Rainy Night, Hot Soup, and Distant Concerns

The rain didn't stop; in fact, it fell even more heavily. Raindrops pounded on the church's thin awning, making a crackling sound, and then gathered into streams that dripped down the edges of the awning, creating small puddles in the mud.

The dim yellow light under the tent barely illuminated a few tired faces and several empty insulated boxes. The meal distribution activity was nearing its end; the crowd had long since dispersed, leaving only a few volunteers silently cleaning up the mess.

The air was damp and chilly, a mixture of lingering food aromas, the earthy smell of rain, and the unpleasant odor of damp clothes. Kong Xiang helped load the last few folding tables onto the small truck, his fingers stiff with cold. He straightened up and looked into the distance.

The Black woman named Rose was standing next to the trunk of her old Ford, carefully placing several bulging items, meticulously wrapped in tin foil, into a worn-out insulated bag. Her movements were slow and deliberate. It contained the last few servings of creamy vegetable soup and whole-wheat rolls, packed in disposable containers; they were no longer very hot, but still slightly warm.

The elderly organizer from the church, a white woman with gray hair, walked over and whispered something to her, probably asking her to take the things back. Rose looked up, raindrops dampening her graying temples. She forced a tired but grateful smile and said softly in heavily accented English, "I'll take them back. I can heat them up for breakfast tomorrow morning... Thank you, Martha, thank you all."

Her voice was low, almost inaudible in the rain. Then she zipped up the insulated bag, as if protecting some precious treasure, held it close to her chest, turned around, and hunched over as she walked to the driver's seat. The beat-up car made a labored coughing sound as it started, spewing out an even thicker plume of black smoke from the exhaust pipe, before shakily driving into the dimly lit street shrouded in rain, its taillights quickly blurring and disappearing.

Kong Xiang watched the car drive away until its taillights were completely swallowed by the rainy night. He looked away, nodded to the organizer, Martha, as a farewell, and then quickly ran to his Corolla. As he opened the car door, the damp, cold air and the chill inside the car rushed out. He started the car and turned on the heater, but the icy interior would take some time to warm up.

He rubbed his frozen hands and sank his consciousness into the connection.

"Boss, I'm done here." Kong Xiang's voice rang in my mind, carrying the weariness of a journey through the rainy night, but his tone was still relatively calm. "The rain is getting heavier. That Auntie Rose just left, with some cold soup and bread, saying it was for tomorrow's breakfast. The way she drove that beat-up car, it looked like it might fall apart at any moment."

"Hmm," Lin Feng responded, seemingly waiting for him to continue.

As the car drove away from the neighborhood where the church was located, the scenery outside the window gradually changed from dilapidated to "normal." Although it was still shrouded in the rainy night, the streetlights were brighter, the houses were neater, and occasionally a passerby wearing a windbreaker hurried by. Kong Xiang continued to "report" to Lin Feng while driving, but this time it was more like a casual chat with some thought.

"Sometimes I feel like a zoologist observing insects," Kong Xiang said, his voice sounding somewhat ethereal amidst the faint hiss of the heater and the rhythm of the windshield wipers. "Except I'm observing people, people in specific environments—like hunger, poverty, the margins of law, and a damp, cold rainy night like tonight. That Auntie Rose, her 'worker ant' role is far more burdensome than the 'part-time worker ants' around here. At least I don't have to mortgage my next meal for the freedom of my loved ones, driving my nearly broken-down car in the rain to bring warmth to strangers while I eat a cold sandwich myself."

He paused, as if organizing his thoughts. "But you could say she's pitiful, yet she's also very... resilient. It's like life is just like that—if it's cold, wear more clothes; if you're hungry, eat less; if there's trouble, just shoulder it. There's no grand philosophy, it's just about surviving, using every means to survive. My uncle's shady business, in a way, isn't that another way of 'surviving'? Only more covert, more on the edge of the rules."

"How's your 'special supply' going lately?" Lin Feng's voice broke in, subtly shifting the topic and carrying a hint of concern.

"Oh, that?" Kong Xiang's tone perked up slightly. "Around Halloween, with the weather suddenly turning cold, there were indeed more 'nameless' people on the streets. Last week, I went with Diego three times. Two were people who died from drug overdoses in cheap hotels, and one was a homeless person suffering from hypothermia while sleeping in an underpass. Nothing particularly 'special' or valuable, just routine procedures. But my uncle seems to have some new ideas. He mentioned it to me a few days ago, saying he wanted to try contacting some overseas clients who need 'bodies with specific health conditions.' He's offering high prices, but his requirements are strange, like 'young adults with no history of serious illness who died suddenly from accidents.' It feels like there's something fishy going on. I didn't respond immediately, just told him to focus on his studies first and let him explore the possibilities."

