The Hunt

Tian Baozhen avoided the crowd and found a corner to lean against the wall.

She touched the e-cigarette in her pocket, glanced at the noisy children not far away, hesitated for a second or two, and finally let go.

She had worked through the night, and when she stood up this morning, her head was pounding, her eyes dry and strained. Yet, as promised, she still brought her daughter to the aquarium. At the moment, the summer camp instructor was pointing at the display window with her right hand, explaining something through a small microphone. The children huddled in a semicircle, their small, dark heads pressed against the glass, exclaiming in awe.

Tian Baozhen spotted her daughter in the crowd at a glance. Wearing a little yellow hat, the girl bounced excitedly, her shirt untucked from her skirt, puffed out like a duck’s tail. The child pressed her hands against the glass, wide-eyed, staring intently at the fish in the tank.

What’s so amazing? Didn’t you just eat that for dinner last night?

Baozhen smirked inwardly. The same fish, called "mackerel" in a dinner bowl, became "blue-spotted Spanish mackerel" in an aquarium. The same thing, just in a different place, could have a completely different value. Just like people—same species, yet artificially divided into hierarchies with all sorts of titles and labels.

She blinked, stifling a yawn. Thankfully, her eyeliner today was waterproof and wouldn’t smudge. Hiding her exhaustion was a habit she’d cultivated over the years. She pulled out her phone—hundreds of unread messages, but she couldn’t be bothered. She casually switched to another app, idly scrolling through trending news, trying to wake her brain up.

The feed was flooded with celebrity promotions and all kinds of emotional stories—half bragging, half lamenting.

She had long given up on love—a luxury rarer than gold, something you couldn’t count on, let alone expect to hold its value. Those who loved today might be strangers tomorrow. Only carefree, energetic young people could—or dared—to love unreservedly. "Pursuing life" was their privilege. At her age, "living" and "surviving" had to be understood separately. She was more practical now, focused solely on making money and praying others wouldn’t make her life harder.

May all lovers in the world end up together—while she just wanted to sit atop a mountain of gold, envying their pure, untarnished love.

Her wandering thoughts were interrupted when her eyes caught a headline, and her scrolling finger paused.

Living in Hiding for Over a Decade, a Dream Shattered in an Instant

Yesterday, in accordance with the execution order issued by the Supreme People's Court, the Intermediate People's Court of Qindao City, Shadong Province, carried out the execution of criminal Xu Qingli, with prosecutors present to supervise the proceedings. This marked the final resolution of the infamous "Wooden Box Corpse Dumping Case" that once shocked the city.

According to sources, the personal grudge between Cao Xiaojun and Xu Qingli was just the tip of the iceberg. Our reporters followed the trail, interviewed locals, and unraveled the murky details of the case, step by step uncovering the truth behind the bloodthirsty criminal’s descent into depravity…

Xu Qingli?

The name sounded vaguely familiar, as if she’d heard it somewhere before—

A long-buried memory began to hum, something on the verge of surfacing. Just as she was about to read further, someone tugged at her skirt. She looked down—it was her daughter."Mommy, I can't see," the little girl stood on tiptoe, pointing into the distance. "Hold me up, I want to see the big fish."

Baozhen looked up and realized the underwater performance had already begun. The lead actors, dressed in vibrant costumes, were weaving between colorful fish and coral. The steps in front of the stage were packed with spectators, while those behind stood watching. Many children perched on their fathers' shoulders, swaying back and forth as they craned their necks for a better view.

Tian Baozhen smiled, put away her phone, bent down to pick up her daughter, and strode toward the crowd.

Because of Bao Desheng's case, she had severed ties with everyone back home. Traveling north alone, she'd arrived at this coastal town called Qindao. Over a decade had passed in the blink of an eye—years of struggle, hardship, and suffering, but now she had finally put down roots.

Did she regret it? No. This was the path she'd chosen with clear eyes, knowing full well there were no perfect solutions in life. One must either endure the hardship of effort or the suffering of circumstance—a choice that must be made.

Finding a higher vantage point, she steadied herself and guided her daughter's attention to the massive aquarium. The girl was quickly captivated, clapping her hands and giggling incessantly. The child in her arms felt heavy and warm. As Baozhen gazed at her daughter's plump cheeks, her heart softened unexpectedly, as if she were seeing her own childhood self reflected back.

She had done it. Through her own efforts, she had secured a better starting point for her daughter's life.

