Unfortunately, his dad hadn't left him a helt.
Zhang Shutong was currently riding along a snow-covered path, his headlight illuminating only a few ters ahead. The surroundings were silent except for the motorcycle engine's roar. He glanced at the fuel gauge—half a tank left.
There were no gas stations on the small island, so he'd have to use this fuel sparingly.
He didn't ride fast—this environnt didn't allow for speed—but the cold wind still cut across his face like a knife, making it sting painfully.
This was probably the true definition of "lāfēng" (riding with style in the wind).
The motorcycle was certainly handso, jet black throughout, looking from a distance like a muscular, fierce bull. His dad had added crash bars and spotlights, and even installed a seat on the fender of the rear wheel—for taking his mom along.
Thinking about how the two of them were probably eating a candlelit dinner at so restaurant right now while he was riding through the cold wind, his sense of riding in style completely evaporated. At tis like this, eating at a table for two with the girl you loved was much more stylish, even if his mom was no longer a young girl—they were still very affectionate together.
—Wine swaying in tall glasses, the air floating with a warm lody, you pick up your knife and fork to help her cut the steak on her plate. At a mont like this, you absolutely mustn't stare at the steak, but should gaze into her eyes across the candlelight, because the greatest victory isn't cutting open that half-cooked piece of at on the plate, but making your beloved smile radiantly at your words.
Zhang Shutong had been shut out from such a life before, and even with a second chance, he was still shut out. He felt that sotis he was like a block of wood—all those romantic currents might make others tingle with delight, but they simply couldn't conduct through him.
Right now, he was heading toward the villa.
It had already been cold during the day, and it was even colder at night. Fortunately, Zhang Shutong had battled against it plenty recently, and this bit of chill was already bearable. He suddenly understood what Lu Qinglian had ant by "habit"—it wasn't that you stopped feeling it, but that you had no choice.
Zhang Shutong wasn't stupid enough to go chase after the culprit alone. Even Lu Qinglian couldn't beat them, so going would just be delivering himself as a free al. He was simply thinking about the photo the senior had once sent him. Boss Gu's house didn't have surveillance caras, so that was the only surveillance cara nearby that had captured the only photo.
He still wasn't sure where that cara was located.
Zhang Shutong had no plans to return to the villa. Gu Qiumian had bodyguards, a nanny, and a loving big-boss father—she was probably eating a family dinner at that long dining table right now. If he went, he'd just be asking for awkwardness, only able to stand outside the window... no, now he couldn't even enter through the fence anymore. He might be caught as a suspicious person and could only look from a distance through the railings.
In the past, he and his buddies had also passed by that villa—a palace-like building with four full floors, brilliantly lit, an existence they called "the castle."
Zhang Shutong had no desire to enter the castle. He just wanted to find that surveillance cara.
Although he wasn't sure whether the long-haired woman captured was the real Lu Qinglian or a fake, and even less sure why Lu Qinglian would pass through there, investigating the location might yield more clues. He didn't want to miss any clues.
Even if it was just minor work that would likely end up being a waste of effort.
But right now, this minor work was all he could do. Zhang Shutong was soone who occasionally beca stubborn. Gu Qiumian was finally safe, so he should be free too—he could go ho, watch so Conan, and go to bed. After running around so much today, he'd surely sleep soundly. If he wanted to be a bit mischievous, he could board the last ferry to the city—his parents probably wouldn't mind an extra third wheel.
But he'd always been incompatible with such a beautiful life.
It only remained in his imagination. Though it made him yearn for it, when he actually took action, he would inexplicably choose another path.
Co to think of it, ever since the regression, though he'd always said he wanted to welco a new life and enjoy his student days and all that, it had only remained talk. In reality, he'd been working hard to catch the real culprit all along—he really hadn't done anything else.
He'd completely relaxed only twice: once on the day of regression when he went fishing with his buddies, only to encounter poachers; the second ti was when he rode ho after catching Zhou Ziheng's father and had just fallen asleep, only to have the regression trigger again at dawn.
Both tis, the string in his mind had just loosened a bit before imdiately tightening again.
It was a bit exhausting, this constant rushing about.
So asking him to let go right now—he wasn't particularly willing either. He felt empty inside, as if sothing was missing.
Zhang Shutong couldn't say what that "sothing" was. Maybe he really was at a loss—when sothing you've worked hard for suddenly disappears, it makes you lose direction.
Fortunately, he could still find direction now.
From the port to the villa was essentially going from the northernmost point to the southernmost point. This ti he took a shortcut, cutting through the town rather than circling half the island. Without a helt or gloves from his dad, his hands and face were nearly frozen stiff along the way. When he finally entered the town and passed by the school gate, he caught the aroma of rice bowls wafting from the restaurant.
