Having passed through a weekend's fermentation, early on Monday morning the unsuccessful attempt to jump off a building above the Skyscreen exploded into pandemonium. Fei Du had not yet left the parking lot before he met with two raiding parties and discovered that with the wave of a hand he'd become internet famous.
Holding half a cup of already cooled London Fog, President Fei mulled it over in his office. He felt that the money couldn't be thrown away, and neither could his fame. Therefore he waved over his secretary and told her to go to the marketing department and have them put together a special plan in the company's name concerning corporate social responsibility, using this event as a pretext to make a fuss.
The secretary click-clacked away at her laptop, recording his sudden inspiration. Before she left, she hung on the point of speaking for a while, the rims of her eyes reddening, and at last cautiously asked, "President Fei, was everything you said on the Skyscreen true?"
"Hm?" Fei Du was flipping through his daily schedule. Hearing this, he looked up with a somewhat ridiculing, half indulgent smile. "Of course not, there was a suicide intervention expert behind me feeding me lines. They wouldn't let me say whatever I wanted in a situation like that.—How can you take everything so seriously? It's too cute."
The red flush spread from the secretary's eye-rims to her whole face. She made a scornful noise and turned to go.
"Hey, wait a second." Fei Du called her to a halt with a bright smile. "Does the company need me to peddle sex appeal at a dinner party today?"
Full of thwarted maternal feelings, the secretary rolled her eyes. "No, for the moment we have no use for that valuable intangible asset."
"That's all right, then." Fei Du immediately peeled off his suit jacket and shut his laptop.
Half an hour later, he had picked up Mother He from the hospital and was heading towards the City Bureau with her.
Wang Xiujuan was after all seriously ill and no longer young. Having undergone a great grief, she'd been kept under observation at the hospital for a weekend, and was only released to collect He Zhongyi's remains.
The death of a young man from far away having brought with it a case of corruption and drug trafficking that shook the nation, Yan City's City Bureau had no choice but to form a cooperative task force with a discipline inspection committee and work around the clock.
By comparison, the murder of He Zhongyi wasn't attended so closely. Luo Wenzhou, Tao Ran, Lang Qiao, and the others who had taken on the case from the start were responsible for the follow-up work.
The appearance of He Zhongyi's body had been taken care of. It no longer looked as dreadful as when he had been found by the side of the road. His face wore a look of serenity painstakingly crafted by the mortician.
Zhao Yulong and some of He Zhongyi's former coworkers spontaneously came to help, and Ma Xiaowei put in an appearance under the supervision of Xiao Haiyang and a civil policeman.
Zhang Donglai, having been pressured or something, entered the stage midway. He saw Fei Du supporting Wang Xiujuan from afar and went over, his movements unnatural and uncoordinated, then rigidly nodded to Wang Xiujuan. He said, "Auntie, I really wasn't the one who killed your son."
He was tall and sturdy; Wang Xiujuan fearfully backed up half a step.
Zhang Donglai again searched his guts and belly for thoughts. "Although I actually did hit him…"
Fei Du's chilly look scraped over him, and Zhang Donglai rubbed his nose awkwardly, shut his mouth, and didn't dare to say anything else. He made a gesture excusing himself to Mother He.
He Zhongyi's mother Wang Xiujuan was very small and skinny. Every time Fei Du spoke to her, he had to bend down slightly, looking unusually gentle. He dispatched Zhang Donglai with a look, then spoke into Wang Xiujuan's ear. "If you really can't take it, I can handle the remaining formalities in your place."
Wang Xiujuan shook her head. Then she shook off Fei Du's hand and staggered a few steps forward. Suddenly seeming to remember something, she turned back and asked, "Did my Zhongyi do something wrong? Some bad thing he shouldn't have done?"
Fei Du lowered his eyes and met her gaze. After a while, he said quietly but firmly, "No, auntie."
Zhao Haochang was very crafty. He could shirk and tell sob stories, quibble and confuse the issue to the highest degree. Having heard his declarations, you would think that all of society was a great morass, and he alone was a white lotus growing unsullied from the mud, blooming in the midst of persecution.
Only relying on the traces Lang Qiao and the others had pulled together off-site, as well as Luo Wenzhou's traps and cheats, could they draw the least bit of truth from his mouth and assemble a ragged sequence of events.
Bearing hope and pressure, He Zhongyi had come from a remote little mountain village to turbulent Yan City; his eyes had been filled with the rush of traffic and the glamorous young men and women, the boys and girls his own age brimming with youth as they entered their campuses, each one of them camera ready.