He described it casually, but Lin Feng could sense the risks involved. The remains of those supposedly in "specific health conditions" often ended up in the darkest underground medical experiments or organ trafficking networks.

"You need to be careful and prioritize safety. Don't touch anything you shouldn't," Lin Feng advised.

"Don't worry, boss, I value my life." Kong Xiang chuckled. "I'm just an 'information collector' and 'sample mover,' a high-risk, high-reward 'core business,' let my old fox uncle worry about it. But speaking of which, boss, it sounds pretty quiet on your end, no 'big projects'?"

Lin Feng paused for a moment, seemingly considering whether to speak. After a while, he spoke, his voice steady. "Back home, a friend's daughter is getting married; she's the daughter of an old acquaintance. However, she's run into a little trouble, some social issues."

"Social niceties?" Kong Xiang immediately perked up, his weariness replaced by curiosity. "What kind? Need someone to make an appearance? Or maybe a 'special' blessing?" He paused, lowered his voice, and said with a hint of mischief, "I'm here in the United States. Although I can't go in person, I can offer a 'special' wedding gift remotely. For example... when I'm dealing with certain 'sources,' I occasionally come into contact with some... well, things that are hard to say outright—'favors' or 'handles.' Maybe I can 'invite' someone who happens to be in S City, someone influential, to show up at the wedding and say a few nice words? Guaranteed to be a stunning 'effect'!"

His proposal reflected the typical mindset of his gray world: simple, direct, and even somewhat unscrupulous.

"Don't do anything reckless." Lin Feng's response was concise and firm, interrupting Kong Xiang's eagerness. "Her father's matter is in the past. The wedding is a joyous occasion; there's no need for those underhanded tactics. Take care of your own affairs, be careful, and don't cause any unnecessary trouble."

"Oh... alright." Kong Xiang was slightly discouraged, but didn't insist. "So, boss, what are you planning to do? Is there anything else you need me to do? For example... um, could I anonymously send a sum of US dollars as a gift? Absolutely clean, the source can't be traced."

"No need," Lin Feng said. "The wedding gift will be arranged here. Just take care of yourself."

"Alright, I'll do as you say." Kong Xiang didn't ask any more questions, and instead said, "Then boss, I'll head back now. It's raining heavily here, so drive slowly. I'll continue the story of the rainy night in Seattle with you another time. You should get some rest too."

"Okay, be careful on the road."

The connection has temporarily faded.

Lin Feng sat in his study, the city outside the window now completely quiet. He had ended his call with Kong Xiang, but the Back View of the Seattle night, the hunched back of the Black woman, and the children's longing gazes for food on the damp, cold streets still lingered in his mind. Those were distant, microcosmic images of suffering from another world.

But right before him were favors owed to him, which were close at hand and required his attention.

He glanced at the time; it wasn't too late. He picked up the intercom on the table and dialed the number for the next room.

The call was answered quickly; it was Lü Yi's voice, tinged with background noise from a game. "Boss?"

"Lü Yi," Lin Feng's voice was steady, "Contact Lawyer Zhou and ask if he has any plans for next Saturday. Also, send a message to Director Wei... no, use my personal number to Old Wei, politely ask if he'd be available for a little while next Saturday. And is Old Liu there? Ask him to come over too."

"Huh? Oh, okay!" Lü Yi was taken aback for a moment, then reacted. The game sound immediately stopped, and her tone became serious. "Boss, are you talking about Sister Feng's wedding? I'll contact her right away! It should be easy to talk to Lawyer Zhou, but as for Director Wei... I'll ask him tactfully. Old Liu finished checking downstairs, I'll call him now."

"Okay, ask them all. Those who can come, please make time for them. Those who can't, that's fine too," Lin Feng added. "Tell them it's Feng Jianguo's daughter's wedding, and we'll go to see her off. It doesn't need to be a big event, but they need to show their presence and their good intentions."

"Understood! Don't worry, boss, I've got it covered!" Lü Yi's voice was full of enthusiasm, clearly showing his interest in "holding up the show."

Lin Feng hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

In the distance, on a cold and heavy rainy night in Seattle, a young assassin observes and records the wounds of that world.

Nearby, in the tranquil night of S City, ripples of human warmth and indifference were brewing beneath the surface. He needed to mobilize some resources to warm the icy heart of a deceased friend, a heart hardened by the coldness of the world.

This may seem insignificant, but for him, it represents another layer of meaning in the existence of the "death squad" network—not just the acquisition of resources and power, but also the taking responsibility and settling old scores within the causal relationships.

He closed his eyes, and the image of Feng Jianguo's rough and stubborn face flashed through his mind, as did the blurry and tired faces described by Kong Xiang in the rainy Seattle night.

The world is vast, and suffering is abundant.

There's only so much he can do.

But at least, he has to do this one thing well.