Chapter 20: Reunion at the Mourning Hall |
Wu Zhong came to the roadside, hid his weapons, and waved to hail a car.
But people saw how miserable he looked and didn’t want to bother.
His clothes were tattered, he was smeared with blood, and his arm was wrapped in bandages—pitiful to the extreme.
He had no choice but to walk along the highway, waving his hand as he went.
After an uncertain amount of time, the three wolf dogs caught up with him for the sixth time.
“I woof… woof… woof—I can’t do it anymore…”
Wu Zhong’s throat felt like it was on fire. He forced himself to bark while swinging a wooden stick to try to drive the dogs away.
Obviously, the three wolves weren’t afraid of him. The moment he stopped barking, they lunged forward.
Just as Wu Zhong was about to be overwhelmed, a car suddenly stopped beside him.
His voice was loud, but the dogs weren’t intimidated; they bared their teeth and showed no sign of retreat.
“Bro, get in!”
The long-haired man shouted as he opened the car door.
Wu Zhong hurried inside. The man didn’t dare linger to tangle with the dogs and floored it, driving away at speed.
Although the wolf dogs ran fast, they couldn’t catch up with the car.
Wu Zhong watched the dogs chase relentlessly, then grow more distant until they vanished. Only then did he relax.
“Hey, what happened to you, man?”
“I’ve got iodine, gauze, and adhesive bandages in the car—take whatever you need.”
The driver was kind-hearted; seeing Wu Zhong’s miserable state and that he was surrounded by three vicious dogs, he’d stopped to rescue him.
Wu Zhong thanked him hastily, opened the first-aid kit, and disinfected and dressed his wounds.
“Thank you, thank you!”
“Ah, it’s a long story. This damn weather—such fierce winds! I… accidentally rolled down the mountain and wandered around all afternoon.”
“Then I ran into three wolf dogs that wouldn’t leave me alone!”
The helpful man said, “That’s terrible luck. Yeah, the weather’s deadly; hurricane warnings for the next few days…”
“Brother, want me to take you to the hospital? You look—”
Wu Zhong looked so miserable, but he didn’t dare go to a hospital.
He waved his hand frantically. “No trouble, no trouble. If it’s on your way, could you drop me off at Hejia Mountain?”
“Huh?” The helpful man was taken aback for a moment.
To locals, that sounded like asking to be dropped off at the crematorium…
“Um… a relative of mine passed away. I have to go.” Wu Zhong used the kit to clean and properly wrap his wounds.
The helpful man replied, “Oh, you’re that beaten up and still going? Must be someone important—my condolences.”
“Mm, thanks…” Wu Zhong mumbled.
The man added, “Hejia Mountain’s a bit far, but it’s on the way, no problem.”
“Thank you so much! If it’s truly out of the way, just dropping me nearby is fine.” Wu Zhong was genuinely grateful—if not for this man’s help, he would have been finished, continually harassed by dogs.
If that happened, forget meeting Infinite Summer at Hejia Mountain—he’d probably be grabbed by Unit 985 before long.
Those three dogs were obviously tracking dogs; if they kept on him, Lu Guangqi and the others could pinpoint and find him.
“Tch!” The helpful man laughed. “Don’t mention it. I’ll drop you off since it’s on the way.”
After thanking him again, Wu Zhong was exhausted and nearly dozed off in the car.
But he slapped himself awake and didn’t dare sleep.
First, if he slept and the environment was too quiet, he might not wake naturally; he feared missing something important.
Second, he worried this drowsiness might be a sign the zombie virus was trying to seize his mind!
If he fell asleep, he might change into one!
“Huh?” The helpful man asked in surprise, “Why are you slapping yourself? Sleep if you need to. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Wu Zhong waved his hand. “No, no, I’m fine.”
He stayed awake the whole way, only resting while sitting.
Night fell quickly, and finally the helpful man brought the car to the Funeral Parlor near Hejia Mountain.
“We’re here, bro. I’ve got to head home. If I didn’t have errands, I’d at least go in and offer a stick of incense.” The helpful man smiled.
Wu Zhong repeatedly declined and thanked him, then got out of the car.
The man left without asking anything further.
Wu Zhong felt grateful for the kindness of strangers, then realized he had forgotten to ask the man’s name and hurriedly squinted to note the license plate.
He then began pacing outside the entrances to various mourning halls, looking for “Sun Min.”
But of course the deceased’s name wouldn’t be written on the door of a mourning hall.
The doors only bore names like “Hall of Filial Piety,” “Hall of Respect,” “Hall of Pure Virtue.”