But he had just arrived, without friends or connections. He could only live in the most run-down of apartments, stepping in dirt daily. He went back and forth between his job and apartment, accompanied by the smell of the sewers. Aside from an apathetic middle-aged man, the people around him were ill-taught little devils, pornographers, gamblers, druggies, all kinds of wretches.
But he wore his fingers down keeping track of the accounts in his notebook, scrimped and saved, unwilling to waste a single minute, always wanting to do a little more, so he could hurry and clear his debt, return the money, pay for his ailing mother's treatment; occasionally he fantasized that one day he would be able to establish a foothold in this city.
Ever since he was little, there had been someone he'd worshipped. Though he rigorously observed the arrangements and didn't tell anyone about his existence, he still couldn't resist wanting to get closer to him. Fengnian-dage avoided him, was unreachable; He Zhongyi turned it over in his mind and thought maybe it was because he himself was too poor. In this enormous Yan City, each day was a rush; who had it easy? Of course he wouldn't want a poor relation sponging on him day in and day out. He could only carefully maintain a basic link with that person, occasionally paying his respects, and desperately save money.
He needed to pay respects, even if that person had no time for him—he had borrowed his money, so it would have been unprincipled to break off the connection now.
With difficulty he had saved the first installment. 20,000 yuan, not enough for the young masters to throw away on a bottle of wine, but still the most he had ever saved in his life. He had to collect it very carefully, didn't dare to brag, didn't dare to let anyone see, because next to him there was always a sticky-fingered roommate. He had no peace of mind holding on to the money. He Zhongyi wanted to hurry and return it so he could feel at ease, but Fengnian-dage was hard to reach. He had no other choice; he had to go find Zhang Ting—he had occasionally seen her with Fengnian-dage.
He Zhongyi gathered up his courage and spoke to her, stuttering and hoping she could tell him where dage had gone; he hadn't expected that he would scare the girl instead.
It wasn't that an ingratiating stranger was frightening; what was frightening was poverty and indignity.
The girl's acute reaction had brought a beating down on him, but that was nothing. That person had been there watching, had calmly intervened, ended the alternation without looking up, as if he'd never seen him. At that moment He Zhongyi belatedly realized that Fengnian-dage perhaps didn't want a fellow-provincial like him at all.
They weren't relatives, and they weren't friends. It turned out that he was like a speck of dirt flung onto a stainless white shirt that couldn't be washed off. Even if this person had afterwards perfunctorily tossed him a new model phone.
He Zhongyi thought, once he'd returned all the money, he wouldn't contact him again.
Once while delivering goods, he'd seen Fengnian-dage from afar, talking and laughing happily with his friends. He deliberately avoided them, didn't go make a nuisance of himself, and fortuitously heard them say they were planning to go to a place called the "Chengguang Mansion" for an opening event.
He Zhongyi's body was covered with a white cloth and lifted. The rims of Wang Xiujuan's eyes filled with blood at once. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the ground. Everyone rushed over all at once wanting to pick her up.
Her cloudy tears welled out of the corners of her eyes, seeping into the white hair at her temples. She grabbed the sleeve cuff of a person next to her. "I taught him to treat people well, to do everything properly. Did I teach him wrong?"
No one could answer this question. They could only fall silent.
Wang Xiujuan's education level was limited; she basically couldn't read the testimonial. Tao Ran had to wait for her mood to steady a little, then ask her to sit down. He read it to her line by line, explaining each word and each sentence. When he had finished explaining a sentence, Wang Xiujuan would nod dazedly.
She wasn't wailing, only sitting quietly to one side, tears flowing continuously down her face.
Head down, Zhang Donglai shuffled over to Fei Du, kicking at a pebble on the ground with the tip of his foot. Squirming awkwardly, he said, "Master Fei, Tingting sent me to ask…uh, what the fuck is all this! My Uncle Two had to change his post because of this, resign from active duty ahead of time. Did my family offend Tai Sui (1) this year?"
Fei Du was looking towards Wang Xiujuan from several steps away. Suddenly he said, "Did you find that striped gray tie?"
Zhang Donglai stared. "What?"
"No need to keep looking. That tie is in the City Bureau," said Fei Du. "The victim He Zhongyi's blood is on it, and your fingerprints. Someone picked it up from your car and turned it in."
Zhang Donglai opened his mouth and stared, tongue-tied, for an age. His rusted brain finally rumbled through its reflex arc, and he faintly understood what Fei Du had said. He dumbly reached out a hand, swept the projecting hair back off his forehead, and pronounced a brief and deeply felt, "Fuck!"
Fei Du patted his shoulder. "You should tell Tingting to stop asking and promptly cut her losses."
"Slow down, wait." Zhang Donglai waved his hand dizzily. "You're saying…someone, someone stole my tie and killed him, and wanted to put it on me? Is that what you mean?"
