Chapter 236 - 107: A Slow Tune (Middle)

Chapter 236: Chapter 107: A Slow Tune (Middle)

"Come again, handsome," the owner called out, his eyes still glued to the show he was binge-watching.

But to Zhang Shutong, the words just sounded like a taunt. Dejected, he got on his motorcycle. Some opportunities are like that—once you pass them by, they’re gone for good. To put it more elegantly: you don’t cherish the things you think are always within reach until you miss your chance, and then all that’s left is regret.

He turned the key, started the engine, and prepared to finish his business before heading home to a simple dinner of steamed buns. After weaving through a few streets, he turned into a narrow alley, where a dark figure suddenly appeared, giving him a fright.

’To be precise, it wasn’t just a dark figure, but the silhouette of a person and... a pushcart?’

A chubby woman pushing a food cart froze, shielding her face from the stark white glare of his headlight.

"Young man, could you please turn off the light?"

Zhang Shutong switched off his headlight and recognized her as the woman who sold steamed buns by the school gate. It was a genuine surprise. He asked the woman, "Why are you out here in this weather, Auntie? There’s no one around. I couldn’t even find a place open for dinner."

The woman’s eyes lit up when she heard this.

"You haven’t eaten? Perfect! I’ve got one steamer basket of buns left. They’re still in the steamer, nice and hot. Young man, why don’t you just take them all?"

After a moment’s hesitation, Zhang Shutong nodded. He watched as the woman skillfully packed them up.

To be honest, the buns weren’t that good. Pork fat and duck egg yolk—a strange, sweet-and-salty combination that could have easily made his list of foods to never eat again. At that moment, however, they were an excellent source of calories.

Besides, he needed to sort out dinner anyway. Zhang Shutong felt a strange connection to these buns; he seemed fated to eat them during every rewind.

The auntie spoke up again. "On second thought, don’t take them to go. In this weather, even hot food gets cold the second the wind hits it. Just eat here. I’m in no rush to close up."

Zhang Shutong got off his motorcycle. The woman handed him a bun, and he blew on it gently, not taking a bite immediately.

"Actually, there were some customers this afternoon," the auntie finally answered his earlier question. "Not many, mind you. I only sold five baskets. This last one, I was planning to save for my breakfast tomorrow."

"You’re not taking a day off to rest at home?"

"Hah, rest for what? My husband and son aren’t usually on the island, so what would I do cooped up at home by myself? I just see it as a chance to get some fresh air. Besides, that’s just how people are. Once you get used to being busy, it becomes a habit. Taking a day off feels strange, like something’s missing."

Zhang Shutong thought about it and felt she had a point.

’He was getting used to it, too.’

’Maybe this habit isn’t just about finding the killer.’ But before he could dwell on it, the bun had cooled enough to eat. He carefully bit through the outer layer and tasted the conflicting flavors of the filling again, an involuntary frown creasing his brow.

He quickly finished the first bun and took another. It was still piping hot. The bun was in a plastic bag, and he recalled a trick he’d seen somewhere about holding the two ends of the bag to squeeze the bun up to your mouth. Zhang Shutong figured it out without being taught, and sure enough, it saved his hand from the heat. With his hands free, he glanced at the night sky, only to suddenly realize that the girl who had once eaten buns with him was no longer by his side.

In the end, Zhang Shutong only ate three buns. He had the remaining three packed to go, planning to have them for breakfast tomorrow.

The auntie seemed content, probably feeling that she hadn’t wasted her breath chatting with the young man. She slowly pushed her cart home. Zhang Shutong got back on his motorcycle and soon left the city limits.

Another twenty minutes of riding brought him to the start of the restricted zone. He began his search from there, where he could still see traces of the fight from that afternoon. The killer’s identity remained a mystery; perhaps the answer would finally be revealed tomorrow night.

The moonlight was bleak, its pallor unsettling. The reeds swayed gently in the wind.

He ran to the shore again. As he’d expected, the figure was gone; they couldn’t have stayed there forever. Zhang Shutong finally had a moment to process everything. ’The fake Lu Qinglian came here, and so did the suspected murderer. But what in the world is so special about this place?’

’What is it?’

’Just a nearly frozen sheet of water.’

He glanced at it from a distance and continued along the small road, looking for a camera.

Finally, he made it all the way to the vicinity of Ring Mountain Road.

’The camera is actually not far from here.’

