Xu Qingli stood facing the wind, while Cao Xiaojun knelt opposite him, hands braced against the ground, panting heavily.
Cao Tianbao lay between them, sprawled on his back, strands of wet hair plastered across his forehead.
"Tianbao, wake up—" Cao Xiaojun struggled to move, crawling toward the boy and gently patting his cheeks. "Tianbao, don’t be afraid. Open your eyes, look—your father’s here. Wake up, look at me—"
But Cao Tianbao’s lips were blue, his eyes shut tight against the biting sea wind, his breath gone.
"Cao Xiaojun, so you really aren’t dead."
Xu Qingli clicked his tongue and took a step forward.
"Funny, isn’t it? Just days ago, I was praying to the heavens, willing to trade anything to bring you back. And now here you are, standing right in front of me—yet I don’t feel the slightest bit of joy."
He took another step. Cao Xiaojun saw it now—the knife in his right hand.
"You owe me an explanation. How does a dead man come back to life?"
He twirled the blade idly, a motion Cao Xiaojun knew all too well—one that belonged to Ni Xiangdong.
"Your death turned me into a wanted man. To escape, I killed an innocent security guard. You pushed me step by step to the brink, made my hands dirty, left me no way back. So how the hell are you alive now?"
He advanced relentlessly. Cao Xiaojun swayed as he stood, shielding Cao Tianbao behind him.
The wound on his thigh had reopened, blood seeping out in thick rivulets.
But he couldn’t show weakness in front of this man—not an ounce. Like encountering a starving wolf in the wild, the scent of blood would only ignite its savagery. Showing vulnerability wouldn’t earn mercy—it would hasten death.
He steadied his breath, hands braced on his knees as he forced himself upright, jaw clenched, eyes locked onto the man before him.
"Cao Xiaojun, goddammit, tell me—why?"
Cao Xiaojun didn’t answer. Instead, he posed another question.
"Who are you?"
"Me?" Xu Qingli smirked, a cold laugh escaping him. "I’m your brother—Dongzi—"
Before the words fully left his mouth, Cao Xiaojun exploded into motion, lunging forward in a flash.
Xu Qingli, startled, didn’t retreat in time. Cao Xiaojun closed the distance in an instant, swinging his right arm with brutal force—a crushing blow to Xu’s abdomen. A dull ache flared, then sharp, tearing pain radiated outward.
Xu Qingli felt his body freeze. He looked down.
A knife was buried in his stomach.
"Xiaojun?"
When he lifted his head again, he was met with a face twisted in fury.
"Why are you pretending to be Ni Xiangdong?" The blade twisted inside him. "Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?"
Rage, hatred, undisguised disgust.
Xu Qingli had seen that expression countless times before.
In his thirty-odd years of life, he’d endured too much of this scorn, this malice.
Before people even knew him, the moment they saw the ruined half of his face, their revulsion began.
Mockery, ridicule, curses—even senseless beatings. He’d weathered it all, believed himself immune—until now, seeing the look in Cao Xiaojun’s eyes.
For a fleeting moment, he felt dazed, as if the contorted face before him was utterly unfamiliar.
Cao, weakened by his injuries and exhausted from the ordeal at sea, hadn’t driven the knife deep—only flesh wounds. When he raised his arm for a second strike, Xu Qingli snapped back to awareness, shoving him away and staggering aside.
Cao Xiaojun missed his target, crashing to the ground, unable to rise for a long moment.Xu Qingli watched his disheveled state, watched his trembling arms struggle to push himself up from the slippery, damp ground.
"I won't tell."
He walked over, yanking Cao Xiaojun's hair backward.
"If you had asked me then, you would have known my answer. What happened that night would have stayed buried in my gut, never to be told to anyone—"
He drove the knife into Cao Xiaojun's lower back.
"But now it's too late. We've come this far, and there's no turning back."
Another stab.
Cao Xiaojun roared in fury, swinging his blade backward. The edge sliced across Xu Qingli's right cheek, tearing flesh in an instant.
Xu Qingli clutched his face as he rolled away, the knife clattering to the side. Seizing the moment, Cao Xiaojun flipped over, pinning him down, gripping the knife with both hands and driving it downward with all his might.
Xu raised his right arm to block, but Cao, arms trembling, pressed on relentlessly. The two locked in a silent, teeth-gritting struggle.
The knife's tip hovered just above Xu Qingli's eye, inching closer.
With a burst of strength, Xu Qingli punched Cao Xiaojun hard in the stomach. Cao grunted in pain, his grip faltering for a split second before he forced the blade down again. The knife plunged—Xu Qingli jerked his head aside just in time, the blade grazing his cheekbone before embedding itself with a metallic clang into the concrete dock beside his right ear.
Cao Xiaojun raised the knife again, but Xu Qingli, now frenzied, dug his fingers into the wound on Cao's thigh. Cao screamed, losing balance as he collapsed. Xu Qingli snatched up the knife and bolted into the distance, with Cao Xiaojun limping after him in pursuit.
They circled the abandoned iron ship like predators.
Cao Xiaojun leaned against the hull, peering left and right through the thick fog.
