Translator: Lynn
Sponsored chapter (2/2)
Following dinner with Xu Ding, we engaged in a conversation about the shop. Just then, Xu Ding’s phone rang, and he glanced at it before saying, “I’ve found it. I’ll send it over to you and delete it.”
“Alright, sure,” Cheng Ke nodded, a sudden nervousness washing over him, “So quickly.”
“Simply checking the logs, it’s not that challenging,” Xu Ding commented, “If you could grab his ID and look into it directly, that would be even more efficient.”
Cheng Ke smiled, glancing at the file Xu Ding had sent to his phone. He contemplated whether to open it right then or read it later.
Part of him was eager to delve into it immediately, to examine each unfamiliar number in the past two months’ records and identify a city where the weather didn’t involve snow during the Spring Festival.
However, upon reflection, he stashed his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t want to appear overly eager and definitely didn’t want to raise any suspicions that Jiang Yuduo might not be in the best situation.
Xu Ding remained attentive, wrapping up a few more topics in conversation before signaling for the waiter to bring the bill. “I’ll take you home,” he offered.
“Sure,” Cheng Ke stood up.
As Xu Ding helped him put on his coat, a slight unease rippled through him. Strangely, when Jiang Yuduo helped him into his coat, even before they were officially a “couple,” it felt entirely natural.
Reflecting on that sensation, Cheng Ke felt a twinge of vulnerability in his chest.
Xu Ding dropped him off at Jiang Yuduo’s place. Before stepping inside, Cheng Ke extracted his phone and keys. Jiang Yuduo had given him a key, which he had attached to a keychain adorned with a cat’s head.
Upon entering the house, Meow trotted over, rubbing against his leg, possibly indicating hunger.
While he opened the file, Cheng Ke simultaneously served up a mix of cat food and canned food in the bowl. “Make do with this for now; when you’re hungry later, seek out your San-ge.”
Once the file was opened, Cheng Ke didn’t delve into it immediately. Instead, he swiped his finger upwards to assess the length of the comprehensive list first, attempting to gauge the amount of work ahead.
The screenshot up with a distinct click.
Not even 0.1 seconds had passed before it halted abruptly.
Cheng Ke was momentarily dumbfounded, wondering if he was seeing things.
He swiped up again, and indeed, it was at the bottom. So he swiped down again, and once more, in just 0.1 seconds, it reverted to the top.
To ensure he wasn’t being tricked by his eyes, he dragged the screen to the end and glimpsed at the serial number—21.
Incoming and outgoing calls combined, a mere 21 call records.
Considering that it had been two months since he left home, there would be more than 21 housing advertisement calls alone.
Evidently, Jiang Yuduo’s number had scarcely been used.
Well, this meant his task would be considerably lighter. He only needed a second to identify the numbers from other sources…
His gaze then shifted to the call-type column, and he perused it.
Local, local, local, local, local…
All 21 were local calls.
Staring at the screen, Cheng Ke couldn’t quite articulate his emotions.
Jiang Yuduo hadn’t used his mobile phone to contact Dr. Luo, or rather, he hadn’t contacted her at all.
Cheng Ke couldn’t determine which hypothesis was correct, but from this perspective, it appeared he was mistaken.
Deleting the file, he set his phone on the coffee table, reclined on the sofa, and shut his eyes.
He had no clue when Jiang Yuduo would return, and Cheng Ke found himself constantly torn within, debating whether he should broach the topic of the psychiatrist with Jiang Yuduo. And if he did, how would Jiang Yuduo react?
“Damn it,” Cheng Ke huffed, succumbing to a sense of tedium and slumping further into the sofa.
Only then did he recall that he was lying where Meow had once pooped, and he hadn’t moved.
Indeed, humans are remarkably adaptable to their surroundings. Even with Meow coming over and soiling his trousers, he was in no mood to budge.
As Jiang Yuduo turned into an alleyway, he cast a sidelong glance behind him. A swift shadow trailed closely. If he hadn’t been actively attentive to his surroundings, he might have easily missed that fleeting silhouette.