At the very least, her daughter would be able to go to school, see the world, and freely choose her own path. When her daughter desired something in the future, she would know how to fight for it with her own abilities, rather than having no option but to submit to others. Her daughter would have the chance to be her own person. Through generations of struggle like this, the shackles around the necks of daughters would eventually break. Women were not the moon—they never needed to borrow light from anyone else. This was a truth her own mother had never understood, but she hoped her daughter would.

Baozhen tightened her arms around the child and turned her attention to the performance across from them.

Before them stood a massive floor-to-ceiling aquarium, reportedly the largest in Asia. As she watched the colorful schools of fish, her mind swayed unsteadily with them, bringing an unexpected urge to cry. It had been years since she last cried—she'd learned in the business world that emotions were meaningless. Tears had become mere props in her performances, and she'd forgotten how to shed them sincerely for someone.

The performance in the aquarium was "The Butterfly Lovers," now reaching its climax. The lead actors held hands as they ascended, symbolizing their transformation into butterflies flying together. Facing this azure dreamscape, a mist rose in Baozhen's eyes, as if she were seeing that blue moon from over a decade ago once more.

Once again, she saw the encircling mountains of her hometown, the ancient thatched huts, the distant coconut trees. She shed her years and became a teenage girl again—one who had once offered her heart to someone, who had once known fragile, reckless flutters of affection.

She remembered that night under the hazy moon, lifting her face to smile at the young man before her.

"Brother, would you dare to go to the county town with me?"

And how had her brother answered?

She couldn't recall clearly, as if separated by an eternal fog. She could no longer see that man's face, could barely remember his name—only a vague impression that his surname might have been Xu...

Enough. No use dwelling on it. One must always look forward.Tian Baozhen sniffed, holding back the tears in her eyes. She tossed her hair behind her and forced a bright smile to comfort herself.

What’s past is past.

Tong Hao crouched silently in front of the tombstone, slowly unpacking the offerings.

Cold noodles, liangpi, fried skewers, wontons.

When he pulled out a jianbing guozi, the tall young man beside him couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Uh, Tong-ge, most people bring roast chicken, fruit, or pastries. Why are you offering jianbing guozi at a grave?”

Tong Hao didn’t answer. He carefully unwrapped the plastic bag from the jianbing, laid it flat, then stood up and took a good look at the boy in front of him. Dark-skinned, lean, always grinning with big white teeth. Fresh out of the police academy, he claimed his lifelong dream was to join the criminal investigation team. Now assigned under Tong Hao, the captain had asked him to mentor the rookie.

“Right, what was your name again?”

“Meng Zhao. You can call me Xiao Meng.”

“Meng Chao?” Tong Hao froze. “Your name is Meng Chao?”

“Yeah, my dad’s surname is Meng, and ‘Zhao’ is like ‘justice will prevail’ Zhao,” the young man followed Tong Hao’s gaze to the tombstone and quickly coughed twice, clearing his throat. “Oh, not that ‘Chao.’ Sorry, my dad didn’t pick the best name—”

Tong Hao nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but inwardly relieved. It’s better this way—I wouldn’t want you ending up like him.

He crouched again, resting a hand on the tombstone, silent for a long moment before finally asking Xiao Meng in a low voice.

“Do you know why I brought you here?”

“Is this a relative of yours?”

Tong Hao suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Don’t talk nonsense. This was our criminal investigation team’s former captain. A truly brave man. During a pursuit, he sacrificed himself to protect civilians—” Even after all these years, the word still caught in his throat. “He died a hero. Come, pay your respects. Consider it a lesson in ethics from a senior.”

Meng Zhao clasped his hands together and knelt reverently, about to kowtow with a loud thud when Tong Hao quickly grabbed him.

“Hey! No need to kowtow. Just bow—”

“No, I have to!”

Meng Zhao broke free and banged his forehead against the stone slab.

“The captain died a hero. Without him charging ahead, we wouldn’t have the peace we have today. He deserves these bows. Captain Meng, rest in peace. We’ll take it from here. But don’t go too far—watch over us on duty. If we hit a dead end in a case, do us a favor and send us a dream—”

Listening to his nonsense, Tong Hao chuckled. The boy’s reckless enthusiasm reminded him of his younger self, of Meng Chao when he first graduated, of every generation of wide-eyed rookies charging into duty.

