Although Dao Shangzou was inherently skeptical of the underground church’s prophecies, the organization had undeniably assisted him over the past year or so. Consequently, he dared not casually disregard his master’s warnings.
Recalling the New Year’s Day, when his family visited the Bodhi Temple on Dingguo Mountain in Mengshan County to offer incense, Dao Shangzou had offhandedly mentioned this matter to the temple abbot, Master Daosheng. He then inquired of the master whether there was any basis for his own master’s prediction of a disaster befalling them in January of that year.
At the time, Master Daosheng’s expression had seemed somewhat peculiar. After a considerable pause, he finally stated that having taken refuge in Buddhism, he believed in letting all things take their natural course, did not dabble in profound mysteries, and simply advised self-reliance in all matters.
Dao Shangzou couldn’t shake the feeling that Master Daosheng was withholding something, yet the master offered no further explanation.
However, since young Jing Lan was acquainted with the master, a conversation with him tomorrow would suffice.
The cola quickly ran out. Dao Shangzou burped, then ambled unsteadily along the road.
Despite not having drunk alcohol tonight, he felt strangely lightheaded.
‘Could the cola have been spiked with alcohol? Impossible. Would a knock-off brand really perform such a charitable act as curing an alcohol addiction?’
He initially thought he was merely overtired, believing that a few more steps would get his blood circulating and revive his spirits.
Unexpectedly, after just a few steps, his head grew even dizzier, and his gait became increasingly unsteady, as if walking on cotton.
As he continued, he spotted a cluster of lights ahead, followed by the murmur of voices drifting into his ears. ‘Ah, I’m back at the wedding venue,’ he realized.
“What? You think you can beat me with seventeen cards? If you can beat me with seventeen cards today, I’ll eat this phone right here and now!”
It seemed someone was playing ‘Fight the Landlord’. ‘Perhaps if I join a couple of rounds, using my brain will sober me up,’ he mused.
This thought was Dao Shangzou’s last lucid one.
He staggered towards the lights, seemingly envisioning groups of three to five fellow villagers engrossed in card games.
A boy approached him.
“Hey, Little Lamai, are you heading home after playing?”
Little Lamai watched Dao Shangzou stumble closer, his gaze fixed strangely on him, as if Little Lamai were some oddity deserving such an peculiar look.
Dao Shangzou mumbled indistinctly, his words a series of gurgles.
“Brother Dao, what are you saying? Have you had too much to drink? Come inside and sit down. My dad’s playing cards too.”
As if he hadn’t heard, Dao Shangzou continued to sway forward. After a few steps, he even extended his hand, fumbling vaguely in the air before him.
Little Lamai scratched his head.
‘How did this guy drink so much? Did those city folk get him drunk? Forget it, who cares about him. I’m going home.’
In Dao Shangzou’s mind, coherent thoughts were rapidly diminishing. He tried to summon clear ideas, but soon, even the impulse to ‘try’ began to blur.
To his surprise, everyone playing cards was looking at him.
It was a magnificent hall, adorned with dazzling, jewel-encrusted chandeliers. Everyone, impeccably dressed in suits, stood in neat rows, smiling at him.
“Brother Dao, come play cards!” Old Wang, the town blacksmith, hollered.
“Come gamble! I’m having bad luck today, so come play a few rounds and see how much you can win from me!” Old Lü also called out to him.
“Alright, alright, I’m coming right now!” Dao Shangzou eagerly quickened his pace, moving towards the crowd.
Suddenly, everyone simultaneously extended their hands, eager to shake Dao Shangzou’s hand.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you all for inviting me to play cards!”
Dao Shangzou quickly stepped forward, extending his own hand towards the crowd.
A hearty burst of laughter immediately erupted from the crowd.
****
Jing Lan pushed open the room door, just as Ling Yechen was about to leave.
“Going out this late?”
A faint hint of displeasure crossed Ling Yechen’s face, though it was too subtle to discern his features clearly in the dim room.
