Zhang Chi’s phone kept vibrating. He switched it to silent but accidentally opened one of the voice messages, and a tidal wave of cursing exploded from the speaker. “You bastard, Zhang Chi! Watch where you’re going at night. Sooner or later I’ll tie you up and throw you into a brothel so you can get your fucking fill…”
One swipe of his finger cut the sound off. Zhang Chi calmly locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“Who the hell did you piss off? Sixty-second voice messages covering your whole screen?” The man beside him bumped his shoulder teasingly. “Sounds pretty fierce. Need the boys to back you up?”
Zhang Chi pulled the cigarette from the man’s mouth, tossed it onto the ground, and crushed it beneath his shoe. “We’re closing the net. Stay focused.”
Half an hour later, a man in a suit entered the calligraphy-and-painting exhibition area of the cultural expo. His clothes were old-fashioned and outdated, but with retro styles currently in vogue, he did not stand out.
The man had the bearing of an educated gentleman, yet his face was gaunt and exhausted. There was both a scholar’s refinement about him and the aged desperation of someone struggling to survive.
One hand remained buried in his pocket as he moved through the crowd, slowly approaching a young woman standing before a painting.
One step closer. Zhang Chi, who had followed him into the venue with an earpiece in place, murmured, “Don’t rush.”
Another step. Zhang Chi said, “Wait until he makes a move. We need the evidence.”
His footsteps landed softly. Suddenly the veins in the suited man’s neck bulged, and the grief on his face twisted into madness and viciousness as he raised a sharp dagger toward the girl from point-blank range.
“Move!” Before the word had fully left Zhang Chi’s mouth, he shot from behind a nearby pillar and pulled the girl into his arms beneath the flash of the blade.
Her glossy black hair swept into the air. The desperate slash cut through it, severing a lock that drifted slowly to the floor as though some bond that should have been deep and enduring had been cut apart with it.
Zhang Chi kicked the man squarely in the chest and sent him flying backward. Several others immediately rushed forward, knocked the knife away, and subdued him with practiced ease.
“Zhang Chi—why is it you?!” The suited man stared at him in shock. After thinking it through, he suddenly laughed in despairing self-mockery. “So no matter what I do, I’m just a clown. Even my revenge is under their control!”
He stared at the girl in Zhang Chi’s arms. “Si Yi, I was trying to save you! Why won’t you leave this filthy world with me? Do you know why your paintings have no soul? Because you’ve always despised your family, despised everyone around you. An artist’s inspiration comes from poverty and suffering—the very things you’ve never had!”
Through her tears, the girl gave a bitter smile. “I used to think you might have had a point… but now…” She wiped her face and quietly said to Zhang Chi, “Take me away. I don’t want to see him anymore.”
Only after the two of them had left did the restrained man finally see the oil painting that had held the girl’s attention.
Against a broad field of deep darkness, a bespectacled man held a paintbrush and looked expressionlessly at the girl kneeling before him. The girl looked afraid, yet continued to gaze up at him. Amid the oppressive dark tones, warm color illuminated the brush in the man’s hand, as though beyond all that gray hesitation and unease lay the girl’s bright courage and admiration.
The captured man’s gaze slowly moved downward to the nameplate fixed at the lower-right corner.
Father. That was the painting’s title.
The television was on. At this hour, it was always showing local news.
The Xue household had never followed any rule about silence at the dinner table. Watching television while eating was a habit left over from the years when the family had lived crammed into a tiny apartment. Back then, they watched melodramatic prime-time family dramas; now, those had been replaced by tedious local news.
Xue Kun poured the last of the vegetable broth into his bowl, stirred it with his chopsticks, and shoveled rice into his mouth while watching the television. “A few days ago, people were saying Qiao Shi Feng’s precious daughter had been attacked. Turns out it was true. Look, it even made the news.”
Xue Bao Tian followed his gaze with little interest. His eyes lingered on the female anchor’s chest for a moment before drifting away.
Holding his bowl, Xue Kun lowered his voice. “I heard twenty years ago Qiao Shi Feng’s wife had an affair with some down-and-out painter and even got pregnant. Qiao Shi Feng never knew and spent twenty years raising another man’s daughter. Recently the painter wanted to take his biological daughter away, so Qiao Shi Feng used a few methods to deal with him and pushed him so far down he could only make a living hauling bricks at construction sites…”
Xue Kun hunched lower and lowered his voice even further. Xue Bao Tian crossed one leg over the other and clicked his tongue. “Dad, my brother-in-law’s hearing works perfectly well. Why don’t you whisper even quieter while you’re at it?”
