Those were days of chaos and unrest. The police were searching for him everywhere, and Bao Desheng's gang of ne'er-do-wells had also come out in full force, roaming the streets with clubs and knives, shouting for him to pay with his blood.
Overnight, all the connections he'd built in Ding'an County became useless—indeed, burdensome.
Now, walking down the street, his greatest fear was running into familiar faces. Formerly warm acquaintances had turned into threats, all probing for his whereabouts to sell Bao's family a big favor.
In the end, it was Tian Baozhen who helped cover for him and allowed him to escape.
At this point, she was the only one still willing to mediate on his behalf.
While gathering information, she also raised money for him, arranged disguises, and smoothed over relations.
She was sharp and clever—in front of the Bao family, she only sobbed pitifully, playing the part of a grieving and frightened woman, never once mentioning her relationship with him. She firmly established herself as an innocent victim.
Everyone knew she had become a widow almost immediately after marriage. Amidst the sighs and sympathy, no one had the chance to give her a hard time.
On the day Bao Desheng was buried, he followed Tian Baozhen's plan, changed his appearance, and fled Ding'an County via backroads, hiding in a small motel in the outskirts of a neighboring town.
It was a family-run inn, with an unremarkable storefront and a faded, peeling sign battered by wind and sun.
The front desk was manned by a pimply-faced teenager—likely the eldest son of the family. He sat behind the counter all day watching TV, eyes glazed, snickering mindlessly, indifferent to what names guests wrote or whether their ID numbers were real.
Laundry and cooking were handled by his mother, a stout, heavyset woman with a low ponytail and a round face. Her shrewd, upturned eyes gleamed as she assured him that as long as he paid for the ingredients, she’d be happy to prepare three meals a day.
Each meal was, naturally, the cheapest possible noodle soup. A few times, she simply substituted expired instant noodles.
Of course, he had no room to complain. If he made a fuss and attracted the police, he’d be the one to suffer.
The proprietress had him pegged—a down-and-out man hiding alone, never stepping outside, clearly burdened by guilt, either dodging debts or enemies. Knowing he wouldn’t dare make trouble, she grew increasingly careless with the meals and stopped changing the bedsheets altogether.
But Tian Baozhen had chosen this place for a reason.
Located at the edge of the highway where three towns met, it offered flexibility for coming and going.
Though remote, the area saw heavy foot traffic. Many shady deals went down nearby, and with such a mix of characters, the owners had seen it all and preferred not to ask questions, turning a blind eye to avoid trouble. For him, it was perfect.
Now, he stayed in a room on the second floor, the last door on the right at the end of the hallway.
Every evening around four or five, the boy from downstairs would deliver food. Other than that, he never opened the door.
At the moment, he reclined on the single bed, leaning against a grimy, footprint-stained pillow.
Next door, a couple laughed and flirted. Outside the window, two men erupted into a crude argument, their curses loud and clear. Vendors hawked their wares up and down the street, while an unidentified bird screeched overhead, wings flapping past the rooftop.
This bustling, noisy world—its joys and sorrows, its partings and reunions—had nothing to do with him.
He listened to the clamor, silent, staring blankly at the empty white wall. Gazing at the mold stains blooming across it, he lamented his own dead end.Life seemed hopeless now.
He had once thought the mortal world was long, with at least a few more decades of joy, glory, and endless limelight ahead. But now, in the blink of an eye, it had all turned to ashes and vanished like a bubble.
All because of a single angry remark. It had felt satisfying in the moment, but the consequences were unbearable.
He hoped the police would catch the killer soon—but what if they didn’t?
He knew the most terrifying murders were those without reason.
Take, for example, two strangers walking down the street when suddenly one pulls out a knife and stabs the other. The attacker and the victim had never met before, let alone had any grudges or grievances. There were simply no clues to follow.
Such random killings fell outside the usual motives of love or revenge, making them the hardest to solve.
What could he do then?
Would he have to bear this infamy for the rest of his life?
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
Amid his turmoil, the door sounded four rhythmic knocks—their agreed-upon secret code.
