After that, Shen Liu truly never appeared again. He only had Tao Ze deliver two truckloads of books, spent a whole day forcibly remodelling a room into a home theatre, and brought in a chef who specialised in southern cuisine.
Qin Mu settled in and became the most unusual guest in Shen Changyun’s small building. The old man did not restrict him; he could do whatever he wanted. Sleeping, cooking, reading, watching movies—no one disturbed him. Qin Mu figured that even if he danced naked on the rooftop, no one would care. Unfortunately, he was long used to self-discipline, and such absolute freedom held no real appeal for him.
As usual, he got up at seven every day for a morning run, showered, and made breakfast. In the morning, he handled affairs at the law firm, discussed cases, or connected by video call to guide his two apprentices. He took a short nap at noon and spent the afternoon reading books and watching movies. Seeing that there were ink, brushes, paper, and inkstones in the study, he practised calligraphy by copying model scripts. In the evening, he went online for a while, watched a game or played video games, and worked out before bed. He had once asked to go out, but later saw that they needed to prepare a special car and bring along a whole team, as if it were a money transport operation, and he simply gave up on the idea. He didn’t have anywhere he particularly wanted to go anyway—he only wanted to visit a few clients.
In front of Shen Changyun, Qin Mu fully displayed the qualities of an exemplary hostage: he made no unreasonable demands, acted in no improper way, and was wonderfully low-maintenance. Shen Changyun thought Qin Mu wouldn’t be able to endure such dull days for long, but Qin Mu accepted everything as if it were natural. In truth, this was how he lived before as well—there was nothing he wasn’t used to. This personality even made Shen Changyun feel a particular closeness toward him. Between watching opera and playing with his birds, he often came to see Qin Mu practice calligraphy, occasionally offering a word or two of guidance. Later, when he saw Qin Mu taking an interest in his collection of ink paintings, he would chat with him about art.
Life inside the small building was calm and peaceful; outside it, the world was turbulent and unpredictable. The political confrontation between the Shen and Zhao families surged back and forth, tugging out a spiderweb of interpersonal connections and forcing everyone in the circle to pick sides. Today, a Zhao-aligned official fell from office; the next day, a Shen-aligned cadre was held accountable. Beneath the gorgeous brocade robe, crawled blood-sucking lice of all sizes—none of them were any cleaner than the others. Of the four great families, the Zhou and Shi families had sided with the Shen family one after another, and the capital forces behind them rolled up their sleeves and joined the fray, fighting fiercely across the fields of resources, finance, real estate, infrastructure, and the internet. With no fig leaf left to cover them, their behaviour was as ugly as it could get. The clashes in the arena of public opinion had also reached a fever pitch; whichever side exposed the slightest flaw would face a tidal wave of relentless attacks. These two enormous families, both standing atop J City, were now like blood-crazed beasts, searching for a chance to land a fatal blow amid their frenzied assault.
For ordinary people, this was nothing more than lively entertainment. Who lost office, who went bankrupt, who was good, who was bad—none of it was as closely tied to their daily lives as the soaring price of pork. They could not distinguish those distant, unfamiliar names; at most, they used them as after-dinner chatter. They would look at the astronomical figures on the news and sigh, “Wow, they embezzled that much money,” then daydream about what house they would buy, what car they would choose, and where they would travel if they ever got their hands on that kind of money. After the fantasy ended, they still had to return to their grumbling daily lives. The second child they had in response to policy encouragement was growing up; a family of four squeezed into a low-rent apartment was too cramped; gas prices had risen again; traffic was a mess; there was no spare money at home. Maybe travel would have to wait a few more years.
As the election approached, the battle between the two families grew even more intense. The front lines were ablaze with gunpowder, and underhanded tricks emerged one after another. At the opening ceremony of an event, Shen Lan was nearly crushed flat by a falling chandelier; the next day, Zhao Qiming’s car was blown into scrap metal. The wise interpreted accidents through the lens of accidents; fools understood accidents as mere coincidences. Time dragged the unwilling forward with cold-blooded indifference, all schemes and machinations rushing hand in hand toward a grand finale.
