Chapter Ninety-Seven: Hidden Agendas
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After Bai Xiao had practiced her makeup skills, she urged Cheng Yao to find out the daily routines of Huihui and Yuyu. This was not too difficult. Cheng Yao asked around subtly and learned that Huihui now lived a very regular life—she spent her days helping her son take care of her grandson, either playing in the community or nearby parks, or attending early education classes with the child. Yuyu, on the other hand, lived a carefree life: eating and drinking during the day, dancing in the square at night, occasionally joining a tour group to explore the beautiful landscapes of the country.
Upon hearing this, Bai Xiao decided to focus on Yuyu as her target.
“I can’t just blend into an early education center...” Bai Xiao felt a bit down at first, but before Cheng Yao could comfort her, she raised her face and asked, “When does Yuyu usually dance in the square?”
This question was more specific, and Cheng Yao hesitated—it would be somewhat strange to ask Yuyu directly.
Bai Xiao did not lose heart. She resolved to stroll around the neighborhood near Yuyu’s residence and stage a chance encounter.
“Don’t follow me. I’ll go alone,” Bai Xiao said, fully prepared and only asked Cheng Yao to take her to the bus station.
Their home was quite far from Yuyu’s place and required at least one transfer.
“Don’t lose your phone. Call me if anything happens.”
“I’m not a child,” Bai Xiao smiled and boarded the bus.
Cheng Yao watched the bus drive away, lingering at the bus stop for a while before not returning home.
Bai Xiao had no success in the first two days, but she was not discouraged. On the third day, she finally spotted Yuyu from afar.
Returning home after ten o’clock at night, Bai Xiao’s eyes were red and her makeup somewhat smudged. Seeing Cheng Yao, she both laughed and cried.
Cheng Yao embraced her.
“You were like this on the wedding day too, but then you were crying while holding Yuyu and Huihui,” Cheng Yao said, patting her back soothingly.
That day, the master of ceremonies had only formally invited the two bridesmaids to speak, unaware that the bride and the two bridesmaids would break down on stage, holding each other and crying, leaving the groom standing to the side. After wiping their tears, the bridesmaids pretended to be fierce and warned Cheng Yao to treat Bai Xiao well, causing Bai Xiao’s tears to fall again just as she had stopped crying.
In contrast, the speeches from both sets of parents were calm and pleasant. All four elders smiled warmly, and Cheng Yao held Bai Xiao, both beaming brightly.
Bai Xiao sniffled, “Yuyu looks well-maintained. Among those dancing, she’s the youngest. She also seems quite healthy.”
Cheng Yao smiled, recalling Yuyu’s attendance at his father-in-law’s funeral, and said a few words while handing Bai Xiao a warm towel for her eyes.
Bai Xiao reclined on the sofa and continued, “She really has good energy. From what I saw, she seems to come to dance very early every day. Near her community, there’s a square and a lake, and by the lakeside there’s an open space. The dancers come in several groups, which made it easier for me to find her... There were also people singing karaoke with speakers, and playing instruments... She sang two songs. I... I haven't talked to her yet, just watched from nearby...”
Bai Xiao seemed to feel a mix of excitement and hesitation, seeing Yuyu but not daring to approach.
Cheng Yao encouraged her.
“I’ll go again tomorrow,” Bai Xiao said, removing the towel and giving herself a pep talk.
“Good luck.”
Bai Xiao smiled softly.
Her life became extremely regular: during the day, she stayed home with Cheng Yao, cozy and affectionate; at night, after an early dinner, she took the bus to near Yuyu’s home and stayed until after ten before returning.
Her relationship with Yuyu progressed slowly. On one hand, she dared not be too bold for fear of arousing suspicion; on the other, the large age gap made it difficult to become close friends. Activities like square dancing and karaoke in the square were both opportunities and obstacles to making friends; finding the right moment to have a heartfelt conversation between songs and dances was not easy.
Bai Xiao’s emotions thus swung between low spirits and bursts of hope.
Cheng Yao’s life also became more regular. He spent the day with Bai Xiao, then after seeing her off on the bus at night, wandered around.
The feeling of being watched came and went, faint and elusive.
He knew the “patient friend” had not given up, but he could not uncover their purpose, identity, or whereabouts. He did not even know where to begin investigating.
The monster clinic had also vanished as if it had never appeared.
Le Boss grew worried.
“The calls never go through... Did he just leave without notice? That doctor was always mysterious...” Le Boss sighed, saddened by the loss of a friend.
Cheng Yao vaguely suspected that the doctor’s disappearance was related to the “patient friend.”
...
In the dark TV room, there was still only a small television.
