The train jolted forward, with Cao Xiaojun and Wu Ximei sitting opposite each other, separated by the window.
Both gazed outside in silence.
The endless mountains gradually faded away, replaced by an unbroken stretch of plain. The once-dense greenery that blotted out the sky was gone, replaced by frames of vast skies and low-hanging clouds through the window, with scattered tumbleweeds stretching along the tracks.
They didn’t know where they were, nor where the future would take them. In their unpredictable remaining days, flight was the only certainty.
The wind was sharp. Wu Ximei coughed softly, and Cao Xiaojun turned to look at her. Her eyes were lowered, her hands fumbling with the tight lid of her water bottle, unable to twist it open.
"Give it to me," he said, reaching out.
She didn’t hand it to him. Instead, she quietly placed the bottle on the table and pushed it toward him. After unscrewing it, he set it back on the table and slid it toward her before turning again to the window.
Their reflections met in the glass—faces equally weary, eyes equally fearful and lost.
How do you bind two people who were never meant to be connected?
Perhaps through love, perhaps through hate, perhaps shared interests, or the same terror.
That night had been like a nightmare. By the time Cao Xiaojun came to his senses, Ni Xiangdong was already lying in a pool of blood, gasping for breath.
He clutched him, frantically searching, trying to stem the gushing blood. Ni Xiangdong glared at him sidelong, raising a bloodied hand to claw at his throat.
The hand slowly slipped away, and Ni Xiangdong went limp inch by inch, but his eyes brimmed with venom, tears of blood streaming down.
"I... won’t let you go—" he hissed through gritted teeth. "One day... one day..."
"Don’t listen."
Wu Ximei crouched down and gently pried the knife from Xiaojun’s hand.
"Just the ravings of a dead man."
With the same gentleness, she drove it into Ni Xiangdong’s stomach.
"If he didn’t die, neither of us would live. There was no other way."
She sighed softly and stabbed again. Ni Xiangdong on the ground lay still, eyes shut, silent.
"Before him, sleeping with men and killing them—neither was my first time."
Wu Ximei turned to look at him, smiling tearfully as if seeking forgiveness—submissive, ingratiating, her usual deference, though her pale cheeks were still spattered with Dongzi’s blood.
Cao Xiaojun stood there, equally silent.
It wasn’t disgust at Ximei’s cruelty. He, too, was a sinner, his hands stained with a brother’s blood. How could one evil man absolve another? Burdened with the same guilt, he had no right to grant forgiveness.
Under the watery moonlight, they buried him in the wilderness, then fled north.
To outsiders, they claimed the three of them had gone to work in another city.
Five or six towns had passed. As if by unspoken agreement, at each stop, he bought the tickets while she kept watch—not a single unnecessary word, neither ever mentioning that night again.
But duck gizzards are hard to peel, and human hearts are harder to fathom. Beneath the surface, neither knew what the other truly thought.
They were accomplices, accessories—yet also the cause and witness of each other’s sins.
Cao Xiaojun didn’t know how to face Wu Ximei, just as Wu Ximei didn’t know how to understand Cao Xiaojun. Each pondered in silence, one moment feeling closest, the next feeling furthest apart, carried along by the train’s jolts, their thoughts adrift.
Now, they had crossed three provinces. Today marked the final leg of their journey. They had no plan for what came next. Perhaps once the train stopped, they would go their separate ways.Cao Xiaojun had a bellyful of words he wanted to say, but in the end, nothing came out. When the train arrived at the station, he stood up to help her with her luggage. She nodded in thanks but remained silent.
They walked out of the station one after the other, like strangers, weaving through the bustling crowd.
Passing by the throngs of people soliciting passengers, they turned into a quiet alley and found an old ramen shop.
Their last meal together was equally silent. Each stared at their own bowl, slurping and swallowing.
After finishing, Cao Xiaojun led her a little further before suddenly stopping.
"Go on. This has nothing to do with you."
His voice was calm as ever, and he didn’t even look at her.
"If anything happens, I’ll take the blame. I won’t drag you into it."
Wu Ximei’s face flushed as if she wanted to argue, but Cao Xiaojun ignored her and walked ahead.
It was midday, the hottest part of the day. As he walked, he noticed two shadows stretching across the asphalt road.
"Why are you—"
Wu Ximei stood under the blazing sun, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
"Only you can walk, and I can’t follow?"
