"Name."
"Huai Shi."
"Age?"
"Seventeen..."
In the police station, while giving his statement, Huai Shi increasingly felt that the dialogue was too familiar. Had it been repeated several times already somewhere?
Fearing some mishap, even after the record was made, he clutched the policeman's hand and asked repeatedly, "You guys don't recruit Cowherds here, do you?"
"..."
The policeman's expression twitched. Not wanting to deal with him, he poured him a cup of tea, saying he could leave after the checkup.
Huai Shi sat on the chair and heaved a sigh, still shaken.
A narrow alley, a dead person, a small goldfish, an iron box.
So many strange elements crammed together, even someone as experienced and world-weary as Huai Shi was a bit overwhelmed.
But one thing was certain: none of this was normal!
Considering the recent explosion at the port, it might be a gang war among drug traffickers!
What if there were two ounces of pure white powder in that box? It would be a real mess if the cops caught him with that.
Although he was indeed so poor he was almost unable to afford food, that didn't mean he should be looking for a free meal in jail, right?
In such circumstances, as a citizen of the Dongxia Republic—no, as anyone with a bit of common sense—reporting to the police was the right thing to do, right?
"That's right, you did well. In such a situation, seeking help from the police immediately is the most rational method," the officer, who returned his belongings in the evidence room, nodded approvingly. "If it were a bomb instead of powder in there, things could have been much worse..."
"But what exactly was in that box?" Huai Shi asked, driven by curiosity.
"Don't know. We've scanned it with X-rays and performed an explosive detection test. There doesn't seem to be anything dangerous inside, but it looks like an antique. We'll see what it really is when the expert comes tomorrow. But there's nothing more for you here; you can go home," he said, placing the basket in front of Huai Shi.
Since the case involved a death, all of Huai Shi's personal belongings had been dismantled and checked. Upon retrieving them, he immediately took out the thick notebook he had carried for years and inspected it thoroughly.
No one had tampered with it.
His nervous demeanor caught the eye of the officer in the evidence room, who couldn't help but laugh. "What? Afraid we'll read your diary? Young people still keep diaries nowadays, haha! Don't worry, we didn't look, we didn't look..."
Huai Shi smiled awkwardly and shoved the notebook into his pocket. As he picked up his phone, he accidentally saw the bank balance text message, causing his heart to ache sharply once again.
After repeatedly confirming with the police station that there was no reward for reporting such incidents, he walked out the door in sorrow, feeling the world was bleak and desolate.
As he trudged along with his head down, the streetlight behind him cast a long shadow.
Within the flickering shadow, it seemed as though a Raven took flight.
BOOM!
Thunder rumbled through the night sky.
It was as if it had waited for Huai Shi to leave. After a brief pause in the evening, torrential rain came howling, accompanied by flashes of lightning and claps of thunder.
By the time Huai Shi got home, he was completely soaked.
Standing before the large iron gate, he sighed, took out his key, unlocked the iron chain wrapped around the gate, and, against a sharp grating sound that even the heavy rain couldn't suppress, pushed the door open with great effort.
"I'm back..."
In the darkness, no one responded.
Under the flashlight of his phone, the ancient estate, covered in dead leaves, revealed its decrepit and ruined façade.
Layers of ivy and vines clung to walls long stripped of their coating. The courtyard beyond the iron gate, littered with dead leaves, was in disarray. The long-neglected fountain pool had dried up, and the stone carvings on either side were damaged and incomplete, looking strange and chilly.
In the sky, covered with dark clouds, a sharp flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the grim outline of the ancient house stretching out into the courtyard.
At the foot of Qingshiu Mountain on the outskirts of Xinhai City stood Huai Shi's home.
Long ago, it was known as the 'Yu Garden Stone Marrow Museum.' At the time, this garden, which took five years and considerable expense to build, was regarded as the height of luxury. Flowers bloomed in the garden year-round, evergreen pines and cypresses stood guard at the entrance, the splendor within the building was beyond description, and its master was a preeminent tycoon in East China, with a constant stream of horse-drawn carriages and visitors arriving daily...
But that was all ninety years ago.
The world changes too quickly. In just ninety years, it transitioned from the old steam era to the electronic era, and then into a new electronic age; the world cycled from peace to chaos, and back to peace again. So much has happened, and there's too much to remember, to the point that many things have become relatively less necessary to recall.
The Yu Garden of today, after a brief period of splendor, has experienced a long silence and decline, forgotten by most.
Wild grass grew rampant; the opulence of the past was no more. Spreading ivy covered the cracks in the mottled walls, and most of the courtyard sculptures were damaged and fragmented, unrecognizable. After being squandered and ravaged by prodigal descendants, what was once a grand mansion was now empty, a mere shell, about to become... no, it had already become a Haunted House that wasn't even particularly famous.
For Huai Shi, this rundown house, a cello of similar age that was on the verge of breaking down, and his own bleak life were all he had left.
But as the old house continued to deteriorate and the cello began to show cracks from unglued seams, Huai Shi felt that even his life was about to bid him farewell.
"The current balance of the savings account ending in 8193 is 144.444 yuan..."
Amidst the howling wind and storm outside the window, Huai Shi finally checked his bank card balance.
Mother of heaven... how am I supposed to live on this!
Even if he ignored the rather symbolic string of digits after the decimal point, he felt a strong urge to die.
What could he do?
After all, this was the legacy his own parents had left him.