The election was held as scheduled. In the magnificent venue, the attendees each harboured their own motives and cooperated with a tacit understanding to stage a magnificent, time-honoured play. Zhao Qiming watched the giant screen with a blank expression. When the jumping numbers finally froze, it felt as if his heart froze along with them. Triumphant music began to play, people around him scrambled to offer congratulations, and the person beside him rose amid thunderous applause, smiling broadly as he waved to the crowd.
Zhao Qiming closed his eyes.
The dust had settled.
He knew that what he had lost was not these five votes, but the entire Zhao family. When he walked out of this venue, what awaited him would be another game—one called a battle royale. The Zhao family, fallen from its high pedestal, would become the target of all arrows, its blood and flesh used as sacrifice to feed the hyenas lunging from the shadows.
From that moment on, there would be no smooth path left.
In the study of the small building, as the secretary reported the results to Shen Changyun, Qin Mu was practising calligraphy. His hand trembled, and the dot in the character “玉”(jade) landed too heavily, looking like a sickly, wilted comma.
Shen Changyun glanced at it and said lazily, “Your mind isn’t calm. You won’t write well that way.”
Qin Mu simply put down the brush and asked, “You already knew the outcome?”
Shen Changyun neither confirmed nor denied it. He leaned against the desk, dipped a brush in ink, and said, “The higher a person climbs, the more they fall under an illusion—as if they can control everything. They forget that there are always people above them, skies beyond their sky.” As he spoke, he wrote, the brush moving like flying dragons and leaping snakes, his hand steady as ever. “The two families fought to the death, but from the eyes watching above, it’s nothing more than dogs biting dogs. Dogs are meant for guarding the house. What difference does it make which one wins? It’s just a matter of preventing them from growing too big and becoming disobedient.” He finished writing, set down the brush, and sighed with regret. “He doesn’t understand this principle.”
Qin Mu stared silently at the vigorous, iron-hook strokes of that “玉” character. He didn’t know who exactly this ‘he’ the Old Man Shen referred to, but he could hear the desolate undertone. The more he interacted with him, the more he admired this Shen family’s pillar—wise, detached, transparent, like the moon hanging over a lonely frontier fortress, seeing through the coldness and warmth of the human world, yet carrying an indescribable loneliness.
In truth, everyone in the Shen family was lonely.
For some reason, a familiar silhouette drifted through his mind, as though the ink scent carried a hint of Darjeeling tea. He steadied himself, crumpled the ruined sheet of xuan paper1high-quality traditional Chinese paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. Then he laid out a fresh sheet and wrote, stroke by stroke:
“At dawn, I battle to the beat of golden drums,
At night, I sleep with my jade saddle in my arms.
I wish to take the sword at my waist
And go straight to cut down Loulan.”
Not long after the election ended, the Baolijian case went to trial. Fifty-eight victims filed a collective lawsuit demanding 320 million in compensation, shocking the entire country. Baolijian’s stock price plummeted, and its assets were frozen. The trial cycle would be long; no verdict had been reached yet, but anyone with eyes could see—this case marked the crumbling collapse of the Zhao family’s skyscr4p3r.
Qin Mu stared at the news for a long time before stuffing his phone into his pocket. He lit a cigarette and walked briskly toward the little garden. A heavy snowfall had blanketed the world during the day, turning everything white, like crushed, drifting clouds or pear blossoms. The whole world was covered by a soft, fluffy quilt, looking particularly clean.
Down south in K City, snow was rare, and even when it fell, it never stayed. Even if it did, it turned everything wet and slushy, splashing up everywhere. Qin Mu hadn’t seen such thick snow in a long time. He felt playful and stomped out a big circle of footprints. Still not satisfied, he crouched down, rolled two snowballs, stacked them into a tiny snowman on the stone table, and stuck his spent cigarette butt in its mouth. He admired it for a moment, satisfied, then shook the snow off his hands and prepared to head inside.
When he turned around, he saw someone standing under the eaves.
Shen Liu was wearing a dark cashmere coat, hands in his pockets, standing motionless under the light. It was unclear when he had arrived.
