Chapter Thirty-Seven: When Patience Runs Dry

Laishun had returned, his head shaved just like mine had been in those days, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, though his had a filter two fingers long. He brought me a pair of brown leather shoes, sturdy-looking, probably not cheap. When I tried them on, they were a bit big, didn’t fit quite right, and it reminded me of Yang Bo. We exchanged a few casual words, nothing important, and I told him, “You’re busy, no need to stay with me,” waving him off. Now, I no longer hoped that Laishun could help me hold this family together; I just wanted him to live peacefully, marry, have children, and carry on quietly. I wasn’t much worried about him roaring through the streets with his friends; what concerned me were those friends themselves. A quick glance and it was clear—they were much like Zhang Kuan, Wang Dong, Lin Zhiyang, Jinlong, Jiaguan, and Zheng Kui in our youth.

At some point, I went to the photo studio to develop a large black-and-white photograph of my father, mother, and elder brother—together in one frame. My brother was wedged between my parents, wearing a military uniform without epaulettes, an armband with “Red Guard” written on it. He was smiling, and he looked even younger than Laishun. I put the photo in the frame that once held my wedding picture with Yang Bo and set it squarely on the main table in the living room, with an incense burner underneath. Every day I burned incense for them, no matter how busy I was. As long as I was home, those three sticks never went out, and the house was filled with drifting smoke. My grandfather’s small photo was in my room, and I burned incense for him too, though not as often, more sporadically.

After New Year’s Day, I took Laishun to the cemetery, bowing to my grandfather and parents. I told Laishun to bow to my brother, and Lin Baobao arrived.

Lin Baobao seemed to be on the verge of another episode, darting like a wheel between the graves, bowing so much that her forehead was smeared with earth and thin threads of blood seeped out. She didn’t cry, just kept muttering, “Father, Mother, Zhang Yi…” Finally, she sat by my brother’s grave muttering about Yangyang, as if saying her brother had died unjustly.

Puzzled, I walked over and sat beside her, asking, “What happened to Yangyang?”

Lin Baobao said, “Last night I dreamed my brother died, ambushed and hacked to death at the entrance of Baobao Restaurant, blood everywhere.”

I said, “Don’t curse Yangyang like that. He’s alive and well, doing big business out there. He’ll come see you soon.” Lin Baobao shuddered and clung to my shoulder like a frightened child. “Don’t let him come see me. I’m afraid of him. I’ve always been afraid of him… He never let me have peace. He hit me, he cursed me, when others called me a whore, he did too. After the police took him away, I had years of peace. Now he’s back, still the same—asking for money, threatening violence if he doesn’t get it. Kuan, why is my fate so bitter? I thought he’d change, but he’s still the same. Don’t let him come back. It’s enough that you, Laishun, and I are here. He’s not part of our family.” I patted her back gently, speaking softly, “Sister-in-law, don’t worry. I won’t let him stay with us. I know what kind of person he is.”

A few days ago, I took a call from Lin Zhiyang. He sounded drunk, laughing endlessly. “Kuan, you’re so lucky, so lucky…”

Hearing it from his own mouth, something felt off. I said, “Say what you mean, don’t be so cryptic.”

Lin Zhiyang stopped laughing. “Kuan, did you sleep with my sister? If you did, you should marry her or else Yige won’t be happy.”

Suppressing my anger, I spoke slowly and firmly, “Lin Zhiyang, listen to me. You’re a complete scoundrel.”

Lin Zhiyang made a sound and resumed his laughter. “How many aren’t scoundrels these days? I’m a scoundrel; always have been, since the day I was born…”

Is this even a human being? I slammed the phone shut, a cold feeling rising from my feet, turning me nearly to ice.

I asked Lin Baobao who gave my number to Lin Zhiyang. She said he asked for it last time, but she didn’t tell him. Maybe Laishun did? I called Laishun, but he couldn’t even recall having an uncle, mumbling, “Who’s Lin Zhiyang? Who’s Lin Zhiyang?” Probably Wang Dong told him. I went straight to Wang Dong’s house, asked if he knew Lin Zhiyang was back. Wang Dong said he did, that Lin had come looking for him, looking down and out, expressing gratitude for our past help, then began complaining about his poverty. Wang Dong asked if he’d looked for me. He said, “I owe Zhang Kuan so much, how could I trouble him again?” Wang Dong pitied him and gave him a thousand yuan. Before leaving, Lin Zhiyang took my phone number. I felt suffocated, didn’t want to say a word, and headed home with my head down.

