Chapter 72: The Heavy Snow Four Years Ago |
The alien Zhang Shutong pursed his lips and said he'd promised to treat Gu Qiumian to a meal.
Old Song was surprised again.
In truth, only Zhang Shutong himself knew this was preparing an extra contingency. Though it might not be needed, if by then the "real culprit" still hadn't surfaced, leaving the island to avoid disaster for a while seemed like a prudent option.
Old Song nodded and said fine, there's no problem on my end—the key is whether Qiumian herself would be willing...
As they spoke, the two rushed out of the teaching building. No one knew when this snow would stop. The world between heaven and earth was a vast expanse of white. One large man and one small ran with their arms clutched to their sides toward the parking lot—
Actually just a bare concrete pad. Yingcai Junior High didn't even have a school bus. If Old Song's car weren't so small, it would probably get requisitioned regularly.
Old Song twisted open the trunk and tossed Zhang Shutong a towel, telling him to wipe the side mirrors while he himself took out a mop and started sweeping the front windshield. The master and disciple moved quickly. Zhang Shutong blew white puffs of breath as he asked, "What about the other teachers?"
"Just the teaching director went. He has a car and just took Zhou Ziheng out first," Old Song clicked his tongue. "You know how it is—having a police car drive onto campus really doesn't look good. But don't worry, Qiumian's side is very firm about getting an explanation. The principal can't say much either."
"That's good enough." Zhang Shutong breathed a sigh of relief. This counted as a butterfly effect too. Last time he hadn't told Gu Qiumian, and Qiumian... well, she really hadn't looked into it much, probably not wanting to ruin her mood, just left it to others to handle.
"You don't know—when Qiumian puts on a cold face, she's actually pretty scary. That genuine wealthy family feeling, you get it? She doesn't even need to speak up herself—the director still has to smile and ask her if this works or if that works..." Old Song said this while grinning widely. "You little punk better be careful from now on. Less of that kind of thing you did this afternoon. Otherwise if something really goes wrong, even I can't protect you. Understand?"
But Zhang Shutong said he didn't understand.
He tried to imagine Gu Qiumian's scary side—
Yet found it hard to picture. Maybe it was because Zhang Shutong was bold—he just couldn't connect the word "scary" with her.
"Alright, get in the car."
Old Song tossed the mop into the trunk. Zhang Shutong once again got into that Focus. This time the seat was dry, but the heater wasn't very effective. They warmed up the car in place for quite a while, yet the cabin still hadn't heated up.
"Japanese cars have better heating. Should've bought a Civic," Old Song muttered, hunching his neck.
Men aren't just experts in matters of the heart—they're also car experts.
"Say, Shutong," Song Nanshan glanced at the engine temperature gauge and put it in gear to leave. "I just remembered—what did you mean earlier about wanting to learn to drive? You weren't joking?"
Zhang Shutong nodded.
Old Song was gratified then—makes sense. As a man, you're at the age where you should be getting interested in cars. Now listen as your master slowly explains...
Zhang Shutong helplessly listened to him expound on various automotive knowledge. Actually, he had no passion for cars—he just needed a reliable vehicle. He couldn't keep riding a bicycle around in this freezing weather.
The small car smoothly drove out the school gate. There were few people on the streets today. Old Song used both hands and feet, changing gears while explaining the operational principles and precautions. Zhang Shutong listened attentively. His mind worked well—after hearing it once, he'd memorized the gist. But Old Song said understanding and being able to drive were two different things. When you have time, try it yourself and you'll know.
Zhang Shutong looked at the snowy scene outside the window and asked if they'd have to go downstairs to shovel snow again tomorrow. Song Nanshan said it depends on whether the snow stops. Weather forecasts aren't reliable—who knows when it'll stop.
"How did it suddenly start snowing?" This was always Zhang Shutong's biggest puzzle. He looked at the snowflakes and murmured to himself.
Zhang Shutong didn't expect Old Song to have an answer—he was just making small talk.
"The heavens are unpredictable." Song Nanshan smiled calmly, his face written all over with masculine composure.
He thought to himself, could you say something more auspicious? I'm precisely afraid of unpredictable storms.
But this question really had no rhyme or reason. Zhang Shutong simply shut up and enjoyed the heater.
Yet Old Song continued:
"This is nothing. You've forgotten—four years ago, around this same time, that snow was even heavier. Some parts of Xuanming Lake even froze over. Even boats couldn't go out. It even made the national news..."
Zhang Shutong thought about it and said, how come I don't remember?
After comparing notes, they realized when that snow fell, Zhang Shutong hadn't transferred schools yet.
