“As for what happened next, you already know.”
Wu Ximei turned her head to look out the window, where two or three sparrows perched on a branch, huddled together to shelter from the north wind.
“I dumped Ni Xiangdong and got together with Xiaojun. We traveled north, taking odd jobs along the way.
“As long as it paid and was legal, we took any job—dirty, exhausting, humiliating, didn’t matter. We took them all.
“Dignity and refinement are for the rich. We had no shame—just a need for money. Every extra cent meant Tianbao could live one second longer.”
She fell silent, leaning forward to glance into the hospital room. The sallow-skinned Cao Tianbao lay wrapped in the plastic tubes of medical equipment, eyes tightly shut, like a cocoon.
“What kind of man was Cao Xiaojun?” Meng Chao handed her a tissue. “Did he make any enemies over the years?”
“Xiaojun was a good man—spoke little, did much. He was caring, devoted to family. All these years, he never provoked anyone—men or women.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“He was good to Tianbao too, treated him like his own. He even married me, gave us a home.”
“When did Ni Xiangdong show up?”
She twisted the damp tissue in her hands, rolling it into a ball before smoothing it out again, now crumpled.
“About… about two years ago, in 2020. They suddenly ran into each other at a construction site. When he came home and told me, I was shocked too.”
“You and Cao Xiaojun arrived in Qingdao in 2019?”
“Yes, we came in 2019.” She leaned against the tiled wall of the hallway, tilting her head back as if gazing into the past. “He worked at the construction site during the day, and I helped out at a nearby daycare center. Did cleaning jobs too.”
“What about Ni Xiangdong?” Tong Hao scribbled in his notebook. “Do you know when he came?”
“Probably also in 2019.”
“Did he follow you here?”
“Don’t know. He said it was a coincidence.” Wu Ximei snorted. “Who knows?”
“Didn’t you think about moving?” Tong Hao craned his neck. “Given the three of you—”
“Ahem—”
Meng Chao cleared his throat, and Tong Hao quickly changed tack.
“Didn’t you travel north to get away from him before?” He fixed his eyes on Wu Ximei. “Why not leave this time?”
“We thought about it. Didn’t work out.”
Wu Ximei kept kneading the tissue ball.
“Before we could decide, he showed up first—all smiles, didn’t seem like he was here for revenge.
“He’d come by every day, looking for Xiaojun, calling him ‘brother’ this and ‘brother’ that, never mentioning me.
“Men care about face. Xiaojun valued loyalty, hated being called disloyal to friends over a woman. And since Ni Xiangdong didn’t seem to hold a grudge, they slowly patched things up.”
“How did you feel about it?”
“Of course I was uncomfortable. But Xiaojun told me that given their past bond, they had to keep things civil. After all—” She paused. “We did wrong by him too.”
“How did the three of you get along after that?”
“Awkward at first, but eventually… it just became normal. Strange, like the old days had returned, just with roles reversed.” Wu Ximei let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Hmph, what right did Ni Xiangdong have to complain? Someone else was raising his son.”
“When did things turn sour?”"This year—no, last year," she frowned for the first time here, "in '21, he started talking about our son, insisting Tianbao was his. Don’t know who he heard it from outside—I never mentioned it. Anyway, he went mad, suddenly demanding to get back with me."
"Did Cao Xiaojun know?"
"I didn’t dare tell him. Afraid he’d stir up trouble."
"Afraid of who? Cao Xiaojun?"
Wu Ximei shook her head.
"Afraid of Ni Xiangdong. That man—calculating, ruthless. He used to—"
"What?"
But Wu Ximei didn’t continue. Instead, she veered off on her own.
"Later, it couldn’t be hidden anymore. Xiaojun found out, and then they fought. You’re right—last year on National Day, they drank at home and ended up brawling."
"Why didn’t you say anything at the time?"
"I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. I thought he wouldn’t kill again—"
Again, she stopped abruptly.
Like the sudden halt of gongs and drums on stage, leaving a tantalizing silence—the prelude to violence, the start of the show. The audience below knew: the lead was about to enter.
Meng Chao obliged, nudging her along.
"Are you saying Ni Xiangdong has a past?"
Outside, the wind shifted the clouds, blotting out the sun. Wu Ximei’s profile, backlit, faded into shadow.
"Never mind. No point hiding now. I’ll tell you everything."
It was over a decade ago, on a stifling, humid night in Nanyang Province.
Wu Ximei jolted awake, throwing on clothes as a rumbling sound came from the yard.
Under the moonlight, she saw Ni Xiangdong stumble in, reeking of alcohol, drenched—as if cloaked in the night itself.
He grinned, shoving away her helping hand, and tossed a leather satchel to the ground with a thud.
A thud—and sudden, staggering wealth.
A bag stuffed with money, stained with blood.
Only then did she realize what soaked him wasn’t dew but the metallic reek of blood.
He told her to bolt the door, fetched water to wash up, then hid the cash, warning her never to speak of it.
Three or four days later, the town buzzed with news of a robbery-murder—a man surnamed Bao, killed in the wilderness.
Wu Ximei grew suspicious but didn’t dare probe. She only noticed Ni Xiangdong uncharacteristically laying low, holed up at home day after day.
Later, word spread that a suspect had been identified—a man surnamed Xu.
Her dread eased. Ni Xiangdong revived, pocketing wads of cash that very night and vanishing until dawn.
After this windfall, the moral shackles within Ni Xiangdong shattered. He grew bolder, his circle more dangerous—a band of drifters disappearing for days before resurfacing in town, splurging and raising hell.
He became a different man: volatile, explosive, smashing things drunk at home until even Cao Xiaojun couldn’t stand it. The three eventually parted ways.
By the time Wu Ximei finished, rain had begun outside, speckling the windowpane.
The hallway lay desolate and silent, save for the pale fluorescent light flickering and buzzing overhead.
"I’ve always felt... he’s got more than one life on his hands."
Wu Ximei stared at the rows of empty blue plastic chairs across the way.
Meng Chao looked up. "Why?""This kind of thing, it never stops," she said, looking down at her hands. "Once you've killed the first one, the rest come easy. Truth is, it's all the same—one or a hundred, the end is just a bullet either way."
She cut off Tong Hao's rebuttal with a faint smile.
"I've figured life out by now. Each person's existence is like a child kneading yuanxiao—some big, some small, no rhyme or reason to it, just whatever mood strikes them.
"And they don’t even wash their hands while kneading, so all the dirt gets mixed right in. Where’s the white? Where’s the black? In the end, it’s just a grubby little ball. Who dares swear theirs is clean enough to stand up to being picked apart?"
Meng Chao remained silent, just listening.
"Sweet it is, and filthy too." She stood, smoothing the wrinkles at the back of her pants. "Enough talk. I’ve got to fetch Tianbao’s meal."
She took a few steps, then suddenly paused.
"Any word on Ni Xiangdong yet?"
Meng Chao naturally gave her no answer.
"Hard to find, that one. He’s too good at hiding."
She walked on, straight into the pouring rain.
"By the time you do find him, he’ll be long dead."
Of course, no one heard that last part.
The rain soaked her shoulders, but Wu Ximei never looked back.
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