From then on, Xu Qingli poured even more of himself into being good to them, and Cao Xiaojun naturally reciprocated in kind.
Two men of few words met at a crossroads in life—one offering his heart, the other his soul, their loyalty shining silently between them.
Days passed quietly and steadily, and before he knew it, Xu Qingli had spent over two years in this seaside town called Qingdao.
He gradually learned to distinguish the ebb and flow of the tides, to dig for clams during low tide, and, thanks to the warm-hearted elders, picked up a few local slang terms: chaoba meant fool, geying meant disgust, caoji meant helplessness, and tianmo meant flattery.
He slowly memorized the unfamiliar, tongue-twisting street names, grew accustomed to driving up and down steep hills, accepted the foggy transitions between winter and spring, and even discovered that beyond his hometown’s rice noodles, northern-style potstickers and baked wheat cakes were also delicious.
Facing things head-on took courage, but sometimes, escape could also be a clever remedy. Who would have thought that the forced exile from his hometown would become the cure for his pain?
Standing in the northern wind and snow, beneath vast skies and rolling clouds, wrapped in silver-white scenery, he gradually forgot the humid, sweltering secrets of the southern lands, forgot the winding paths hidden among the layered peaks.
Everything about "Xu Qingli" felt like a distant nightmare. Now awake, he realized there was a broader world beyond the mountains—that he, too, could have a bright future.
Hiding behind the name "Ni Xiangdong," the true soul of "Xu Qingli" broke free from its shackles and stretched out.
Every day was a gift, every day a rebirth—free and unrestrained, without taboos.
He was transforming, shedding his old self.
That late summer, Xu Qingli got his driver’s license. He bought a secondhand Wuling Hongguang minivan and took Xiaojun’s family on a trip to the outskirts. Chattering excitedly the whole way, the four of them eagerly imagined the future.
By then, he and Cao Xiaojun had already established themselves in the area. With this new vehicle, they could take on bigger jobs, earn more money—life ahead would be as smooth and unobstructed as the road before them.
Xu Qingli held a cigarette between his lips, leaning out as the wind brushed his face, carrying the fresh scent of forest greenery.
His heart leapt with joy. Sunlight filtered through the trees, dappled and shifting, glinting in his eyes.
He suggested they go to a restaurant for dinner that night—his treat—but Cao Xiaojun insisted on eating at home. Xu Qingli knew it was because Xiaojun didn’t want him to spend too much. Touched, he didn’t argue further.
That day was October 2, 2021—a date he would never forget.
By evening, Wu Ximei had prepared a table full of dishes, and Cao Xiaojun went downstairs to the beer house to order dozens of skewers. Xu Qingli carried several bags of draft beer upstairs, running into Old Mrs. Li from next door just as he entered—she was on her way out.
She said it was her grandson’s birthday, and the boy had been clamoring for sweet and sour pork, so she’d come to borrow some vinegar.
In high spirits, Xu Qingli even joked with Old Mrs. Li.
Pointing at the vinegar bottle, he said, “In local dialect, vinegar.”
Old Mrs. Li laughed and patted his arm, praising his accurate pronunciation—he sounded like a true Qingdao native.
That day, everyone was in high spirits. They ate heartily, talked freely, clinked glasses, laughed and joked. Even Wu Ximei, rarely one to drink, had a few cups, her cheeks flushed as she cupped her face, giggling nonstop.When did things start to go wrong?
Afterward, he couldn't help but wonder—when exactly had things started to go wrong that night?
Then he remembered. It was when he took off his shirt.
Cao Xiaojun had drunk too much and was sweating, so he simply pulled off his undershirt, revealing his back.
Xu Qingli, also heavily intoxicated, slapped his back and kept exclaiming.
"Hey, didn't expect you to have a tattoo! Kept it well hidden, huh?"
It was indeed the first time he'd seen it.
Back at the construction site, no matter how hot it got, Cao Xiaojun had never taken off his shirt. Even during moves, while other workers stripped to the waist, he always stayed fully dressed. And over all these years, the two had never gone to a public bathhouse together, so Xu Qingli naturally had no idea what was on his back.
