Chapter 115: Courage (2) |
"An auntie," Xiao Li recalled. "She said she still had to go see her nephew, had things to do at home, so she left once the ambulance arrived."
"But why would an ordinary person be out in the suburbs?" Zhang Shutong questioned instinctively.
"Hey kid, ordinary people don't ride motorcycles onto boats either," Xiao Li said with a laugh. "Why she was there isn't my concern—I'm just responsible for getting people safely to the hospital."
Just then, his phone rang. Zhang Shutong thought it was his mom calling back, but it was Du Kang. He answered, and the voice on the other end said urgently:
"Shutong, I think Teacher Song got into a car accident. I'm heading to the hospital right now. Are you nearby?"
"Wait, how do you know?" Zhang Shutong asked in surprise.
"My aunt came to the island this afternoon to see me. She took the bus in, but she gets carsick, so she got off midway to walk a bit and catch her breath. She happened to see a car accident and helped call an ambulance.
"Just now my aunt was chatting with my dad about it, said it was a man, pretty badly injured, the front of the car was practically gone. Then you know how Teacher Song went out after lunch and hasn't been answering his phone? So I had a hunch and asked what kind of car it was. She said it was a small red car, and I thought about it—isn't that Teacher Song!"
So it was Du Kang's aunt who had inadvertently saved Teacher Song's life.
"Alright, wait for me in the city then. I'm on my way."
"You guys are coming too?"
"No, I'm not with Ruoping and Qingyi. After her dad dropped us off this afternoon, we all went our separate ways. I figure Ruoping is with Student Lu, and at this hour they definitely won't make it back to catch the boat. Plus if she finds out, she'll just cry. You said Teacher Song is fine, so let's wait until things stabilize before telling her.
"As for Qingyi," Du Kang paused, then said seriously, "Shutong, I've never really understood what you've been busy with, but it's definitely something big. I'm not as quick-thinking as you and Qingyi, and I haven't been much help lately. So I figure I should let Qingyi stay behind. He's got more tricks up his sleeve—if something comes up, he can help you out. I'll go to the city and keep Teacher Song company. If anything happens, I'll keep in touch with you guys. Even if I can't help my buddy, at least I won't hold you back, right?"
Zhang Shutong instinctively wanted to say, "What do you mean you haven't helped much? You're the one who helped me expose Li Yipeng, rode to the villa to test the nanny, and finally caught Zhou-fuqin with me on the rooftop."
But then he realized—all of that had already disappeared.
Now Du Kang felt a bit embarrassed, thinking he hadn't been much help to him.
"You've already helped a lot," Zhang Shutong said after a moment of silence. "Don't overthink it."
Du Kang chuckled: "Well, you take care of Teacher Song. I'll catch the next boat. It's the First People's Hospital, right? Gotta go..."
Zhang Shutong put away his phone and looked at the equipment by the bed. The monitor displayed lines jumping in various colors. He didn't understand the specific meaning behind these waves, but he knew that as long as they kept jumping and fluctuating, it was better than becoming a flat line.
Zhang Shutong looked at the man on the hospital bed again. He wanted to say something to him, but realized the other party couldn't hear anything anymore.
Zhang Shutong really wanted to mock him—how could you, an experienced driver of so many years, crash your car into a tree? Even I, someone who just learned to drive, wouldn't make such a mistake.
But the man who at noon had been saying "We're just getting started, I can cause way more trouble than you, kid" now had his eyes closed.
How did you end up lying here?
Zhang Shutong still couldn't accept it.
He'd never imagined that one day Teacher Song would be like this.
The other man could remain single forever, living a sloppy life, but flourishing like reeds on a lakeshore.
He could be seen eight years later with slicked-back hair and gold-rimmed glasses, looking like some elite professional.
He could also keep driving that Ford Focus around aimlessly, with a Bulbasaur that belonged only to him on the car's dashboard.
Zhang Shutong still didn't understand what he'd been struggling with all these years. Teacher Song understood him, but he had never understood Teacher Song.
Not until he could struggle no more.
Zhang Shutong thought again of his metaphor about the sheepdog and the sheep. At the time, he'd thought comparing himself to a sheepdog meant calling him a dog—an insult subtle enough. But wasn't the man himself the same? His parents were in a foreign land, his lover had passed away. He taught on a small island alone, with no friends and little social life. His biggest expense was treating his few close friends to meals, his greatest entertainment was holing up in his dormitory watching soccer, and the things most familiar to him were the clutch and gear shift in his little car.
In truth, this man was more like a real stray dog, wasn't he?
Zhang Shutong didn't understand what he'd been desperately searching for, why he'd chosen this kind of self-exiled life. But some things—if you didn't say them before, didn't ask about them before—by the time you want to open your mouth, it's already too late.
Nurse Xiao Li suddenly jumped up. Zhang Shutong's heart leapt with him. He saw the other man pointing at the monitor:
"Damn, why is his heart rate dropping again!" He glanced at the lake outside, his expression grim. "It'll be at least another half hour before we reach the hospital, and that's not even accounting for traffic. Today's Saturday—the city didn't get snow, and the First People's Hospital is right in the city center..."