"Oh right, forgot you and Qiumian came the next semester," Old Song recalled. "That was right when I came here my first year, my first winter. I was still thinking what kind of godforsaken place is this, where birds don't even shit, nothing but snow everywhere. At night I'd curl up alone in bed eating instant noodles—damn, I regretted it to death. Had to get out of here as soon as possible. Then leadership said the school was short of teachers, Little Song, just tough it out a bit longer. I thought that made sense—the first class I was teaching was our class. Couldn't very well teach halfway then run off, right? So I toughed it out. Never expected I'd stay till now. Little Song's almost become Old Song..."
As Song Nanshan spoke, he rolled down the window. Looking at the drifting snow, he unconsciously pulled out a cigarette and lit it, sighing:
"The fourth winter already."
He reached out his hand, casually catching some snow from outside the window. He looked at his palm, but ultimately left his gaze resting on that Bulbasaur on the center console.
Zhang Shutong knew the man was reminiscing about something, but this time was different from before—Old Song didn't talk much about the girl, so he didn't bring up that old story again.
Zhang Shutong didn't know whether he should ask... Perhaps letting this matter stay buried in the other's heart was for the best.
He thought again of the man in the suit with impeccably combed hair he'd met eight years later. Their exchange then had been too brief. Zhang Shutong had forgotten to ask where that Focus went, whether the Bulbasaur on the console was still there, and whether the man had gotten married.
Better if he had married—maybe the kid would be almost eight years old by then. Otherwise he couldn't possibly have kept himself looking so sharp.
Zhang Shutong very tactfully offered up a song lyric: "Dedicating your youth to that glorious city behind you?"
"Oh? You little punk know this song too?" Old Song was first startled, then smiled. "But my youth is already more than half over. Yours is just beginning. In the blink of an eye, you little brats have grown up too. Do you still remember how tall you were at first?"
Song Nanshan gestured with his hand as he spoke:
"Five foot seven at most, about the same as Ruoping now. Being able to watch you all grow up—how should I put it—sometimes I feel like these four years here were worth it."
Zhang Shutong caught his subtext and asked, "Teacher, are you planning to change jobs after you finish teaching our grade?"
"Who can say about the future?" This time Old Song finally stopped showing off and focused on driving carefully. He stared ahead. "Your teacher is someone who can't sit still. These past few years cooped up here have been pretty stifling, honestly. If I have any dreams, it's probably to go out and see the world?"
"You really can hold it in then." Zhang Shutong laughed. "No wonder you drive around aimlessly every weekend."
"Can't sit still. There's not much to visit on our island—oh, except there's a temple on the mountain, Qinglian's family's place. Barely counts as a scenic spot. I've gone to burn incense a few times and even ran into Qinglian. But you know, it was really weird. Think about it—you're a teacher, you go to a temple to burn incense, and the temple keeper turns out to be your own student wearing robes. Oh, and you have to pay incense money for burning incense, right? She's the one collecting the money. It's really weird..."
Old Song's urge to complain surged forth.
Zhang Shutong thought to himself, this isn't even that weird. Good thing technology isn't that advanced. Wait a few more years—if she casually pulls out a QR code for you to scan, that would be truly weird.
Old Song tapped the steering wheel boredly again:
"What other places are there to go? Qiumian's family's shopping center? I browse occasionally. It's actually pretty nice. Recently discovered there's a window selling prepared foods in the supermarket—tastes great. Sometimes I buy some to take home as drinking snacks. Should take you to try it sometime... Now that I mention it, I remember her dad's stuffed quite a few shopping cards on me."
"Ooh, bribery." Zhang Shutong thought, in a bit you'll be meeting the person who sells that prepared food.
"Right, right, right." Old Song didn't care. "But what use are these to me? When I go home for New Year's, buying some gifts is about it. What expenses does a bachelor have? I could lug a color TV back home, but what would I do with it—use it as decoration?"
Seems Old Song had his lonely side too.
Zhang Shutong listened and felt quite sympathetic, thinking it was similar to his own situation back then. He'd also earned money with nowhere to spend it—small expenses weren't necessary, big expenses weren't enough, so he just kept saving. In the end, all that saving was for nothing now.
Zhang Shutong jokingly asked then why come here at all—isn't that asking for trouble?
"Actually, I wasn't planning to come here to teach. Originally I wanted to come clear my head," Song Nanshan said casually. "That year—four years ago—something happened. I was miserable staying in the city. My ex-girlfriend happened to be from here, but I'd stubbornly never come even once. Plus there weren't any fun places nearby. I figured why not run over and see the scenery. They say seeing lakes and mountains can broaden your spirits... That's actually pretty true."
Hearing this, Zhang Shutong was startled.
He extracted two new pieces of information from this statement.
Of course, the first couldn't be called that new—he'd guessed it long ago. The "something happened" Old Song mentioned was probably his ex-girlfriend's car accident. The man probably didn't want to be constantly reminded of his grief, so he simply changed cities.
The second was somewhat surprising—this was the first time he'd learned Song Nanshan's girlfriend was also from the small island.