Cao Xiaojun was puzzled. He scratched his head, unsure whether she was angry or hinting at something.
"You can’t come with me," he stammered. "I—I’ve killed someone—"
When he looked up, he met her bitter smile.
He understood what she meant.
"Let’s go together. The road is long," she said, gazing at him. "Two people can at least look out for each other."
Cao Xiaojun and Wu Ximei had both grown up in hardship, restless by nature.
Though they still had some money left, they each found suitable work as soon as they settled down, ensuring they wouldn’t go hungry.
They rented an old house but, as before, divided the space with a curtain.
Once, another man had stood between them. Now, it was the shadow of a wrongful death—something difficult to move past.
Of course, few things in life are easily left behind.
She often had nightmares, screaming in the dead of night. He would jump out of bed barefoot but never approached too closely, only calling her name softly from behind the curtain. When she woke, her breathing steadying, he would whistle a tune from their hometown until her soft snores returned, until dawn broke.
Days passed, and her belly grew larger with each one.
The neighbors assumed they were a loving couple. The two let them believe it, never correcting them. They went to the market together, and in the evenings, they strolled arm in arm through the woods.
Cao Xiaojun spent two months’ wages on baby supplies—formula, diapers, a crib. Wu Ximei frowned and told him not to waste money, but he just grinned, muttering about how cheap everything was.
He also picked up a few old cookbooks from a secondhand stall, experimenting with different soups to nourish her.
But since he couldn’t read much, he often had to guess from the pictures, resulting in questionable flavors. Wu Ximei never complained, though. She would take the bowl, sip it spoon by spoon, her face calm and content, smacking her lips in exaggerated praise.
Not long after, the child was born.
Reflecting on their own misfortunes, they pinned their hopes on the baby boy, naming him Tianbao—begging heaven for mercy, praying he would grow up safe and sound.
Cao Xiaojun leaned over the crib, his rough fingers teasing the soft infant.
"Ni Tianbao, smile for me—Ni Tianbao—""Who said anything about the surname Ni?" Wu Ximei picked up the child, gently bouncing him in her arms.
"That—" He blinked. "The surname Wu? Wu Tianbao doesn’t sound right—"
"Cao Tianbao," Wu Ximei said without looking at him, tilting her head to play with the baby in the swaddle. "We’ll call him Cao Tianbao, won’t we?"
The child giggled, his chubby little face scrunching up.
Cao Xiaojun froze for a moment, then chuckled along, his face flushing red, tears welling in his eyes.
As soon as Wu Ximei recovered from childbirth, the two registered their marriage.
Wu Ximei had finally gotten her wish—she’d found a man worth relying on, secured the stability of a husband and child, while Cao Xiaojun was no longer alone, now with a companion by his side.
After all the twists and turns, it seemed the two had forgotten the bloodstained past, sincerely settling into the ordinary life of a married couple.
But fate hadn’t forgotten. The lingering ghost of Ni Xiangdong hadn’t forgotten.
He always returned in midnight nightmares, his back turned, hovering above their bed, laughing sinisterly.
"One day, one day."
Every time Ni Xiangdong appeared in their dreams, he was turned away, cackling, yet somehow inching closer day by day.
"One day, one day."
Cao Xiaojun jolted awake from the nightmare to find Wu Ximei beside him, her eyes wide open too.
"Bad dream?"
"Yeah."
"Flip your pillow over and go back to sleep."
"Yeah."
They turned away from each other, backs pressed together, yet thinking the same thing.
What day, exactly, was the "one day" he kept talking about?
When Tianbao turned three, the couple took him out to the square one day and spotted a man in the distance, smiling as he approached.
Their hearts sank—they hadn’t expected to run into an old acquaintance from their past life here.
"Eh? You two ended up together?" The man clapped Cao Xiaojun familiarly on the shoulder and winked at Wu Ximei.
"Mhm," Cao Xiaojun muttered vaguely.
The man took Tianbao’s little hand, sizing him up with a teasing grin.
"What’s the kid’s name?"
"Cao Tianbao."
"Oh?" The man’s lips curled, as if savoring the name. "Cao Tianbao, I’m your Uncle Li—your parents and I go way back."
He turned to Wu Ximei.
"What about Dongzi? Still with you guys?"
"Don’t know," Wu Ximei glanced at Cao Xiaojun. "We split up not long after leaving Ding’an. Haven’t seen him since."