He sighed. "It all depends on his will to survive now. You need to prepare yourself mentally."
Zhang Shutong nodded silently.
When the ferry finally docked, he'd already mounted his motorcycle. Zhang Shutong hadn't been to the city in eight years. Although he remembered many landmark buildings, he didn't dare claim to know his way around.
He gripped the brake, deliberately twisting the throttle with his other hand. The engine roared, and people around turned to look, but that was exactly the effect he wanted—the crowd automatically cleared a path for him. No one dared to stop a young man this age riding a motorcycle, especially one without even a helmet, his face frighteningly cold.
Almost the moment the gangway lowered, he released his fingers. The motorcycle shot out like an arrow, Zhang Shutong riding it in a straight line.
He knew very well what his job was now—to clear the way ahead. He and the ambulance quickly reached the urban area, where traffic was indeed congested.
Night had already fallen. In the steel forest of high-rise buildings, car shadows flowed like streams and lights wove like fabric. Large and small halos of light intersected before his eyes in a dazzling, hazy blur. Even the ambulance's emergency siren could barely clear a path. He'd anticipated this situation and rode through the gaps between vehicles, going to each car window one by one to wave at the drivers.
He waved his arms and shouted. Some people noticed the ambulance behind them and moved aside; others rolled down their windows to curse at him for being in such a rush: "What the hell are you rushing for? Don't you see there are cars ahead? Whether someone dies has nothing to do with me!"
Still others didn't even roll down their windows, didn't even turn their heads.
But despite all this, he still cleared a path for the ambulance.
He didn't know if he was buying a few minutes or more than ten minutes. This was all Zhang Shutong could do for his teacher.
By the time they finally reached the hospital, his face had lost all feeling. Zhang Shutong steadied his motorcycle, turned and ran to the front of the ambulance. Fortunately, the island hospital had contacted them in advance—several medical staff were already standing at the entrance waiting.
Xiao Li called for everyone to lift the stretcher. Zhang Shutong followed beside them, running all the way into the hospital's outpatient building. He looked at the bustling lobby, momentarily confused. This place was countless times larger than the island hospital, brightly lit and as spacious as an office building in a commercial district. Zhang Shutong hadn't been here in too long. The elevator was already full, so he hurried to find the stairs, taking them three at a time, climbing to the third floor out of breath.
Actually, Xiao Li had told him there was no need to rush—as long as Teacher Song safely reached the hospital, they could at least save half his life. As for the other half, well, that was up to fate. But Zhang Shutong had to see him enter the operating room with his own eyes before he could feel at ease. The metal door of the operating room closed again, the green light above turning red. Now it was the battlefield of the city hospital's doctors and nurses. Xiao Li was actually free now, and called him over to get a cup of hot water from the service desk and sit down to catch his breath.
"It's only 5:40. Thanks to you riding ahead, otherwise we'd barely make it by 6:00. Your teacher's condition was really poor in the latter half. If we'd been delayed until then, it really would've been hard to say."
Xiao Li finally breathed a sigh of relief:
"Let me call the director to report first. Oh right, I remember you were getting an IV in the hallway earlier—fever or cold? Sit down and rest. Your teacher's situation—rushing won't help..."
But Zhang Shutong didn't respond. He put his phone back in his pocket.
"I have to go. This is my parents' number," he recited a string of digits. "When they arrive, please brief them."
"Wait, you're leaving now? At least see your parents first, right?"
"Otherwise I won't make the boat." Zhang Shutong slapped his face hard. "The last boat is at 6:00."
"Your parents are both in the city, surely there's somewhere to stay. You could spend the night at a nearby hotel," Xiao Li said in surprise. "Besides, you probably won't even have to wait until nighttime—he should be out in two hours. Aren't you really worried about your teacher's safety?"
"I have to go back." Zhang Shutong had already started walking. "Thank you for everything today—"
"This isn't about thanking me or not. Your face is pale as a sheet. Riding back like this—what kind of hero are you trying to be, kid?"
The questions behind him had already grown distant. Zhang Shutong didn't have time to wait for the elevator. He ran to the stairwell again, taking one last look at the operating room.
This wasn't about being a hero.
It was about not letting go when you still have the ability to hold onto something.
Otherwise, you'll regret it.
These were words the man had once said to him.
Zhang Shutong withdrew his gaze, hurrying down the stairs. He put on his helmet and gloves, twisted the throttle again, and just as he turned out of the hospital compound, he saw a black SUV. He recognized it as his family's car, but he had no time to wave to his parents. They probably couldn't guess he'd already left. He brushed past the car, throwing himself back into the city's traffic flow.
In just those ten-odd minutes, the congestion here had gotten another level worse. His body was starting to feel cold again. Since noon, he hadn't even closed his eyes once. Zhang Shutong gritted his teeth, trying to crouch as low as possible, as if doing so would reduce the cold wind his body had to endure.