He wiped his eyes and smacked the back of Xiao Meng’s head.

“Alright, that’s enough. Solving cases takes brains, not big talk. Let’s see if you can handle a crime scene without puking first.”

With that, Tong Hao stood and walked ahead. The young man dusted off his knees and hurried after him.

“Tong-ge, back to the station?”

“Yeah, but first, come with me to the post office. I need to wire some money to an old friend.”

“Who?”

“An elderly person in Nanyang Province. You don’t know them, so don’t ask.”

“Huh? Why so secretive? Introduce me and I’ll know them! Is it a distant relative of yours—”The figures of the two gradually receded into the distance, their voices fading until they were no longer discernible. A breeze swept by, rustling the tree shadows that danced across the photograph on the tombstone—Meng Chao smiled, gazing into the distance.

At some point, half of the jianbing guozi offered at the graveside had disappeared, as if eaten by something, leaving only a row of fresh bite marks.

Perhaps it was a wild animal. Perhaps something else.

About Ni Xiangdong, About Us

At this moment, I’ve finally completed this story.

I feel like one of those old-fashioned birthday candles—the lotus-shaped ones that spring open when lit, spinning in circles and automatically playing a tune. As long as the batteries don’t die, or as long as no one cuts the wires, it will keep looping "Happy Birthday" endlessly. Maybe that’s me—as long as the story isn’t finished, I’ll keep writing until I’m utterly spent.

Many people have asked me who the real-life inspiration for Ni Xiangdong’s character is. Honestly, I don’t know. I made him up entirely. It was probably last autumn—I was idly scanning the stalls at the market when suddenly, this character appeared before me, projected onto a pile of green peppers. I wondered, who is this shady-looking man? And then, as I kept thinking about him, I started writing this story.

I never intended to impart any grand lessons—I don’t know how, nor am I qualified. I simply wanted to portray a life. When I wrote Xu Qingli’s part, I asked myself—could someone so wretched truly exist in this world? Then, a little over a month later, as if in answer to my question, I stumbled upon a documentary.

The man in the film was in his thirties, gaunt and frail, smiling humbly into the reporter’s camera the entire time.

He was an orphan, abandoned at birth by his parents. Later, his adoptive parents beat him—mercilessly. Unable to endure it, he ran away in his teens and wandered across the country. Without an ID, he could only take under-the-table jobs. Bosses fed him but never paid him a single cent. He said the most money he’d ever saved in his life was 200 yuan. Sometimes, he went five days without eating and could only crouch by the roadside, afraid to move—if he did, he’d pass out.

He said he usually survived by scavenging, but even among trash pickers, there were unwritten rules. If he accidentally trespassed into someone else’s territory, he’d get beaten. Once, a group of other homeless men fractured his skull. With no money for a hospital, he lay there, waiting to die. But after nearly a month, he survived. At his lowest point, he even encountered the owner of an illegal coal mine. It was a night of heavy snowfall when the man asked if he wanted to come work. He agreed. He knew it was a black-market operation, that he might be beaten to death there—but he had no choice. If he didn’t go, he’d freeze to death that very night.

At the end of the documentary, the reporter asked him, “Have you ever had any happy memories in your life?”

Timidly avoiding the camera, he smiled and said no.

The reporter pressed, “Think hard. Not even a little?”

He paused, thinking for a long time.

“No. Not a single moment of happiness in this life.”

He was still smiling as he said it.At that moment, I was suddenly struck by a realization—sometimes our lack of understanding stems from our own luck. Because fate hasn’t chosen to test us, we are not ordinary people, but survivors. Every day we live is a miracle, every day is a gift. The monotonous days we complain about might truly be the unreachable tomorrow in the eyes of Cao Xiaojun, Wu Ximei, and Xu Qingli, or the hard-won stability that Meng Chao and Lao Sun paid for with their lives.

If there’s one thing the story of A Life Hanging by a Thread must convey, it’s this: stay kind, both to others and to yourself. We all encounter painful conflicts in our own stories, but in truth, everyone is the same—equally fragile, equally resilient, equally capable of breaking down over small things, and equally moved by the kindness of others, feeling that life is worth living.

Sometimes the world can be absurd, but there’s always a way forward, always a solution.

Perhaps the core message of all my novels is the same—keep living, because as long as you live, good things will happen. Life is a vast wilderness, not a narrow track. So run wild, run free—you’re already here, so make the most of it before you go.