"T-Twenty minutes..."
"Twenty minutes? Even a dog could sense something wrong in twenty minutes! Are you saying you're worse than dogs?" Director Fu raged, nearly tearing the man apart with his bare hands. Seeing Ai Qing calmly starting to drink tea nearby fueled his irritation. "Why aren't you worried at all?"
"Would worrying be of any use?" Ai Qing set down her teacup, sighing softly. "If we really should start preparing to do something, perhaps we could begin discussing what style to use for Qi Wen's funeral."
Twenty minutes?
Don't joke with me. He'll be long gone by then.
「Twenty minutes earlier, a downpour raged.」
On the elevated highway, a taxi raced through the veil of rain, its interior blaring with disco songs from over a decade ago. As the Buddha pendant on the rearview mirror spun, the driver bobbed his head and hummed along with the music.
In the passenger seat, a young man cradling a massive travel bag gazed blankly at the curtain of rain outside, as if he saw a black Flying Bird flickering in and out of sight in the sky.
"Young man, this won't do," the driver spoke. "You've been in this taxi for a while without giving a destination, just urging me to keep driving. We're about to get on the highway—can you at least tell me where you're headed? How about I find you a spot to switch cabs? I'll charge you twenty bucks less."
The young man remained silent, simply staring out the window as if he hadn't heard. Just as the driver couldn't resist speaking again, the young man finally made a sound.
"No need, Master. Just drop me off here."
"On the overpass? Young man, are you out of your mind?" The driver stared at him in shock. "Stopping here means a penalty!"
"It's fine." The young man took out a foldable raincoat from his travel bag and swiftly put it on. "When the time comes, you can just say I forced you."
As he spoke, he unzipped the travel bag to show the driver the firearms and coppery bullets within.
Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes. The taxi screeched to a halt on the busy overpass, nearly causing a rear-end collision and igniting a chorus of angry horn blasts.
The driver's face turned pale, hands raised. "Spare me, young man! I... I have a family to feed... This is all the money I have... If it's not enough, I'll withdraw more..."
The teenager smiled, shook his head, pulled out his phone, scanned for payment, and paid three times the fare.
"Sorry to trouble you." He picked up his bag, pushed open the car door, and bid his farewell politely, "Have a pleasant life. Goodbye."
The car door closed.
In the midst of the storm, the taxi sped away frantically.
Leaving Huai Shi alone on the spot.
The torrential rain seemed to swallow everything. Countless droplets shattered in an instant, kicking up a roar as if the world itself was breaking apart. Beyond that, however, was a palpable silence.
Everything blurred into a rainy mist, with only the traffic lights beneath the overpass glaring a blinding red.
The passing vehicles emerged from the rainy mist and disappeared back into it, like rushing Steel Monsters.
And amidst these numerous Steel Monsters, Huai Shi stood in the middle of the overpass. He bent down, placed the travel bag on the ground, and meticulously attached pistols, magazines, and bullets to the Vest under his raincoat.
Methodically.
These on the left, those on the right, some more in the middle.
He grew gradually heavier.
He grew gradually more equipped.
It was as if he was retrieving his internal organs one by one. As if they too began to throb in his vacant chest, he returned, step by step, to completeness.
His empty shell seemed to welcome back the breath of a Soul.
Until finally, he lifted the heavy automatic rifle and slung it over his shoulder.
In a trance, Huai Shi seemed at last complete.
Yet something still seemed to be missing.
It was not until he finally remembered to plug the earphones dangling from his neckline into his ears that the aggressive drumbeat and bass line tore apart the excessively noisy silence.
"Has he lost his mind? Can he see, or is he blind?"
The young man tapped his finger against the gun, humming softly with the song. "Can he walk at all, or if he moves, will he fall?"
Does he still have his senses?
Is he blind though he sees?
Can he still move ahead?
Or will he collapse with a single step?
In a wait that was either too long or too short, he swayed his head to the rhythm of the drumbeats, wandering in the rain on the overpass like an invisible Soul, as heavy vehicles roared past, barely brushing him.
As if awaiting the distant chime of a bell.
Only when the dark Flying Bird once again shot across the rainy veil did he leisurely raise the gun in his hands. He settled it on his shoulder, flipped off the safety, and, through the rainwater dripping from his hood, stared at the emerging silhouette in the downpour.
The high beams illuminated his eyes.
In that instant, he pulled the trigger.