by Cai Jun
“For the past eighteen years, I’ve thought of my son every moment of every day. The hurt didn’t go away but got more intense. I owed him too much in this life. I never repaid him while he was alive, so I need to avenge his death, even if I have to die. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re wrong,” Si Wang said. “Too much has happened since he was killed. Your memory is jaded. You don’t really remember the past. Even if you found the killer, that wouldn’t bring back your son. Let it go.”
A tearful Shen Yuanchao nodded. “I told myself this for years. Is now really the time to give up?”
Si Wang helped Zhang Mingsong stand up. “Mr. Zhang, he won’t be a danger to you anymore. But please promise me something.”
Zhang Mingsong shook, grabbing Si Wang as if he was a lifeboat. “I’ll promise you anything you want.”
“I apologize for what he did tonight. He just misses his dead son too much. Please pretend that nothing has happened. Don’t call the police, either. I’ll do everything you ask if you promise me that.”
“Fine, I promise. I won’t hold a grudge.”
“Thank you, I’ll remember this favor,” Si Wang said before turning to the prosecutor. “Let’s go!”
With Si Wang carrying the stick and the rope, the two quickly left the seventh floor and then Zhang Mingsong’s neighborhood. The security guard didn’t pay them much attention; he assumed they were a father and son asking Mr. Zhang for tutoring help.
Si Wang stopped a taxi and gave Shen Yuanchao’s address.
It was 10:30 p.m.
Eighteen years ago, Shen Ming was already a corpse.
Shen Yuanchao didn’t talk at all. His hair was a mess and he just stared into the night, imagining the pain of being killed and the endless loneliness after death.
“Please promise me not to do anything like this again,” Si Wang said. “Leave the revenge to me.”
“You’re still a kid.”
“I grew up a long time ago.”
For some reason, Shen Yuanchao thought back to thirty years ago. Maybe the older one got, the more vivid one’s memories of youth became.
“Shen Ming was my illegitimate son. He’s half brother to Shen Min. His mom died when he was seven.”
“I know.”
“One year, on May First Workers’ Day, when I was still unmarried, I took Shen Ming to People’s Park. It was the happiest day of his childhood. He rode the merry-go-round. We bought a balloon for five cents and drank orange juice for twenty cents.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“Child, what did you say?” The old man looked at Si Wang in confusion, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. Si Wang turned to look out the taxi’s window, through which the streetlights glared. “Eighteen years ago—forty-nine days after Shen Ming died—I asked a Taoist monk to do a soul-calling ritual.”
“You’re a Communist, a true believer in dialectic materialism. You believe in that kind of thing?”
“Someone told me that my son died in a very negative place. Any ghosts would be trapped underground forever. Only a soul-calling ritual would get him out. He could visit me forty-nine days after his death and then reincarnate.” Shen Yuanchao looked very serious as he said this. Maybe he was senile, or maybe he believed in different things now.
As he walked Shen Yuanchao up the stairs, Si Wang whispered, “I’m sorry I lied to you for two years.”
“It’s OK. It would have been great for it to be true. At least I’d have a chance to see my son again.”
Standing in front of the apartment door, the young man gripped the hand of the older man, saying, “There are no ghosts in this world. Please don’t look for Shen Ming’s ghost anymore!”
Shen Yuanchao looked unprepared to face his daughter, but Si Wang rang the doorbell anyway. Shen Min opened the door right away. Overjoyed, she hugged her dad. She ushered her father inside, and Si Wang quickly ran back down the stairs.
Could he really have been a ghost?
CHAPTER 72
It was the summer before the college entrance exams.
All the students were either getting extra help or being tutored at home. Shen Min was a good student, so she wasn’t desperate. She saw Si Wang every weekend; he always asked about her dad. To her surprise, after that night on June 19, the rest of the summer was quiet. Her dad didn’t go out and make trouble anymore. He exercised in the neighborhood and practiced calligraphy at home. He had tea with former coworkers and read the news with as much fervor as other retired Party members, always holding copies of Reference News and Global Times.
Shen Min had a crush on Si Wang.
She used the excuse of thanking him for saving her dad to take him out to eat and invite him to movies. She was a dainty beauty, but she was a rabid fan of horror movies; even dumb domestic thrillers made her scream and get close to Si Wang. She would shiver and hold him in the dark theatre, her hair fanning over his face, scaring and distracting him.
One time, after a movie as the two were eating ice cream, Shen Min said softly, “Dad said you’re not a ghost.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you two. I’m Si Wang, Si as in ‘general,’ Wang as in ‘lookout.’ ”
“Which story of yours should I believe?”
“Don’t believe anything I say.”
“Liar!” She slid closer to him.
Si Wang moved away. “What if I really was a ghost?”
“I’m not scared.”
“Time to go home.”
“My dad is going to the procuratorate tomorrow for a meeting of other retirees. Come visit me.” She blushed. This was her first time inviting a guy over.
Shen Min took care to primp before Si Wang’s arrival. She wore a pink dress that didn’t quite cover her knees and had her hair done. In a few years she would be a stunning young woman.
