The Hunt

Some are born merely to serve others, destined to be supporting roles until death—this was a truth Cao Xiaojun firmly believed in.

He had cut his own life into scraps, piecing them together solely to complete Ni Xiangdong. Where Ni was stubborn, Cao became flexible; where Ni was ruthless, Cao showed mercy. While Cao played the wrathful guardian deity, Ni was free to portray the merciful bodhisattva before outsiders.

He became Ni’s foil, his footnote, the subdued prelude to Ni’s grand crescendo. The admiration of men, the praise of women—all the glory was Ni’s to claim. Cao remained nothing more than a silent shadow trailing behind him, unnoticed, uncared for.

But so what? He was willing.

For the past five or six years, he and Ni Xiangdong had relied on each other, so close they might as well have shared the same pair of pants. With no real skills to speak of, they had scraped by through deception and trickery, drifting until they reached Ding’an County.

As days passed, Cao grew stronger, transforming into a strapping sixteen- or seventeen-year-old. Still taciturn, mute as an ox, the words he never spoke turned into raw strength, his muscles taut and coiled. Now, a single punch from him could send a thug sprawling.

Ni was quick-witted, skilled with a blade; Cao was dull but willing to throw his life on the line. One soft, the other hard—one in the light, the other in the shadows—through sheer audacity and violence, they gradually carved out a reputation in the area, gathering a following of reckless young men.

Naturally, Ni made new friends, new underlings, basking in newfound authority and adulation. But Cao’s habits remained unchanged—he sat alone in the corner, silent, watching the revelry from afar.

People laughed at him, called him Ni’s dog, his mute enforcer. He didn’t care.

So what if he was a dog? His grandfather had once said, Raise a bird, and it will fly away; raise a dog, and it will wag its tail. Some people were like birds—heartless creatures that would vanish into the wilderness the moment the cage opened. Others were like dogs—loyal, devoted, standing by their friends through thick and thin.

So what if he was like a dog? As long as he stayed true to himself, he wouldn’t stray far from the right path. In this world, wasn’t loyalty the only thing that mattered?

So whenever trouble struck and the gang was in danger, he always let Ni and the others escape first while he stayed behind to clean up the mess. Even if he was arrested, he never said a word. Betraying a friend for personal gain was beneath him—he would shoulder all the blame without hesitation.

He wasn’t deaf to the whispers. People often said Ni took advantage of his foolishness, letting him take the fall whenever things went wrong.

But he refused to believe such provocations. He wouldn’t doubt Ni. To him, they simply had different roles—when you ventured into this life, someone had to make sacrifices.

Since Cao’s hands were already dirty, he might as well sink to the bottom, leaving Ni Xiangdong spotless and blameless.

He was certain Ni would never abandon him.

Every time he was released, Ni would be waiting at the gate with food, smiling warmly to welcome him back. Sometimes it was honeycomb cake, sometimes sticky rice buns, sometimes zhen dai, sometimes guo zi—whatever Ni brought, Cao ate.

They’d squat by the roadside, exchanging few pleasantries. Ni would scrutinize him, insisting he’d lost weight, shoving the food into his hands. Cao would smile sheepishly, wolfing it down, his worries momentarily forgotten.

All he wanted was a companion—and he already had one. That was enough.He firmly believed the two of them would be brothers for life. Even if faced with knives, fire, or boiling oil, Cao Xiaojun could pound his chest and swear without hesitation that nothing would ever change between them.

Until he met her.

Under the neon lights of the night market, Wu Ximei kept her head lowered, trembling hands holding out a small bundle of sweat-dampened betel nuts.

Cao Xiaojun faltered, retreating timidly.

For the first time in his fearless life, he'd met an opponent he couldn't face head-on.

The three of them began spending time together, growing closer by the day.

The icy Cao Xiaojun melted into spring water, flowing inexorably toward Wu Ximei. Yet he knew this stream could never reach her heart—between them always stood Ni Xiangdong.

He'd never competed with Dongzi for anything before. But this time, he suddenly wished he could be the one to win.

Ni Xiangdong understood his feelings perfectly. The two made a pact: let Ximei choose for herself.

They simultaneously offered her their half-drunk glasses of liquor. Whichever she accepted would determine whose lover she'd become.

Cao Xiaojun raised his glass, hands shaking just like Wu Ximei's had that night.

Countless voices screamed within him, praying to heaven—just let him win this once. For the rest of his life, he'd willingly lose every other contest to Ni Xiangdong.

His burning gaze fixed on her, but she didn't look his way. Her eyes were on Dongzi as she reached for Ni Xiangdong's glass and drained it in one gulp.

The matter was settled—Wu Ximei had chosen Ni Xiangdong after all.

Cao Xiaojun stood frozen, glass still raised, as if he'd played some crude joke on himself.

He should have known—Dongzi would always be the shining one. He'd won against him countless times before, and would keep winning forever after.