He reasoned that since this was the spot Infinite Summer had told him to meet at, it should be the largest hall.
So he entered the central largest hall, the “Hall of Loyal Rites.”
Dressed in such a wretched state, he caused everyone inside to freeze.
Where did this beggar come from?
Why is there blood? Bandages? Did he just come off a battlefield?
All sorts of strange looks were focused on him.
Wu Zhong didn’t know a single person inside; barging into a mourning hall alone was awkward.
He forced himself to say, “Um, is this Sun Min’s mourning hall?”
“Yes, yes.” A middle-aged, somewhat plump man—likely a filial son—rushed forward and gripped his hand.
Wu Zhong felt sure: he’d found it.
“Um… may I ask what happened to you?” The plump man noticed his hoarse voice and quickly handed him a bottle of water.
Wu Zhong drained it without ceremony.
Then he repeated the same story: rolled down a mountain, wandered the hills all afternoon, then got chased by dogs.
Everyone present was shocked but didn’t understand the full situation.
A woman, scrutinizing him, asked, “Are you… connected to my father—?”
Wu Zhong thought: I don’t even know you.
And he only just learned it was an elderly man; he had just addressed him familiarly.
Still, Wu Zhong forced himself to remain calm. “Um… I’m an old friend of the gentleman—well, you probably don’t know me, but my name is Infinite Summer. Do you remember me?”
He figured invoking Infinite Summer would make a connection.
But the filial sons and grandchildren looked puzzled; several women glanced at each other.
The message was clear: Who is this? Does anyone know him? Who invited this supposed relative or friend?
For a moment, no one responded. The situation turned extremely awkward.
Wu Zhong’s heart thumped.
This is bad. Infinite Summer wouldn’t not know this family, would he?
This wasn’t some secret hideout or their own brother—was Infinite Summer bluffing the name?
“This doesn’t make sense. He told me to wait in Sun Min’s mourning hall and even knew the deceased’s name, but this place has nothing to do with him?”
Wu Zhong panicked at the awkward silence.
He hurriedly said, “Um, may I first offer an incense stick?”
When someone comes in to pay respects, the family rarely refuses—even if the person looks like a beggar.
They warmly guided him to the ancestral table, lit an incense stick, and handed it to him.
Wu Zhong knelt, bowed three times, and offered the incense.
He then helped the host stand and glanced at the coffin. The corpse was indeed Sun Min—the name on the memorial tablet confirmed it.
“He told me to wait in Sun Min’s mourning hall. Would it be okay if I waited outside the hall?”
“Should I leave first and wait outside?”
Wu Zhong wanted to get away quickly.
But the filial son grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let him leave.
He pulled him into conversation and repeatedly asked who had invited him—was he a distant relative? A colleague?
Wu Zhong had no answer; he didn’t know these people.
He stammered, “Well, the old man and I were old friends back in the day… um, let me offer a small token.”
Wu Zhong walked to the table for contributions. Seeing the whole family gathered around, he knew he couldn’t slip away.
He couldn’t keep up the lie, so he decided to give a contribution.
But he had nothing: starving, wounded, no money. He’d escaped from the base and had left his phone and belongings in storage—he had nothing on him now.
All he had was a gun, a grenade, and a knife hidden in his trouser leg.
He certainly couldn’t contribute with a gun.
So he took a breath. “Everyone, as you can see, I rolled down from the mountain and my phone broke.”
“I have no cash on me. Could someone lend me a phone to make a call?”
Hesitant, the crowd nonetheless handed him a phone through one of the women.
Wu Zhong stared at the phone. He did have a lot of money—if he logged into his Huashengbao account he could access over eight hundred thousand.
But he didn’t dare log in.
This meeting point needed secrecy. If he used those funds, who knew whether Infinite Summer or Unit 985 would arrive first?
Those funds might as well be gone; he didn’t have an emotional claim to that money.
There was no other choice but to borrow some. He was starving.
He had no relatives and dared not contact former coworkers. His classmates weren’t close; he’d been socially withdrawn because of his poor family background.
He felt pitiful—his only real social outlet had been online. There, like-minded people chatted and who cared about your family background? Only there did he feel comfortable.
So he made a call he thought he would never make again.
Zi Chen Sanren—an online handle, someone from a book-fan group. They’d known each other for years, though not as close as Niguang.
Rumor had it Zi Chen was a small rich second-generation, but that wasn’t certain. Once, Zi Chen went to Mount Lu and met Wu Zhong for a meal. He’d invited Wu Zhong to stay up there for a month, but Wu Zhong declined because of work. They exchanged numbers then, and later Zi Chen posted many photos from Mount Lu—just a small connection.