Lin Baobao truly suffered; what kind of brother did she end up with… I wanted to comfort her, but couldn’t find the right words.

She kept muttering about her brother dying unjustly. I thought, such people don’t deserve to be mourned; there was nothing in him worth anyone’s lingering affection.

I made up my mind to find Lin Zhiyang and tell him to stay away from my life, or else I’d leave him dead in the street.

I signaled to Laishun to help his mother up, but he didn’t move, sulking, “Let her bow if she’s upset. I do the same when I’m upset.”

Half embracing, I led Lin Baobao under a pine tree, took off my coat and covered her, then turned to find Laishun, intending to scold him—how could he treat his mother like this? But Laishun was gone. From a distant hillside came the sound of suppressed sobbing. I went around and saw Laishun sprawled on the ground, his face pressed into the snow, hands slapping the earth, his voice like a beast guarding its food: “Grandpa, Grandma, Dad… Grandpa, Grandma, Dad…” Holding back tears, I squatted beside him, gently patting his broad back. “Shunzi, don’t cry. If you do, Zhang Yi’s dad won’t be happy.”

Suddenly, Laishun stood up. From below, I looked up—he was like a steel tower, smiling: “Dad, I wasn’t crying. I’m not like you. You carry too much inside; it ties your hands and feet…”

He carries little inside? Twenty years of memories flooded my vision… I saw Laishun as a child, sucking his thumb and squatting at the entrance of Baobao Restaurant, gazing blankly at the birds in the sky, his eyes full of confusion; I saw ten-year-old Laishun struggling to carry a gas cylinder thicker than himself down the dirt road from the station to my house, his shadow stretched long and thin by the sun, like a whip trailing behind him; I saw that bright noon when Laishun stood at the street corner, pulled an egg from his pocket, calling me, “Dad, Dad,” the sun making him shine like a golden figure… My eyes blurred, my legs went limp as if soaked in water for three days. I couldn’t stand; I wondered, I’m not yet forty, how did I suddenly become an old man, tired through and through?

Laishun helped me up, his face lit with a radiant smile. “Dad, from now on, you can rest. I’ll take care of the family.”

Rest? What reason do I have to rest? I’m not old! I still want to be that eagle flying through the storm.

I punched him hard. “Cut the crap, I’m not ready for you to support me!”

Laishun’s smile faded, and I suddenly noticed his expression had reverted to what it was more than a decade ago—bewildered, cold, full of worries.

He didn’t come home with us. On the way, he took a call, replied in a few grunts, turned and hugged me. “Dad, I won’t be able to stay home with you and Mom for a few days. Uncle Gangzi sent me on a business trip.” I said, “Go if you need to, just don’t forget to come home for New Year.” Laishun said, “I know,” waved down a taxi, and sped off.

As soon as I sat down at home, my phone rang. Someone called “Kuan-ge” several times before I realized it was Duan Feng. I asked what he wanted, and Duan Feng stammered, saying he couldn’t afford to eat and wanted to work with me again. I smiled bitterly and hung up. Brother, it’s not that I don’t want to help you—these days I can barely take care of myself… After I got out of the labor camp, I heard Duan Feng had fallen on hard times after leaving the market. He first joined some of Tiger’s guys, collecting protection money at nearby clubs, but got beaten out. Then he was recruited by the street committee, which was supporting the unemployed, and became an auxiliary city inspector. Once, he got into a conflict with a clam vendor and was stabbed in the stomach. After leaving the hospital, he was unemployed again, lying at home and mooching meals off his parents… He really was down and out. I thought for a moment, then called him back. An old man answered. I asked if Duan Feng was there, and the old man said he’d just left, heading to the lower street to find someone named Zhang Kuan. After hanging up, I looked out the window and saw Duan Feng gesturing to a passerby, probably asking about my address. I stuck my head out and shouted, “Brother Duan, look up!”

Standing at the door, Duan Feng startled me. Without a closer look, he resembled a straightened shrimp, his face so thin it was like a finger.