The filing cabinet, floor lamp, and DVD player had all disappeared; the room returned to its original state.
The doctor remained in front of the TV as before.
His pale blue eyes stared at the screen.
His ten fingers were still as if holding their breath, unusually quiet.
The TV image was somewhat unusual.
There was no Cheng Yao or Bai Xiao on screen, but instead the camera focused on the living room of Old Zhang’s home, showing him sitting on the sofa watching TV, with his obedient dog at his feet.
Old Zhang’s leg was still in a cast, resting on the coffee table.
The wheelchair Cheng Yao lent him was nearby, within easy reach.
Old Zhang’s phone rang once.
He picked it up and looked.
The camera zoomed in on the phone screen, showing a new message from Wang Jia:
“Two more screenings. I’ll step out to use the restroom in between. How are you?”
The previous message was a photo of seven people lined up, with Wang Jia standing among six middle-aged men and women, all holding commemorative movie tickets for the fiftieth anniversary special marathon screening of The Ring of Death Curse, smiling happily.
Above that, a recent message from Wang Jia said he had arrived at the cinema, met with fellow fans, picked up the tickets, and was waiting for entry.
Old Zhang replied that everything was fine at home.
Wang Jia quickly sent another message: “Go to bed early. I’ll finish all the screenings around midnight. The hotel next door is already booked. We’ll sleep there after the show.”
“Got it. You rest early too,” Old Zhang replied.
Old Zhang put down the phone, grabbed the remote, flipped through a few channels, then turned off the TV with little interest.
He leaned over to pet his dog, “Good boy, let’s get ready to sleep.”
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The dog stood up and softly called, seeming to respond, then obediently went to the balcony alone.
Old Zhang balanced on one leg, sat in his wheelchair, and pushed himself into the bedroom. Then, he skillfully transferred from the wheelchair to the bed.
He was already adept at the routine of getting on and off the wheelchair.
He called out, “Lights off,” and all the lights in the room went out simultaneously, plunging the room into darkness.
The TV image dimmed but was not completely black.
The doctor’s pale blue eyes seemed able to see the outlines in the dark, his gaze extremely focused.
The camera pulled back, leaving the bedroom and arriving at the door.
Ding dong—ding dong—
The doorbell rang.
Movements came from both the bedroom and balcony.
Old Zhang shouted from the bedroom, “Who is it?”
No one answered; only the doorbell continued ringing.
Old Zhang sighed and called, “Lights on.”
The room brightened.
The dog ran from the balcony to the living room, glancing at Old Zhang, then at the door.
The doorbell stopped.
Roll roll roll...
After a moment, the wheelchair came out of the bedroom.
Old Zhang pushed himself to the entrance, got up, and peered through the peephole.
The camera focused there, showing an eye approaching the peephole.
The eye enlarged, filling the entire TV screen, then froze.
The doctor’s ten fingers involuntarily emitted a sharp intake of breath, full of anticipation.
The image did not change for a long time, but it was not a signal cut or a pause.
Looking closely, Old Zhang’s pupil slightly contracted and trembled. Outside the frame, the dog whimpered and moved.
Old Zhang suddenly stepped back, revealing his full face on camera.
He gasped, then covered his mouth and nose, holding his breath, his wide eyes filled with terror.
He tried to retreat but forgot his injury and that the wheelchair was behind him, causing him to fall to the ground.
The dog barked anxiously, circling Old Zhang.
Old Zhang nervously glanced at the door.
He dared not move and even reached out to calm the restless dog.
The dog understood and froze.
The doctor’s ten fingers, however, made more intense noises.
The image froze again for a long time.
Old Zhang swallowed saliva and got up from the floor.
He cautiously approached the peephole again but hesitated, seemingly building up his courage, inching closer little by little.
His eyes enlarged on the screen again.
This time, the image did not freeze.
Old Zhang only glanced once, then leaned back and put distance between himself and the door.
He trembled as he retreated, gripping the wheelchair handles tightly and moving slowly.
He exerted great effort to move from the entrance back to the bedroom.
The camera followed him, watching as he reached for his phone, trembling as he opened the dialing screen.
Before he could enter a number, the room’s lights all went off.
Old Zhang screamed in fright; the dog emitted a scared whimper.
The only light source inside was the phone’s screen, shining on Old Zhang’s pale face.
Click!
The entrance door opened automatically.
Old Zhang’s scream drowned out the door’s sound. He looked around fearfully and after a moment noticed the light at the entrance.
A figure entered and closed the door behind them.
The figure walked forward slowly, footsteps rhythmic.
The doctor’s ten fingers quieted to faint breaths, like a horror movie watcher holding their breath at a critical moment, suppressed excitement and anticipation.
