Chapter Five

The area was noisy.

The doctor ran over to tell them to be quiet, but it was useless. The police officer, having had his questioning interrupted repeatedly, spoke in a cold tone, telling them to maintain silence, but that was also useless.

The parents were pulling at their wailing child, repeating over and over that the studio had safety hazards. They claimed their child was traumatized, and that for such a young child, being traumatized was extremely dangerous. They insisted it was the studio’s responsibility and demanded compensation.

Tu Qin glanced at the child wailing in the crowd.

To call him a child was a stretch; he was taller than his parents and looked to be at least fifteen or sixteen. Aside from a face full of tears, he was perfectly clean.

Yao Lingling was also staring. After a long while, she whispered, "They're just trying to extort money. That kid looks perfectly fine to me."

Tu Qin said nothing, casting another glance at the man leaning against the wall.

He definitely hadn't recognized her. She couldn't even be sure if their eyes had actually met earlier.

It was quite curious, though. He looked like someone not to be trifled with—at the very least, someone whose demeanor made the rumors sound plausible, the kind of person Liu Lingxu’s mother had cried about being an "ingrate"—yet, here he was, being targeted by extortionists.

"Can you all please be quiet!" The responding officer, after being interrupted one too many times, finally lost his patience. "Your child is not injured. When the fire broke out, he was pulled out of the danger zone. The person lying in that bed is still receiving treatment, and the whole situation hasn't even been clarified yet. Can you please keep it down?"

The officer’s voice was loud. The parents quieted for a second before retorting even louder: "How is he not injured? Can't you see my son crying like this?"

"..." The officer stared at the parents for at least a minute, then raised his voice: "Who is the person in charge of the studio? Come out with me to record the sequence of events."

Xie Zhailing straightened up.

Jin Kui, who was lying on the hospital bed having his wounds cleaned, sat up and grabbed Xie Zhailing. Grimacing in pain, he said to the officer, "Officer, our person in charge isn't feeling well. If you have any questions, you can just ask me."

"Isn't your health even worse?" The officer looked at Jin Kui with some frustration.

Half of the man’s pants were burned away, and the exposed skin was a vivid, alarming red.

"My mouth works better; his doesn't," Jin Kui grinned at the officer.

"Actually, it’s not complicated." Xie Zhailing, whose mouth supposedly didn't work well, spoke up. His voice was raspy and sounded quite uncomfortable. "The pottery class uses an electric kiln, which is theoretically the safest option. Furthermore, the kiln area is off-limits to students. There are signs at the entrance in Chinese, English, Japanese, and Korean stating 'No Entry for Unauthorized Personnel'."

Xie Zhailing held up his hands to indicate a rectangle about half a meter high and said to the officer, "A sign about this big."

Perhaps his way of speaking was too peculiar; the parents couldn't find a point to refute immediately and didn't fire back right away.

Xie Zhailing didn't give them the chance: "The fire did not occur during class hours, and there was no staff inside. That child climbed in through a window outside the studio, opened the electric kiln on his own, and threw flammable objects inside, which caused the fire."

The parents' eyes widened instantly. One of them had already started to spit out the word "You" to accuse him of lying.

Xie Zhailing pointed at the parents: "There is surveillance. There are three cameras in that room. They captured the entire process of your 'little' child starting the fire without a single blind spot. It’s all right here."

He handed the officer a USB drive.

The child, who had stopped crying, let out a fresh, piercing wail upon seeing the drive, clawing at his own clothes as he cried.

"If you did it, admit it. Don't act crazy," Xie Zhailing looked at the child.

The child stared back at him while pulling at his clothes, his mouth twitching.

The officer opened his mouth, then closed it, eventually unable to help himself: "Why didn't you say these things earlier?"

"My mouth doesn't work well," Xie Zhailing replied. "And I could see he was in pain. Letting them make a scene helped distract him a little."

The officer: "..."

Jin Kui: "...Damn."

He had told himself not to let Xie Zhailing speak. These parents were the biggest troublemakers in the neighborhood where the studio was located; even the neighbors usually gave them a wide berth. He had hoped that since it was discovered early and the damage was minor—and no one but himself was injured—they could downplay the matter and keep the pottery classes running next week.

But after this outburst from Xie Zhailing, he figured they shouldn't even consider pottery classes as a way to make money anymore. Every person you met was just another person you offended.

"The studio has clear 'No Entry' signs. The window the child climbed through was locked from the inside; he used a tool to pry it open. That should count as trespassing, right? And he committed arson. All the pottery in that room was meant to be sold. I will compile a list of the specific losses."

"And his injuries—the child was just sitting there inside, pulling at his clothes and crying after the fire started. A child that size," Xie Zhailing emphasized the word 'child', "even when I carried him out, he was still struggling. Jin Kui’s face is covered in scratches from him, and his burns are quite severe. I don't know the law well enough to classify the level of disability, but it certainly counts as an injury requiring hospital treatment. Arson and causing injury—I will calculate the medical expenses, lost wages, and subsequent costs. Oh, and mental distress compensation, too. I was so scared I caught a fever."

Miraculously, Xie Zhailing pulled a mercury thermometer from his pocket and handed it to the officer: "38.3 degrees. That counts as a high fever."

The officer: "..."

"Does arson count as a criminal case? The child is almost sixteen. I don't intend to let this go easily. Just contact me if you need any further cooperation."

The emergency room went silent.

Aside from the child who was wailing even louder, the parents who had been demanding compensation opened their mouths as if to say something, but after Xie Zhailing glanced at them, they fell silent instantly.