“Come in, it’s cold outside,” Qin Mu said. Shen Liu had come here so infrequently that after living here this long, Qin Mu felt more like half the host.
Shen Liu followed him indoors. He had lost a lot of weight during the days they hadn’t seen each other. Stubble shadowed his jaw; he looked exhausted.
“Old Man Shen is upstairs. He’s probably getting ready to rest,” Qin Mu said at the foot of the stairs, taking off his glasses to wipe the fog from the lenses. The temperature difference was always annoying for people who wore glasses.
“I’ve already seen him,” Shen Liu said. His voice was soft, like the snow outside. “I was going to leave, but I happened to see you out there, so I stood for a while.”
That made the air grow a little awkward. Qin Mu changed the subject, “Is everything going smoothly?”
“The overall situation is settled, though fully resolving it will take time,” Shen Liu said after thinking for a moment. “The one who ran down Teacher Xiao with a car, and the fugitive who tried to chop off your finger—they’ve both been caught. The police are processing everything. The results should come out soon.”
Qin Mu nodded.
“I had your luggage sent to your room,” Shen Liu said, watching him with a gaze full of longing, as though afraid to miss even a single expression. “I’ve spoken with the old man. You can return to K City tomorrow.”
Qin Mu was slightly surprised. His eyes met Shen Liu’s for a moment before he quietly accepted the arrangement. “All right.”
Both of them fell silent for a while.
Shen Liu’s lips moved, as though he were struggling to squeeze out more words, but there was really nothing left to say. Everything that needed saying had been said. What remained was only guilt. Qin Mu didn’t like hearing ‘sorry’, so he didn’t dare to bring it up. He could only let that heavy, stone-like guilt crush his heart.
Qin Mu also wanted to say something to break the tension, but at this moment, anything he said felt inappropriate. This was a farewell, after all; he didn’t want to leave the other person with unpleasant memories. Because of that selfish desire, he couldn’t even come up with meaningless small talk. All he could do was feign deafness and remain silent.
And so, two people who were usually the best with words stood face-to-face, unable to break this damned silence.
Shen Liu was the first to speak.
“After going back to K City, what do you plan to do?”
“Visit Teacher Xiao’s grave, go home and look after my cat, sleep well,” Qin Mu answered.
Shen Liu nodded, then asked, “Will you still come to J City in the future?”
“If there are cases, I’ll come,” Qin Mu said.
He still intended to continue being a lawyer. Shen Liu quietly exhaled in relief and even smiled. “If you come, you can contact me. We’re still… friends, after all.”
“I won’t contact you anymore,” Qin Mu said, taking an unobtrusive deep breath, as though only that could help him say the words smoothly. “To be honest, these days I’ve been regretting things. I shouldn’t have let you risk your entire family for me. That absurd deal… happened because I didn’t put you where you should’ve been. It was wrong from the beginning. Luckily, you won. So I don’t have to carry guilt over it anymore.” He paused, then continued, “No matter before or now, in our relationship, you’ve always been the protector. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, but I can’t agree with you interfering in my life. We both need our own space to live our own independent lives.” He lowered his gaze, avoiding Shen Liu’s eyes. “From now on, there’s no need for us to see each other again.”
Perhaps only the one speaking knew how much strength it took to deliver those words so evenly and steadily. The listener could only stare at him, stunned, bewitched, unmoving.
Qin Mu waited a long time before he finally heard that faint ‘okay’, so soft it almost melted into the air.
That night, Qin Mu hardly slept. He booked an early flight back to K City the next day, and at dawn, he said farewell to Old Man Shen. As he dragged his suitcase across the courtyard, his steps froze.
The snow on the stone table had not yet melted. Beside the little snowman he had built, there stood another snowman, exactly the same, with a big smiling face drawn on it. The two stood side by side, as if inseparable.
Tears welled uncontrollably at the corners of Qin Mu’s eyes, and he hastily turned his gaze away.
The plane roared as it shot into the sky, cleaving through the clouds. Two parallel lines, twisted together by the distortion of space, after a brief mistaken intersection, finally returned to their rightful tracks—never to intersect again.
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