APR 29

The incessant chirping of cicadas from somewhere was unbearably loud, their cries overlapping in an endless cacophony.

Zhong Su felt as if he had returned to those days on Qiyan Island—the same cicada sounds and the same dizzying, sticky heat.

He groggily opened his eyes, his mouth parched and dry, and instinctively called out, “Chen Huan, get me a glass of water—”

His hand swept out, knocking over a glass on the nearby table, which clattered to the floor.

The noise immediately drew someone from outside, and hurried, heavy footsteps rushed into the room.

Xiao Lao Dao, with half a dumpling stuffed in his mouth and a chopstick still clutched in his hand, froze at the sight of Zhong Su finally awake on the bed. Overwhelmed with excitement, he forgot to swallow the dumpling and shouted, “Damn, Zhong Su, you’re finally awake! If you hadn’t woken up soon, I’d have dragged you back to the hospital!”

His outburst jolted Zhong Su fully awake. The pale-faced young man remembered then that he’d been struck on the head—this wasn’t Qiyan Island, and there was no Chen Huan to fetch him water.

A sharp, throbbing pain shot through his scalp, and Zhong Su’s expression twisted as he reached up to cover the wound, letting out a hoarse groan. “Hiss… he really didn’t hold back.”

Chen Huan had shown no mercy, striking with enough force to lay him out for a month.

Fortunately, Zhong Su had reacted quickly, tilting his head to dodge the ashtray as it came down, deflecting some of the impact. The injury wasn’t as severe as it could have been.

Tears welling in his eyes, Xiao Lao Dao threw himself at Zhong Su’s bedside like a long-suffering wife, pouring out his grievances in a torrent of words: “You have no idea how scared I was! When I saw you dragged out covered in blood, I thought you were dead!”

Zhong Su asked, “Xiao Lao Dao, how long was I out?”

Speaking sent a knife-like pain through his throat, his voice dry and raspy.

Xiao Lao Dao replied, “Don’t talk! You’ve been lying here for a full day without moving. I was terrified you’d cough up blood. Drink some water first… Where’s the water? Ah, you spilled it all! Wasted on the floor. I’ll go get you another glass.”

The chubby man swallowed his dumpling, scrambled to the kitchen in a fluster, and hurried back with a full glass of water.

The water soothed the sting in his throat as it went down. Zhong Su coughed a couple of times before finally catching his breath.

Seeing Zhong Su push back the covers to get out of bed, Xiao Lao Dao grabbed him tightly. “What are you doing? The bleeding on your head just stopped. If you’re hungry, I’ll bring food in for you.”

Gritting his teeth, Zhong Su said, “I’m going to ‘THE ONE’ to find Chen Huan.”

He’d finally tracked the man down, and even if he had to cling to Chen Huan’s hand, he was determined to try once more to persuade him.

At the mention of the name, Xiao Lao Dao’s eyes widened, the fat on his face trembling. “Are you insane? You just barely escaped the Gates of Hell, and now you’re rushing back to your death?”

He held onto Zhong Su desperately, pointing to his own battered face and then gesturing at Zhong Su’s head injury, nearly howling in frustration. “Look at my face—see what it’s become! And look at your head! Those people aren’t joking around.”

“Let go first,” Zhong Su said, trying to pry Xiao Lao Dao’s hands away.

“If you’re really my brother, listen to me for once,” Xiao Lao Dao yelled, seeing Zhong Su’s stubborn resolve. “I, Xiao Lao Dao, have been in this line of work…”

I’ve managed to avoid making enemies or getting entangled in trouble all this time by sticking to one principle—knowing one’s limitations is true wisdom.

Zhong Su stopped and stared at him without saying a word.

Xiao Lao Dao grew uneasy under his gaze, nervously licking his lips as he spoke rapidly: “Think about it—what are we? Just a couple of poor, unlucky lowlifes. And what are they? We’re not even worthy of shining their shoes. Why insist on pushing your luck? It’s pointless.”

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you when you claim to know that big shot. But the reality is right in front of us—they don’t even acknowledge your existence.” He hung his head dejectedly, sighing repeatedly, having made his point abundantly clear.

Zhong Su’s gaze fell upon the blue and purple bruises covering Xiao Lao Dao. After a moment of silence, he said, “Fine, I won’t look for him anymore.”

Xiao Lao Dao’s eyes lit up: “You really mean it?”

Zhong Su said calmly, “Didn’t you just say it? I don’t have what it takes to make Chen Huan acknowledge me. Going to find him would be suicide. I haven’t gone that crazy yet.”

Chen Huan was a man of his word—if he said he’d kill someone, he’d never show mercy.

Unless Zhong Su had absolute certainty he could persuade him… but something as absurd as a dead person coming back to life—even he found it ridiculous. What proof could he possibly offer?

