you truly confess these things, you won't be able to die. Your family must find out why you died."
Mr. Zai sighed and said, "Mr. Wan, you hit the nail on the head. When I was in trouble, I felt that life was really not easy. Now, I find that death is also troublesome and not easy."
I nodded, took a sip of tea, and said, "You're a sensible person. Tell me what's bothering you. Be frank and thorough, don't hesitate. I repeat, once you've finished speaking, you'll be like that stick of Indian incense, blown away by the wind. And I'll have to keep talking to you all night long, for ten, twenty years, or even longer."
"I understand. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be here. I've heard about your character."
"Okay, let's get started."
Over a cup of tea and a cigarette, in the quiet evening, Mr. Zai slowly recounted his life story:
"After graduating from university, I worked as a technician in a factory for two years. The salary was low, so I went into business. God has been very kind to me. I started small and accumulated experience, and I have hardly ever lost money on any of my businesses.
Now that I have money, as you said, I am a filial person. I built a small villa for my parents at home. When villagers ask me for help, I try to bring their children to my company and give them jobs. Every year when I go home, I give red envelopes to the elderly in my team.
I pointed out at the right moment, "I can not only relate to what you're saying, but I can also imagine it. To sum it up, your business is going smoothly, your character is highly praised, you have an excellent relationship with the village, you have an excellent reputation among your friends, and to your family, you are a good son, a good husband, and a good father."
He nodded in agreement. "You've summed it up perfectly. This is how I am perceived in society and within my family. But then, unexpectedly, an incident occurred..."
I interrupted him in time: "Wait a minute, don't go on. I wrote a word and pressed it under the wood. When you are about to leave, we will turn it over."
I took a piece of paper, held it in my palm, wrote a word, folded it in half, and pressed it down on the coffee table with a wooden weight.
Then he said to him, "Tell me about the unexpected incident that happened to you."
He lowered his head and began to narrate...
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