"Strange," the man mused. "The boys back home say they can’t reach Dongzi. I figured you two would know for sure."
A casual remark, but to them, it sounded like a threat.
"Anyway, where are you living now?" The man abruptly changed the subject. "We should catch up sometime, yeah?"
Wu Ximei smiled and gave a fake address before they hurried off with the child.
The next day, they packed their things, paid the landlord an extra half-month’s rent, and slipped away unnoticed.
The family of three continued northward, moving every time they encountered someone familiar.
They crossed the Huai River, the scenery outside the train window growing increasingly foreign.
Yet the more unfamiliar it became, the more settled they felt, as if Ni Xiangdong’s curse had been left behind in the distant south.
They finally settled in Qingdao, too afraid to move again—Tianbao’s health couldn’t take it.
The boy’s early years were spent in constant upheaval—no familiar playmates, no lasting memories. The rumble of trains was his best lullaby.
By the time he turned six, he was often burning with fever, curled against Wu Ximei’s shoulder, slipping in and out of sleep day after day.At first, they thought it was just exhaustion or a common cold—children have weak constitutions, and a scare could easily make them fall ill.
But gradually, they realized something was wrong. He wouldn’t eat or drink, only sleeping day and night.
Cao Xiaojun rushed him to the hospital, spending large sums of money. A full medical examination revealed nothing. Later, an expert suggested it might be a rare disease—manageable, but requiring expensive treatment.
That day, watching Wu Ximei crouched in the hospital corridor wiping away tears, he suddenly thought of his dead sister.
If she had lived, she would have been married by now.
Their mother died in childbirth, leaving only a baby girl. But their father’s new wife couldn’t stand them. When their father wasn’t home, she would withhold food, beating and scolding them. He was slow with words, unable to complain, and even if he did, his father wouldn’t believe him.
Later, his sister fell ill and died. He knew—it was because that woman hid it from their father, refusing to call a doctor.
He beat up the woman’s son, and his father threw him out of the house. It was his grandfather who took him in.
Later, his grandfather also died of illness.
Before he could even understand death as a child, he only knew one thing: he had no home left, no family left to lose.
Now, Wu Ximei and Cao Tianbao were the family he had chosen for himself.
At 31, Cao Xiaojun’s hair turned white overnight.
He smoked one cigarette after another, gritting his teeth to steel himself.
He was no longer that helpless child. Now, he had strength, courage, and determination. He would shield his loved ones from fate’s blows, protecting them fiercely.
Stubbing out his cigarette, he swore silently: this hard-won family—he, Cao Xiaojun, would keep them by his side even if it cost him his life.
If the heavens wanted to take someone, they could take him first.
He worked three or four jobs, surviving on steamed buns and plain water, stretching every penny.
Fortunately, Tianbao gradually stabilized. He could walk, go outside, and even started elementary school. Though he had to repeat a grade, he finally made friends his own age instead of staring blankly at IV drips in the hospital every day.
The grueling labor at the construction site left Cao Xiaojun too exhausted to dream. He forgot about the dead Ni Xiangdong, focusing only on the living Cao Tianbao.
One day, as he was hauling bricks, he heard a faint call behind him.
“Ni Xiangdong.”
He froze, standing up to look around, but his coworkers were all busy, the noise of the site filling the air.
He laughed at himself—broad daylight, was he seeing ghosts?
Just as he bent down again, the voice came once more, clearer this time.
“Ni Xiangdong, over here.”
This time, there was a response.
“Coming.”
He stood dumbfounded, watching the foreman lead the man toward him. Backlit by the sun, the figure was indistinct in the distance.
Yet the same lanky frame, the same slightly hunched back, the same splayed gait.
Under the scorching sun, sweat broke out on Cao Xiaojun’s skin, and the nightmarish laughter echoed in his ears.
One day.
One day.
The man drew closer, passing by him as if by accident, casting him a sidelong glance.
Twisted, gnarled scars, a crooked brow and eye—below them, the familiar gaunt face, the thin, cruel lips.
A chill ran through Cao Xiaojun’s body, goosebumps rising as his head buzzed.
One day.
One day.
The foreman was saying something as they walked, and the man responded, but he stole a glance back—locking eyes with Cao Xiaojun, smiling.
Cao Xiaojun understood. That day had finally come.
He was back.
Ni Xiangdong had returned from hell to the world of the living.
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