"Criminal case," "arson," "causing injury"—those eight characters were enough to terrify anyone into silence.

The officer finally understood what "mouth doesn't work well" meant. He stared at his form for a long time before saying, "If you want to press charges, let's go outside and take a detailed statement. Aside from the surveillance you provided, the fire scene needs to be preserved temporarily. We will have people go to collect evidence."

"Understood." Xie Zhailing followed the police out of the emergency room. Halfway there, he turned back to the parents and pointed at their child: "Take him to see a psychiatrist."

Only after the police and Xie Zhailing had left the emergency room did the parents snap out of it, a roar erupting: "Go to hell! You're the one who needs to see a psychiatrist! This is malicious prosecution! Go to hell!"

"Why don't you all go see a psychiatrist? Parents of problematic children usually have some problems themselves." Since they were no longer clients and there was no need to maintain the relationship, Jin Kui decided to stop caring.

A new round of chaos broke out in the emergency room. The doctor called security, and the family of three was dragged into the hospital mediation room, still crying and screaming.

Tu Qin and Yao Lingling, who had watched the whole thing, were amazed. All their sleepiness had vanished.

"Wow," Yao Lingling whispered.

"Ah..." Tu Qin whispered back.

"Goodness," Yao Lingling sighed again.

"That’s the man I told you about, the one who fainted at Liu Lingxu’s funeral," Tu Qin said, breaking the rhythm of their exclamations.

Yao Lingling’s eyes widened. Anticipating Tu Qin’s hand reaching out to cover her mouth, she dodged and exclaimed loudly, "Holy crap!"

The people gathered over there glanced toward them.

Jin Kui, lying on his bed, also looked at them, but quickly turned his head away to stare grimly at his scorched leg.

So, he definitely hadn't recognized them.

Tu Qin was even more certain now.

She hadn't recognized Jin Kui at first glance either; he wasn't wearing his green dreadlocks anymore. He had cut them off and now wore a little knot at the back of his head. Amidst all the chaos, that little knot was surprisingly sleek and shiny.

It must be a fake knot.

It was quite magical that they were also in Mo City.

***

After the family of three was taken away, order was soon restored to the emergency room. Xie Zhailing, who had gone out to answer the police's questions, never returned. Jin Kui finished his wound cleaning, and the nurses started him on anti-inflammatory medication. The TV reporters filmed the emergency room for a while longer in the dead of night before leaving as well.

After the doctor on duty reviewed Yao Lingling’s reports, he assigned her an emergency bed, stating she had a mild concussion and needed to stay under observation for the night.

Yao Lingling was miserable about the fact that a simple jump down a step had led to this. As a photographer who traveled to take landscape photos, she muttered to herself, calculating how much she was going to lose from this.

Tu Qin, fully awake after all the commotion, took half a day off from the crew. She played on her phone for a while, then stood up and told Yao Lingling, "I’m going out to get some air."

"If you dare to go buy cigarettes, you’re dead," Yao Lingling glared at her fiercely.

Tu Qin flicked Yao Lingling’s forehead, waved, and walked out of the emergency room.

She really did want to buy a pack of cigarettes. After smoking half a pack out of spite at Liu Lingxu’s funeral, she had been set back to square one, falling right back into the cycle of painful withdrawal.

But she didn't dare provoke Yao Lingling; that girl would bite if she went crazy.

The waiter in the 24-hour café on the first floor was dozing off, head buried near the counter. Tu Qin couldn't bear to disturb them, so she took a detour to the vending machine in the back of the emergency ward. She chose a can of Red Bull, pondered for a long time, and then bought a pack of minty milk candies.

Her hands were small. She held her phone in one hand to scan the code, and the Red Bull in the other, leaving no hand for the candy. Lacking sleep, her brain was a bit slow; when the candies dropped into the retrieval slot, she forgot to put her phone in her pocket. Lifting her arms, she used her head to push open the flap and bit the bag of candies to pull it out.

She felt quite proud of herself.

She crinkled her nose in satisfaction, stood up, and prepared to head to the bench in the hallway opposite to drink the Red Bull.

Yao Lingling was already feeling guilty; the top item on her list of losses was having to take another half-day off tomorrow. A junior screenwriter taking half a day off—she was practically reciting it like a chant. If she saw her drinking Red Bull, she’d probably add more lyrics to her grievance.

The minty milk candies were in a green package with a blind-box card inside. She planned to drink the Red Bull and go back to the emergency room to open it with Yao Lingling.

Just as she stood up, fully satisfied, she saw a man standing at the other end of the otherwise empty hallway. He was holding a bowl of instant noodles in both hands, with a sausage hanging from his mouth. Their eyes met.

They looked like two dogs, both satisfied with their food.

For a moment, Tu Qin wanted to bark to match the scene.

His target was clearly the same bench she had chosen. Two meters away from the bench was a trash can, directly facing the floor-to-ceiling window of the hallway. Outside was a massive ginkgo tree, and in the night, one could see the ginkgo leaves drifting down in graceful arcs.

Tu Qin stared at him.

He paused for a second, then gave her a polite nod, his eyes crinkling. He bypassed that bench and went to another one, one without a window, facing the 24-hour café.

Tu Qin stole another glance at his back. That crinkled-eye expression made her feel certain he had recognized her.

Was it really possible to recognize someone even when they looked so different?

How magical, Tu Qin thought, taking a large gulp of Red Bull and sighing as she watched the ginkgo tree.