Chapter 34: The Mountains Are Engulfed by the Coming Storm

Old Song’s grand theories continued unabated:

"That’s why they’re easily satisfied—or perhaps, they were sharp to begin with, but once they lost their heads, all that caution went out the window. So, whether you have money or are successful, it all becomes nothing but passing clouds..."

Zhang Shutong wanted to remark that Gu Qiumian certainly wouldn't care if others had money, as long as her own family did, but it was obvious Old Song was talking about his own ex-girlfriend. Zhang was actually quite curious about his romantic history and didn't mind listening.

"My girlfriend and I were just like that. We weren't much older than you when we met—seventeen or eighteen, maybe nineteen. We were so poor that for a movie, we’d only buy one ticket. I’d have her sneak in first, and a few minutes after the show started, I’d slip the doorman a cigarette and a spare security guard uniform to sneak in myself. Guess how we drank our beverages? Even a Jianlibao was a luxury back then. We’d buy loose malted milk powder; I’d bring it from home in a thermos, I’d drink straight from the bottle, and she’d drink from the cap. Sometimes we’d even toast each other. You think they don’t find that embarrassing? They do, but they’re willing."

Old Song kept rattling on about women, and Zhang suddenly found him familiar. He realized it was much like Qingyi, only that guy was obsessed with talking about men. Perhaps if Qingyi grew up crooked one day, he would turn into someone like Old Song.

"That’s why I say girls have to be pursued. If you don’t chase them, how will they know your heart? Besides, it’s a matter of innate chemistry. Either you click or you don't. Once that first impression is set, no amount of effort later can change it."

Old Song seemed to be getting into the swing of things. He lit another cigarette, teasing the frog figure on the center console as he spoke. He hummed proudly, "You lot always think your teacher is a slob now, but honestly, I was a dashing, handsome man back in the day. I wore my hair in a slicked-back style like a superstar, my leather shoes polished to a shine, riding my motorcycle to the dance hall with my beloved girl on the back. Every time we hopped off, she’d smooth out my windblown hair. Was she gentle? No, the truth is, she was obsessed with appearances. I was kept on a tight leash back then, but look at me now—I’ve gone all crooked."

Zhang Shutong had listened with interest at first, but looking at Old Song’s rumpled white shirt and the thick hair on his exposed arms, he saw just another broken man. It seemed he and his ex-girlfriend had ultimately lost the battle against life; even a silly girl would one day turn into a sharp-witted woman.

But if they kept talking like this, they’d be at it until the small hours. Even though the atmosphere was romantic—the rain tapping crisply against the metal roof, the glowing embers of cigarettes in the dark, the faint smoke drifting away only to be washed into nothingness by the rain—it clearly wasn't the time for idle chatter. Zhang decided to provoke him intentionally.

"Where is the teacher’s wife now?"

Zhang asked with feigned innocence, flicking the frog figure. The Bulbasaur grinned with its wide mouth, emitting a silent sneer at the man in the driver's seat. Neither a Squirtle nor a Pikachu could have achieved such an effect; in a way, he had made the right purchase.

But while the toy smiled, the smile on Song Nanshan’s face froze.

The cigarette butt was tossed indifferently onto the floor and extinguished. Song Nanshan silently rolled up the window.

*Sorry,* Zhang thought. *When I’m done with this mess, I’ll buy some beer, and we’ll sit down and talk—I’ll happily listen to you brag all night.* He fastened his seatbelt, waiting for Old Song to turn the ignition.

However, the car didn't start. Song Nanshan just stared at the frog. After a long pause, he said:

"She passed away."

Zhang’s hand froze while fastening the seatbelt. He wanted to laugh and say, "Come on, Old Song, can’t you be more open-minded? Don’t make things up about a girl just because you broke up; it’s bad karma..." But he knew that was impossible. In the darkness, he saw the man’s expressionless, rugged face, and the voice that followed held very little emotion:

"It was the day I bought this frog. I didn't walk her home that night, and she was hit by a car. By the time I found out the next day... you can understand, right?"

"That’s why I’m telling you: don't let go when you have the power to hold on. You’ll regret it one day."

He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. He simply turned on the radio. The silver panel of the radio was peeling, and it was still playing the disc Gu Qiumian had picked out. They had been talking for so long that the tracks had already looped; it had been "Like Smoke" then, and it was "Like Smoke" now.

Amidst the crisp sound of rain, Zhang heard the lyrics clearly:

*That year at seven, I caught that cicada;*
*Thinking I could catch the summer;*
*That year at seventeen;*
*I kissed her face;*
*And thought I could be with her forever...*

They were listening to a summer song on a winter’s rainy night.

"Damn, what trashy lyrics. If you could catch summer just by catching a cicada, there’d be ghosts," Old Song laughed, then shut off the radio and turned the ignition. The old engine shuddered violently, making the aged Bulbasaur tremble along with it. The man flicked the frog listlessly. "She’s gone, and now only this ugly thing is left to keep me company."

But the frog seemed to defy him; no matter how it was jostled, it always stubbornly returned to its original position. Zhang looked at the yellow-eyed, bootleg Bulbasaur, wondering how many years it had spent here alone. From his first year to his fourth, that was at least four years—or perhaps even longer?

The car’s interior was cracked and worn, yet the toy remained the freshest, most spirited object in the vehicle—more spirited than the man sitting beside it. Song Nanshan didn't rush to leave, but suddenly added:

"Shutong, actually, that’s not all I wanted to tell you."

"It’s not really appropriate for me to say this—it’s someone else’s family business, and as a teacher, it’s unprofessional of me—but I think you should know. When I called Qiumian’s father at noon, I heard a woman’s voice in the background, calling him 'honey'."

"Who do you think that was? Why do you think he left the island? Do you think Gu Qiumian knows?"

His questions landed like a burst of gunfire, and the rain could not mask the silence inside the Ford.

Then, Song Nanshan lit a cigarette, breaking the silence:

"Qiumian’s mother passed away a long time ago."

Smoke gradually filled the cabin. Zhang suddenly understood why she had never seen the rainbow cotton candy under the Ferris wheel. He turned to the window; the ghost face he had drawn was already faint. Zhang wiped it away, but outside remained a pitch-black void; he could see nothing.

Right. They were on a small island, and this was the most remote corner of it. Perhaps the four-story detached villa was ablaze with lights, but if one looked out through the glass, one would never be able to see the glowing, giant silhouette of the Ferris wheel.

It must be very lonely.

...

"Anyway, you know what you need to know. Handle it as you see fit."

Song Nanshan shook his head and opened the car door.

"I’m going to step out for a moment. Wait for me. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll head to the commercial street. Your teacher will accompany you young people on a hero-saves-the-beauty mission for once..."

Zhang Shutong sat there in silence, merely nodding to show he had heard.

But unexpectedly, it was a long time before Song Nanshan returned. His expression was grave:

"I just took a look at her backyard, and it seems something has really gone wrong..."