"Got it when I was young," Cao Xiaojun waved it off. "Dumb kid stuff."
"Let me see—what'd you get?"
Xu Qingli squinted, leaning in closer, hiccuping from the alcohol.
"Guan Yu—Lord Guan! And with open eyes too. Tsk, an open-eyed Guan Yu isn't simple—most people can't handle that. Wait, this looks familiar... I think I've seen it somewhere before—"
Shut up, shut up, a voice inside warned.
But under the influence of alcohol, his mouth wouldn't obey. Words tumbled out unchecked.
"Back in Nanyang, must've been over ten years ago—yeah, more than ten—"
His face flushed red, eyes bleary, lost in the memory of that moonlit night.
"Deep in the mountains, a man and woman, doing something shady in the wild. I tell you, that man had the same tattoo—just like yours, also Guan Yu—"
Shut up, shut up.
Yet the alcohol surged through his veins, numbing his brain, loosening his restraint. His mouth wouldn't stop.
The others' held breaths only spurred him on, fueling his drunken bravado as he piled on embellishments.
"You know what they were doing? Killing someone! Dumping a body! I saw it clear as day from behind the trees. The horror of it—blood everywhere, the dead body right there in the pit—"
He suddenly stopped.
He saw the smiles vanish from Cao Xiaojun and Wu Ximei's faces. They sat frozen, cups in hand, staring at him.
Sobering instantly, he faintly understood.
Only Cao Tianbao kept clamoring to hear more, his little face upturned with questions.
"What happened next? Uncle, tell us! What about the dead person? Did the police catch them?"
"Ha! There is no 'next'—I was just spinning tales. Didn't actually see anything."
He forced a laugh, stealing glances at the couple's reactions.
They weren't smiling.
Xu Qingli's face burned, but he had no choice but to keep digging himself out.
"I'm usually tight-lipped—just blabber nonsense when drunk," he coughed. "Actually, it wasn't even my story. Heard it from someone at the factory—probably all made up anyway. Hey, let's not ruin the mood with this gloomy talk. More drinks!"
He clinked his cup against Cao Xiaojun's, but Cao Xiaojun didn't move.
What was said after that, he couldn't recall.He only remembered that night when he talked a lot, deliberately cracking jokes that made Cao Xiaojun laugh. If asked anything, Cao would respond, but his eyes had completely changed—as if he had regressed two years, back to when they first met at the construction site.
Wary. Indifferent.
Time dragged on, and before they knew it, it was past ten. Cao Tianbao yawned and complained of being tired. Though something felt off, he had no choice but to leave.
Xu Qingli leaned against the doorframe, grinning as he looked at Cao Xiaojun.
"Alright, I'm off. Same time tomorrow?"
"We'll see."
"What do you mean, 'we'll see'?" He nudged him playfully, forcing lightness into his tone. "What's up with you? Getting cocky? Not working anymore?"
"I want to rest for a couple of days. I'm tired."
Xu Qingli froze. "Xiaojun, you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Really?" His cheeks burned, but his fingertips were icy. "We're brothers, no secrets, right?"
"Yeah."
Cao Xiaojun nodded without looking at him.
Xu Qingli wanted to say something more, but before he could, Cao Xiaojun shut the door.
Click. The door closed in his face, the gust of air brushing his bangs and stinging the scar on his left cheek.
He stood outside the closed door, fingers digging into his pants seam. He raised his hand to knock but noticed the peephole was dark.
Someone was standing inside.
Someone inside was watching him.
He knew Cao Xiaojun was hiding behind the door, observing his every move through the peephole.
After a moment’s hesitation, he lowered his hand.
The motion-activated light dimmed. The cramped hallway, cluttered with discarded furniture, swallowed him as darkness crept in.
Xu Qingli fished a cigarette from his pocket, placed it between his lips, and lit it.
The orange-red ember flickered—the only light in the gloom.
He exhaled smoke, glanced once more at the closed door, then turned and descended the winding concrete stairs.
That tiny spark of warmth vanished in an instant.
Behind him, the motion-activated lights faded one by one as he kept going down, down, down.
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