Ninety-eight

Hu Yongnian was indeed suspected of attempted murder.

Back then, in the car crash that had nearly taken the lives of the four members of the Zhang family, the truth was that before he went to the airport to pick up Zhang Momo, he had taken the chance, while dining with Zhang Junru, to slip sleeping tablets into his tea. The fact that no accident happened on the way there was already a mercy among misfortunes, and it also explained why, when Zhang Momo saw her father at the airport, he looked haggard and drained.

The police told Zhang Momo this while taking her statement. As for the cause and effect of what had happened all those years ago, they already had enough evidence in hand. Or rather, Xiang Zuo had long since been investigating in secret and openly, gathering complete witness testimony and physical proof before handing everything over to the police. That included Hu Yongnian’s kidnapping of Zhang Momo this time; the moment he received the text message sent from Momo’s phone, he notified the police. He did not know where, exactly, Hu Yongnian had hidden Zhang Momo, but he knew perfectly well that Zhang Momo would never have arranged to meet him on her own.

And so the criminal was apprehended without suspense. Add to that the charge of kidnapping and holding a hostage, and there was no need at all to wonder what his sentence would be. The one thing that puzzled the police was how Hu Yongnian’s account of the kidnapping bore no resemblance whatsoever to the extent of the injuries suffered by the hostage.

That old man, steeped in sin, insisted that he had done nothing to harm Zhang Momo. Then where had this poor girl’s mild concussion, her severe fracture of the left leg, and the bloodied abrasions on her forehead, at the corners of her mouth, and on her wrists come from? Only one person could answer that question, and she herself said nothing.

Zhang Momo said nothing. She only wanted to laugh; yes, only to laugh. Lying in the hospital bed, with white bandages wrapped around who knew how many places on her body, her unlucky leg broken and bound like a dumpling and propped up high, every part of her aching so badly she could not sleep, Zhang Momo still only wanted to laugh.

She did not know whether she ought to feel guilty. When she learned of the crimes Hu Yongnian had committed, the strongest feeling she had was not outrage, but the sensation that some hell pressing down on her shoulders had been torn apart. The car accident had indeed involved her driving; but now that all the causes and consequences had come to light, it was as if there had been an accomplice to share her guilt, and thus the evil on her shoulders no longer felt quite so heavy. Such thoughts were impossible to voice, and she despised them herself, yet she truly did feel as if she had been granted relief, as if her breathing had become easier.

What Xiang Zuo had done for her was far, far more than she had ever imagined. And that filled her, too, with a deep and satisfying joy. But that joy was enough for her alone to know; there was no need for anyone else to understand it. The kinder he was to her, the less she could allow others to know about everything that lay between them. So she still could not speak.

Even though, when she first woke and opened her eyes, he was the very first person she saw, and even though the faint shadow of stubble on his chin was enough to satisfy her beyond measure. Beyond measure meant there was no need for anything more. Just like this was enough.

The most futile rescue operation in history had been turned by her own hand into a process of brutal self-torment, and that, even more than the rest, was something she could not say. So she remained silent. She had brought this wretched state upon herself; how could she possibly tell a second person? Everyone said she was kind-hearted, that even toward such a filthy old man she could repay injury with virtue. Only she knew how absurd that conclusion was.

She smiled, while Xiang Zuo suffered.

He sat at the side of her bed for who knew how long, and what he received in return was always her expressionless silence. Everyone believed this girl had lost her wits in the terrifying kidnapping, and that whether she had been frightened into a nervous breakdown still required further observation. But Xiang Zuo could not bring himself to think of any of that. He simply sat there by Zhang Momo’s bed, unable to think of anything he ought to do.

He forgot whether he should contact the prosecutor’s office in advance about Hu Yongnian’s trial, so that the old bastard could receive the punishment he deserved. He forgot whether Zhang Momo’s only relative, Zhang Nianqing, who was far away overseas, ought to be informed of the matter. Without question, Zhang Momo’s originally planned engagement was now postponed indefinitely, and whether that should bring him even a trace of consolation, he forgot that too. He even forgot to once again hire Dong Fei to take care of Zhang Momo’s meals and daily needs.

This man, who had always been so meticulous, remembered nothing now, as if he had lost his memory, or perhaps had gone back to being five years old in intelligence. He only sat there stupidly by her bed, watching her wake, daze off, and ignore him.

Three days passed. When Zhang Momo finally emerged from her stupor and called out, “Xiang Zuo,” he even wondered for a moment whether his hearing was playing tricks on him. So flustered that he could not even speak properly, his body reacted before his mind did, as he straightened and leaned over the bed.

She looked at him, her gaze crystal clear. She looked for a very long time, her eyes full of some baffled, inexplicable laughter.

“I want to ask you something.”

He lifted his brows.

“Suppose there were a girl who had done many wrong things. For money, she deceived you cruelly, until you were nearly ruined. In a muddled state, she also stabbed you who knows how many times. Her character is truly beyond excuse, and her nude photos are all over the internet. If she said she wanted to come back to your side and make amends for every wrong she had done, one by one, would you be willing to give her that chance?”

He let out a long breath. For some reason, he did not speak for a long time. It was not until her face also paled that a look of ease finally spread across Xiang Zuo’s stiff features. He took her hand, his fingers brushing over the slender arm covered in red abrasions, one by one.

“I wouldn’t.”

Zhang Momo’s hand trembled, and a blade of ice pierced straight into her heart. Just as a sour, wetness was rising in her eyes, she heard the man before her say, “I wouldn’t give her a chance to make amends. I’d make sure she could never pay it back in this lifetime, never settle the debt, until death and beyond.”

Before he had finished speaking, he had already pulled Zhang Momo from the hospital bed into his arms. He tugged at her wounds, and she almost cried out, but forced it back down. She was in pain, yet she smiled.

His embrace was too warm, too tight; it could make a person hurt. But what did that matter? So long as he was still holding her, what else in the world mattered?

Song Jiakai stood outside the ward and quietly turned away. This room was too crowded to hold a third person.

To everyone who has followed this story, and to those who once followed it, thank you.

Come back in three months for my new novel. This time I’m going to finish the whole manuscript before I start posting it. I’m done with that cruel business of digging pits for readers and for myself.