Xiaojun drank his liquor alone, letting drunkenness redden both his face and his eyes.

Wu Ximei soon moved in, the three of them crowding under one roof.

Cao Xiaojun became increasingly cautious, aware of Ni Xiangdong's suspicious nature. He spoke little, worked hard, contributed money and effort alike, terrified that one day Dongzi might cast him out and he'd lose both people who mattered most to him.

Gradually, his heart cooled. He settled into his destined role—the obedient little brother, the loyal follower, the harmonious bystander, abandoning all improper thoughts.

For a while—two or three years—Ni Xiangdong and Wu Ximei were happy together. But ultimately, Dongzi was too accustomed to wandering. One docile woman couldn't anchor him for life. He began cheating behind Wu Ximei's back, chasing other women everywhere. Yet she remained oblivious, willingly losing several pregnancies for him.

Caught in the middle, Cao Xiaojun was torn. His heart ached for Ximei, yet he had to serve as Dongzi's alibi and apologist, covering for him at every turn.

But even without his words, truth will out. Wu Ximei began noticing something amiss, frequently quarreling with Ni Xiangdong. Dongzi grew increasingly weary of it, finding excuses to stay out night after night, until eventually he disappeared during daylight hours too.

Later, when Wu Ximei transferred to a rubber factory on the city outskirts, Dongzi couldn't be bothered with the commute, leaving Xiaojun to handle all her daily transportation.

Cao Xiaojun complained outwardly, but inwardly rejoiced.

He rode the motorcycle with her seated behind, arms around his waist. He deliberately took bumpy roads—with every jolt, her grip around him tightened.Strangers who didn’t know them thought they were a couple, and Wu Ximei’s coworkers at the factory often teased them about it. On the surface, Xiaojun would tell them not to talk nonsense, but deep down, these misunderstandings stirred up certain fantasies in him.

If Ni Xiangdong weren’t in the picture, would they have ended up together? If the child in her belly were his, how happy would he be? Why couldn’t Dongzi cherish the affection he himself longed for so desperately?

On the day she went to terminate her third pregnancy, he was the one who accompanied her.

Wu Ximei wouldn’t let him go inside with her, so he had to squat by the roadside, chain-smoking in silence, imagining her lying there, helpless and alone.

On the way back, listening to her sobs, tears also streaked his face. But he had no right to comfort her. The only thing he could do was accompany her in her grief all the way home.

By the time they arrived and he parked the bike, the wind had long since dried his tears, and Cao Xiaojun had regained his usual stoic composure.

His expression darkened as he reached out a hand to help her off the motorcycle, supporting her as she slowly eased herself down.

He watched her clutch her abdomen, saw her pale, sickly complexion, saw her teetering on the edge of collapse. A thousand words surged to his lips, but all he managed to force out were two indifferent syllables:

“Take it slow.”

He thought Wu Ximei would eventually come to her senses, but a few sweet words from Dongzi were enough to reel her back in.

In the dynamic between those two, there was no room for a third party to interfere.

He had long grown accustomed to sacrifice, to stepping aside for others. Because he understood Wu Ximei’s inability to break free, he even turned a blind eye to Dongzi’s lies and helped smooth things over between them.

Ni Xiangdong would clap him on the shoulder, praising him as a true brother. But inside, Cao Xiaojun laughed bitterly. He knew he did it all for her. He wanted her to be happy, even if that happiness didn’t come from him. As long as she was content, that was enough. He was willing to humor her, to wait with her for Dongzi to change his ways.

Until that evening, when he charged into the house with a stick and unexpectedly witnessed her breakdown, did he realize she had only been pretending to be happy—just as he had been pretending not to care.

The two stood in the yard for a long time without speaking.

The evening light fell across her face as she held a cigarette between her lips, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks.

He knew she wanted this child, but Dongzi didn’t.

In a moment of impulse, of dizziness, of reckless abandon, he snatched the cigarette from her lips, stared into her eyes, and uttered those words:

“Keep it. I’ll raise it.”

His face burned, his legs trembled violently as he awaited her judgment. One word from her, and he would explain everything to Dongzi. After all he’d done for him, Dongzi surely wouldn’t make things difficult. In that instant, his mind raced—how to give her a proper status, how to find a steady job, how to raise Dongzi’s child...

But Wu Ximei said nothing.

Wu Ximei merely glanced at him, then quickly stood up and gently closed the door behind her.

Leaving him standing there alone, the other half of his unspoken words still lodged in his throat, with no one left to hear them.

Cao Xiaojun sat back down on the doorstep, staring blankly at the small patch of sky above. The cigarette he’d taken from Wu Ximei still pinched between his fingers, he brought it to his lips but forgot to inhale. The cigarette burned on its own, its crimson glow soon buried in ash.

The sky darkened inch by inch, sinking into the depths of his eyes.

A starless, moonless expanse of night transformed into a shimmering ring of tears, trembling on the edge, refusing to fall.