That night, the first snow fell upon Qingdao.
Fine snowflakes dusted the red rooftops, settled on the emerald pines, and sprinkled a layer of sugar-like frost over the winding, rugged Boluoyouzi lanes.
In an unnoticed corner of Floating Peak Mountain, a gaunt calico cat whimpered as it prowled, sniffing and digging around before darting out of sight behind an abandoned shack.
While others gathered in celebration, the joy of the New Year had forgotten the old street of Anheli.
For this old street, the rising sun was not a rebirth—just another dawn of toil and survival.
The squat earthen buildings stood silent now, their weary residents briefly freed from the drudgery of cabbages and potatoes, squid and daylilies, dough and fillings, Fried dough stick pies and the like, finding fleeting peace in deep slumber.
But Wu Ximei in Unit 601 couldn’t sleep.
She had cried too much during the day—her eyelids swollen, her eyes sore and painfully strained.
Yet the moment she closed them, the image of Cao Xiaojun lying in a pool of blood flashed before her.
After jolting awake several times, she no longer dared to sleep. Instead, she stared blankly at the ceiling, enduring the throbbing ache in her temples.
The hot water bottle at her feet had long gone cold, and the quilt weighed on her chest like an iron slab.
Wu Ximei turned over, the bed creaking beneath her. Instantly, she froze, ears pricked.
From the other side of the curtain came her son’s breathing—nasal, heavy, slow. Only then did she ease back down, stiff and deliberate.
The alarm clock on the nightstand ticked away. 4:02 a.m. She’d have to endure several more hours before dawn.
Lying on her side with her right hand tucked beneath her ear, she watched the orange streetlights cast hazy rings onto the curtains.
Where was he now? Had he eaten a warm meal? It was snowing—was he dressed warmly enough?
Suddenly, she bolted upright, soundless and swift, her wide eyes locking onto the hallway.
Click.
The faint noise was barely audible even in the dead of night.
But she knew she hadn’t misheard. Someone was fiddling with the lock.
The spare key was still under the doormat—she hadn’t had the chance to retrieve it since Xiaojun’s accident.
The thought sent her scrambling out of bed in nothing but her undergarments. In two or three strides, she reached the door, locked it, and pressed her thin frame against the wood. Only then did she realize her body was beyond control—her teeth chattering, her knees trembling uncontrollably.
Click, click. The twisting of the key continued.
After a few attempts, silence finally settled outside.
The motion-sensor light hadn’t turned on. Peering through the peephole, the cramped hallway was pitch black.
Then, seconds later, a knock echoed in the dark.
"Who is it?"
"Open up. It's me."
The voice she had been longing to hear.
Fumbling, she undid the lock and yanked the man inside. Her slender arms roamed over him, confirming he was unharmed before tightening around him in a desperate embrace. She sobbed quietly in the dark.
The man hunched slightly, his thin frame trembling as he gently smoothed her sleep-tousled bangs.
Both of them shook uncontrollably.
This familiar man now carried an unfamiliar scent—blood, earth, and pine. The icy air clinging to him snapped her back to reality. She pulled him into the bathroom and began wiping the blood from his face.
"Have you lost your mind? The police are hunting for you everywhere—how could you still come here?""There was a bit of an accident," the towel stung the wound on the man's left cheek. "Don't worry, I can handle it. It's just that we won't be able to meet for a while."
"Take your clothes off," Wu Ximei deftly peeled off the man's dirty clothes. "The weather's turned these past few days. You should wear thicker layers. It's not like back home—winters here are bitterly cold."
The man nodded, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag. After a long pause, he finally spoke hesitantly.
"You didn't say too much?"
"No, I followed your instructions exactly."
"The police believed you?"
Wu Ximei slowed the motion of rubbing the towel.
"I don't know. I didn't dare look at them."
The cramped bathroom fell into dead silence, steam fogging up the mirror.
Wu Ximei looked up but could no longer make out the man's face. She lowered her head again, staring at the rust on the faucet, the soap bubbles gradually disappearing in her hands, the water droplets slowly falling one by one, finally shattering in the red plastic basin.
"The police were too quick, faster than I expected," he stubbed out the cigarette on the sink and carefully pocketed the butt. "I almost didn't make it out tonight."