Si Wang arrived right on time. Shen Min had put out plenty of snacks for the two of them.
“There must be a lot of girls at school who like you.”
“No.” He was embarrassed and afraid to make eye contact with her.
The truth was, after his relationship with Ms. Ouyang was exposed at school, no girls talked to him. The boys were jealous but still made fun of him.
“You’re lying again!” Shen Min pulled him up from the sofa. “Why don’t you check out my house?”
He had been staring at Shen Ming’s memorial photo in the living room.
“I’ve never met my older brother,” Shen Min said, turning sad.
“Your brother has always been with you.”
“You mean his ghost? I’m not afraid.”
“If only there were ghosts. Little Min, let me be your older brother.”
“Why?” She wrinkled her brow. “You’re only one day older than me.”
“So I can protect you.”
“No.” She tried to hold on to his arm, but he just walked toward the door.
He took a deep breath and said, “I should go, my mom has dinner waiting for me.”
“I’ll take you out to eat next week.”
“We shouldn’t meet again.”
Shen Min’s face paled. “Why not?”
“I’m sorry. I still have some important things to finish.”
“What are you hiding?” She grabbed his arm. “Si Wang!”
He escaped her grasp and charged downstairs. Looking at the oleander bush in the neighborhood garden, he muttered, “Killing.”
CHAPTER 73
September 2012. Senior year.
Zhang Mingsong kept his word: He didn’t go to the police or make trouble. He only became more interested in Si Wang. The boy was even more quiet now, avoiding his homeroom teacher whenever possible. One night, Zhang Mingsong asked, “Si Wang, do you play Ping-Pong?”
“A little—why?”
The Ping-Pong room was in the male students’ dorm. Before being renovated it had been Shen Ming’s room. Zhang Mingsong opened the door. A thick layer of dust covered the table; no one had been here for a while.
“You ever been here before?” Zhang Mingsong was picking out a paddle.
Si Wang calmly looked around. “Yes, I’ve been here.”
“When?”
“In my last lifetime.”
“You’re quite a joker.”
He quickly hit a ball that Si Wang returned, scoring a point.
“You play pretty well!”
The two played for more than half an hour. Zhang Mingsong slowed down first. He sat down, sweating and gulping down soda. Si Wang sweated a lot, too. He took off his school shirt and wearing just a tank top revealed his muscular build.
“Si Wang, I haven’t really thanked you for saving my life.”
“It’s OK, Mr. Zhang. Why didn’t you ask how I knew Mr. Shen?”
“Who knows?” Zhang Mingsong sounded nonchalant, but he did want to know.
“He is my dad’s good friend. I played at his house all the time. His daughter called me that night, saying he might have gone to your house.”
“Then you know what happened to his son.”
“Yes.”
“Did he think I killed his son? The police did their work. If I was really the killer, would I be teaching you guys today?”
“It’s a misunderstanding.”
Zhang Mingsong breathed heavily, looking up at the cobweb-covered ceiling. “Did you know that Shen Ming used to live in this room? The students say this room is haunted so no one really plays Ping-Pong in here.”
“Has anyone ever seen Mr. Shen’s ghost?”
The overhead fluorescent lights started flickering. In the alternating light and dark, with a pitch-black corridor outside, it did seem as if a ghost was present.
“He’s here.” Zhang Mingsong seemed unaffected. He patted Si Wang’s chest. “Get dressed and go back to your room.”
The weather had become chilly. Chinese parasol trees shed leaves that slipped through the open windows, littering the blackboard. Students studied as hard as they could. Zhang Mingsong turned down almost all of the tutoring requests. He was the only teacher who dared to approach Si Wang and the two became quite close.
Si Wang’s cell phone rang, the ringtone was actually Chang Yu-sheng’s “I’m a Tree in Fall.”
Zhang Mingsong sighed, “I loved this song when I was younger.”
“It has been around since before I was born.”
“Yes, but Chang Yu-sheng didn’t die until after you were born.” The two were walking past the library. Zhang Mingsong put on a serious expression. “Si Wang, your math grades have been slipping.”
“I’ve never been good at math.”
“You need some tutoring!”
Si Wang stopped and looked up at the library. “Everyone wants to be tutored by you.”
“I’ll be grading homework here, but I won’t be free until ten. Come to the library then.”
Hours later, the librarian had gone home long ago. Zhang Mingsong sat alone in the empty reading room. There was no homework to grade; he started to flip through a copy of Angels and Demons.
10:00 p.m.
Si Wang showed up, carrying his math textbook.
Zhang Mingsong grinned. “Great. It’s a bit cold here—let’s go upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
Zhang Mingsong led him to the stairs and saw Si Wang’s hesitation. “You’re afraid?”
“No.”
Si Wang started up first, and Zhang Mingsong followed. Once they were in the dusty attic the moon cast some light through the murky window.
Zhang Mingsong closed the door. The lock was weird, in that it actually only worked from the outside. If someone followed them, both would be locked in the attic and then the only way out was through the window in the roof.
There were books everywhere and two little stools.
