The hospital was crowded, the elevator lobby a swirl of noise and movement. As the elevator in front of him opened, the one to his left arrived on the ground floor at the same moment.
The crowd exchanged in an orderly flow — those inside first, then those waiting.
Jiang Hansheng possessed an unusually sharp awareness. In the instant before he stepped into the elevator, the air seemed to detonate into a split-second of silence — and within that silence, amid a blur of surrounding faces, he felt the distinct and unmistakable weight of a gaze.
Like a needle pressed into the back of his neck.
Jiang Hansheng’s brow tightened slightly. He scanned the area around him in a rapid sweep, but couldn’t pick out any face that struck him as unusual.
The elevator doors were already closing. He had no time to think further and stepped straight in.
Jiang Hansheng had come to visit Huang Song’s mother, Guo Li.
He entered the room and took in the ward at a glance. There were only two beds — a sign that Guo Li was receiving quality care. Even so, her complexion was a pallid, sallow grey, carrying the air of someone worn down and defeated beyond her years. Her lips were dry and cracking, and she looked thoroughly haggard.
When Jiang Hansheng introduced himself, she stared at him blankly for a moment before inviting him to take a seat.
Guo Li spent a long time steeling herself before she managed to ask, her voice strained: “Tell me plainly — has my son gotten himself into trouble again? What has he done this time?”
Since she pressed for an answer, Jiang Hansheng told her what he could of Huang Song’s situation, without disclosing any details of the investigation.
After she heard it, Guo Li understood that what Huang Song had done this time was nothing like before — it wouldn’t pass as easily.
She bent her head and covered her face, weeping. Her voice broke with it: “It’s my fault. I didn’t raise him right… Back then, his father walked out on us without a backward glance. I was afraid that if I remarried, someone might mistreat him, so all these years I’ve been raising him alone…”
“I had no other way. All I could do was push myself harder and harder — working, always working… I never even managed to cook him a proper meal…”
Guo Li cried for a while before gradually quietening.
Jiang Hansheng passed her a tissue and said quietly, “For him to grow up means learning to take responsibility for what he has done.”
Guo Li nodded, wiping her tears. “I understand.”
Jiang Hansheng said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“Based on what the police have gathered, your financial situation has been very difficult. I imagine it would be hard to cover the costs of your hospitalisation and treatment here.”
Particularly in a room of this standard.
“Yes.” Guo Li acknowledged it, then quickly offered an explanation. “But I’ve been fortunate — a blessing from heaven. A man came and said his company was doing charitable work, and that they would cover my treatment costs going forward. That’s why I’ve been able to hold on until now. Though I know, really, that I might not recover…”
Jiang Hansheng’s brow lifted slightly. He continued, “Would you be able to tell me who this person is?”
Guo Li thought back, then shook her head. “I don’t know. He never said, and he never let me ask…” In the very next breath, Guo Li suddenly looked up and pointed toward the door of the ward. “Oh — he was just here. He left just before you arrived.”
Jiang Hansheng’s brow creased sharply.
The image from the elevator lobby flashed through his mind in an instant. He understood at once, exchanged a hurried farewell with Guo Li, and strode out of the ward at a near-run.
Outside the hospital, a fierce storm had overtaken the entire city.
A black curtain of rain had descended completely over the skyline. Raindrops hammered against the umbrellas of passersby in a relentless, breathless torrent.
Jiang Hansheng thrust open his umbrella and pushed out into the downpour, his gaze sweeping in every direction — but nowhere could he find the face he was looking for.
Just as disappointment began to set in, a long, deliberately off-key whistle sounded from behind him — dripping with contempt and provocation, cutting through the noise of the rain with startling clarity.
Jiang Hansheng turned.
His hand slowly closed into a fist.
He pressed his lips together lightly. His silhouette in the dark night was utterly cold — no emotion readable anywhere — save for the single, bright, blade-like gleam buried deep in his eyes.
Jiang Cheng stood in the wind and rain, a black umbrella resting carelessly against the curve of his shoulder and neck. A few stray drops had caught in his hair.
“I remember you now.”
Jiang Cheng’s tone was still that same unhurried, flippant ease — voice lazy and unhurried — yet beneath the flippancy there was none of the old free-spiritedness. What remained was sharp, and dark.
Like the taunting circling of a hungry wolf before it lunges.
Jiang Cheng smiled, and there was nothing kind in it. “The little dog from No. 23 Gardenia Lane.”
Jiang Hansheng’s expression remained cool and unyielding. “It’s been a long time.”