“Is this the one? Ends with 8118…” The number was memorable, so Wu Zhong dialed it from a corner.
“Hello? Who’s this?” A familiar, lazy voice answered.
Wu Zhong moved farther away and said, “Brother Chen, it’s me—Wu Zhong.”
“Oh, Wu Zhong? You called me? I haven’t been online for ages. Is something wrong with the group?” Zi Chen asked curiously.
Wu Zhong answered awkwardly, “Not the group—something happened to me…”
“What happened?” Zi Chen asked.
Wu Zhong couldn’t explain everything. “Some major changes. I can’t say much. I’m really stuck—no other options.”
“You know I don’t have real-life friends. I wanted to ask Niguang for help, but he’s in a tough spot. I’m asking you instead. I never ask for this, I really can’t manage this time.”
By the end his voice was near breaking.
Zi Chen was silent.
Wu Zhong lowered his voice. “I need emergency help. Can you lend me some—”
Zi Chen laughed irritably. “Why is everybody asking me for money now? I lent someone cash last week; two others still owe me from last year… and the year before…”
Wu Zhong’s heart sank hearing the complaints—he figured it was hopeless.
Before, he might have given up, but now he had no choice. He swallowed his pride. “Please, Brother Chen. Just lend me something small. I’ll pay you back. Please.”
Zi Chen took a few breaths, then said, “You’re finally asking; fine. How much do you need?”
Wu Zhong said quietly, “Four hundred.”
“What?” Zi Chen shouted.
Wu Zhong hurriedly reduced it. “Okay, two hundred—actually one hundred would do. I want a meal.”
“What… you’re borrowing such a small amount?” Zi Chen sounded shocked. “After all that preamble about some big disaster, I thought you were asking for millions!”
Wu Zhong breathed easier. “No, no, just one hundred. Really.”
Zi Chen pressed for clarification: “You mean one hundred, not a hundred thousand?”
Wu Zhong hurried, “Of course not. I just need to eat. I’m injured and need medicine…”
Zi Chen was dumbfounded. “Jesus, why didn’t you say so earlier? For a few hundred I’d give it right away. You’re hurt? Car accident?”
Wu Zhong felt relieved. “Nothing major—just rolled down a mountain and got bitten by dogs. No cash on me.”
Zi Chen relaxed, then paused. “Alright. I’ll transfer right now.”
“Don’t send to that green bubble account…” Wu Zhong warned.
“My phone’s gone too. I borrowed this one. Add me on this other app.” He added Zi Chen’s current account.
Zi Chen mocked: “Tacky avatar… tacky name… random account? I won’t transfer to that. Send me a store QR code.”
Wu Zhong didn’t understand, but noticed a QR code on the table for contributions and snapped it, sending it to Zi Chen.
“Done. I transferred. The money should arrive soon—ten thousand. When it does, get a shop to refund you some, and pay me back later.” Zi Chen said.
“Ten thousand? That’s too much—” Wu Zhong didn’t expect such generosity and was moved. “Okay, thanks, thank you. I’ll pay you back.”
Zi Chen chuckled. “No big deal. Alright, I’m hanging up.”
“Wait—” Wu Zhong reminded him. “My group account and the other account were hacked. Don’t send messages to them.”
Zi Chen froze, silent for a moment, then said, “Hey, wait—are you really Wu Zhong? The voice matches, but with technology these days… damn, are you scamming me?”
Wu Zhong’s mouth twitched. This guy trusted too easily.
He hurriedly reminded Zi Chen of their chat at the guesthouse beneath Mount Lu, settling Zi Chen’s doubts.
“Scared me. I thought I was getting conned again!” Zi Chen sighed.
Wu Zhong snorted, “Again? From now on, verify through multiple channels first before giving money.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll install an anti-fraud app now.”
They hung up and Wu Zhong returned to the front.
Clack—someone noticed the contribution account had indeed received ten thousand. Everyone in the hall was stunned.
Their looks toward Wu Zhong changed instantly.
“Wow, brother, that’s generous.”
“Have a cigarette—have a cigarette.”
The filial son smiled broadly and lit one for him.
The grandsons moved a chair for him, offered tea.
The women who had previously been skeptical and disdainful now brought snacks at once.
Wu Zhong felt awkward—he planned to retrieve the contribution later.
“Actually, this money was sent by a friend to buy me medicine. You see how I am—this contribution I—” he started.
But the woman who’d loaned him the phone looked sympathetic. “Goodness, this weather’s caused so many accidents!”
