Jiang Cheng’s footsteps faltered. He stopped where he was.
Jiang Hansheng’s eyes were dark and still — like deep water. “The one who fired the shots and killed them wasn’t Old Scorpion,” he said. “Was it?”
When Jiang Cheng had said “I did not kill anyone” at the hearing, Jiang Hansheng had been watching him give a small, almost imperceptible nod — a textbook contradiction between physical gesture and spoken word. And in recounting that part of his account, the remorse and guilt radiating from him had been far more pronounced than any anger.
Jiang Hansheng had no grounds to use something so subtle to overturn Jiang Cheng’s testimony at the hearing, and Jiang Cheng knew it perfectly well. He turned the question back on him: “And your evidence?”
Jiang Hansheng said nothing.
Jiang Cheng let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “I recall that the last time we met, you had a habit of making reckless accusations. Jiang Hansheng — did you think you could finish me off with a single sentence? It won’t be that easy.”
Jiang Cheng gave a casual wave, said his goodbye, and started walking. After two steps, he stopped again.
His voice dropped low — measured, composed, and serious. “I heard some things from Old Scorpion. About you. …Professor Jiang — in your view, is a police officer permitted to open fire after an enemy has raised their hands in surrender?”
Jiang Hansheng: “…”
His fingers curled suddenly inward.
Jiang Cheng had nothing more to say to him. He tugged at the zipper of his jacket, turned without a word, and walked out through the main doors.
Out in the distance, he spotted a white car — and three figures standing beside it. All of them were faces he knew.
“Dad! Mom!”
The shock broke into joy in an instant. He ran toward them at a sprint.
Hearing a familiar voice, Jiang Hansheng frowned slightly and followed him outside.
The sky had shifted toward dusk, and the evening glow blazed warmly above.
The person Jiang Cheng was running toward was Zhou Songyue. Jiang Cheng was long past being a child — yet the way he ran toward Zhou Songyue was every bit as unrestrained as one.
Jiang Cheng opened his arms and held him tightly.
Jiang Hansheng watched as Zhou Songyue’s eyes went red in an instant — but he held it back, refusing to let the tears fall in front of the young man.
Then Zhou Songyue pushed Jiang Cheng away, picked up his walking stick, and started hitting him with it.
One blow, then another — each one heavy, each one landing with real force.
Jiang Cheng stood exactly where he was and let Zhou Songyue hit him without moving a single step. Before many blows had landed, Zhou Songyue threw the walking stick aside, looked at him, and let out a long sigh.
Then Jiang Cheng stepped forward and pulled him into another embrace.
Zhou Songyue finally allowed a faint smile to cross his face, and raised a hand to ruffle his head.
Jiang Hansheng stood motionless in the pale, cold shadow — as though he had turned to stone — and for a long time, said nothing at all.