He breathed a sigh of relief, looked around, and committed the location to memory.

It was already close to seven o’clock. He had finally completed his last task.

’All that’s left is to go home and sleep.’

’But then a stubborn thought took root. Since I’m already near Ring Mountain Road, it’s only a few more minutes to the entrance. And from the entrance, it’s just a short ride to the villa gates.’

In the end, Zhang Shutong twisted the throttle, and the engine roared as he headed for Ring Mountain Road.

However, the snow on the road was still thick. Just because a car could manage the slope didn’t mean a motorcycle could. Zhang Shutong sighed and dismounted. ’I really brought this on myself,’ he thought.

He blew warm air into his hands and started trudging up the mountain road, shivering. They say your nose starts to run on its own when you get really cold. He wiped his and found it was, in fact, a little wet.

Zhang Shutong trudged up the path, his feet sinking unevenly into the snow. The road was even more treacherous at night. In the distance, he spotted the beam of a flashlight. ’Probably a patrolling bodyguard,’ he thought. ’It would be bad to get spotted and mistaken for an intruder.’

So he kept his own flashlight off, following the footprints he’d left that afternoon to avoid detection. When he finally reached the halfway point, he stopped, panting, with his hands on his knees. From there, he could see the distant, welcoming lights of the villa.

Zhang Shutong hesitated for a moment, then turned and began the difficult trek back down.

’He really should have turned back the moment he saw that flashlight.’

He suddenly let out a breath, and some weight in his heart lifted.

’On the silent ride home, Zhang Shutong found himself thinking about Song’s analogy. It was crude, but perhaps he was right. Maybe I really am like a stray dog, running wild in the freezing cold with its tongue hanging out. The tongue part is just a metaphor, of course—I’m not that pathetic. Still, anyone out this late, not going home, is definitely a little wild.’

’Then another quote he’d seen somewhere came to mind. Was it from an anime? He couldn’t remember. The gist was something like: "Stray dogs don’t need graves. They just run until they rot."’

’That quote was pretty edgy, too.’

’But in reality, you can’t just keep running forever.’

...

"Mianmian, it’s time to go," the man said softly, patting the young woman’s shoulder. "We’ll come see your mother again next time."

Gu Qiuyan didn’t say a word. Flanked by two bodyguards, she left the cemetery with her father.

Someone opened the car door for her, holding a hand protectively over her head as she ducked inside. She settled into the back of the Audi, and the heated seats instantly chased the biting cold from her body.

Gu Qiuyan glanced at her phone instinctively, then turned the screen off again.

The Audi drove smoothly along the snow-covered road.

The man’s gentle voice filled the car:

"I brought a private chef back from the city, along with groceries for the next few days. We’ll head home now, and we can eat as soon as we arrive. I know you don’t like a lot of people around, so I had Wu make a meal for the staff already. It will just be the three of us for dinner."

Gu Qiuyan nodded lightly.

"There haven’t been any problems at the villa, either. You said you hated seeing your friend so tired and constantly on edge, and you told me to bring back more bodyguards so she could finally relax. I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I brought four, but you still weren’t satisfied and insisted we add even more people, saying we had to treat this seriously. Now we even have the police there. You should be able to rest easy now, shouldn’t you?"

As he spoke, the man gave a reassuring smile. He cleaned his glasses and gazed out the window at the night blurring past, but where his daughter couldn’t see him, his brow furrowed in thought.

The man’s fingers tapped lightly on the center armrest as he said coolly:

"However, I don’t think the situation is quite so dire. There are some people who need to be taught a lesson. We just need to give them a reminder they won’t forget..."

He called the driver’s name, about to give an order, but then he noticed his daughter staring blankly at her phone. He lowered his hand, signaling that they would talk later.

’This wasn’t that shabby little Fox, its interior thick with the permanent stink of cigarette smoke. In its place was the faint scent of sandalwood. It was warm in here, comfortable and safe. The heavy car glided silently over the snow, and the world outside flew by in a cold, soundless blur.’

The warm air from the vents was making her drowsy, until the vibration of a phone shattered the silence.

Gu Qiuyan saw her father pick up his phone. His brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed. Finally, he hung up as if nothing was wrong.

"What’s wrong?" she asked. She thought she’d overheard something about a situation at the villa.

"Don’t worry. I told them to report any little disturbance."

The man added:

"The patrol down below just saw a motorcycle pass by."