The individuals following him this time were unlike the previous ones. They were stealthy, keeping pace, and… impossible to shake off.
This sprawling area encompassed various shopping centers, a street lined with bars, and residential communities. He had been weaving around different structures for nearly half an hour. Despite a decade of residence here, he knew each brick like the back of his hand. Yet it seemed that evading pursuit was proving challenging, almost as if someone with his palm prints was fated to struggle.
Persistently, the figure trailed behind him, an indomitable shadow. Regardless of the route he chose, he remained inextricably connected, the distance between them unchanging.
Jiang Yuduo’s unease escalated into fear.
Escape was futile.
No matter where he fled, evasion remained impossible.
His gait grew erratic, betraying a tactical error; the rhythm was crucial in both offense and defense, dictating one’s stance and swiftness.
Breathing grew labored.
Joints stiffened.
It all served as a constant reminder.
Fear.
He was terrified.
He didn’t fear harm from those tailing him—being hit with a brick, whacked with a stick, or even stabbed couldn’t intimidate him.
It was the lingering pursuit that terrified him most, the prospect of them being there when he returned.
Cheng Ke would know.
Cheng Ke might not voice it, yet Jiang Yuduo understood he’d worry, get ensnared in anxiety, and turn vigilant, meticulously scrutinizing every reaction and motion.
Once, twice—maybe over a day or two—it wouldn’t be an issue.
But as time elapsed, nobody would remain here.
He was afraid, fearful that “next year” might never come again.
Ahead was Bar Street, and for the second time, Jiang Yuduo retraced his steps here.
Bar Street was a realm of greater disarray compared to other locales. It teemed with people and vehicles, lights and shadows intermingling. Human voices and music overflowed from behind closed doors, at times obscuring the very direction of their source for passersby.
Jiang Yuduo resolved to shake off his pursuers here.
He cast a quick glance behind.
Though several individuals trailed him, he could readily pick out the duo amidst the crowd.
Two people weren’t a significant concern.
Ahead, a recessed open area flanked the street, leading to a narrow alley.
He darted into it.
After covering about a dozen paces, the echo of footsteps reached Jiang Yuduo’s ears.
His brows furrowed.
These weren’t the footsteps of the person tailing him.
Those individuals would tread silently, making sure no footsteps were audible.
These, however…
Jiang Yuduo’s realization struck as his surroundings came into focus.
This was the narrow alley behind Zhang Daqi’s bar.
On the left stood the wall and shuttered windows of Zhang Daqi’s establishment. To the right, another wall lined the alley. Proceeding straight ahead for roughly 50 meters took one past a series of large and small trash bins and past the assorted cast-offs of bars adjacent to each other, eventually emerging onto another street.
This was a familiar haunt for Jiang Yuduo, a key battleground where they had skirmished with Zhang Daqi’s crew.
And due to his unease and fear, he had inadvertently wandered right in.
Behind him, Zhang Daqi’s henchmen had already hemmed him in, and as he cast his gaze forward, he saw more figures ahead.
Caught in the middle, Jiang Yuduo surmised that those tailing him were likely waiting for the opportune moment.
“San-ge,” a voice resonated in the shadows, “You’ve been skirting around for over half an hour. Do you genuinely believe we can’t spot you?”
Jiang Yuduo remained silent, slipping his left hand into his pocket.
To spare Cheng Ke undue distress, he hadn’t carried a knife with him in quite a while. So now, as his hand searched, it encountered only a packet of tissues.
Yet just two meters ahead leaned an iron pipe against the wall—the leg of a high stool, perhaps.
“Where are your underlings? Today, they’re letting their San-ge play the role of the Lone Hero?” The voice from the darkness taunted, “Should I grant you some time? Call them, and have them show up within five minutes. You can gather your own group…”
Jiang Yuduo paid no heed to the words. Instead, seizing the moment of the speaker’s elation, he lunged forward abruptly and clutched the iron pipe.
He swung it with force to the side.
Zhang Daqi’s crew hadn’t yet closed in. They couldn’t muster such swiftness. His swing was directed at the person shadowing him.