Si Wang looked around before saying, “Mr. Zhang, I heard someone died up here.”
“Yes, it was eighteen years ago, a student by the name of Liu Man. She died the night before the college entrance exams. The police said she was poisoned with oleander juice extract.”
“Did they catch the killer?”
“Some people said the killer was Mr. Shen, who was killed later. Who knows?”
Si Wang retreated into a corner. “Are we not going to go over math?”
“Let’s chat first. You’re a unique kid. I’ve felt that way ever since I met you two years ago.”
“Everybody says that.”
“I was surprised and disappointed to hear about you and Ms. Ouyang.”
After thinking about it, Si Wang said, “I don’t want to talk about it. I probably won’t ever see her again.”
“You’re too young. You don’t understand that there are many things in this world we can’t get even if we wanted to. Sometimes people don’t know themselves.”
“What are you saying?”
“You don’t really know what you want.” Zhang Mingsong approached Si Wang, standing close enough behind him to breathe on this neck.
“Mr. Zhang—”
“Si Wang, you’re a good-looking guy.” Zhang Mingsong’s voice was a smooth as velvet. “Many of the girls like you, right? Actually, it’s not only girls who like you.” Zhang Mingsong’s hand stroked Si Wang’s face, moving from his chin, to his ears and nose, and then to his lips, until his fingers were in Si Wang’s mouth. “You can bite if you want to.”
The scent of Si Wang’s nervous sweat filled the room as he struggled to get free. He ran out of the attic shouting, “Mr. Zhang, I’m sorry!”
Under the light of the bleak moon, Zhang Mingsong sat down on the floor, feeling lost. He threw a handful of dust into the air. He wiped his fingers with a tissue and put one back in his mouth to see if it tasted of the teenage boy.
He was sure Si Wang would be back.
CHAPTER 74
Winter 2014.
Thanks to air pollution, the atmosphere was hazy this season. It was difficult to see very far from Nanming High. When you looked out from a top-floor office, the library was shrouded in clouds.
Zhang Mingsong felt as though he’d lost sight of Si Wang.
Since their meeting in the attic, the student never avoided the teacher. He always seemed at ease whenever Zhang Mingsong talked to him one on one. In these moments when no one else was around, Zhang Mingsong would touch Si Wang’s hand intentionally. At first Si Wang would back away, but then he would allow the touch.
About a month before the exams, he got a text from Si Wang: “Mr. Zhang, can I come to your house for tutoring tonight?”
“Sure, I’ll be here.”
Zhang Mingsong went home early to prepare for his guest. He made sure the apartment was spotless, keeping the curtains covered. He took a bath and put on some cologne. He studied himself in the mirror. He thought he looked more like a student than a teacher in his fifties.
The doorbell rang.
Zhang Mingsong opened the door with a smile. “Si Wang, welcome.”
“Good evening, Mr. Zhang.” Si Wang walked in politely. It was his second time here and he looked around cautiously.
He’d turned nineteen last month so was no longer a minor.
Zhang Mingsong patted his arm. “You’re taller than me now.”
The AC was set low, and the room was humid. Zhang Mingsong took Si Wang’s jacket, asking, “Need a drink?”
Before Si Wang could answer, two cans of beer appeared on the table.
Si Wang pushed away the beer. “It’s OK, I’m not thirsty.”
Zhang Mingsong walked behind him and took off his shirt, exposing hi
s chest. He whispered into Si Wang’s ear, “Let’s start the session.”
Si Wang punched him in the stomach hard. Before he could fight back, another punch landed on his face. His teeth felt like they would fall out. He blacked out as he fell to the ground.
A few minutes later, Zhang Mingsong was tied up with a nylon rope; all of his clothes had been removed.
Si Wang looked grave, putting one foot on Zhang Mingsong and spitting out, “Mr. Zhang, you were wrong about me.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please let me go. This is a private thing. It’s always consensual. I’ve never forced anyone.”
“Now I know why Xiao Peng hanged himself in the Nanming High dorms in 1988. You are the reason he had to kill himself.”
“Xiao Peng?”
“Do you still remember him? He was short and very pale. He was often mistaken for a girl.”
“How do you know about him?”
“Two months before he died, he always went to you for tutoring. It was always at night and he’d come back to the dorm late. He didn’t talk much then. We all thought it was the stress from studying for the college entrance exams.”
“Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is what you’ve been doing for the last twenty years!” Si Wang opened a drawer. He found an eyebrow-trimming blade and swiped it against Zhang Mingsong’s face. “If you don’t admit what you did, I’ll carve the words on your face.”
“No!”
“After Xiao Peng hanged himself, no one stayed in that room anymore. It was empty until Mr. Shen moved in. I remembered his face when you took me to play Ping-Pong. I could see his body hanging in front of me.”
“I admit it!”
“Was it in the library attic?”
“Yes, I lured him there with tutoring as an excuse, actually I was—”
“Tell me.”
“I promised him that if he did what I told him, he could get better math scores, which would make or break his college entrance exam results. I didn’t think he’d be that neurotic and kill himself.”