Chapter 86: Death
Lin Youde had a familiar dream.
In the dream, he was driving a large truck along a wide avenue. His vantage point was high, allowing him to see the intersection ahead and the glaring red light; the truck sped forward, and in the blink of an eye, the roadside trees receded behind him.
Inside, he shouted, "Stop! Stop!" But the vehicle surged ahead, howling, and barreled into the middle of the road.
At such speed, with such a perspective, he ought to see nothing at all. And indeed, he saw nothing back then...
This time, within the dream, he saw a small car approaching from his left.
He still couldn't see the car clearly—perhaps it was white, perhaps red.
It must have been the color of blood...
With a deafening crash, noise and impact struck simultaneously.
He finally pressed the brakes.
The tires screeched against the pavement. His ears rang, yet he could hear the pounding of his heart, feel his muscles convulsing in tremors. He thought he heard a woman's scream.
He couldn't move; not because he was trapped in the cab, but because his limbs were weak, powerless to climb out.
He stretched his neck with effort, glanced at the small car in front of his truck.
He saw only the roof—just the roof.
He couldn't tell what color it was, only that it blocked his vision.
He recalled the idle chatter of colleagues, the words of the old hand who had brought him into the profession:
"If someone dies, then someone dies—there's insurance anyway."
"You're driving too slow; step on the gas! Otherwise, you'll take forever on each run!"
"What red light? Those little cars will always yield when they see us."
"Remember, if someone dies, insurance pays. But if they're crippled, you're paying for life!"
Pay for life!
Lin Youde instinctively gripped the steering wheel.
He thought of his parents at home, his wife, and his son just a year old...
His hands suddenly loosened from the wheel.
Staring at the roof of the small car, Lin Youde picked up his phone and sluggishly exited the cab.
He dialed 110, "...crash... at... at..." When he tried to give the address, he stumbled.
He finally saw the people inside the small car.
Two persons.
The man in the driver's seat was calling someone, frantically struggling to push the deformed car frame. The woman in the passenger seat lay still against her chair.
The dream grew fragmented.
Lin Youde knew he never finished that emergency call. Others passing by made the reports. The man called 120, someone else called 119.
The sirens of three emergency vehicles arrived almost simultaneously at the intersection.
He stood dumbly by the little car until rescuers pushed him aside, until police led him away.
After a long while, he saw the woman carried out on a stretcher.
Her face was pale, her abdomen slightly rounded—clearly pregnant. Her lower body... her lower body was red...
Drops of blood fell from the stretcher.
Lin Youde heard crying, heard the man's indistinct howl of pain.
The dream did not end.
He saw his wife.
His wife, eyes reddened by tears, comforted him through the glass: "A-De, it’s okay. We’ll pay compensation, you’ll spend a few years inside. Just cooperate with the police, be polite. A few years... a few years and you’ll be out... as long as no one’s hurt, it’s fine... if the money’s gone, we can earn more. I’ll wait for you with Mom, Dad, and the child."
Lin Youde gazed at his wife in the dream.
He remembered that pale face, the blood-soaked body.
He heard that indistinct, agonized cry.
He said what he'd never said back then: "But what if someone dies?"
Then Lin Youde awoke.
He struggled to open his eyes, murmuring, "I want to see... I want to see him... see... Cheng... Cheng Yao..."
He spoke the name he'd kept in his heart for thirty-five years, never uttered aloud.
His weak voice quickly drew others.
Lin Youde couldn't see the person clearly, but he firmly grasped their hand, "I want to see him... see..."
Cheng Yao...
---
Cheng Yao was startled awake by the ringing of his phone, realizing he'd actually fallen asleep.
He was half-reclined on the sofa, a thin blanket draped over him, a pillow tucked behind his head—clearly Bai Xiao had noticed and arranged these things for him.
The air conditioner still hummed, but the television was off. The person who had been beside him was gone.
Cheng Yao rubbed his eyes, sat up, and answered the persistently ringing phone.
He assumed it was Bai Xiao calling, and instinctively almost called out "Shengsheng."
But before he could speak, he heard a man’s voice.
"Hello... may I ask, are you Mr. Cheng Yao?" The voice was steady but hoarse, with a touch of hesitation, respectful.