Dragging his slippers, he shuffled lazily to the door and cracked it open. But instead of the pimply young man he expected, standing in the hallway was Tian Baozhen.
As if waking from a nightmare, he shuddered.
Blinking, he hastily let her in, then stuck his head out to glance up and down the corridor before pulling back and locking the door tightly. Holding his breath, he waited for her to speak first.
Tian Baozhen was in no hurry. She first found a clean spot at the foot of the bed to sit, then rummaged through her bag for a handkerchief, dabbing the sweat on the back of her neck absentmindedly. Her cheeks were flushed, revealing neither joy nor sorrow.
“Well?”
Unable to bear the silence, he spoke first.
Even though they were the only two in the room, he instinctively lowered his voice to a whisper.
Tian Baozhen seemed not to hear, wrinkling her nose as she listened to the noise from next door, one hand fanning her collar.
“Tch, what time is it, and they’re already making such a racket.”
He had no patience for the neighbors and hurriedly pressed, “What’s going on? What are people saying out there?”
Only then did she turn her face to him, as if noticing him for the first time, and sighed leisurely.
“It’s no good. I’m afraid you’ll have to run.”
“What about the police—”
“It’s mainly the Bao family refusing to let you go. A life is at stake—these things are never clear-cut.”
She shook her head. “Even if it were clear, so what? Their child is dead, but you’re alive and well, still free and happy. Bao Desheng’s parents can’t accept that. They’ll demand your life in return.”
“But—but—this has nothing to do with me!” He stamped his foot in frustration. “Maybe I should turn myself in—”
“The moment you step out, they’ll kill you on the spot. Believe me?” Tian Baozhen’s expression hardened. “It’s not like you’ll have to hide forever. At least wait until their anger cools.”
She pulled out a ticket and a stack of money from her bag, slipping them gently into his hand.
“Run away for now. Lay low.”
“What about you?”
“I have my own plans.” She smoothed her skirt, brushing off a speck of dirt. “I might head north, try my luck there. The Bao family can’t touch me for now.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
Tian Baozhen paused, lifting her sharp chin and widening her almond eyes.
“What? Why would I go with you?”
“Baozhen, you don’t have to hide it. I know you care about me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be helping me like this—”Tian Baozhen waved her hand impatiently, raising her voice slightly. "You're overthinking it. I'm just helping myself. With your temperament, if you're caught, you'll spill everything. If I get dragged into this, it'll be even more trouble—"
As soon as the words left her mouth, she noticed his uncomfortable expression and softened her tone.
"Besides, you're in this mess partly because of me. I have to do something to ease my conscience."
Hearing this, an inexplicable competitive urge rose in his heart. Not wanting to be looked down upon by her, as if to prove something, he blurted out, "How would you know my temperament? Maybe I really did kill someone."
Tian Baozhen paused while smoothing her hair and glanced at him again.
"It wasn't you," she shook her head with a smile. "After everything these past few days, I've realized—it couldn't have been you."
Her brief statement carried no clear praise or blame. A bitter feeling welled up in his chest, though he couldn't quite articulate why.
He felt both comforted and disappointed.
The following hours passed in silence as they sat awkwardly across from each other, waiting for their parting.
The curtains, not fully drawn, billowed gently with the evening breeze, revealing fleeting glimpses of the sky outside.
Dusk settled, painting the horizon in soft pink and purple hues, the hazy glow gradually enveloping their silhouettes.
Tian Baozhen checked her watch and stood up.
"I'll leave first. Don't come out to see me off. Wait until after midnight to slip away quietly."
She straightened her dress and slung her bag over her shoulder.
"I've already paid for the room. Just leave without drawing attention—don't alert anyone at the inn."
"Alright, alright," he murmured in agreement, following behind her. "Thank you, Baozhen."
She opened the door and peered outside.
Realizing this would be their last meeting in this lifetime, his nose stung with emotion, and he impulsively grabbed her hand.
"Baozhen, I—"
In the dim light, she slowly withdrew her hand.
"Perhaps I shouldn't have invited you to leave with me that day. If you'd stayed in the village, none of this would have happened."