Nevertheless, Jing Lan sensed the palpable aura of his irritation.
“Just going to the bathroom,” Ling Yechen replied before closing the door and stepping out.
Lui Si’s jacket lay on the bedside table, and she flopped onto the bed.
“Lui Si, you seem to quite enjoy teasing innocent high school boys.”
“Innocent high school boy? He’s just a moody brat.” Lui Si scrolled through her phone. “Ah, perhaps that’s a bit harsh. But I just don’t understand why a good student who plays in a band has to be so well-behaved. I always thought playing in a band would make people braver.”
“It’s the fault of the times. Competition is too fierce in big cities, and parents of good students dare not relax. From a young age, they’re taught to be obedient, so it’s hard to tell if learning drums is his personal interest or just his parents’ intense ‘tiger parenting’. In any case, his meticulous playing is infused with the flavor of pre-packaged, exam-oriented education. Though I actually quite like it.”
“But regardless, what his parents did the year before last was simply too much.”
“I implore you, please don’t mention that matter to him again. I believe it caused him severe trauma.”
Lui Si nodded. “Ah, I know that. But if he doesn’t change, Sister Keke won’t like him.”
“Mm.” Jing Lan nodded.
“Wait, no.” He turned his head back.
“Why would Keke like him?”
“He just admitted that he came here this time because he wanted to… wait a minute…”
Lui Si’s fingers, scrolling on her phone, suddenly accelerated, and she occasionally used two fingers to zoom in on the screen, seemingly staring wide-eyed at some image.
“This couldn’t be some massive hacker intrusion, could it? Otherwise, how could something like this be happening?” Lui Si’s eyes were wide. Jing Lan asked twice, “What’s happening?” Lui Si was about to answer, but then she saw another shocking news item, and in her surprise, failed to respond again.
Jing Lan stopped asking. If it truly were significant news, his own phone would surely push a notification.
Opening his phone, the first notification immediately caught his eye.
“Multiple cases of flu patients harming people reported nationwide?”
“There’s even a video! Our classmates from Beijing Forestry University forwarded it on WeChat…”
Jing Lan hurriedly interjected, “Tell them to be careful; forwarding rumors could get them ‘invited for tea’.”
As Jing Lan’s father worked for a supervisory agency, Jing Lan was particularly sensitive to such issues.
However, he soon ceased his warnings, for similar content began appearing in his own Moments feed.
One of his university professors, who had just picked up medicine at the hospital, filmed a video of what appeared to be a deranged patient howling and biting people.
The caption read: “Hospital suspected of biohazard outbreak, families please take note.”
The phrase “biohazard outbreak” seemed to carry a hint of jest, but Jing Lan knew this professor was from the film academy and accustomed to describing things in cinematic terms. For this professor, “biohazard outbreak” was likely a very accurate description.
Upon checking various other social media platforms, similar news stories began to explode. They were being forwarded everywhere in QQ groups, and on Weibo, they directly dominated the trending topics.
“That’s a bit strange,” Jing Lan mused, furrowing his brow. “If the recent flu genuinely causes people to go insane and harm others, why is the news only breaking now, all at once?”
Lui Si didn’t reply; she had discovered an even more captivating video.
“It’s real… this place, it’s the park near my home. On the ground, there seem to be many dead people…”
In the video, on a park plaza, the swaying music of square dancing still played, but now it was interspersed with the wailing cries of elderly women.
Jing Lan leaned closer to look, and he saw crimson bloodstains on the plaza floor.
“Interesting,” he remarked blandly.
Regardless of whether it was flu-related, an increasingly strong premonition of something major about to happen settled over him.
“I just hope the heavens aren’t playing too cruel a joke.” With that, Jing Lan returned to his bed. He was exhausted today, and even thrilling news couldn’t hold his attention for long.
He had considered calling his father, but with the year-end workload, it was probably better not to disturb him. This was a habit born from his father’s unique line of work.
Just then, two loud “thuds” echoed from the wooden door of the room.