However, the ensuing disruption meant that when Zhang Daqi’s men charged ahead, Jiang Yuduo had no time to retract the iron pipe, and his arm took a harsh blow.
Pain eluded him, replaced by fear.
A sea of people encircled him, but no one came into distinct view.
The illumination shone solely on him.
Seizing the iron rod, he struck at the adversary in close proximity.
Head, shoulders, back, legs—any point was fair game for attack.
The absence of pain wasn’t due to its absence per se, but rather an inability to sense it.
Once pain pierced through, rage would follow.
Attack! Lift your hand and strike! Leave no room for guarding your head! Strike! At the ribs! Insufficient strength!
Jiang Yuduo’s arms swung fiercely, his legs kicking out with vehemence, relinquishing defense entirely.
When at a disadvantage, defending merely weighs you down.
He must struggle, resist, and forfeit protection to mount an offense.
“Run! Jiang Yuduo! Run! Get away!” a male voice yelled.
Jiang Yuduo’s breath came in ragged gasps as he bolted.
He sprinted forward, leaped onto a trash bin, hurdled a fence, landed, and pressed on.
He glanced back, eager to spot the voice’s origin, but found emptiness trailing him.
Meanwhile, Cheng Ke was leisurely scrolling through his phone, attempting to find instructions for crafting strawberry wine.
Numerous tutorials existed, covering a variety of self-brewed fruit wines. However, for someone as inexperienced as him, generic tutorials wouldn’t suffice. He required meticulous guidance, down to specifics like the type of strawberries to employ.
Yet after perusing for an extended period, he hadn’t truly absorbed the content, merely swiping it away after a cursory scan.
His mind wandered.
Jiang Yuduo hadn’t returned yet. Although Cheng Ke knew Jiang Yuduo was dining with Chen Qing, it wasn’t uncommon for two close friends of a decade to linger over a meal for a few hours. Given Chen Qing’s sharp understanding of their relationship, it’s even plausible that their conversation extended into the night. However, despite these logical reassurances, Cheng Ke still found himself in a state of restlessness.
He tapped on WeChat but found no new messages. He then clicked on Dacun’s name and, upon confirming that Jiang Yuduo hadn’t sent him a message, restlessly placed the phone back on the table.
Thirty seconds later, he picked it up again.
He contemplated calling Jiang Yuduo but hesitated, fearing his anxieties might become a burden.
After a two-second pause, he opened his contacts.
Just as he was about to dial, the phone abruptly rang.
The caller ID read “Jiang’s brain is abnormal.”
Without a moment’s delay, Cheng Ke answered, “Hello, San-ge.”
The voice on the other end was silent, replaced by a faint rustling.
“Jiang Yuduo?” Cheng Ke questioned, the voice almost sounding as if a number had been accidentally dialed in his pocket. “Hello! Can you hear me?”
As he was about to hang up to call Jiang Yuduo directly, a sound came from the receiver—a panting, a gasp.
Carried by the wind, it was somewhat indistinct, yet Cheng Ke still recognized it as Jiang Yuduo’s labored breathing.
“Jiang Yuduo! What’s happening?” Cheng Ke jumped up, shouting, snatching up his jacket tossed on the sofa, and hastened toward the door.
“Cheng Ke,” Jiang Yuduo’s voice emerged from the other end.
Upon hearing Jiang Yuduo’s voice, Cheng Ke’s heart clenched suddenly. Though Jiang Yuduo’s voice held a hint of hoarseness, this wasn’t what concerned Cheng Ke the most. Rather, it was the underlying emotion in Jiang Yuduo’s tone that set his nerves on edge.
“Cheng Ke, where are you?” Jiang Yuduo’s voice wavered slightly.
“I’m at your place,” Cheng Ke replied, stepping out of the doorway, “You…”
“Help me,” Jiang Yuduo’s plea reached him in a whisper, the desolation and fear palpable through the receiver. “Cheng Ke, please help me.”
A dull sensation reverberated through Cheng Ke’s mind, and he surged out onto the street, hailing a passing car as he shouted into the phone, “Where are you? I’m coming over now! Where are you!”