No figures in sight. No footsteps to be heard—only the ceaseless wail of the sea wind howling through the island, like the mournful cries of a woman.
Something wet landed on his face. He wiped it—blood, thick and metallic.
Cao Xiaojun looked up just in time to see "Dongzi's" bloodstained grin.
"Dongzi" had been hiding on the deck above, leaning over the railing to smirk down at him—his right cheek split open in a gash that stretched like a grotesque, mocking grin to his ear.
Before Cao could react, "Dongzi" vaulted over the railing, leaping down and crashing onto him. Cao Xiaojun's skull slammed against the ground, dizziness flooding his senses as panic overtook him.
By the time his vision cleared, "Dongzi's" knife was already pressed against his artery, the cold steel poised to slit open his flesh and release the scalding rush of blood.
Suddenly, he felt tired.
A weariness unlike anything he'd ever known washed over him.
His whole life had been running, fighting, toiling—always on guard, even sleeping with a knife under his pillow, one eye half-open. But now, he was truly exhausted.
No more running. No more fighting. No more scheming. He just wanted to sleep—a deep, dreamless slumber, where eternal peace awaited.
Cao Xiaojun stopped struggling, surrendering to fate.
He closed his eyes, listening to the cries in the wind, and suddenly thought of Wu Ximei.
If she knew he'd die here, would she weep like this too?
Ximei, I'm sorry.
A tear slid down his cheek.
I promised you, but in the end, I failed.
Xu Qingli watched Cao Xiaojun sprawled on the ground.
Blood seeped from countless wounds, spreading beneath him like a pair of crimson wings.
Wings that would soon carry him away from this turbulent, unforgiving world.Xu Qingli tightened his grip on the knife, pressing it against the other man's neck with the blade resting horizontally over the artery. He gritted his teeth, yet still couldn't bring himself to strike.
Suddenly, memories of the past flooded his mind.
He remembered how Cao Xiaojun, despite being allergic to alcohol, couldn't resist drinking. Every time at the small diner, he'd drink until his face turned crimson, and Xu would have to support him all the way back to the construction site.
He recalled how, when the foreman wasn't looking, the two of them would chat while tying rebar. Sometimes Cao would sneak snacks into his pocket like a child—sometimes a piece of candy, sometimes a packet of peanuts. Nothing fancy, just whatever Cao happened to have, always sharing half with him.
He thought of Wu Ximei buying them matching shirts at the night market, printed with some English words none of them understood. They just thought wearing them looked stylish. Until one day, that little bastard Wang Cheng came over with malicious glee to tell them the shirts bore curse words. The usually quiet Cao Xiaojun flushed red and retorted, "We know. Wearing them just to piss you off—meant for you." Xu Qingli had squatted nearby laughing so hard he choked on his rice.
Fragmented memories surfaced—the candlelight on his birthday, the wish he'd made in that flickering glow.
This family had once been the only lifeline he could grasp in the depths of despair. Yet instead of saving him from suffering, he'd dragged them all into an abyss of ruin.
The boundless hopes they'd once placed in each other had now deteriorated into endless, bone-deep torment.
Whether he survived or they did, the living would forever lose an essential part of their souls.
This was a duel with no winners from the very beginning.
From trust to suspicion, from forgiveness to slaughter—in this cage fight, only the most vicious could survive. The soft, human parts of their hearts would inevitably die with the other's demise.
This was the price of survival: the extinction of kindness, an offering to the dead.
Xu Qingli stood frozen with the knife, surrounded by endless weeping.
The old world had crumbled, the new order not yet established. Overnight, he'd lost both past and future, trapped in the wreckage of reality, utterly lost.
He didn't know who he truly was—Ni Xiangdong or Xu Qingli?
Sounds beyond the wind grew closer, pulling him back to the present.
Red and blue lights reflected in the distant sky, flashing briefly through the trees. Xu Qingli stared blankly before realizing—police lights.
Why would police come here?
Panic flashed briefly before calm returned. No matter—the police's unexpected arrival could become part of his plan, saving him the effort of turning himself in.
Xu turned, surveying the devastation, knowing time was short.
This play still had its most crucial scene left.
He looked down at Cao Xiaojun lying in a pool of blood, weakly gasping as he stared back.
"That night's events—I'll never tell anyone. Do you know why?"
He bent down to whisper in Cao's ear.
"Because—"
He revealed the secret known only to him and Ni Xiangdong.
Satisfaction filled him as he watched Cao's eyes widen in disbelief.
He knew—this man's decade-long convictions were now shattering piece by piece.Not far away, police lights flashed and sirens wailed, growing closer by the second.
"Time to say goodbye—"
"Please... spare Tianbao..."
He smiled without answering, tightening his grip. Cao Xiaojun coughed violently, flecks of blood spraying from his lips.
"Who... are you... really?"
"Shh—"
He covered his mouth and slit his throat without hesitation. Blood splashed across his face, the only warmth in the cold night.
"I am Ni Xiangdong, and also Xu Qingli."
He stood up, staggering slightly, staring at his hands in a daze.
"At this point... does it even matter anymore?"
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