“You came all the way in this weather and got hurt coming to pay respects!”
“Look at your bruises.”
“Your arm is bleeding—go get the first-aid kit.”
A swarm of aunts produced a medical kit and redressed his wounds far better than he’d done himself.
Seeing him in rags, the grandson said, “I have a set of old clothes in my car, washed. Why don’t you change?”
His father pushed him: “Don’t be stupid—buy him new clothes!”
The grandson was taken aback. “Where would we buy clothes nearby?”
This place is a cemetery; all that’s nearby are burial garments.
His father snapped, “Drive and get him clothes now! You ungrateful kid!”
A young man about Wu Zhong’s age immediately drove off to buy clothes.
Wu Zhong didn’t stop him—he couldn’t stay in rags.
He’d intended to use some of the money to buy clothes and medicine anyway.
But the family’s concern blocked his plan to retrieve the contribution.
Wu Zhong hesitated. “I haven’t eaten in a long time—this money I—”
The filial son interjected, “You’re our guest. There’s a place set for you at tonight’s table.”
“You mustn’t leave for the next three days. On the funeral day, stand behind me—”
Wu Zhong was speechless.
They treated him with cigarettes, tea, and snacks.
He started to explain that he intended to keep only what he needed, but the family was insistent.
“Actually, that contribution was sent by mistake!” Wu Zhong blurted awkwardly.
For a moment the hall fell silent.
He felt ashamed—it seemed disrespectful to the deceased.
“Clothes are here!” At that moment the grandson returned with two sets of clothes and shoes. They looked reasonably expensive—Wu Zhong guessed the total might be six or seven thousand, since the shoes alone cost over two thousand.
This magnanimity made Wu Zhong feel worse about asking for the contribution back. He realized the family wasn’t greedy; there were strict customs at play. If the money was mistakenly sent, it couldn’t simply be taken back from the contribution—they’d need a different way to return it.
“Oh—sorry. My friend accidentally sent the money, but this is my offering to the old man. Please accept it.” Wu Zhong improvised.
The atmosphere warmed again.
Wu Zhong put on the new clothes for the first time in his life.
Time passed.
Two hours later they brought a hearty midnight meal, and the filial son opened two bottles of good wine.
Wu Zhong, ravenous, ate heartily but sipped only a little wine.
He avoided drinking too much for fear of getting drunk.
He ate while watching the doorway—Infinite Summer still hadn’t shown up.
The longer he waited, the more anxious Wu Zhong became.
On one hand, he worried about Infinite Summer’s safety—what if he’d been caught or killed?
On the other, he feared Unit 985 might have some method for locating them already.
Maybe they were already on their way. Thinking this made him even more anxious.
But fretting wouldn’t help—waiting at the hall for Infinite Summer was all he could do.
He had hoped this place was a base or a hideout where Infinite Summer’s allies would set him up. Instead, this uncertain situation made him uneasy.
“Mr. Wu, are you planning to stay tonight? Wife, go get the tiles; have Mr. Wu join a few games.” The filial son, seeing Wu Zhong not leave, immediately set up a mahjong table.
Wu Zhong intended to decline, but waiting bored him, and they treated him as the old man’s playing partner, so he joined.
He could play but rarely did. Distracted and watching the outside the entire time, he lost badly.
He wasn’t playing for large stakes; the chips were given by the family with the hope of returning some money to him. Two hours later, he hadn’t won a single hand.
That baffled them—they’d been letting him win, yet Wu Zhong never completed a winning hand.
They thought: So this is the old man’s friend—surprising that his tiles are so meek.
They wouldn’t say it aloud, instead offering praise: “Mr. Wu, stay reserved at the table and your fortune will flourish.”
Wu Zhong forced a smile, drew a tile, and kept looking out the window.
“Hey, do you even know how to play? If you had claimed that pung earlier you’d be ready to win—why didn’t you do it?”
As Wu Zhong was losing himself in defeat, a familiar voice spoke behind him.
He turned sharply and saw Infinite Summer watching the game.
Wu Zhong jumped to his feet, scattering the tiles across the table.
“You’re here! You finally came!”
Infinite Summer wore a sharp suit, his hair neatly combed, and smelled of cologne—clearly freshly groomed.
He leaned on an umbrella with one hand and pinched off a half-smoked cigarette with the other. “Huh, I got here a while ago.”
Wu Zhong blinked. He’d been watching the main door; there’s only that one entrance to the mourning hall. All night he’d never seen Infinite Summer come in.
Moreover, Infinite Summer had no trace of rain on him.