"Because the pipes downstairs were clogged, I was afraid I couldn't keep it hidden, so I went ahead and told them early."
Silence again.
Wu Ximei suddenly began to cry softly. "I'm so scared. The police are so clever—our plan might not work—"
"Shh, don't wake Tianbao."
"Do we have to do this?" She pulled away from his grasp. "Why do we have to sneak around? We're a couple. We could go somewhere else and live openly."
"We have to. You know we can't escape. If it's not him, it's you or me. At this point, one of us has to die."
"I keep having nightmares—afraid the police will catch you, afraid they'll see through my lies. I keep dreaming he's come back—"
"He won't come back. I made sure of that myself. I promise, he won't come back. Even if he comes for revenge, he'll come for me."
He held her in his arms, stroking her back until her sobs gradually subsided.
"Remember how we got through everything step by step? We've endured so much hardship already. It'll be okay. I promise it'll all be okay. Once this case blows over, we'll leave this place, go somewhere no one knows us, and live openly."
She pressed her head against his chest, her fingers digging tightly into the flesh of his back.
"Listen to me," he cupped her face. "If the police really catch me, pin everything on me."
"No!"
"Do it for Tianbao," his tears fell onto her face. "The child can't lose his mother."
"I—"
A knock suddenly sounded at the bathroom door.
Her eyes widened as she looked at the man, who pressed himself against the door and raised a finger to his lips.
The knocking grew louder.
"Mom, I need to pee."
Their son's voice came from outside.
"Wait a bit," Wu Ximei forced down her sobs. "I'm using it."
"I can't hold it. Hurry up, hurry up."
"Go to sleep. If you sleep, you won't need to go."
"Mom, are you crying?" Cao Tianbao rattled the door outside. "Are you hiding in there crying?"
"Go to sleep," she sniffed. "Don't worry about anything else."
After a pause, the knocking resumed, gentler this time.
"Mom, even though Dad's gone, you still have me."
His voice still carried childish innocence.
"I'll take my medicine properly from now on, won't hide it anymore. I promise I won't disappear like Dad did."She didn't dare raise her eyes to look at the man beside her, only feeling the world before her teetering along with her tears, shattering into powder as it hit the ground.
After Cao Tianbao had fallen back into deep sleep, he tiptoed away.
The eastern sky was a pale gray; in half an hour, dawn would break.
Carrying the money and food Wu Ximei had prepared, he hurried down the stairs. Just as he was about to turn out of the courtyard, a sudden screech of bicycle brakes sent him colliding headlong into someone.
Li Qingfu had lost all night at cards during his night shift and was already seething with frustration. He scrambled up from the ground and grabbed the other man by the collar, only to see the scar on his face through the snow and wind.
"Eh? You—"
Before he could finish, a dark figure flashed, and Li Qingfu lost his balance, the back of his head slamming hard against the ground.
The man flipped over, pinning him down, gripping his hair and smashing his head repeatedly against the thinly frozen stone path. Until the body beneath him stopped struggling. Until Li Qingfu would never have the chance to finish his sentence.
The dead don't tell secrets.
Panting heavily, he stood up, brushed the ice flakes from his knees, and disappeared into the dawn without looking back.
The snow continued to fall.
Flake by flake, layer upon layer, it settled on Li Qingfu's gradually stiffening body in the middle of the courtyard, on the steaming crimson blood pooling behind his head, on his unblinking eyelashes and pupils.
At the edges where blood met snow, a thin layer of ice slowly formed.
On the same snowy night, the starving stray cat of Floating Peak Mountain finally found a miracle beneath the persimmon tree.
It was a man, naked in the snowstorm, his twisted limbs curled inside a small wooden crate.
Snowflakes filled the hollows of his sunken head; his lifeless eyes, clouded with gray, stared blankly at the bare persimmon tree.
After circling twice, the calico cat pounced tentatively, biting. The man offered no resistance, accepting his impending fate with eerie calm.
Unable to restrain itself any longer, the cat lapped at the dried blood, its tiny fangs sinking into his eye sockets, greedily tearing, swallowing, emitting a low, satisfied purr.
The mountain wind howled, but the cat was no longer afraid. It knew it would survive this winter after all.
Yes, when one dies, another lives.
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