It was sowhat moving.
On such a cold day, with students on vacation, if the owner still hadn't closed up shop, he certainly shouldn't be idle either. He flared his nostrils, breathing in the sll of cooking oil, rembering he still needed to find sowhere to solve his dinner problem.
Zhang Shutong was very casual about food. He rode to the restaurant entrance, pulled out his key, steadied the bike, lifted the plastic door curtain, and imdiately ordered a green pepper and shredded pork rice bowl.
He found a table to sit at and rubbed his hands together, feeling his fingers finally regain so sensation, only to realize the owner hadn't responded for quite a while.
Zhang Shutong had to stand up and run to the kitchen to call out. It turned out the owner was stir-frying sothing, but looking around at the complete absence of custors, he was probably making his own dinner.
"One green pepper and shredded pork!"
Zhang Shutong raised his voice, shouting over the roar of the exhaust fan.
"Don't have any!" The owner's voice was even louder than his.
"What?"
"I said I'm out of ingredients!"
Zhang Shutong was stunned, thinking, why are you even open if you have nothing—just to cook yourself a dish and lure in with the aroma?
He nodded and turned to leave, but the owner was one of those people who spoke in fits and starts, and shouted again:
"Do you want sweet and sour pork?"
"Didn't you say you were out of ingredients?"
"The pork was fried yesterday!" the owner shouted. "If you want it, I'll reheat it in the wok with so sweet and sour sauce and it's ready to serve. It just won't be very crispy. Will that work?"
It really wouldn't work.
Day-old fried food—forget "not very crispy," it wouldn't be crispy at all.
And Zhang Shutong really hated half-assed things. Though he knew so people loved that flavor, though he really was unconcerned about food, he genuinely didn't want to settle tonight. It wasn't like he'd be rushing off to save soone afterward—why should he force himself to eat sothing he didn't like?
So he waved his hand and left the restaurant. His body, which hadn't ward up yet, felt cold again. He wasn't planning to move the motorcycle, just stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered nearby, looking to see if he could find a restaurant with suitable flavors.
But he wasn't even given a chance to warm his hands—his phone rang. He sighed and pressed the answer button.
It was Ruoping calling.
"Are you still at the villa?"
"I ca back long ago."
"Oh? You're comfortable leaving Gu Qiumian there alone?"
"I forgot to tell you all—her dad ca back with a whole bunch of people, so I ca back..."
But before he could finish, he heard Qingyi's voice chiming in:
"As n, we must risk our lives to protect what we cherish! So don't make it hard for Shutong..."
Zhang Shutong was startled, thinking, Bro, where did you co from, and how does this have anything to do with ? I ca back ages ago and I'm wandering the streets right now. You should say this to Boss Gu—he's the one who risked taking a plane back to be with his daughter.
As it turned out, Qingyi hadn't heard clearly and was being grabbed by the ear as Ruoping went crazy:
"We're discussing serious business here! Why are you butting in with your chunibyo nonsense? And which book did you read such childish lines from?"
"I ca up with it myself," Qingyi said, completely confused. "Isn't Shutong still at the villa keeping Gu Qiumian company?"
"He ca back ages ago, her dad showed up..."
After listening more carefully, Zhang Shutong learned the three of them were having dinner together.
The food had just been served, and they were asking if he wanted to co over. Though they probably didn't have much hope, assuming he was still eating at the villa.
"So you worked for nothing then." The commotion disappeared as Qingyi was chased away, leaving only Ruoping speaking quietly.
Zhang Shutong could hear she felt indignant on his behalf:
"I wouldn't say it was for nothing. At least we discovered those footprints and warned her dad, so he won't be careless this ti."
"So are you coming to dinner or not?"
"I think... I'll pass."
Zhang Shutong instinctively looked around.
He'd already walked an entire street, and today seed particularly unlucky—not a single restaurant around was open, which ant he might have to go back and eat that damned sweet and sour pork.
"I still have so things to do tonight," Zhang Shutong added. "You all eat first."
The hand he was using to hold the phone was getting cold, so he pulled out his other hand from his pocket and switched the phone over.
"You still won't give up? Is it because of Gu Qiumian again?" Ruoping was surprised.
Zhang Shutong nodded.
Only after nodding did he realize he was on the phone—the other person couldn't see him at all.
So he said:
"Sort of, but this ti I'm not deliberately keeping it from you. It's really not important—just looking for surveillance caras nearby..."
"Really planning a kidnapping?" Qingyi had co close again. "Need help?"
"Of course not." Zhang Shutong laughed. Why would he still need her to leave the villa at this point?
"So you're in a bad mood and want to clear your head?" Ruoping asked.
"No, once I finish this bit, I'm going ho to sleep." Zhang Shutong yawned. "So tired."
