Chapter 16

The river water was murky. The two people wore thick padded coats — the adult in all black, bobbing up and down in the water without a word; the kid in a red jacket, gender unclear, only the piercing shrieks of "Daddy" cutting through.

After just a few cries the kid choked on water, throat too clogged to shout, limbs still thrashing in the adult's arms.

They were too far from shore. Wen Fu swam a long time before breaking the surface to pull down his mask and grab a breath. He thought of what Zhou Ji and Stella always warned him — to avoid being recognized and cause more trouble for the team later — so when he held his breath and dove again, he put the already-soaked mask back on his face.

The restaurant auntie had chased after him when she saw him run toward the bridge. At first she'd been afraid he was going to do something rash, but when she got down and saw the scene in the river her face went white. She fumbled for her phone while shouting in every direction: "Someone come! Help! Someone jumped in the river!"

The river water was so cold it seeped into the bones. Wen Fu's limbs were going stiff and numb, and he finally reached the two just as he was about to lose feeling. From the distant bank came the auntie's faint shouts: "110? Someone's drowning here, come quick! It's right at this—"

More and more people gathered at the sound, but since they were almost in the middle of the river, no one dared come down. The raging river rolled past Wen Fu's ears, sometimes washing over his head, splashing into his ears, the chaotic sounds from the bank growing more muffled.

He reached out to take the child in the red padded jacket, but the father behind the kid kicked him hard in the stomach.

This man's purpose was to take his own child and kill himself.

Pain shot through Wen Fu's gut, the current shoving him back.

He swam over again, trying to snatch the nearly unconscious child from the father's hands. The man held the kid's waist tight with one hand, used the other to slap Wen Fu across the face, then shoved his shoulder, pushing him away over and over.

Only now did the people on the bank see what the father intended. Some shouted accusations, some started passing long bamboo poles into the river, calling Wen Fu back.

Wen Fu turned his back to the riverbank and bridge, pulled down his mask again in the empty direction and took a long breath, then put the mask back on, summoned all his strength to fight the man for the child.

He wasn't weak to begin with — normally when he used brute force no one around him could match him, let alone a man who'd been holding a kid in the water for half the day.

Mid-struggle, there was a splash of someone entering the water from the bank behind them.

Seeing the child about to be snatched from his arms, the man pulled out a fruit knife tucked in his back waistband and started stabbing at Wen Fu underwater with no pattern.

Extreme cold always dulls the senses. Sharp, icy pain came in waves at Wen Fu's waist and legs, but he didn't dwell on it — gritted his teeth and snatched the child into his arms, turned around and swam toward shore.

River water smeared across his eyelashes. Wen Fu couldn't see anything clearly, could only swim toward where the most people were through his blurred vision.

The bank was a wall of noise.

"If you want to die, die alone! Don't take the kid!"

"Right! What did the kid ever do to you! Are you even human?!"

"He's scared to die alone, wants company!"

"Young man, be careful!"

The child leaned against Wen Fu's shoulder, arms tight around his neck, suddenly raised his pitch, hoarse voice shouting: "Brother! Brother!"

The man behind them raised the switchblade high, about to stab down at Wen Fu's head.

Wen Fu turned his head. The blade tip, less than an arm's length away, hung suspended above him — about to pierce his eyeball and plunge into his skull.

Just then, a wet white-shirted arm swept across Wen Fu's line of sight.

The next second, that arm bent outward, elbow slamming hard upward into the man's jaw!

The man was forced to tilt his head back from the hit, and in that moment of shock, his whole palm went "crack" as it was bent backward. He screamed, the knife in his hand snatched away and tossed far into the river.

A supporting force wrapped around his waist. Wen Fu's limbs grew light, his whole body held tight against someone in front of him.

He still held the child tight, didn't look up even when held, just turned slightly to sniff the scent on the other person, then relaxed his spine, said softly: "Bo-ge."

Fei Bolin kicked the man back to the center of the river, then quickly got to shore.

Before getting out, Wen Fu first passed the child up to the hands reaching down, then climbed up himself with Fei Bolin's support.

