Before that, he had contemplated killing him three times.
The first time was when they exchanged names.
The two squatted by the base of a wall, smoking. Cao Xiaojun tentatively offered his name first, only to find the man was also called Ni Xiangdong.
Xiaojun stomped his numb feet and stood up, hands on his knees, scanning the area with cold eyes. The spot was shaded, windless, and the noise from ongoing construction nearby would drown out any commotion.
Not far diagonally across, there was a deep foundation pit waiting to be filled with concrete.
The timing and location were perfect—all that was needed was action.
Xiaojun flexed his wrists and stepped closer. The man, oblivious, was still crouched, rubbing mud off his pants, unaware that Xiaojun had quietly circled behind him.
Just as he raised his hand, Wang Cheng suddenly appeared around the corner with a flashy woman, and the four of them came face to face.
"Slacking off, huh? Careful, I’ll tell my uncle," Wang Cheng blustered, playing the accuser first.
"Get back to work. Go on. And don’t blab if you see my uncle."
Unwilling to complicate things, Xiaojun let himself be shoved a couple of times before trudging away silently. He told himself there’d be plenty of chances later—he could always figure things out before making his move.
That night, he took this Ni Xiangdong out for drinks.
He kept pouring, studying him between gulps. He knew Dongzi well, and this man bore some resemblance—but not enough. He couldn’t be sure. After all, over a decade had passed, and the face was badly scarred.
Questions piled up in his throat: Was the name real? Where was he from? What happened to his face? But he bit them back, afraid of tipping his hand. He waited for the other man to speak first.
But Dongzi—if that’s who he was—asked nothing, as if utterly uninterested in Xiaojun. He just drank, one cup after another, his face soon flushed.
He wasn’t him, Xiaojun told himself. A person’s core nature didn’t change. Dongzi was talkative when drunk, but this man stayed silent. Maybe the shared name was just a coincidence.
Relieved by the thought, he drained the last of his bottle.
"More?"
"No."
He nodded, stood, and walked out. The man followed, trailing behind him.
Dongzi would never walk behind anyone—he always had to lead.
This man wasn’t Dongzi. Confirmed again.
Yet there was something of Dongzi in him, an echo of the past that tugged at Xiaojun’s memories—of brotherhood, of long-lost codes of honor. If he’d met this Ni Xiangdong back then, would things have turned out differently?
Under the flickering streetlights, pale then dim, the two walked in silence, their faces indistinct.
Warm from the alcohol, Xiaojun welcomed the cold wind slipping down his collar. He hummed softly, a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in over a decade. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was something else.
The second time was when he saw the man’s ID.
Strange. If he wasn’t Dongzi, why was he carrying Dongzi’s ID?
Ironically, Xiaojun discovered the fake identity because of the man’s kindness.
That night, after hearing about Cao Tianbao’s prolonged illness, the man climbed out of bed and slipped a wad of cash under Xiaojun’s pillow. And that was how Xiaojun learned where he kept his money.The next day, while he was away, Cao Xiaojun sneaked back, intending to return half the money. But as he flipped open the wallet, the worn hard card slipped out first.
Xiaojun picked it up and froze after a quick glance.
On the ID card, the real Ni Xiangdong was staring at him from beyond life and death.
That was the real Dongzi—the Dongzi who had fought alongside him, the Dongzi he had killed with a single stab, the Dongzi who should have been rotting alone in the wilderness mud.
There was no mistake. This ID belonged to his former comrade Ni Xiangdong. His birthday, his expression—how could Cao Xiaojun ever forget? Even this photo—yes, they had gone together to take it. He remembered that day, taking turns wearing the same collared shirt...
Why would this ID appear in Qingdao, thousands of miles away? Why was it in his own bunk?
Who was the man sleeping above him every night?
If he wasn't Ni Xiangdong, who was he? Why hide his identity? What was his purpose in getting close?
Footsteps sounded outside. Cao Xiaojun hastily stuffed the wallet back, jumped down from the bunk, and hurried out.
On his way back, he thought hard. That nameless man might be a good person, but for Ximei and Tianbao's sake, he couldn't leave any loose ends.
The fake Dongzi was waiting for him on the scaffolding.
Several stories high, crouched precariously mid-air, he wobbled while tying steel bars.
At this moment, no one else was in sight.
His back turned, completely unsuspecting, focused on his task.
Cao Xiaojun approached. One push—just one—and all uncertainty would be settled.
No one would suspect. Everyone would call it an accident—such things happened often on construction sites. Hadn't Sun Xiaofei disappeared just as quietly?
If he died, if he fell—
Suddenly, the man turned his head, squinting in the sunlight. Recognizing Xiaojun, he smiled.
"There you are. The foreman was looking everywhere for you. I lied and said you went to piss."
He turned back to his work, muttering.
"Hey, I heard there's an old Chinese medicine doctor in the south of town who specializes in tough cases. Maybe take Tianbao there? Don't dismiss it—folk remedies can cure serious illnesses. What if it works? Wouldn't that be lucky—"
When Xiaojun didn't respond, he kept rambling.
"Don't worry about money. I've got some. No family to care for—you can pay me back later. The kid's health comes first."
He turned again, only to see Cao Xiaojun's hand hovering mid-air.
"What?"
"Nothing," Xiaojun forced a smile, patting his back twice. "Your clothes were dirty. Just fixing it."
"Ha, only you'd care about that—" He smiled bitterly, rubbing rust off his hands. "Years since anyone treated me like a person, let alone worried about my clothes... Ah, never mind the gloom. Back to work."
Completely trusting, he turned his back again, stepping to the scaffold's edge to reach higher bars.