In the end, he had overestimated his own importance. In Chen Huan’s eyes now, he was nothing but an insignificant stranger.

“I didn’t put it that harshly… and it’s not that I’m scared of those people either. I’m saying this for your own good.” Xiao Lao Dao coughed, embarrassed by his own words.

Zhong Su didn’t expose Xiao Lao Dao’s bluster covering his fear. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said helplessly, “Regardless, I’m desperate for money right now, and that woman Bai Ruolin clearly has no intention of paying me back.”

After what happened, Sang Biao and his crew who backed Bai Ruolin probably hated his guts. Going to demand repayment now would be like walking to his own execution.

Xiao Lao Dao scratched his face awkwardly and hesitantly suggested, “How about… I ask around with other brothers from the gang? The boss has been short-handed lately and might have some work for us. At least we could earn some meal money.”

“For now, that’s our only option.” Zhong Su had no reason to refuse. He glanced at his phone—his inbox and call history were once again flooded with loan sharks’ collection messages and calls.

Before Xiao Lao Dao left the room, Zhong Su stopped him and kindly reminded, “Boil an egg and press it against your eye. It helps with blood circulation and reduces swelling—works pretty well.”

Xiao Lao Dao let out an indignant wail and covered his face. He still cared about his appearance.

Who said fat guys couldn’t be vain?

After confirming Zhong Su was mostly okay, Xiao Lao Dao left a box of dumplings and half a dish of soy sauce, pocketed a red-shelled egg, and went home.

Zhong Su ate most of the dumplings for dinner. He didn’t know where Xiao Lao Dao bought them, but they had thin wrappers and generous fillings, with some chopped water chestnuts mixed in. After eating two extra, he was full.

After finishing the dumplings, Zhong Su awkwardly held up a mirror to check the wound on the back of his head. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he dampened blood clots around the injury with wet wipes and cleaned them bit by bit.

Fake.

Looking at the small mountain of blood-stained wipes on the table, Zhong Su felt complicated emotions.

He hadn’t anticipated Chen Huan’s coldness and distrust, but when the other ruthlessly struck him down, claiming he felt no disappointment would be a lie.

A brother so close they’d even shared a bed still couldn’t recognize him.

Zhong Su let out a soft sigh, as if trying to exhale the bitterness welling in his chest, and murmured, “Xiao Lao Dao was right. Whether he recognizes me or not… let’s set that aside for now.”

“At least I know where to find him. If I truly want to reconnect, there will be chances later.”

For now, the most important thing was to find a job and support himself before Xiao Lao Dao secured whatever “work” he mentioned.

The next day, Zhong Su woke at the first light of dawn.

He splashed cold water on his face, ran a hand through his hair, and left the rental apartment.

Early morning in Yangang felt like a rainy pond—a desolate clamor, with a continuous murmur of voices but little chaos. Everyone was busy with their own routines: washing up, brushing teeth, making breakfast, sending children to school, navigating traffic.

Zhong Su planned to grab a quick breakfast to fill his stomach before job hunting. Out of habit, he headed toward the familiar tea restaurant he used to frequent.

He hadn’t held much hope, but as he turned the familiar corner, he was surprised to find the tea restaurant still there—though the storefront had been completely renovated. A brand-new sign stood out vividly under the sunlight, and the busy waitstaff inside were all unfamiliar faces. The only constant was the portly owner tapping away at a calculator behind the counter.

“This place is still open?” Zhong Su muttered softly, stepping inside and taking a seat.

A lean young man with a towel draped over his shoulder and a pen tucked behind his ear approached, rattling off recommendations in a rapid-fire manner: “Hey, handsome, what’ll you have? I recommend the signature pineapple bun, cheese French toast, or today’s special—dry-fried hor fun with beef.”

Zhong Su nodded casually at the suggestions. “Just give me a plate of the dry-fried hor fun with beef.”

“Hor fun with beef, got it. Sit tight, handsome, I’ll put your order in with the kitchen.” The waiter scribbled on his notepad, set down a cup, and ambled off.

As Zhong Su poured himself some tea, the wind chime at the entrance jingled. He glanced up instinctively and spotted a familiar face.

The fierce, dark-faced man from the club two nights prior pushed the door open, his expression strikingly calm compared to the hostility he’d shown back then.

“Boss, the usual,” Da Xiong nodded to the owner. “Set meal C, extra rice.”

The owner greeted him warmly, “Da Xiong, you’re here! Hold on, I’ll head to the kitchen and prepare your order myself.”

Since Zhong Su was seated in a corner, Da Xiong didn’t notice him. He sat down directly and began deftly rinsing his utensils with tea, a practiced routine.