Cheng Yao paused, glanced at the screen—it was an unfamiliar number.
"Yes, I am," he replied, feeling a strange unease.
Sales calls or scams never sounded so polite. Or was it something from his company? But he’d completed his retirement paperwork...
"Hello. I... I am Lin Youde’s son. I wonder if you still remember..."
Hearing that name, Cheng Yao was momentarily dazed.
"My father... my father is in the hospital now, the doctors have issued a critical notice." The man's voice choked, "He wants to see you. Are you available... if you’re available, we’d like to visit... Please don’t worry, it’s not an infectious disease. It’s liver cancer... he doesn’t have much time left... he wants to see you..."
As he spoke, the man broke into tears.
Cheng Yao was silent, not answering.
He lowered his head and saw the new ring on his left ring finger. He looked away, gazed at the empty room. For a moment, he wondered if the events at the Monster Clinic had only been a dream. Then he saw his own youthful reflection in the cabinet glass.
A long time passed, long enough for the crying and breathing on the other end to fade, before he finally asked, "Which hospital are you at?"
---
When Bai Xiao returned from shopping, she saw Cheng Yao dressed to go out.
Surprised, she asked, "Where are you off to? I bought mandarin fish, we can steam it tonight." She lifted her bag and smiled.
Cheng Yao was startled. "Ah, um... I just got a call, something’s happened with my cousin. I need to go over."
Bai Xiao raised her eyebrows, "Oh... what happened?"
"He’s in the hospital, I’ll go take a look," Cheng Yao replied vaguely.
"You’re going like this?" Bai Xiao glanced at his face and pulled him back. "Let me do your makeup..."
"No need, I’ll be wearing a mask anyway, and glasses," Cheng Yao said.
"Still, cover up a bit. Change your clothes, too. Your hand looks way too young, you’ll be recognized for sure." Bai Xiao insisted, putting the groceries in the kitchen, then quickly returning to drag him to the bedroom.
Cheng Yao opened his mouth, but gave up protesting.
As Bai Xiao applied makeup, she muttered, "I was hoping we could skip Liu Yu’s wedding, spend a peaceful weekend at home..."
"Mm."
"Go, but come back early, don’t stay too long."
"Mm."
Cheng Yao felt a bit down.
Last time Cheng Yang called, he’d thought about telling him everything, hoping Cheng Yang’s family could accept the unbelievable things that had happened to him, accept Bai Xiao’s resurrection.
But...
Cheng Yao looked up, feeling the brush on his face and Bai Xiao’s gaze.
Bai Xiao was clearly unwilling to interact too much with the outside world. She’d outright refused Liu Yu’s wedding invitation. After returning home, she never suggested visiting anyone.
Come to think of it, they still hadn’t visited each other's parents’ graves.
From morning to night, their days were filled with the mundane details of daily life; aside from errands, they had no contact with anyone else.
There was nothing wrong with such a life.
But...
"Done," Bai Xiao put away the makeup tools. "Just wear a mask, and a hat."
She busied herself, making sure Cheng Yao was fully prepared.
"I’m heading out," Cheng Yao said.
"Come back soon," Bai Xiao waved, smiling goodbye at the door.
Cheng Yao pulled down the brim of his hat, went downstairs, then paused, turning to look at his own balcony.
Sure enough, Bai Xiao stood there, waving at him.
She seemed reluctant to part, but her smile was perfectly ordinary.
Cheng Yao waved back, and walked toward the community gate.
He could feel her gaze on him. He turned two corners, walked all the way to the entrance, and her gaze still lingered.
Cheng Yao paused, looked back slightly.
---
Behind him was a couple with a baby stroller. A middle-aged man was unloading things from his car nearby. A few steps away, a young woman was walking toward the community.
Cheng Yao’s gaze swept over the green belt, then turned toward his own building.
His sight pierced the blocks and walls, seeing Bai Xiao still leaning on the balcony window, lost in thought.
He lowered his eyes and left the community.
---
The hospital where Lin Youde stayed was not far from Cheng Yao’s home, an ordinary community hospital. The department he was in was palliative care.