"See you tomorrow then."
"Yeah, see you tomorrow."
The call ended. Now he had to go back to find that rice bowl restaurant.
The road was quiet, the streetlights stretching people's shadows very long. Zhang Shutong idly kicked a pebble, and though it wasn't a big deal, he didn't want to waste too much ti on it either.
Returning to that restaurant, the exhaust fan had stopped. Zhang Shutong steeled himself and lifted the door curtain again. He should have known better than to leave so coolly earlier—now he was slinking back.
He told the owner to please make him a sweet and sour pork. The owner was sitting at a table in the dining area, a phone in front of him, shoveling rice from a fast-food container. Hearing this, he waved his chopsticks:
"Don't have any."
"Don't have any?" Zhang Shutong blinked innocently.
"I only stead this much rice for dinner tonight," the owner said, even more innocently, showing him the fast-food container. "When you said you didn't want it just now, I put it all in here."
Zhang Shutong was speechless. He hadn't done that little habit in a while—biting the soft flesh inside his mouth—but in the end, he controlled himself and decided to spare his cheeks this once. He already couldn't get at; if he bit his cheeks too, wouldn't that be even worse?
"Co back another ti, handso!" the owner called out while watching his show.
But to Zhang Shutong, it sounded like "unlucky guy." He dejectedly mounted the motorcycle. So things were just like this—if you missed this village, there was no shop ahead. To put it more elegantly: so things you didn't cherish before, thinking they were within easy reach, only to feel lancholy after missing them.
He twisted the key and started the engine, planning to finish his business and go ho to gnaw on stead buns. He rode the bike through seven or eight turns into an alley and suddenly discovered a dark shadow inside, giving Zhang Shutong a fright.
To be precise, it wasn't just a dark shadow, but a human figure plus... a small cart's shadow?
A plump woman pushing a food cart also froze, shielding her face under the pale headlight beam:
"Young man, could you please turn off that light?"
Zhang Shutong turned off the headlight but recognized her as the woman who sold baozi at the school gate. This was truly surprising. He asked the auntie why she'd co out to set up a stall in this weather—there was nobody around. He'd been looking for a place to eat and couldn't find anything.
Hearing this, Auntie's eyes lit up:
"Haven't eaten? Perfect! I have one stear basket of baozi left, kept warm in the stear, still hot. Young man, why don't you take them all?"
Zhang Shutong hesitated, then nodded in agreent, watching the woman efficiently pack them up.
This stuff really wasn't good—fatty pork, duck egg yolk, both sweet and salty, a rather strange combination. It could make his lifeti "will never eat" list, yet right now it was a good thing for replenishing energy.
And he just needed to solve his dinner problem. Zhang Shutong felt he had so fate with these baozi—he had to eat them once every regression.
Auntie added that he shouldn't take them to go—in this weather, even the hottest food would get cold once the wind hit it. He might as well eat here since she wasn't in a hurry to pack up anyway.
Zhang Shutong got off the motorcycle. She handed him a baozi, and he blew on it gently with small breaths, not imdiately biting into it.
"Actually, there were people this afternoon." Auntie finally answered the earlier question. "Though not many—only sold five stear baskets. This one basket is left over, I was planning to have it for breakfast tomorrow."
"Not taking a day off at ho?"
"Bah, rest for what? My partner and kid aren't usually on the island, so what would I do cooped up at ho alone? Might as well co out for so fresh air. Plus, people are just like this—once you get used to being busy, it really becos a habit. Taking a day off actually feels uncomfortable, like sothing's missing."
Zhang Shutong thought about it and deeply agreed.
He was getting used to it lately too.
This habit might not just be about finding the culprit, but before he could think further, the baozi was no longer burning his mouth. He carefully bit through the outer skin and tasted the contradictory filling again, inevitably frowning.
He quickly swallowed one and accepted another new one, still hot to the touch. The baozi was wrapped in a plastic bag, and he rembered seeing a trick sowhere—you hold the two "ears" of the plastic bag and squeeze the baozi to your mouth. Zhang Shutong figured it out without instruction, and this ti it indeed no longer burned his hands. He had ti to look at the night scene, but suddenly realized the girl who used to eat baozi with him wasn't beside him.
Zhang Shutong only ate three baozi in the end, packing the remaining three to take ho, planning to have them for breakfast tomorrow.
Auntie was satisfied, probably thinking she hadn't wasted her breath keeping this young man company. She leisurely pushed her little cart ho, and Zhang Shutong also mounted the motorcycle, quickly leaving the town.
After riding for nearly twenty more minutes, this shortcut first reached the Forbidden Zone. He started searching from there and could still see traces left from the afternoon's fight. The culprit's identity remained unknown—perhaps the answer would be revealed by tomorrow night.