I brought him in, poured him a glass of water, waved him off when he tried to speak. “I’ve thought it over. If you don’t mind, come over. I’ll set up a fruit stall again.”

Duan Feng swallowed hard. “That’s exactly what I hoped for! Kuan-ge, I’ll be honest—I don’t even have the money to start a fruit stall.”

Rubbing my unshaven jaw, I said, “Let’s make do for now. Next year, when ‘**’ is gone, we’ll go back to the market.”

Duan Feng gave me a flattering thumbs-up. “Kuan-ge, wise as ever, still sharp.”

“These years, you just scraped by?” I lit a cigarette, smiling.

“What else could I do? Can’t rob a bank, right? Getting old, can’t run, if they catch me, it’s over.”

“You know who took my hundred thousand back then?”

“Who doesn’t? No one dared say it, but everyone knows Little Bastard’s temper.”

“Where have Jiaguan and Qian Feng been lately? I haven’t heard from them in over a year.”

“I’m not sure… Heard Little Bastard went to ‘the street’ after Butterfly’s gang went under. No idea how he’s doing,” Duan Feng shook his date-pit head, looking pained. “Butterfly, Jin Gao, and their crew are finished. Big crime ring. All arrested, huge case, trial took over two years. Butterfly got the death sentence, supposedly appealing. Jin Gao got eighteen years, Tianshun and the others got over ten… Sigh, society’s not easy to navigate. I’ve heard nothing about Qian Feng, always coming and going without a trace. Some say he’s often in Myanmar. Drug dealing? Who knows, I won’t speculate…”

It was no surprise Butterfly would eventually be arrested, but the death sentence shocked me—he must have really gone too far. Suddenly, I missed Jin Gao and Tianshun, missed those sleepless nights in the detention center with them, even missed Tianshun’s parting words from Weibei Farm: “Ah—Nimala Gobi, damn it—” It struck me as similar to my grandfather’s “Sigh, near your mother.”

After chatting idly with Duan Feng, I said, “I’ve noted your home phone. Go back for now, I’ll find you in a few days,” and slumped into silence.

Duan Feng left with a strange expression, as if to say: “Kid, you’re really stingy, aren’t you? Not even a meal?”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to feed him. I just didn’t have the mood, and now I deeply understood the value of money—couldn’t spend ‘shady’ cash.

Bored, I turned on the TV. On the screen, a man, effeminate as a woman, wriggled his hips as he sang: “I won’t ask why you shed tears, I don’t care who’s in your heart, let me comfort you, whether the ending is joy or sadness, after crossing mountains and rivers, you’ll always be beautiful in my eyes. Since I love you, I won’t regret, no matter how much suffering I’ll bear, my love is like the tide, like the tide pushing me to you, tightly following, love like the tide surrounds us both…” Yang Bo’s shadow flickered before my eyes, enveloping me like the tide in the song. “My love is like the tide, like the tide pushing me to you, tightly following, love like the tide surrounds us both…” I couldn’t sit still. Damn it, I had to find her now, let my love’s tide engulf her! Clutching my chest, I dialed Kezhi’s number. “Brother Zhao, how do I call Xizhen?”

Kezhi paused, wary. “Huh? Why do you want to call him?”

I smiled. “Why so nervous? No big deal. Some of Yang Bo’s clothes are still here. I don’t have her number, want to return them.”

Kezhi muttered, “Playing house, huh,” and lazily said, “You guys… sigh… get a pen.” He recited a string of numbers.

“Thanks, Brother Zhao,” I jotted down the number, grinning mischievously. “Once I give Yang Bo her clothes, we’ll be ‘even,’ and never contact again. That way, Xizhen can have space to enjoy the pleasures of love.” Kezhi sounded busy, noise in the background. “Alright, alright, Kuan, you’re nearly forty, don’t be so stubborn. Let go of feelings when it’s time, holding on means nothing. I’m not just scaring you; clinging to these things can end badly. When you married Xiao Yang, I told Xizhen the same—she’s married, you should let go… cough, too much talk. Kuan, anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” Ha, so you knew about them all along. My chest tightened, but I forced a smile, “How could I not have other business? I still owe you money…”

“What money?” he asked.