Zhong Su observed him quietly, debating whether to approach, when the waiter arrived with his breakfast.

“Handsome, your dry-fried hor fun with beef.” The young man tore off the receipt and tucked it under the plate.

The dark brown rice noodles glistened with oil, edges slightly charred, steaming hot and fresh from the wok—a clear sign of robust wok hei.

Eyeing the tempting plate of hor fun and then glancing at Da Xiong nearby, Zhong Su picked up his food, walked over to Da Xiong’s table, set his plate down, and calmly took a seat.

“I’m not sharing a table,” Da Xiong said without looking up, his voice rough. “Go find another empty seat.”

“What if I insist on sharing this one?”

Zhong Su’s voice made Da Xiong freeze. He sprang up violently, eyes bulging like a bull’s, and grabbed Zhong Su by the collar. “You bastard! You deceived me and dare show your face again!”

Zhong Su allowed himself to be grabbed, calmly pressing Da Xiong’s hand down. “Calm down. I’m not looking for trouble—just want to eat breakfast in peace. Having already suffered losses from your group, I’m not stupid enough to invite more trouble.”

Da Xiong completely disbelieved Zhong Su’s explanation. Though Chen Huan hadn’t held him responsible afterward for bringing the wrong person before him, he couldn’t accept his standing with Brother Chen being diminished because of this guy.

As they stood deadlocked, the portly owner pushed through the kitchen curtain carrying Da Xiong’s set meal. About to call out to Da Xiong, he saw him gripping a young man’s collar in a tense standoff, looking ready to throw punches any second.

The owner’s face turned pale. He hurriedly set down the food and scurried over trembling. “Brother Da Xiong, what’s going on? Please don’t fight in the shop—we can talk things through.”

Zhong Su smiled easily at the owner. “Don’t worry, boss. We’re just old friends catching up. No fighting.”

The owner didn’t recognize Zhong Su and was taken aback by the young man’s familiar tone, gaping with an “Ah?”

Da Xiong’s brows knitted tightly as he released his grip. “Fine, I’ll give you face, boss.” He thumped back into his chair, still glaring daggers at Zhong Su.

The owner hastily wiped sweat from his forehead and called toward the kitchen, “Ah Bin! Quickly bring two bowls of chilled mung bean soup to table 5!” He offered a placating smile. “Such hot weather—you should both drink something cool to settle down. Everything can be discussed reasonably. Harmony brings wealth.Ah Bin brought the mung bean soup, set down the sweet soups, and immediately hid back in the kitchen, afraid of getting caught in any crossfire.

Despite his fierce appearance, Da Xiong was reasonable and principled. Seeing Zhong Su determined to stay, he couldn’t be bothered to drive him away.

He snorted coldly, pouring soy sauce over his claypot rice and mixing the glistening grains with cured meat, resolved to treat Zhong Su as air.

Zhong Su didn’t mind, picking up rice noodles as he casually asked, “I heard the Jiu Zhong Society disbanded? Could you tell me what happened?”

Since his rebirth, he’d been wanting to ask old acquaintances about the changes over the years. Compared to the unpredictable Chen Huan, this fierce-looking but soft-hearted Da Xiong was clearly easier to get information from.

Da Xiong’s hand jerked, spilling an extra half-spoon of soy sauce. He glared. “Eat your noodles quietly. Don’t try getting familiar—don’t ask what you shouldn’t.”

Zhong Su: “Why can’t I ask? I just want to know what happened to the society after… after Xiao Zhong Ge’s accident—”

“!” Da Xiong flipped the table, slamming Zhong Su against the wall in fury, his thick arm pressing hard against Zhong Su’s throat.

His cheek muscles twitched violently as he ground out through clenched teeth, “Kid, who exactly are you? What do you want?”

Zhong Su: “Cough, cough… I’m Zhong Su’s… adopted brother.”

Da Xiong: “What?”

Zhong Su was pinned so hard he could barely breathe. Cursing inwardly at the brute’s strength, he gripped the other man’s wrist tightly and gasped out, “He told me… if he ever went silent… to come find him. If I couldn’t find him, then find his brother……”

He drew a labored breath before continuing, “Why else would I know about the Jiu Zhong Society, about all of you, and so much about Chen Huan?”

The moment Da Xiong’s absurd “lover theory” crossed his mind, Zhong Su broke out in goosebumps. He deliberately emphasized the word “brother,” terrified Da Xiong might conjure up another horrifying misunderstanding.

Da Xiong’s grip loosened slightly, though his eyes remained sharp. “If what you say is true, why appear only now when Xiao Zhong Ge has been gone for so many years?”

Zhong Su had to admit Da Xiong had grown sharper over the years—he’d immediately pinpointed the crucial question.