The bank was in an uproar, and when Wen Fu stood leaning against Fei Bolin, the crowd let out waves of gasps.

The lower half of his white hoodie was soaked with blood.

Distant sirens gradually approached. Someone shouted the police are here, someone shouted call 120. Wen Fu grabbed Fei Bolin's hem, stumbled to pick up his clothes he'd left on the bank.

His body grew colder and colder, head to foot giving off chill, his consciousness growing less clear.

"Bo-ge." Wen Fu held the clothes in his hand, came back and glanced around, leaned into Fei Bolin.

His head pressed against Fei Bolin's shoulder, surrounded by the crowd he was somewhat at a loss, so his voice grew fainter and fainter until almost inaudible: "I'm not going to the police station... don't want to see the police. I don't want to see them."

Fei Bolin took off his shirt and tied it around the wound on Wen Fu's waist: "We're leaving right now."

He turned to carry Wen Fu on his back. Just as Wen Fu put his arm around Fei Bolin's shoulder, he suddenly got down from the back again: "Wait."

The rescued child had already coughed up water and come to. Half the people on the bank stayed to wait for rescue, the other half still trying to figure out how to fish out the father who hadn't drowned yet.

Wen Fu pushed through the crowd, eyes lowered, his wet eyelashes slightly clumped, covering his eyes.

He wasn't used to being the focus of public attention outside of stage, especially in a situation that might very well end up on the news — this wasn't a place he should be appearing, otherwise an ordinary incident could attract a lot of unnecessary speculation and unfair criticism because of him.

So Wen Fu stared at the ground, looking at no one, as if doing so could make himself invisible in others' eyes.

Pale-faced, he walked up to the child, draped his jacket over the kid's shoulders, then opened his wallet — Wen Fu had always kept the habit of carrying cash on him, not much, a few hundred to a thousand, at most just over a thousand.

He shoved all the cash in his wallet into the child's hands, his upper and lower teeth chattering, head down, water from his hair dripping continuously onto the ground at his feet.

Wen Fu didn't look at anyone directly, even his eyelashes seemed to be dodging.

He stared at the water drops on the ground while stuffing money into the child's hands, hastily giving instructions, his words jumbled by the shivering: "Take the money. Don't go home, don't give it to dad... don't give it to dad."

His voice was small and fast, muffled by the wet mask, so faint it was nearly gone. There was still a circle of citizens around him trying to persuade him to wait for the ambulance. After stuffing the money, Wen Fu didn't care if the child had heard, got up and walked toward Fei Bolin.

After only a couple steps, his body swayed and almost fell.

Fei Bolin came over first and put him on his back, and before the police car could get close, quickly carried Wen Fu into his own car.

Once in the car, Fei Bolin first removed the mask stuck to Wen Fu's nose that was obstructing his breathing.

Wen Fu's clothes were mixed with sewage and blood. Fei Bolin told the driver to head to the nearest hospital while pulling out the first aid kit from the car, gave Wen Fu's wounds a simple cleaning and treatment.

Wen Fu's injuries weren't very serious. That man had been in the water too long and was already exhausted — except for one solid stab to the leg, the other wounds were only subcutaneous.

Compared to bleeding and knife wounds, the cold was the biggest factor draining Wen Fu's energy right now.

And to let the wounds clot faster, the Air Conditioner had to be temporarily turned off in the car. Fei Bolin took off all his upper clothing and put it on Wen Fu, put Wen Fu in his arms, used the cashmere blanket on the seat to dry Wen Fu's hair.

Wen Fu sat cross-legged leaning against Fei Bolin's front, eyes lowered, silent, his body warming up while also storing energy.

Once that wave passed, he asked the first question in a low voice: "Where did his mom go?"

Fei Bolin's hand drying his hair paused, said softly: "Maybe looking for him."

The drowning child was a little boy, probably from nearby. After Wen Fu rescued him, someone recognized the child, and they crowded around whispering among themselves, saying how the father's business had failed and how much he owed, how many years he'd been hiding, couldn't live anymore, finally decided to take the child to die with him.

Those words filtered into Wen Fu's ears in bits and pieces, but from beginning to end no one mentioned the child's mother.

