Chapter 10

Shen Guodong said: “He’s back to his old trade—Da Zhuang took the blame, the others ran off, now Lao Biao’s dealing in eggs and millet, his third uncle’s helping him and also flipping tickets, but he’s not daring to go big anymore, Er Hai’s helping out, I sometimes lend a hand too, but there’s not enough work to support so many.”

Li Xuewu stood up and said: “Take me to them.”

Shen Guodong said nervously: “Brother Wu, we’re all heartbroken over Da Zhuang’s loss, but Lao Biao didn’t mean it…”

Jian Lai

Li Xuewu bid farewell to the old woman, stepped out of the house—it was too suffocating.

Shen Guodong had no choice but to tell the old woman something, then stepped out wearing a tattered cotton-padded jacket and a cotton-lined hat to lead the way.

Neither spoke on the way; they turned several corners, then suddenly the space opened up—it must’ve been the old miscellaneous goods market, once selling flowers, birds, fish, and insects, and from afar, it looked like Zhi Fang Bridge.

Damn, these people really know how to pick spots—years ago they cracked down hard on a bunch, and now they’re back, and in force.

Each small stall was spaced far apart, each with a single oil lamp casting dim light over various used goods and grain.

Scared stiff by the crackdowns, the vendors had grown cunning.

The millet sellers placed only a tiny cupful under the lamp; when someone wanted to trade, they’d extinguish the lamp and lead the buyer to their home down the alley, where the deal happened. Most vendors were locals; if not, they’d find some way to rent a room or claim to be visiting relatives—everyone needed a nest.

Those without a nest covered their goods with overcoats, used flashlights to inspect the contents of sacks, completed the deal, then slung the sack over their shoulder and vanished.

When inspectors showed up, the lookouts blew pigeon whistles; vendors tossed their tiny samples on the ground and bolted—those with nests returned to them; since they weren’t caught red-handed, no one cared if you slipped out at night to pee.

Those without nests just dropped their samples, slung their sacks over their shoulders, and scattered like birds and beasts—sharply alert.

Before entering, they’d spotted a lookout; Shen Guodong made a hand signal, and the man didn’t come over.

Shen Guodong led Li Xuewu through winding paths to a stall in the center, with no one nearby—on a rag on the ground lay broken eggshells and a pinch of millet—damn, this guy really knew how to cut corners.

Shen Guodong glanced around, coughed twice in a low voice, and then movement came from the corner.

The sound of wood tapping the ground—this was like a secret handshake.

A thick, short, squat man leaned against the wall, peering closely in their direction.

Shen Guodong led Li Xuewu toward the corner, shoved the fat face with his palm into the alley.

“Fuck, Guodong, easy, don’t ruin my glorious face.”

Shen Guodong didn’t mince words: “Lao Biao, your glorious face is full of shit.”

Lao Biao opened his mouth to retort, but Li Xuewu switched on his flashlight—Lao Biao recognized him under the light and started to speak.

Li Xuewu turned off the flashlight, stepped forward, and slapped him hard—*crack*.

Lao Biao’s words turned into: “Fuck…”

Li Xuewu gripped Lao Biao’s throat, pressed the flashlight against his face, and turned it on.

“What did I tell you before I left? Is this how you look after your brother?”

A man rushed over from the stall, entered the alley, saw his nephew pinned against the wall, and moved to intervene.

Damn, he walked right into it—Li Xuewu turned off the flashlight, released Lao Biao, and slapped the charging man hard.

He grabbed the stunned man by the collar and slammed him against the wall, lifting his toes off the ground.

The man clutched his face, trembling: “Brother, which patch do you run? I’m Wen San’er from this area—give me a break, spare us this once.”

Li Xuewu switched on the flashlight, aimed it at the ground—the reflection lit up his own face.

Seeing it was Li Xuewu, Wen San’er’s legs began to shake—he couldn’t believe this bandit was back.

Li Xuewu growled: “Wen San’er, huh? You want me to give you face? Who gives me face for my brother? Should I send you down to ask him if he’ll spare you?”

While Li Xuewu dealt with Wen San’er, Lao Biao slid to his knees where Li Xuewu had released him, tears falling steadily.

Shen Guodong tried to pull him up, but he wouldn’t rise—he just kept banging his head on the ground.

Li Xuewu tilted his head, voice sharp: “He’s dead. Who are you putting on this show for?”

Wen San’er, seeing his normally tough, intimidating nephew kneel like this, was truly terrified—he remembered how Li Xuewu, as a teenager, had hated him and refused to let him tag along, showing no affection at all—he feared Li Xuewu would really kill him.

“Xuewu, Brother Wu, Grandpa Wu—I swear it’s not my nephew’s fault! It’s my fault, I lost my mind, brought disaster on us—kill me, spare him!”

Wen San’er wept uncontrollably, slapping his own face; people outside the alley had heard the commotion and were peering over.

Li Xuewu turned off the flashlight and threw Wen San’er to the ground; he didn’t dare lie down, but quickly crawled over to kneel beside his nephew.

Long ago, though Wen San’er couldn’t keep up with Li Xuewu, he’d seen the fourteen- or fifteen-year-old Li Xuewu lead a gang of half-grown boys using dog-chains to beat a twenty-something man until his skin split open, screaming for his mother.

No matter how strong or old you were, you couldn’t withstand five half-grown boys each swinging a chain at you.

Li Xuewu crouched before the still-banging Lao Biao and asked: “Do you know why I hit you?”

Lao Biao didn’t answer, just kept banging his head.

Li Xuewu knew these weren’t bows to him—they were to Da Zhuang, buried beneath the earth.

When they gathered to play, Li Xuewu planned everything, Da Zhuang and Lao Biao did the hitting, Shen Guodong handled support, and Er Hai, four years younger, could only keep watch.

Lao Biao’s real name was Li Wenbiao; he looked old, so they called him Lao Biao. Da Zhuang and Lao Biao bickered constantly, yet were closest—Da Zhuang took Lao Biao’s parents as his adoptive parents; otherwise, Da Zhuang’s mother couldn’t have held on with two kids.

Because he’d led them astray and lost his brother, Li Xuewu’s slap had unleashed all his regret, guilt, and grief—and Lao Biao wept.

Ignoring the kneeling Wen San’er, Li Xuewu yanked Lao Biao up and said: “I hit you because you’re too stupid to think for yourself and drag others down. I hit you because you didn’t take responsibility when things went wrong. I hit you because you made no plan after the disaster. Are you a pig’s brain?”

Lao Biao looked at Li Xuewu: “I’m wrong, I know I’m wrong, I’m wrong, I’m wrong… Wuwuwu ”

The ugly fat man was crying bitterly—Li Xuewu wiped his face with his glove, pulled him up; Wen San’er rose awkwardly beside him.