Cheng Yao had only seen Lin Youde twice—once at the sentencing, just a glance.
Those around him harbored varying degrees of resentment toward Lin Youde, but he did not.
He had always believed Bai Xiao’s death was his fault.
He had met, loved, and lived with Bai Xiao. He’d planned that day according to their anniversary, set the route and timing, and he was the one driving...
Lin Youde seemed like a calamity destined in their fate, waiting there, ready for him to lead Bai Xiao step by step to the butcher’s knife.
If it wasn’t necessary, he wouldn’t have attended the trial and sentencing.
At that time, he just wanted to stay in the home they’d built together, as if waiting there would bring Bai Xiao back. Not standing among strangers, listening to them recount Bai Xiao’s death, hearing them condemn and judge another stranger.
What did any of that have to do with Bai Xiao?
Cheng Yao knew Bai Xiao held no resentment toward Lin Youde. She never had the chance to.
She hadn’t even seen Lin Youde’s face.
The last minutes of her life were spent instructing him, giving her final words.
It wasn’t until that phone call, that name, that Cheng Yao realized how clearly he still remembered Lin Youde.
Now, standing before this frail stranger, Cheng Yao’s mind was blank.
The man was emaciated, too weak to speak, unable even to open his eyes.
A woman, looking very old and utterly drained of emotion, sat by the bedside, her face streaked with tears. Cheng Yao recognized her as Lin Youde’s wife.
Lin Youde’s son stood beside Cheng Yao. The infant once cradled by his mother had grown into a man with graying hair, appearing forty or fifty.
He spoke softly, "...We just transferred here and contacted you. He couldn’t speak by then. When he could, he kept saying he wanted to see you. Before he got sick, he never mentioned it... I was only a year old then... After he came out, he couldn’t drive, so he worked as a mover, still in the factories. In the early years, he collected evidence... at first, he didn’t know anything, reported illegal activities, didn’t succeed, even got into trouble. Later, he learned how... I didn’t understand as a child. Our relatives said he was taking revenge, blaming others, that he went to prison while others did the same and got off... He was beaten, the house was vandalized... He worked in many places, eventually became infamous, couldn’t keep jobs... Later, just odd jobs. Most of his earnings were donated... He must have wanted..."
The man lowered his head, lips moving as if he wanted to say "atonement," but the words were barely audible, unable to be spoken openly.
He continued, "After my grandparents died, my mother divorced him. I lived with her, and for years we didn’t contact him. Until two months ago, he fainted at the station, the police contacted me, and I found out... He only had his ID, bank card, your contact, and... the original verdict... Some things I only pieced together from bank statements... He can’t explain anymore..."
Cheng Yao’s gaze was empty and lost. He said nothing, only quietly watched the dying man on the bed.
Suddenly, as if sensing something, the frail body stirred.
Those eyes opened, searching, their unfocused gaze settling on empty space.
From his chest, battered like a broken bellows, came the last breath, a barely audible sound from his throat.
"Sorry... sorry... I... sorry... Mr. Cheng..."
Lin Youde’s former wife and son rushed forward, seeking doctors and nurses. Cries and calls could not affect the motionless Cheng Yao.
Lin Youde’s eyes seemed to brighten.
His lips moved, but he could no longer make a sound.
Cheng Yao kept watching Lin Youde. He knew Lin Youde was not apologizing for the accident thirty-five years ago, but for avoiding responsibility these thirty-five years.
As for the accident...
---
Lin Youde stared at the ceiling.
He was about to meet the person he had killed.
That woman, and her unborn child.
Lin Youde felt himself slipping into another dream.
He drove, about to run the red light, rush into the intersection.
Again, he failed to brake in time.
But this time, he wrenched the wheel, the truck skidded sideways from inertia and overturned.
He felt his body battered by violent impact, crushed into a narrow space, unable to move.
He heard the woman’s scream, saw her appear at the truck’s front, one hand on her belly, the other dialing her phone, anxiously bending over him.
He saw police cars, fire engines, ambulances.
He felt the space pressing on him being broken open.
The place that had trapped him for thirty-five years was finally opened.
In his own fantasy, Lin Youde stopped breathing.