The location Jiang Yuduo provided wasn’t familiar to him. He only had a vague idea that it might be a small park akin to the one in the middle of the street where they once met. However, before Cheng Ke could dial again, Jiang Yuduo had already disconnected the call. Subsequent attempts to reach him yielded no response.
A taxi had halted about five meters away, its passengers, a couple, opening the doors to enter.
Cheng Ke had never realized he could move so quickly. He reached the car door just as the girl was about to climb inside.
“Excuse me!” Cheng Ke grabbed her arm, his voice tense, “Please step aside.”
“What’s going on!” the girl protested.
“What’s happening here!” Her boyfriend’s voice rose immediately.
Cheng Ke clasped his hand, deftly twisting it: “Apologies, I need to use your car.”
“Ah—” the boy winced, his expression contorted.
Cheng Ke released his grip, popped open the passenger door, and slid into the car seat, pleading, “Please drive quickly.”
The driver regarded him with uncertainty. Cheng Ke quickly named the address Jiang Yuduo had mentioned, then fumbled for his wallet, shaking it. Several thousand dollars spilled onto the driver’s lap. “Hurry, just go fast.”
The driver pushed the accelerator, and the vehicle accelerated with a roar.
“Is it a long way?” Cheng Ke struggled to put on his coat.
“About three minutes,” the driver responded, “Take the shorter route, it’ll be two minutes. Don’t worry about the fare; it’s not much.” Cheng Ke remained silent, leaping out of the car as soon as it halted.
Beside the road lay a flower bed with a narrow gravel path threading through it. In the center, a round, dry fountain stood.
“Jiang Yuduo!” Cheng Ke sprinted down the path. As he was about to call out again, his eyes caught a figure seated on the ground by the stone partition to his right. One leg was bent, the other dangled limply.
It was Jiang Yuduo.
Words seemed to evade Cheng Ke’s grasp as he hurried over, dropping to his knees beside Jiang Yuduo. He braced himself on the ground with his left hand and immediately noticed the blood on Jiang Yuduo’s face.
“Where are you hurt?” Cheng Ke managed to steady his voice, concern tinged his words. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No,” Jiang Yuduo replied.
Cheng Ke raised his hand tentatively, intending to examine the source of the blood on his face. At that moment, Jiang Yuduo lifted his head to meet Cheng Ke’s gaze, whispering, “Cheng Ke.”
“I’m here,” Cheng Ke responded, his eyes searching Jiang Yuduo’s. “What’s happened? Please, tell me.”
Gently, he embraced Jiang Yuduo’s shoulder.
“They’re here,” Jiang Yuduo revealed.
A wave of apprehension washed over Cheng Ke: “Where are they?”
“Across the way,” Jiang Yuduo answered.
Cheng Ke turned his head, casting his eyes over a small, vacant garden. Alongside the dry fountain, an array of benches stood empty. Given the weather, it seemed unlikely for anyone to be seated there.
“You can’t see them, can you?” Jiang Yuduo inquired. “The two of them are by the fountain.”
As Cheng Ke regarded the barren fountain, his heart seemed to constrict, and his eyes welled with tears, a pang resonating deep within his chest.
“I can’t see them,” he murmured softly.
“Why?” Jiang Yuduo’s voice grew hoarse, and large tears welled in the corners of his eyes. “Why can’t you see them?”
“I don’t know,” Cheng Ke admitted, his own tears streaming freely. Unable to restrain himself, he tightened his embrace around Jiang Yuduo, his hand rubbing his back reassuringly. “It doesn’t matter, really. Whether I can see them or not, it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jiang Yuduo echoed through a choked sob, “I’m… I’m a lunatic.”
“No, you’re not,” Cheng Ke insisted, his words emphatic. “You’re Jiang Yuduo. You’re my San-ge, my boyfriend. Nothing else defines you.”
“Help me,” Jiang Yuduo implored.
“Absolutely,” Cheng Ke nodded vigorously.
Translator’s Notes:
AAAAA Jiang Yuduoooo, Babyyy, TOT, We’re hereeeeeee
Please let me know if there are typos/mistakes in the chapter.