Fei Du looked at him, making no comment.
"No, that couldn't be? Haven't I been really kind to him—to Zhao Haochang? Would your project have come his way just based on his position at Rongshun? I was the one who made the introduction! When Tingting brought him home, my mom and dad didn't object, either! They received him like a new son-in-law, as considerately as you could want.—What did I do to bother him?"
Fei Du thought about it and answered, "Breathe."
Zhang Donglai was speechless.
Using his limited brains, Zhang Donglai considered for an age. He was still disbelieving. He whispered, "That couldn't be, I feel like… Is that Luo Wenzhou reliable or not? How could he…"
"If that Luo Wenzhou weren't reliable, the murderer sitting in there and waiting for public prosecution would be you." Luo Wenzhou himself had at some point strolled over next to them. He pointed at Zhang Donglai. "Young master, wise up a little."
Zhang Donglai was a little scared of him. As soon as he saw Luo Wenzhou, his calf muscles cramped. This time, having been overheard talking about him behind his back, he didn't dare to make a peep; he took fright and ran.
Luo Wenzhou slowly walked over to Fei Du and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, focusing on the eternal parting taking place not far from them. "What will happen to her afterwards?"
"The Economy and Trade Building's boss took this opportunity to work up some enthusiasm," said Fei Du. "He wants to take the lead in sponsoring an 'Elderly Bereaved Villagers Foundation.' The wire copy has already been sent out. It should be able to shoulder her future medical and living expenses. Although…"
Although money could be given, but a person couldn't be brought back.
Others could care for her materially, but there was no one who could bring back her son.
"Right." Luo Wenzhou took some photographs from a folder he had. "I have something to give you."
In one photograph was a fountain pen in an evidence bag. Through the camera lens you could still sense the quality of the pen. The character "Fei" was carved on the cap. "From Zhao Haochang's collection. Look familiar? Is it yours?"
He had hoped to see some astonishment on President Fei's face, but Fei Du only glanced at it and, perfectly unsurprised, said, "So he had it! I lost it on Christmas last year."
Luo Wenzhou: "…"
The date was the exactly the same as Zhao Haochang's record. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought Fei Du had given it as a gift.
"When I can't find something, I usually recall my state of mind before and after, and then I'll more or less know where I put it." Fei Du shrugged. "If I still can't find it, then someone must have taken it—although that day there were many employees and clients who'd come into my office. To avoid kicking up a fuss, I didn't make it public."
"You don't want to know what the label was?" said Luo Wenzhou.
Fei Du shrugged, his gaze falling on what was behind the fountain pen—the camera lens had been a little distant and had caught a corner of the lamp in Zhao Haochang's basement. The tree lamp that looked like a biological specimen glowed quietly, like a distant gaze thrown out from beyond space and time, forever following the young villager who had one year changed his name.
"Not especially," said Fei Du. "There's no need to return it to me when the case is over, either. It's picked up the smell of burning. I don't want it anymore."
Having made arrangements for Wang Xiujuan, Fei Du didn't say a word to anyone else. He quietly left on his own and drove straight out to the outskirts.
It was just past dusk and a touch overcast. In the cemetery the shadows of the stones flickered, crows and sparrows flew low, the smell of damp soil breathed up from the ground, and the deeply slumbering dead gazed at the living as they came and went.
Carrying a bouquet of lilies, Fei Du familiarly traced his steps for a seventh year and came to a somewhat old-fashioned tombstone. The countenance of the woman on the tombstone was pale, her expression melancholy, covered with a layer of fragile beauty, forever looking at him without fading.
Fei Du looked back at her for a while. He rolled up his sleeves and meticulously wiped the tombstone with a soft cloth. He held up two fingers, lightly kissed them, then pressed them onto the tombstone, for the first time showing a trace of a relieved smile in her presence.
It seemed as if he had finally pushed away the coffin pressing down on his heart and put it into the grave standing unoccupied, things coming to their due course.
Luo Wenzhou watched him leave from afar, then went over like a thief, put down a bunch of small white chrysanthemums, and bowed to the woman on the tombstone.
For a while he silently communed with the occupant of the tomb. He was just getting ready to leave when suddenly he felt a chill on his face. Without any portents, it had begun to rain in the outskirts.
Luo Wenzhou had no umbrella. He clicked his tongue and was about to run through the rain using his arm to shield his head. He had just raised his hand when a dark shadow opened over his head.
Luo Wenzhou was startled. He turned his head swiftly—Fei Du had at some point returned, and was holding up an umbrella, looking at him with a rather complicated expression.
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Author's Note:
(1) The god Tai Sui, who in some traditions determines luck.