The moonlight was bleak and eerily white, reeds swaying gently.
He ran to the shore again. Sure enough, that figure couldn't have stayed here the whole ti. Only now did Zhang Shutong have ti to think—the fake Lu Qinglian had been here, and the suspected culprit had been here too, but what was actually here?
What was here?
In fact, only a nearly frozen water surface.
He looked at it from a distance, then searched along the path for the surveillance cara.
Finally, he ran all the way to the area near the mountain road.
That surveillance cara was actually not far from here.
He breathed a sigh of relief, looked around, and deeply morized this location in his mind.
The ti was already approaching seven o'clock. He'd finally completed his last task.
—Next was to go ho and sleep.
But his brain seed to beco stubborn again. Since he was already near the mountain road, riding forward a few minutes would reach the entrance, and since he'd reached the entrance, riding a bit more would reach the villa gate.
Zhang Shutong finally twisted the throttle and rumbled toward the mountain road.
But the accumulated snow on the road was still very thick. Cars could climb it didn't an motorcycles could. Zhang Shutong sighed and got off the bike, thinking he'd brought this upon himself.
He breathed into his hands and shivered as he walked up the mountain path. They said when people were very cold, their noses would unconsciously drip. He wiped his nose and found it was indeed a bit wet.
Zhang Shutong walked up the mountain road with uneven steps. The night road was even harder to traverse. He saw a flashlight beam in the distance—probably a patrolling bodyguard. It wouldn't be good to be treated as a suspicious person.
So this ti he didn't turn on his flashlight, following his own footprints from the afternoon. This way he wouldn't be discovered. Finally reaching the halfway point, he gasped and propped his hands on his knees. From here, he could see the villa's lights shining in the distance.
Zhang Shutong hesitated, then with uneven steps, turned around and set foot on the return path.
Actually, he should have left when he saw the flashlight.
He suddenly exhaled, sothing in his heart settling down.
On the ride ho in silence, Zhang Shutong thought of Old Song's taphor. Though crude, it might be right—he might really be a wild dog, tongue hanging out, racing through the freezing weather. Though "hanging tongue" was just a taphor and he wasn't actually that pathetic, soone still not going ho this late was indeed quite wild.
Zhang Shutong rembered a line he'd seen sowhere—which ani was it from? He'd already forgotten, but the gist was that wild dogs don't need tombstones; they run until they rot.
That line was pretty chunibyo too.
Actually, you can't keep running forever.
...
"Mianmian, it's ti to go." The man patted the girl's shoulder, saying softly, "We'll co see your mother again next ti."
Gu Qiumian said nothing. Under the escort of two bodyguards, she left the cetery with her father.
Soone opened the car door for her, one hand hovering protectively near her head. The girl got into the back seat of the Audi, where the seat heating was on, instantly dispelling the cold from her body.
Gu Qiumian instinctively glanced at her phone, then turned it off.
The Audi drove smoothly along the snowy road.
The man's gentle voice rang out in the car:
"Dad specially brought a private chef from the city, and bought several days' worth of ingredients at the sa ti. Now we'll go ho, just in ti for dinner. I know you don't like crowds, so I had Old Wu cook for them first. Later it'll just be the three of us eating."
Gu Qiumian nodded lightly.
"There haven't been any incidents at the villa either. You said you didn't want to see your friend so tired and constantly worried, and told I must bring back more bodyguards so she could be free. Dad didn't hesitate at all—I brought four bodyguards but you still weren't satisfied, insisting on adding more people, saying we needed to take this more seriously. Now even the police are here. Can you relax now?"
Speaking of which, the man smiled reassuringly. He wiped his glasses and looked out at the rapidly retreating night scene, but furrowed his brow where the girl couldn't see.
The man's fingers lightly tapped on the center armrest as he said indifferently:
"However, I don't think it's that serious. So people need to be taught a lesson, make them learn their place..."
Speaking of which, the man called the driver's na, about to give instructions, but saw his daughter staring blankly at her phone. In the end, he lowered his hand, indicating they'd talk later.
This wasn't that shabby Ford Focus with its perpetual sll of cigarettes. Instead, there was a faint sandalwood fragrance, warm, comfortable, and safe. The heavy vehicle body drove over the snow surface, so quiet there was no sound, everything passing in silence and cold.
The heating's warm air was making her drowsy, until her phone's vibration broke the peace.
Gu Qiumian saw her dad pick up his phone. His brow furrowed bit by bit, then relaxed, finally hanging up as if nothing had happened.
"What's wrong?" She seed to hear there was so situation at the villa.
"Don't worry, I told them to report any unusual movents."
The man added:
"It's just that the patrol spotted a passing motorcycle."
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