"Will he die?" Wen Fu asked after a moment of silence.

Fei Bolin's hand stopped completely. He wrapped the dry part of the blanket around Wen Fu, his palm felt Wen Fu's head, his fingertips gently stroked Wen Fu's forehead again and again, didn't answer the question.

This extended-length S600 was driving on the road in Guiyang, the car silent.

Wen Fu rarely spoke again: "Will someone save him?"

Fei Bolin's palm pressed against his forehead, checking his temperature: "Aren't you already saving him?"

Wen Fu's eyelashes trembled twice, he pressed his lips together: "Then will he have a Bo-ge someday too?"

Fei Bolin said: "One day he will."

Wen Fu nestled his whole back into Fei Bolin's embrace, tilted his head back, resting it on Fei Bolin's shoulder, and noticed Fei Bolin's body was broader than years ago.

His current angle lined up perfectly with Fei Bolin's sharp jawline, the scar on the chin flickering in and out of the light inside the car.

Wen Fu raised his arm, his index finger tracing back and forth over Fei Bolin's scar.

Fei Bolin didn't stop him, just looked down, letting Wen Fu's cool fingertips brush across the wound on his chin.

He didn't have work in the afternoon, and wasn't wearing glasses, his gaze no longer blocked by that thin layer of lenses, just looking down at Wen Fu's face, his eyes full of endless patience and a touch of careless indulgence, like looking at a cat he'd raised himself, or a doll he'd picked up and washed clean.

Something hard was pressing against his spine from behind. Wen Fu stopped moving, slightly lifted up to look back, and saw the cinnabar Buddha Talisman hanging from Fei Bolin's neck on a black cord.

This Buddha Talisman Fei Bolin wore very deep, the pendant between his two chests, not visible unless the clothes came off.

The lower left corner of the Buddha Talisman was chipped, probably from wearing it so many years, the Buddha image on it was also very blurred. Wen Fu picked up the Buddha Talisman and touched it, asked: "Has it been protecting you?"

Fei Bolin looked at the Buddha Talisman, more so at Wen Fu's hand holding it: "It's been protecting me all along."

After arriving at the hospital, Wen Fu put on a new mask before getting out of the car. The car had the heat on full blast. Fei Bolin, wearing the driver's clothes, took Wen Fu into the outpatient clinic. The doctor checked the wounds, re-bandaged them, and prescribed some anti-inflammatory medicine, telling Wen Fu to finish his IV drip before leaving.

At this point Wen Fu finally remembered Zhou Ji, who was far away at the public restroom. While Fei Bolin went to pay, he fumbled through several layers of clothes to find the phone Fei Bolin had set aside for him. Just turned it on and dialed, he heard Zhou Ji on the other end stomping his feet anxiously: "My ancestor, you finally answered."

A quarter hour ago Zhou Ji had finished using the restroom and come back, only to find no one in the restaurant. He went around to the back kitchen to ask the cook, who said he didn't know, the young man had seen something and run out, the owner had followed him out, and no one had seen them since.

Zhou Ji finished asking around, and while dialing Wen Fu's phone, he saw a lot of people on and under the bridge by the river, and without thinking much, ran over to see.

When he got to the bridge he learned someone had drowned, police and ambulances had all arrived, the people on the bank were all talking at once and he couldn't hear anything clearly. Zhou Ji had no mind to inquire. Xiao Nie called to say the car picking them up was about to arrive, and Wen Fu was still nowhere to be found here, he was just wondering what to do when Wen Fu called back.

Zhou Ji asked: "Who are you with?"

Wen Fu opened his mouth, said a title Zhou Ji would understand: "Fei Bolin."

Zhou Ji on the other end of the phone first froze, then exhaled in relief: "Mr. Fei... scared me to death. Someone drowned here, I thought you fell in the river."

Hearing Wen Fu's silence, he tensed up again: "What? It wasn't really you who fell in, was it?"

Wen Fu shook his head: "No."

Zhou Ji exhaled again: "Then where are you now?"

Wen Fu said: "At the hospital."

...