“The money you lent me for the house. I don’t have the house now, sold it, but no matter who sold it, I’ll pay you back.” Kezhi grumbled, “I told you, that was your commission… But back then, seeing you struggling, I gave you thirty thousand extra. If you’re flush now, I can drop by and collect. Hey, how’s the old man? Damn, damn! Look at my mouth… He’s gone. Kuan, why are you silent?”

I weighed the phone in my hand, murmuring to myself, “Brother, do you still believe in the code of the streets? Brother, do you still believe in the code of the streets?”

I slammed down the phone, went to the bathroom to relieve myself, shaved my beard, and the man in the mirror looked unusually spirited, face as red and shiny as a peeled rabbit.

I found the suit I’d worn on my wedding day, polished the leather shoes with my changed clothes until they gleamed, then sat down and picked up my phone.

“Hello, sweetheart, where are you?” As soon as I spoke, my back tingled, and it felt like goosebumps were falling off.

“You are… oh, Zhang Kuan,” Yang Bo’s voice was still sweet, with a hint of laziness, “Tell me, has your impotence improved?”

“Uh…” Damn, she still remembers that. I forced a laugh, “All better, started working the moment the sun set, shot at dawn, low-key, low-key.”

“You’re still such a rogue,” Yang Bo snorted, her pace quickening. “I’m at work, hurry up—what do you want?”

“Of course there’s something. I wouldn’t dare bother you without a reason.”

“You’ve learned manners,” she chuckled, “You’re itching again, aren’t you?”

“Days away from you, I’ve thought a lot…” I was well-practiced at dealing with Yang Bo; she couldn’t resist three nice words from me. When we argued, even when I was at fault, I’d let her vent, then, once she calmed, I’d talk about how much I missed and searched for her, then gently point out her mistakes. Usually, she couldn’t hold out three minutes before collapsing in my arms, sobbing. Then, I could justify my own errors, making her docile. This time, I’d use the same trick, confident she couldn’t last ten minutes—I knew her too well. Swallowing, I deliberately held my breath, making my voice tremble. “Yang Bo, maybe you’ll hate me for saying this now, but I can’t bear missing you… Don’t interrupt, let me finish. Once I say it, I’ll feel better, whether you call me a rogue or shameless, I have to say it…” Hearing nothing from her end, I guessed her heart was troubled and smiled secretly. Woman, let me love you once more. Next, I adjusted my voice to sound as if I were crying, starting from “the shirt as a veil,” to “rescue on the ferry,” and even added a fabricated “nearly escaped prison to find my beloved.” I deliberately skipped the chapters on living together and marriage, afraid she’d get upset and ruin everything. Sure enough, when I reached, “That day on the ferry, the waves were so big, I held you and you trembled in my arms, my heart was breaking…” Yang Bo burst into tears. “There were so many seagulls that day…”

“Enough, enough, please stop…” I sobbed twice, and to my surprise, a few murky tears actually fell.

“Zhang Kuan, I know you still love me,” Yang Bo said miserably, “But we really can’t be together. You…”

“I’m too poor.” I bit my teeth in hatred. Damn, isn’t this what you always wanted to say? I said it for you.

“It’s not entirely that,” Yang Bo choked, “We’re both too strong-willed…”

“No,” I suddenly realized I couldn’t let her lead me, “It’s all my fault! I’m a man, I should always yield to you… Now I regret it so deeply. I know I’ll never be able to stay by your side again,” then shifted, “Yang Bo, can you give me a chance to see you again? I have so much to say to you…” I paused deliberately, “Of course, it’s not exactly appropriate, but I miss you too much, I can’t let go of twenty years of feelings. Bo, I love you…” Goosebumps popped, and I shivered. Damn, I really am pathetic. “No, now I don’t have the right to say that…”

Just as I prepared to continue my offensive, Yang Bo suddenly shouted, “Kuan-ge, I love you! Where are you? I’ll come see you right now!”

Done! That was far too easy. Suppressing my inner joy, I feigned hesitation. “Is… is that appropriate?”

She replied firmly, “It is! I haven’t sold myself to anyone!”

I could feel my grin stretching to my ears, but I kept my lips tight. “Alright then, let’s meet at Seaview Pavilion. I’ll wait for you at the door at six tonight.”