Pressing his lips together, Zhong Su explained, “Because… I got into some trouble a few years back… had to spend some time inside.”

“After I got out, it took me ages to track down the news… that Xiao Zhong Ge had met with an accident.”

To someone like Da Xiong, entrenched in gang life, this explanation made perfect sense.

Weighing the handsome young man’s words, perhaps swayed by the genuine embarrassment and regret on Zhong Su’s face, Da Xiong gradually released his hold.

He let out a long sigh. “Since Xiao Zhong Ge acknowledged you as his brother, that makes you my brother too. Sit.”

Da Xiong called out to the boss, “Boss! Two more Set C meals—one for this kid.”

The boss forced a smile while inwardly groaning, yet still politely acknowledged Da Xiong’s order. The waiter, wearing a pained expression, cleaned up the mess from earlier, muttering under his breath, “This job’s gonna be the death of me. Pay’s peanuts, work’s endless.”

Two steaming claypot rice with sausages were served. With his guard down, Da Xiong became remarkably forthcoming with Zhong Su.

After all, most of Zhong Su’s questions concerned bygone days—matters long settled and irrelevant to Da Xiong now.

“……After Xiao Zhong Ge left, the society fell into chaos.” Da Xiong fell silent for a moment, his tone darkening as he recalled those events. “We juniors like Shou Hou and I only remember how arrogantly the Longhua Gang acted back then, yet Brother Chen never showed himself.”

“We later learned Brother Chen had been tracking those assassins—all hired by Longhua’s Sun Chengzhi.” He gritted his teeth, fury burning in his eyes.

Hearing Sun Chengzhi’s name didn’t surprise Zhong Su. He’d overheard the assassins mention it during the chase.

“Later, Uncle Dong also had an incident. Not long after, Wen Sheng announced the society was restructuring and disbanded over half our brothers. ‘Restructuring’ was just a nice way of saying we were dissolving… That’s when Shou Hou and I left with Brother Chen……”

Zhong Su interrupted, “What happened to Uncle Dong?”

“Right, you wouldn’t know him,” Da Xiong explained. “He was one of the society’s elders. Suddenly announced one day he was taking his crew to start a new faction. Had a huge fight with Wen Sheng over it—things got really tense between them.”

Da Xiong made a gesture brimming with murderous intent, his voice laced with a chilling coldness: “Anyone with eyes can see this is blatant betrayal. The society absolutely won’t tolerate such things—not even respected elders are exempt.”

Zhong Su’s mind went numb, hearing his own voice flatten into a monotone: “So, he’s dead?”

“Brother Chen helped him keep his dignity. He’s buried near Wangshu Mountain.” Da Xiong paused at this point, placing a hand on Zhong Su’s shoulder. “Almost forgot to tell you—Xiao Zhong Ge’s grave is at Mingyue Spring. You can pay your respects there.”

Zhong Su verbally agreed but had no intention of visiting. He already knew his own ashes had been strung into beads worn around Chen Huan’s wrist—what would be the point of visiting a ghost?

The only thing he felt grateful for now was that Chen Huan hadn’t gone completely mad by publicizing the matter of the ash bracelet.

Zhong Su couldn’t gather much information about Chen Huan because whenever he mentioned Chen Huan’s name, Da Xiong would become wary and refuse to say another word. He had no choice but to tactfully drop the subject.

All he knew was that after Chen Huan left the society, he went into business and rapidly accumulated massive capital by catching several industry waves, investing in numerous ventures. The upscale club where he’d seen Bai Ruolin and Sang Biao was just one of Chen Huan’s many assets.

After finishing breakfast, Da Xiong exchanged phone numbers with Zhong Su, put down some cash, and stood up: “If I’d known earlier you were the brother Xiao Zhong Ge took care of, you wouldn’t have angered Brother Chen. How about this—in a couple days I’ll take you to meet Brother Chen and clear up the misunderstanding.”

“Brother Chen might not take to you, but he’ll definitely show some consideration for anyone left behind by Xiao Zhong Ge.”

Watching Da Xiong’s back disappear around the street corner, Zhong Su’s gaze fell on the half-eaten claypot rice before him, suddenly losing his appetite.

He rested his forehead in his hand and murmured lowly: “The society disbanded, Uncle Dong died… Who could have imagined things would turn out like this…”

There was too much information from Da Xiong to process all at once.

During these seven years he’d been away, everyone had undergone tremendous changes.

Zhong Su rubbed his face, pushing back the rising emotions into the depths of his heart as he stood up: “Forget it, I should go see Uncle Dong first. Otherwise I’ll keep thinking about it and won’t be able to focus on anything.”

He couldn’t muster the motivation to job hunt right now, only wanting to visit Uncle Dong’s grave first—to see the people and matters that, like himself, had been left behind in those seven years ago.