Ahead was a tunnel, with cars lined up in a long queue. When he'd been clearing the way earlier, he'd even made a point of remembering the surrounding roads. Bit by bit, memories revived in his mind. Zhang Shutong recalled which places cars couldn't pass through but motorcycles could.
He didn't let up on the throttle, maneuvering his bike through gap after gap. He calculated the time—nine minutes until the boat departed.
His speed had long exceeded the limit. He stared expressionlessly at the road ahead, his mind already somewhat numb, but an inner voice told him to keep running without stopping. Sure enough, he was a wild dog...
Zhang Shutong turned into a park, the wheels lifting and jumping onto the steps. Even he found his own skills incredible.
Eight minutes left.
Then came a pedestrian street. Fashionable young men and women strolled along the street, startled by the motorcycle's roar. Zhang Shutong rode to the middle of the long street when a garbage truck blocked his way ahead.
He slapped his thigh in frustration. Of course taking a shortcut would come with shortcut problems.
For some reason, this truck was collecting garbage at this hour, and it was collecting from the entire street, stopping every few steps. He looked at his phone again. Du Kang was asking how Teacher Song was doing. He sent back a voice message, then patiently waited another half minute before resolutely turning the bike around.
Six minutes left.
Now every single second mattered.
He'd already mapped out a new route in his mind. He rode out of the pedestrian street and turned into a narrow alley. Even though Zhang Shutong wasn't someone who believed in fate, at this moment he hoped his luck wouldn't be this shitty. The alley was dark, and he raced through it silently. Fortunately, there were no potholes and no accidents occurred. Light from street lamps gradually appeared ahead in his field of vision. He no longer deliberately held back his speed, twisting the throttle to maximum. The rear of the bike swung sharply as he turned onto an asphalt road—
This was also the last road leading to the dock.
The road surface finally widened, with trees and street lamps alternating. They rapidly receded. The tachometer was already approaching the red line. When the port finally appeared before his eyes, he suddenly froze, because the ship's whistle was already sounding in his ears.
Zhang Shutong was forced to squeeze the brake, nearly falling over.
It was now 5:55. He'd already given himself a five-minute buffer, but he was still late.
He'd miscalculated one thing, or rather overestimated the staff's dedication to their duties. It was cold today, so they'd slacked off a bit, starting earlier than the scheduled departure time. That way they could get off work sooner.
The ferry's wide hull was already slowly pulling away from shore.
He was still about ten meters from the shore, and the ferry's gangway had already been raised, just half a meter away from departure.
He knew this number would keep growing—one meter, two meters, three meters... until it could never be caught.
He said nothing, silently depressing the clutch, then revving the throttle to maximum again. The tires clawed at the ground, producing white smoke.
Someone had already noticed his actions:
"Hey, you on the motorcycle, what are you trying to do—"
He stared ahead, praying in his heart that his dad's eye for picking vehicles was good enough. This was a bike for taking his mom on rides—the two of them loving and romantic, surely having done all sorts of flashy and difficult maneuvers with her before.
So it should work, right?
The deck was already one meter away from shore.
And there was a height difference between the deck and the ground.
The ground was high, the deck low.
All told, Zhang Shutong had only been on this motorcycle for the second day. Even counting previous times, the total didn't exceed a handful. He knew there was something called a power launch—twisting the throttle to maximum while releasing the clutch to the optimal friction point, allowing the bike to unleash its maximum speed.
But he'd never tried this maneuver before. His understanding of the so-called optimal friction point was only vague at best.
Two days ago, on a snowy night, he'd learned to drive a car. Someone had told him he had exceptional talent, that he was born to drive.
He'd laughed it off at the time. Motorcycles and cars operated differently, of course. But if he hadn't succeeded that time, he might not dare to try this now.
Passengers on the ferry across from him also noticed his actions. People pulled out their phones, instinctively clearing a path. Countless eyes focused on him—whispering, pointing, discussing. Staff on shore also started running toward him, about to stop him.
All kinds of people flooded into his vision, noisy voices blocked out by his helmet.
Through his visor, Zhang Shutong crouched as low as possible. The engine roared, already at the end of its rope. Dust flew, the smell of burning tires flooding his nostrils. Then he suddenly released the clutch, finding that optimal friction point by feel. The next moment, the motorcycle launched, so fast it seemed to leave afterimages. It left the road surface, tracing an arc through the air—
Ground, lake surface, a brief moment of weightlessness, and then he'd already ridden the bike onto the ferry.
The tires landed, the suspension compressing to its limit before bouncing back violently. The bike charged halfway across before stopping, the tires producing teeth-grinding sounds on the deck. His body tilted uncontrollably to one side, barely managing to brace himself with his hand and knee.
The surrounding crowd scattered in panic. In his peripheral vision, he could see staff running over to question him angrily.
It was now 5:56.
He'd finally caught the last ferry...
But Zhang Shutong felt no relief in his heart, only a thick wave of exhaustion.