“What nonsense are you talking?” Xue Kun straightened and looked toward his son-in-law, who was sitting upright and eating with impeccable manners. “Wei Hua, you’ve worked hard lately. I specifically had Aunt Hu make dendrobium beef-bone soup for you. Have some more and build yourself up.”
Xue Bao Tian turned away in disgust. Supporting himself against the dining table, he lazily headed toward his room. “Dad, am I not your biological son either? Is there some real father of mine out there waiting day and night for me to come home?”
A slipper flew at him. Xue Kun bellowed, “You’ll say any damn nonsense that comes into your head! Go light some incense for your mother!”
A round-faced, gentle woman picked up the slipper and put it back on Xue Kun’s foot. Smiling, she said, “Dad, my brother’s only joking. Don’t actually get angry. You still hadn’t finished the gossip—I was waiting for the rest.”
“Right, right.” Xue Kun hunched over again and continued to his daughter, “Later the painter was driven desperate. If he couldn’t have her, he decided he’d rather destroy her. Isn’t that insane? His own biological daughter…”
Xue Bao Tian shook out a match and inserted the lit incense into the burner. Picking up an apple from the offering table, he took a bite. “Mom, you’ve already eaten, right? Then I’ll take this.”
Looking at the black-and-white photograph on the wall, Xue Bao Tian chewed the apple and complained through the mouthful. “Mom, do something about Dad. He treats outsiders better than his own son. He looks down on me because I don’t have an education and thinks everything I try is nonsense. Meanwhile he practically worships that overseas returnee. But no matter how I look at it, that brother-in-law of mine is definitely up to some shit. He can’t be trusted.”
He dug several candies from his pocket and placed them on the offering table. “Mom, visit Dad in his dreams tonight and tell him not to trust Wei Hua so much. Tell him to give me a chance too. If he still refuses, tell him he isn’t even my real father. Scare him to death.”
He tossed the apple core into the trash and returned to his room, collapsing onto the bed without the energy to move. He had been running an intermittent fever for three days, and even though he was only just recovering, there was still no strength in his body.
Rolling over, he hooked his phone toward himself and expertly opened Zhang Chi’s chat. Holding down the voice-message button, he said, “Zhang Chi, send me your address. I bought you a new face on Pinduoduo and it’s about to ship. A face is a useful fucking thing, you know, so where the hell is yours? Your word is worth about as much as a fart. You say one thing and do another. If I ever believe you again, I’ll call you Grandpa. Fuck!”
Having completed his daily round of abuse, he tossed the phone aside, picked up his laptop, and began browsing the latest pharmaceutical-industry news.
His phone chimed once. Xue Bao Tian ignored it, dragged the progress bar on his computer all the way to the end, finished reading an industry article, then finally switched devices.
There was one unread message on the screen. He opened it casually, only for his brows to rise. It was actually from Zhang Chi.
That was somewhat unexpected. No matter how viciously Xue Bao Tian had cursed him over the past few days, every message had vanished like a stone dropped into the sea, without the slightest response. Xue Bao Tian did not particularly care; it was purely one-sided venting. Wei Hua annoyed him—he cursed Zhang Chi. His father ignored him—he cursed Zhang Chi. Food tasted bad—he cursed Zhang Chi. He slept badly—half asleep, he would still mumble curses at Zhang Chi. So now that the man had actually replied, Xue Bao Tian found himself strangely unused to it.
He opened the chat. It was a text message: Two Hundred, I have time now. I can be your bodyguard.
Xue Bao Tian abruptly sat upright, then immediately suppressed the flash of delight on his face. He typed back: Too late. All positions filled. Only the watchdog vacancy is left. Interested? Immediate start.
After quite a while, a voice message arrived. Zhang Chi’s tone was soft and warm, carrying a faint smile. “Master Xue, I was wrong. Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?”
Leaning against the headboard, Xue Bao Tian pulled his clothes aside and looked at the marks that had yet to fade from his collarbone. “How are you planning to compensate me?”
“Your rules.”
“Fine. Be my bodyguard. Listen to me. Don’t get any ideas about me. If you act fucking shameless again, I’ll find someone to neuter you!”
“Deal.”