Su Ziceng’s feelings could no longer be described as simply at a loss. The streetlights had long been smashed by mischievous kids. The residents of the Sixth District, not willing to spare even a sliver of light, left the alleys pitch-black, turning the entire Sixth District into a black hole, devouring everyone’s courage and enthusiasm.
The only source of light in the vicinity at the ti ca from the few headlights of Su Ziceng’s car, one of which had been dented by a bicycle collision.
"Hang Yishao, you bastard," the first person that ca to mind for Su Ziceng, was the elusive Hang Yishao. Then, she thought of Su Qingzhang. Her unexplained absence would definitely make him furious. Following that, she felt an urge to cry. Thinking that crying at the age of thirty-five would be embarrassing, she, now huddled within the body of yet-to-be-eighteen "Su Ziceng," found it quite normal to throw a small tantrum.
As she hesitated to cry or not, a very ruffian-like searchlight shone towards her from ahead. To say the light was ruffian-like was an understatent compared to the person holding it; the glaring light moved from her face to her chest, then the waist, and finally rested on her pale and slender legs. In the darkness, Su Ziceng’s legs looked glowing, as if they were made of noctilucent material.
"Little sister, what are you doing?" Behind the light was a pair of narrow, triangle eyes, with drooping eyelids, resembling a rat’s face, speaking in a tone that was surprisingly decent.
Getting closer, Su Ziceng could see clearly that the newcor was a young man in his early twenties. Irritated that she, a thirty-five-year-old woman, had been taken casual advantage of in speech, the earlier sadness instantly evaporated, and with a "pfft," she laughed, like a tire deflating.
Once she started laughing, those slender legs began to sway. Seeing that she wasn’t frightened but instead laughed pleasantly, the young man with triangle eyes also lightened up. "Your car broken down? Must have been those mischievous scamps who let out the air. Co on, I’ll call a tow for you."
"You?" Su Ziceng looked at him skeptically. More than a decade ago, mobile phones were not yet common — where could a lone individual reach out for help at this hour?
"By myself? No way, there’s soone else behind," explained the young man with triangle eyes, who despite looking sowhat shifty, seed to have good intentions. He scratched his head as he spoke and whistled at the sight of Su Ziceng’s Ferrari, "That’s a costly ride you got there. Isn’t it one of those cars that can’t even be imported into the country yet?"
The car was towed away from the open space by a lofty truck, and Su Ziceng got onto the truck with the triangle-eyed young man. The truck’s base was very high; as she lifted her head, she felt like she could touch the power lines and plastic bags subrged in the night, crisscrossing and overlapping to the point of suffocation.
The car was finally lowered in a certain part of the Sixth District. From an inconspicuous building, several n carrying lamps erged. As soon as they saw the car, like flies slling blood, they all buzzed over to it.
A rather burly man swung his fist and hamred the car body several tis, then gave a series of impressed gasps, "This foreign craftsmanship is incredibly sturdy."
"Driving this thing around, no wonder so many thieves would be green with envy," another man, looking more composed, began inspecting the car tires, "The car’s fine, it’s just the tires that are tricky. Can’t get them through normal channels; we’ve got to find so connections."
Su Ziceng also knew that imported cars are troubleso to repair and take a long ti, so for a good while to co, her garage would be filled with several cars as backups. She just hoped to get back soon. Standing alone among a bunch of unfamiliar n, she howled inwardly; she had neither the guts to leave her car with these n for repairs nor the courage to voice her true thoughts, finding herself now caught in a dilemma. The "calamity" the fortune teller spoke of really did co to pass. And Chang Chi, how useless he was, taking so long without sending anyone to pick her up.
"Is there a public phone nearby?" Su Ziceng tried hard to think; a decade and a half ago, phone booths would have been in their pri. She needed to make an ergency call. Once the police were there, she’d have the confidence to demand her car back.
"Yes, there is," the man with the triangular eyes, pitying Su Ziceng’s miserable state, said boldly. The two jumped back onto the truck and, after a thrilling roar from the large engine, they raced to the boundary between Sixth District and Zone 5. Triangular Eyes pointed to a corner not far off and said, "Behind that lady’s shop, there’s a newly built phone booth. Just drop a coin in, I hear."
Su Ziceng uttered an "Oh," hopped off the truck, and was about to head to the "lady’s shop" ntioned by Triangular Eyes when he asked from behind, "Do you have any money?" Waving her hand to indicate she did, she then rembered her wallet was filled with bills, and her face showed her difficulty.
With a few coins now in her hand, shining with a tallic hue, Su Ziceng paused for a mont, then nodded and hurried to find the "lady’s shop" Triangular Eyes had ntioned.
The orange phone booth at the border of Zone 5 and Sixth District stood out conspicuously; the brand-new phone juxtaposed against the backdrop of the dilapidated neighborhood seed out of place. Su Ziceng thought for a mont; without a pager, she actually couldn’t recall anyone’s number. A decade and a half ago, mobile phones weren’t in use yet, and everyone’s pager number was different.
The flesh-colored base of her nails had turned to a pale white from pressing too long; aside from the familiar Arabic nurals on the keyboard, the numbers in her mind, like herself, were disconnected from this era.
In the end, Su Ziceng could only dial the one set of numbers that hadn’t changed—the ergency police number. During the wait for the police, Triangular Eyes just stood distantly at the edge of Sixth District, not crossing the boundary casually, like a loyal guard.
As the siren sounded, he hurriedly jumped onto the truck, pointed at the license plate, and shouted at Su Ziceng, "Little miss, I’m heading back now, our truck can’t be seen by the law." There was still no license plate on the truck, "Rember to co to ’Sixth District Car Shop’ to pick up your car in a few days."
The bulky truck vanished swiftly, and before Su Ziceng could even worry about her Ferrari’s safety, the red and blue lights of the police siren were already wailing towards her. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of the "lady’s shop" behind her.
The terracotta velvet carpet that welcod visitors, the rare floor-to-ceiling display windows from a decade and a half ago ornately embedded with colorful stained glass in the style of Western cathedrals, none of it compared to the nude pink gown on the mannequin in the window and the pair of topaz earrings that accompanied it.
Seeing the earrings, Su Ziceng felt the "Red Love" ring in her hand growing hot. As she bent her head to examine it, a police car blocked her view.
That "lady’s shop" once again disappeared into the night, and Su Ziceng couldn’t help thinking: What kind of person would open a boutique clothing store on the border between Zone 5 and Sixth District.
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