Cao Xiaojun stood gripping the rails, watching his peeling Liberation shoes and frayed collar—but couldn't bring himself to act.
Damn it. Whoever he was, just another down-and-out wretch. Everyone had secrets they couldn't share.Let it be Dongzi's spirit returned, let it be the heavens opening their eyes once more, allowing them to renew their brotherly bond.
From that day on, Cao Xiaojun treated him as the real Dongzi. The guilt he had carried for years finally found its place, and he poured his heart out to him as if atoning for his sins. In return, Dongzi reciprocated with equal loyalty.
For the next two or three years, Cao Xiaojun seemed to step into an inverted reflection of his past world, experiencing genuine happiness. Everything was reversed—in this world, he was the fortunate one. He had Ximei, Tianbao, and a brother named Dongzi. In this world, the man who wasn’t Dongzi became his younger brother.
Cao Xiaojun still didn’t know his real name, but he knew they were brothers now, just like he and the original Ni Xiangdong had been.
The third time the thought of killing arose was that very night.
Dongzi, drunk, accidentally revealed a deeply buried secret. It turned out the three of them had crossed paths on that moonlit night long ago. The ropes of fate had already been knotted tightly over a decade earlier—this was a trap, and none of them could escape.
Who would have thought he had held back for so long, hidden it so well?
What did these half-veiled words mean today?
A warning? A test? A hint? Or just drunken carelessness?
Should he trust him? Threaten him? Or lay all the cards on the table?
Cao Xiaojun drank, his mind in turmoil. Wu Ximei kept glancing at him, but he pretended not to notice.
After seeing Dongzi off, the couple sat facing each other, silent for a long while before speaking.
"Xiaojun, what if he—"
"No, he’s not that kind of person."
Though his heart pounded, Cao Xiaojun stood firm, defending Dongzi.
"You know? You don’t even know who he is," Wu Ximei scoffed. "Right now, he’s in the shadows, and we’re exposed. He’s got leverage over us."
"He might not have seen anything clearly—"
"Want to bet? Bet what? Our lives? Tianbao’s life?" Wu Ximei sighed. "If you ask me, we should move again."
She glanced at Tianbao, sound asleep. The poor child’s condition had just stabilized, and he was slowly catching up in school. They had adapted to Qingdao’s climate, saved a little money—but moving would mean starting all over again.
"Moving endlessly isn’t a solution. If he found us here, he’ll follow us wherever we go," Cao Xiaojun rubbed his eyes. "We can’t hide forever. Even if we could, Tianbao can’t spend his whole life in the shadows, never living as a normal person."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"I—"
The thought flashed through his mind, and Cao Xiaojun shuddered.
He knew—that was the answer. He and Ximei had arrived at the same conclusion.
He knew it was the only way, but he refused to yield so easily, clinging to each passing second.
"You sleep first. I’ll think it over."
Think what? There was only one way. He knew, but he wouldn’t admit it.
Wu Ximei drifted into a hazy sleep. Cao Xiaojun leaned against the headboard, watching her peaceful face.
As long as that man lived, danger remained—an axe hanging over their heads, ready to fall. The family they had painstakingly built could vanish overnight.He was personally willing to trust him, but such trust had its limits. Though they were brothers now, who could guarantee the future? What if they turned against each other? What if Ni Xiangdong's corpse was exhumed one day and the police came interrogating? To save himself, that man might very well spill everything.
Moreover, he had no idea where Ni Xiangdong's body was now. Perhaps it had already been discovered. Perhaps the police were already investigating. Perhaps the fellow villagers they'd once encountered had been summoned for questioning too. Perhaps the local police were already on their way to arrest them.
At this thought, his mind instantly became a mess. Those beautiful, peaceful days were nothing but a fleeting dream, frost patterns on a windowpane—unable to withstand scrutiny, vanishing in the light of day.
Cao Xiaojun squatted in the toilet, smoking one cigarette after another.
He had to make a choice, just like back then—Dongzi or Ximei, brotherhood or family.
He rubbed his face, sighing incessantly, then buried his head in his arms and sobbed.
Dongzi, I know I owe you my life, but I can't bear to lose everything I have now. Ximei and I have suffered so much, barely making it to this point. Tianbao is still young—at least let us protect him until he grows up...
Dongzi, I'm sorry.
Dongzi, die one more time for me.
Having made up his mind, Cao Xiaojun stopped crying. He washed the tears from his face, let the dawn wind cool him, and his mind sharpened once more.
He had to handle this rationally. He had to act swiftly. He needed a plan more meticulous than the last, one that could deceive the police. Then he'd secure another sum of money, and the family could disappear under new identities elsewhere, living in peace once and for all.
As dawn broke, Wu Ximei opened her eyes to find Cao Xiaojun still sitting by the bed.
"You didn't sleep all night?"
The ashtray was filled with cigarette butts. Cao Xiaojun didn't answer, only stared down at his hands.
"Let's do it again."
"What?"
"Ni Xiangdong. Since he's back, let's kill him again."
"Xiaojun, do you hear what you're saying?"
"Only when he's dead can we breathe easy."
He looked up at her, his bloodshot eyes bitter with a strained smile.
"Otherwise, what do you suggest? We both know—only the dead keep secrets."
Wu Ximei's face was cold, her lips trembling, but she couldn't refute him.
"Ximei, listen. I've thought it through all night. If this plan succeeds—"
"Fine," she suddenly cut in, her voice hoarse. "You don't need to convince me. I know you—you'd never harm me."
She gave him a pained smile.
"I'll follow your lead. Tell me, what do you need me to do?"
Cao Xiaojun grasped her hand—both equally cold.
"First step: I have to die."
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