So he went to work in his deceased lover's hometown?
But why?
He'd thought Old Song left the city to avoid painful reminders, but wasn't this getting even closer?
Or perhaps after his girlfriend died, only her elderly parents remained at home, and Old Song came to support them?
Then why did he have thoughts of leaving his position?
Zhang Shutong really didn't want to make him recall these sad past events, but still unconsciously asked:
"Then what about Teacher's girlfriend?"
"Her? We had some kind of accident between us and broke up." The man's tone was very understated. He casually ruffled his hair. "Alright, stop worrying about your teacher's business. Better focus on your own..."
He'd wanted to say "better get yourself more enlightened," but then his expression became strange. This kid seemed to have suddenly gotten enlightened today—no need for him to teach anymore?
So the master and disciple both sighed at the same time, a faint melancholy flashing through their hearts.
Song Nanshan sighed because he had nowhere to pass on his experience, thus feeling regretful.
Zhang Shutong felt the timing still wasn't right. Since Old Song clearly didn't want to talk about his girlfriend, he couldn't very well get to the bottom of it. Specifically trying to extract information was even more unnecessary—the lesson from the cold-blooded route was still fresh in his mind.
He lazily said, "When you're lonely later, Teacher, just come find us. My parents aren't home often anyway. Ruoping and the others also want someone to mooch meals from."
Old Song laughed and scolded him—so you only remember me when you want to mooch food, huh? What do you kids want to eat this week? I'll take you. Might as well call Qiumian and Qinglian too.
Speaking of this, Old Song perked up:
"Or after winter break starts, I'll take you kids out to play? Not far? You know in recent years they built a new expressway—from our place to the neighboring province takes less than three hours. That area's developing pretty well. There's an aquarium and amusement parks—stuff you'd all be interested in. How about it, want to go?"
Zhang Shutong was actually very interested in the aquarium. How could someone who liked fishing not like aquariums? He said of course he wanted to go and counted on his fingers—now was early December. The upcoming holidays were Christmas, New Year's, winter break, then Spring Festival.
No one hoped for this weekend to pass more urgently than Zhang Shutong.
He unconsciously imagined future life. The wind blowing from the driver's side didn't feel cold at all—rather, it refreshed his spirits. But it also pulled him back to reality. Zhang Shutong shook his head, thinking Old Song's ability to derail conversations was truly first-rate.
The police station wasn't far from school—they'd arrive soon. In Old Song's words, the engine hadn't even warmed up yet. They parked the car by the road and braved the snow into the lobby.
Small places had some methods that weren't quite procedural but were effective. Zhou Ziheng's father hurried over. When the school contacted him, they'd only said his son had a conflict with other students. Zhou's father was probably still wondering what kind of conflict would get to the police station. Before he could say anything, he was taken away. Father and son were questioned separately. Things were quickly settled.
The arson plan was also confessed by him, including that paper with the fingerprints.
Actually, even without that paper, as the mastermind, Zhou's father knew who the participants were. Plus now confessing accomplices could reduce his sentence—the man was naturally very proactive.
Who knows how many people with guilty hearts but no guilty courage were also ratted out by him. For the police on the small island, this would be another sleepless night.
The dispute over Commercial Street finally came to a close.
Even more smoothly than Zhang Shutong had imagined.
Except for Old Song being startled when he saw Zhou Ziheng's father. Very strangely, Old Song didn't recognize him. He'd wanted to greet him saying, "Brother, why are you here? What happened?"
Then he just stared dumbly as the man was dragged away.
Old Song was very sad his pig liver meal fell through. Zhang Shutong sat with him on the lobby's connected chairs waiting for results and asked strangely, "How do you not recognize Zhou Ziheng's dad? What kind of homeroom teacher are you?"
Old Song helplessly said it's always his mom who comes to parent-teacher meetings. Besides, this isn't the city—parents come to pick up kids and you might run into them. You all just ride your bikes and leave. Plus I'm not local, don't have many acquaintances. Who knew that was his dad...
As soon as Old Song finished speaking—speak of the devil—a middle-aged police officer came before them:
"Teacher Song, long time no see."
Song Nanshan stood up and shook hands with him, exchanging pleasantries for a moment:
"...That matter back then really troubled you."
"Not at all, you're too polite."
The two men spoke and then pushed open the glass door to smoke outside. Zhang Shutong was bored anyway, plus the curiosity aroused by their earlier conversation—what connection could Old Song have with police?
Had his car been stolen?
So he quietly walked to the door, hiding half his body well. He felt he'd been increasingly like a detective lately. Through the thick laminated glass, in the howling cold wind mixed with the two men's fragmentary conversation.
Old Song lit the officer's cigarette. Snowflakes fell on the black police cap. He saw the man press down his hat brim and squint:
"...Four years ago when you came to attend her funeral, I already said..."