Grief to Send Off the Departed

Liu Chang'an rinsed his mouth with water, cleared his throat of the stale air, and intended to follow his original plan of visiting a second-hand bookstore—or perhaps just to browse, or find a few books to reclaim something. However, he saw Ma Benwei, his head wrapped in white gauze, arriving with the same five men from that morning, standing right before him.

"Brother Liu, we are sorry! We were blind and failed to recognize a superior, judging people by our own low standards!"

The six men bowed in unison, perfectly synchronized.

"No need for apologies. You offended my sister, and I gave you a beating; we're even now." Liu Chang'an was a reasonable man and never one to hold a grudge once he had made his point.

That was his sister? Ma Benwei stole a glance at Liu Chang'an. If he hadn't known this guy was a student at the Affiliated High School, he never would have guessed his age from those oversized shorts and that tattered undershirt. Yet, Ma Benwei now knew the true identity of the young woman he had tried to recruit as an internet celebrity earlier that day. He felt nothing but relief that Liu Chang'an had knocked his group down with a single strike of a stick. If he had actually done something to that young woman, the Ma Family, with all its deep-rooted influence in Junsha, would likely have been uprooted entirely. His father, with his ambitious political career, and his older brother, on the verge of ringing the bell at NASDAQ, would have been finished because of his own recklessness.

He had no idea that the "sister" Liu Chang'an spoke of was not the same person he had in mind.

"We are going to turn ourselves in shortly for fifteen days of administrative detention. Also, this is a small token of my sincerity; please, do accept it." Ma Benwei didn't believe for a second that they were truly even—only a fool would—but he had the self-awareness to know he had to try.

Ma Benwei held out an envelope.

"No need." Liu Chang'an refused, then paused. "If I don't take it, will you be unable to rest easy?"

Ma Benwei gave a sheepish laugh. Of course; if you don't take it, doesn't that mean you aren't willing to let this matter rest?

"How about this: from now on, bring me a small hen every day—a rooster will do, too—for a month." Liu Chang'an smiled. "The main thing is Qin Yanan; I will tell her you came to apologize... as for her, you don't need to bother her anymore."

With that, Liu Chang'an ignored them, locked his door, and walked away, waving his large palm-leaf fan. There were many mosquitoes out at night, and although they couldn't pierce his skin, he was indeed a magnet for them.

These brainless little creatures were as sensitive to the scent of fresh blood as vampires.

Watching Liu Chang'an leave, Ma Benwei and his men stood there, looking at each other in confusion. Was it really enough to just bring a small hen every day?

"What does he want with so many chickens? To f*** them?"

"Watch your mouth!" Ma Benwei slapped him across the face.

"Brother Ma, are we really not going to go near that young lady again?"

"That would require my father to step in! Who am I to go and apologize to her? Do I even have the qualifications to get an appointment? Or should I go block the gate at No. 1 Courtyard?" Ma Benwei was deeply frustrated. Having been a local bully for so long, the feeling of having to bow his head when encountering a powerful dragon was truly unpleasant.

"If Liu Chang'an's relatives are so damn impressive, why does he live in this dump?"

"Maybe he's an illegitimate son..." No sooner had Ma Benwei finished speaking than he slapped himself. It was his loose tongue that caused all this trouble; hadn't he learned his lesson? Ma Benwei waved his hand. "Let's go. We'll head to the station to turn ourselves in first. If we can't livestream for fifteen days... how much popularity will we lose? I feel like we're done for."

Liu Chang'an waved his large palm-leaf fan, strolling leisurely along the street toward the familiar bookstore. In the moments after the afternoon nap, there were plenty of old men dressed just like him in the small streets and alleys. Arriving at the bookstore—familiar, yet one he hadn't visited for some time—Liu Chang'an greeted the owner as usual: "Old Lan, business is good, I hope."

Old Lan adjusted his reading glasses and slowly turned his head. Hearing the young voice, he looked closely and spat, "Young pup, no sense of respect."