Lui Si, still holding her phone with one hand to watch, jumped off the bed and reached out to open the door.
“Wait, Lui Si,” Jing Lan said, sitting upright.
“That’s not Ling Yechen at the door.”
****
The bathroom was nearly a hundred meters from their lodging. One had to pass through a small bamboo grove to reach the small hut constructed from composite panels.
Going to the bathroom only took half a minute, but Ling Yechen was in no hurry to leave.
His father called him.
Watching the reflection in the mirror above the washbasin outside the bathroom—a lean boy, 175cm tall, dressed in a gray jacket—Ling Yechen picked up his phone.
For a moment, he felt an impulse to simply disregard his parents.
After all, he had been raised as a mere tool since childhood, created by his parents solely to continue their bloodline in the big city.
He understood, with a mixture of guilt and undeniable clarity, that he harbored little affection for them.
During his adolescence, his parents had brought him little joy, acting more like stern, authoritarian deities.
Yet, in the end, he still answered his father’s call.
Reason told him he could not yet escape his family.
Due to the sudden epidemic, his parents had contacted his paternal uncle, who then revealed Ling Yechen’s whereabouts.
Over the phone, his father spewed every harsh word imaginable.
Then, he began smashing Ling Yechen’s drum kit, creating a terrifying racket over the phone.
It sounded like a sledgehammer or something similar; it seemed difficult to break at first, but after a great effort, Ling Yechen finally heard the sound of the drumhead tearing over the phone, and a pang of pain shot through his heart.
“The drums… they were bought with your money…” he stammered timidly, only to be met with an immediate furious retort: “Good that you know!”
His father then proceeded to curse his bandmates, calling them disreputable hooligans and ‘Visual Kei’ delinquents—it was a wonder he even knew what Visual Kei was.
This distressed Ling Yechen immensely. Sister Keke was the only student from Mengshan County that year to get into a 985 university. But that didn’t matter; telling his father would be useless.
The fact that his friends were insulted because of him filled Ling Yechen with overwhelming shame. He longed to curse back, but the words caught in his throat, eventually devolving into a series of inarticulate grunts and murmurs.
His father stated that his paternal uncle would come to pick him up tomorrow.
Ling Yechen didn’t tell his father that the roads were already closed.
Regardless, he knew he could only return to that home.
He suddenly understood why Harry Potter couldn’t leave the Dursleys’ house.
Indeed, no matter how much he yearned for freedom, his social ties dictated that he could only operate within certain predefined boundaries.
He could be rebellious to the end, and at least he wouldn’t die. But that would mean burning bridges with his parents. Ling Yechen lacked that courage.
If he had that courage, he wouldn’t suffer from depression. Bad kids generally didn’t get depressed.
He also didn’t want his parents to keep insulting his friends. Gritting his teeth, he casually mumbled a few perfunctory responses, then abruptly hung up the phone.
A journey ruined before it even began; how he would adjust his mindset next would be a major challenge.
If his college entrance exams also ended in disaster, he couldn’t imagine what he would become.
He remembered Sister Keke once telling him that Senior Jing Lan had almost jumped off a building that year.
‘Wait a moment, maybe talking directly to Sister Keke would help.’
Ordinarily, Ling Yechen wasn’t so proactive; all his communication was through online text. He disliked the sound of his own voice.
Keke, the band’s lead singer, possessed a lively, tomboyish voice that made him so self-conscious he didn’t want to make any sound at all.
Yet now, an ineffable force compelled him to pick up his phone and find the number he had noted down when he first met his friends two years ago, a number he had never dared to dial.
The phone rang for a long time.
‘Is she ignoring me…?’
‘No, with her personality, she wouldn’t deliberately avoid answering.’
‘Is she busy?’
As he pondered this, the call suddenly connected.
The “Good evening, Senior, about that…” that had been churning in his mind for so long remained unspoken, as a frightening cacophony erupted from the other end of the line, immediately followed by the clang of a door slamming shut.
“Darling, you almost got me killed!” the girl on the other end of the phone cursed.