The breathing from the TV and Old Zhang’s fearful breaths matched.
The phone’s light went off automatically, plunging the room into darkness, leaving only the silhouettes of objects.
The dog rushed to the bedroom door, crouched low, and let out a threatening growl.
It barked twice but was silenced and dragged aside by an unseen force.
The figure stepped into the bedroom and stood before Old Zhang, raising a hand.
The outstretched left hand was clearly visible on screen. On its ring finger was the raised outline of a diamond ring.
The hand hovered above Old Zhang’s head, then moved slightly to his neck.
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The hand descended.
The close-up camera followed the hand but diverted midway, placing the palm on Old Zhang’s arm.
Old Zhang was pulled upright and settled on the bed.
His body trembled uncontrollably.
“Do you remember me?” a woman’s voice sounded in the darkness.
“No! I don’t remember!” Old Zhang cried in panic, covering his face. “I know nothing!”
“That night, the person who fought me—do you know him?” the woman asked casually.
Old Zhang trembled even more.
“Who is that person?” she continued.
“I... I...” Old Zhang could not finish his sentence.
“Don’t be afraid. I just want to ask about him.”
The woman’s gentle tone seemed to soothe Old Zhang’s fear.
He stammered, “The one I know... that person is called Fang Xi...”
Though his words were muddled and unclear, he revealed all he knew about Fang Xi.
The woman patiently asked more details.
Old Zhang then recounted in detail the two encounters he had with Fang Xi years apart.
The lonely, seemingly resolved Fang Xi, and the sinister, terrifying Fang Xi...
Old Zhang paused mid-sentence.
He instinctively looked up at the woman.
In the darkness, he could not see her face but felt something.
“You... you are Xiao Cheng from that night...” he blurted out the beginning but forced the rest back.
Fear returned.
Only the sound of Old Zhang’s teeth chattering remained on the TV.
“Don’t worry, this doesn’t concern you. Nothing will happen to you. No need to be afraid,” the woman comforted, turning as if to leave.
Suddenly, Old Zhang stood up, placing his feet on the floor, wincing in pain.
He called out, “You—you all, what are you going to do to Xiao Cheng’s nephew...?” His words were broken, but he asked nonetheless.
The woman stopped and made a turning motion.
Old Zhang, terrified, sank back onto the bed.
“He won’t be harmed either,” the woman replied, her tone far firmer than before.
In the darkness, footsteps followed by the opening and closing of a door sounded successively.
The TV image abruptly changed.
The camera remained in Old Zhang’s home.
The dog, quiet for a long time, suddenly barked, ran to Old Zhang’s side, licked his hand, rubbed against his leg, then barked twice into the air.
Old Zhang petted the dog’s head, slowly exhaled, and relaxed, collapsing back onto the bed.
The ten fingers before the TV seemed dissatisfied, chattering noisily.
The doctor’s pale blue eyes narrowed, silent.
...
Binjiang Park had closed its gates, leaving only the guardhouse and scattered streetlights along the main paths lit.
Across the river shimmering under the moonlight, the colored lights of the buildings on the opposite bank could still be seen. But standing in the darkness, with the rustling sound of trees behind stirred by the wind, it was unsettling and eerie.
The wind tousled Bai Xiao’s short hair.
This time, she still leaned on the railing, gazing across the river, no longer covering the twisted segment of the railing.
The wind stirred not only her hair but also the plastic warning tape nearby.
The tables and chairs in a small grove corner had been cleared, the shattered streetlight bulbs removed, but the broken trees had yet to be moved.
Tap, tap, tap...
Cheng Yao approached, lifted the warning tape, and entered this temporarily closed-off area.
Bai Xiao did not turn to look at him.
They stood side by side, moonlight casting on them—one in light, the other in shadow.
Bai Xiao slightly tilted her head, looking at the shadow draped over her, then along it to Cheng Yao beside her.
She dropped her eyes, hiding the light in them, gripping the railing tightly with her fingers.
Cheng Yao closed his eyes briefly, his face showing a moment of pain.
After a long exhale, Cheng Yao finally turned and looked directly at Bai Xiao.
“Is your wound healed?” he asked.
Bai Xiao glanced sideways, teasing, “You knew I was hurt and pretended you didn’t notice?”
Cheng Yao reached out and smoothed her wind-tousled hair. “I know the doctor’s medicine will keep working.”
Bai Xiao pressed her lips together, then suddenly imitated Cheng Yao’s earlier action, exhaling deeply.
She wearily leaned into Cheng Yao’s embrace. “Honey, maybe I shouldn’t have come back to life.”