She curled her fingers to smooth a stray lock of hair at the nape of his neck, leaving a faint trace of fruity fragrance.
"Brother, forget about me. Live well."
He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to watch her leave.
The corridor wind rushed in, carrying away the last wisps of her warmth and scent.
When he could no longer detect it, he knew she was truly gone.
He waited in the room for night to deepen.
The moonlight and cicada songs grew colder together, the street corner's liveliness gradually fading. When the mother and child downstairs fell into deep sleep, he picked up his travel bag and slipped out the door.
Baozhen had told him to flee—to a foreign land, never to return to the village. He had agreed readily, yet now found himself boarding a bus homeward. He had to see his father one last time, to say goodbye.
But the Bao family moved faster than he did.
By the time he trekked over mountains and arrived home, exhausted and dusty, Bao Desheng's relatives were already tearing down his family's thatched hut.
Though the police said there wasn't enough evidence, they were convinced he was Bao Desheng's murderer.
The Bao family had once been prosperous, but by Bao Desheng's generation, he was the only male heir. With his death, their lineage was effectively severed. In villages where ancestral traditions ran deep, the extinction of a bloodline was the most vicious curse, the ultimate act of vengeance.
If they couldn't find him, they'd find his father instead.
A father's failure to teach his son properly was his sin—it was only right that the father repay the son's debt.The entire Bao Family Village had gathered, a dense crowd that completely surrounded the small settlement.
They told everyone about his misdeeds, embellishing the stories with vivid details as if they had witnessed them firsthand.
Rumors spread like wildfire, and within half a day, he had transformed from a gentle, filial son into a murderous bandit in the eyes of the villagers.
To protect themselves and prove their own innocence, the villagers, filled with righteous indignation, joined the Bao family’s violent crusade. Some even struck harder than the Baos, rushing to the front as if to demonstrate their loyalty.
The children from his hometown who had once bullied him, after so many years, found another chance for revenge—throwing the hardest stones, smashing the loudest objects, and hurling the vilest insults.
And he could only hide deep in the forest, watching from afar.
His aging father couldn’t stop anyone. A lifetime’s worth of belongings was destroyed in an instant. The old man collapsed to the ground, clapping his hands in despair, tears and snot smeared across his face.
He wanted to roar and charge forward, but seeing the clubs in people’s hands and the raging fury of the entire village, he knew he stood no chance. He could only endure.
Endure.
He could only grit his teeth from a distance, watching as his father suffered in his place.
He began to regret, wishing he had listened to Baozhen’s advice.
Why had he returned to witness this tragedy?
Worse still, now there was no escape.
Not long after he had slipped back into the village, the Bao family had stationed men to guard every dirt road in and out, shouting to passersby that there was a reward for his capture—dead or alive.
"Dead or alive"—a warning, but also an instruction. The village’s able-bodied men, spurred on, armed themselves and joined the search.
In his panic, he turned and fled deeper into the mountains.
He had cursed these remote, impassable peaks countless times before, but now, unexpectedly, they had become his last refuge.
He climbed tall trees, hid in caves, and only dared to come out at night to scavenge for food.
When hungry, he ate wild fruits and insects; when thirsty, he drank rainwater. If luck was on his side, he might even find a mountain spring.
Of course, he couldn’t risk lighting a fire. Even if he occasionally stumbled upon the remains of an animal, he had to devour it raw like a savage.
In just a month, his hair became tangled and wild, his clothes barely covering his body.
He suffered fevers and bouts of diarrhea, but in the end, he survived.
By then, all sorts of rumors had spread—some said he was dead, others claimed he’d been caught, and still others insisted there was someone else behind it all. But he still didn’t dare show himself, fearing these stories were just bait to lure him out. He endured, treating it all as if it were someone else’s tale.
Endure.
He didn’t know how much longer he would have to endure before fate gave him a chance to turn things around.
Just when he thought he would spend the rest of his life trapped in these mountains, living in wretched survival, he met a kindred spirit on a night bathed in moonlight.
A man, equally broken and lost, wandered through the forest with bloodstained hands.
That man was Cao Xiaojun.
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