Liu Chang'an wandered around the small shop. Second-hand bookstores rarely smelled of books; instead, there was always an unavoidable, musty odor. The three walls of bookshelves were packed with various old and used books, completely unorganized and mostly of no collection value, save for the fact that they were cheap.

But for the vast majority of people, being cheap was the most important thing. Liu Chang'an flipped through a few books, scanned the surroundings, and came to the counter: "Old Lan, have those books that Professor Liu left here been sold?"

Perhaps noticing the change in how Liu Chang'an addressed him, Old Lan looked up again, adjusting his glasses to study Liu Chang'an carefully for a moment. "Lad, where did you hear about Professor Liu?"

"Professor Liu received the first Xiangnan Province Young and Middle-aged Science Fund in 1995, was selected as the academic leader for Xiangnan's cross-century science and technology in 1996, became a national-level candidate for the National Hundred, Thousand, and Ten Thousand Talents Project in 1997, and began enjoying the State Council Special Allowance in 1998... Is it strange that I know about such an outstanding talent?" Liu Chang'an countered.

"And what about 1999?" Old Lan squinted at Liu Chang'an.

"If it's not something glorious, there's no need to mention it," Liu Chang'an said as if it were a matter of course.

"In 1999, it was rumored that Professor Liu got a student pregnant. When the scandal broke, coupled with the crackdown on academic corruption, he was ruined. But before that happened, he left some books with me, as if he were entrusting his final affairs. I always felt there was something fishy about it." Old Lan stroked his graying beard. "What do you think?"

"You still believe in his character."

"I believe in my own judgment."

"That's all in the past. If you've sold them, so be it; if you still have them, give them to me. I'm his son," Liu Chang'an said, his face not turning red or his heart skipping a beat. Few people in this world could impersonate their own son.

"How can you prove you're his son?" Old Lan held out his hand. "Where's the household register?"

"He didn't say I needed to prove I was his son when I came to find you. I just needed to tell you a line of poetry: 'The immortal strokes my crown, I receive eternal life upon binding my hair.' Then I was to ask for the old books." Liu Chang'an pointed to Old Lan's shop. "It's fine, if that doesn't work, I'll just pick out a few books. Just don't try to rip me off as usual."

Old Lan took off his reading glasses, a hint of a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth, and he nodded with a chuckle.

Liu Chang'an smiled as well.

Old Lan walked slowly to the back room and brought out a ladder. He refused Liu Chang'an's help, climbing up step by step with his wobbly legs along the side of the bookshelf. He pulled down a dust-covered woven cloth, coughed a few times, wiped the dust from his head, grabbed the handle of a rattan book box that had been revealed, and pulled it down with great effort for Liu Chang'an to catch.

"It's been many years. If you have time, tell him to come by for a cup of tea." Old Lan climbed down and tidied the ladder.

"He's dead."

Old Lan nodded, closed his clouded eyes for a moment, and slowly walked back to his seat. He didn't say another word. The setting sun slanted in, creating the kind of scene humanistic photographers loved—so aged it felt as if one could see life slipping away.

Actually, Old Lan wasn't that old. His wife looked younger, wearing a white gauze dress, still possessing a certain charm despite her age. She walked out from the back room and looked surprised to see Liu Chang'an holding the box that the dead man had left there for years, untouched.

"Professor Liu is dead. This is his son," Old Lan said, squinting.

The landlady immediately narrowed her eyes, showing a look of sorrow, and sighed deeply. "In the blink of an eye, it's been nearly twenty years. How could he just be gone..."

As she spoke, the landlady reached out to touch Liu Chang'an's face, but he quickly dodged.

"Look... this young man is still shy," the landlady said with a sheepish laugh.

Old Lan gave a cold snort and ignored her.

"I'll be going now. See you again," Liu Chang'an said to Old Lan. "If you have time, come to Baisha Park to play chess. I'm not bad at it."

Old Lan nodded and waved his hand, glancing at the dark, dirty wooden box under the counter, which contained a chess set that hadn't been taken out in many years.