Chapter 3 – Xing Baichuan 0.1

I received the police call while I was boiling milk.

The weather had turned cooler recently, and I was the first one to wake up at home every morning. I would boil milk, prepare breakfast, and then go wake up my parents.

They had been living with me for some time now, but they still hadn’t fully adjusted to life here. As people age, their ability to adapt gradually diminishes, and they often long for the past. Whenever my father talked about his old buddies, I felt a pang of guilt. Bringing them over was because my brother and I weren’t around them much, and I thought that by having them here, I could spend more time with them, and the environment here was better. However, I didn’t realize that doing so completely disrupted their original way of life. As people grow older, they need companionship more than ever, and also need friends. They didn’t know anyone here besides me, and they were afraid of getting lost when they went out, which would cause trouble for me. They spent their days cautiously, not happy. I hadn’t thought this through enough.

During this period, I had been planning to have a hot pot dinner at home. My father had mentioned missing the copper pot hot pot from our hometown a few days ago.

When the phone rang, I rushed to answer it, careful not to disturb my parents who were light sleepers.

I was grateful that my parents weren’t near the phone when the call came, and also grateful that I didn’t have to face them immediately after hanging up. Otherwise, sitting in the police station right now wouldn’t just be me, but also my devastated parents, unable to believe the truth.

Speaking of not believing the truth, I felt the same way.

They told me my brother was dead, and I assumed it was a prank or one of the popular scams in China. I muttered vague acknowledgments to the caller and cursed after hanging up.

I didn’t like people joking about the health and lives of my family. It wasn’t just dislike; it was hatred.

I set the breakfast table as usual and then went to wake up my parents.

During breakfast, I didn’t tell them about the call. A boring and malicious prank was best kept from them.

Afterwards, I left for work. While waiting at a red light, I suddenly felt anxious and pulled out my phone to send Bolin a message on WeChat.

He had mentioned wanting to visit us yesterday, as he hadn’t come since I immigrated. He had only seen pictures of our new home.

Due to the time difference, I asked if he was busy again. But by the time I arrived at work and finished a meeting, he still hadn’t replied.

This was uncommon, unless he was really too busy to check his phone.

Back in my office, I remembered the morning call and felt a sudden panic.

I knew I shouldn’t think this way, shouldn’t worry that something might have actually happened to my brother. He was a grown man, capable of taking good care of himself.

Throughout his life, Bolin had never caused our family any worry.

Until noon, I checked the time, and logically, he should have been off work by then. I called him, but being busy wasn’t uncommon, although the earlier call had left me restless.

The person who answered the phone wasn’t Bolin. He introduced himself as Li Jiangluo.

I don’t know how I managed to deceive my parents and remain calm enough to board the plane.

On the other side of the mountains and waters, they were all telling me the same fact: My brother was dead.

I had heard the name Li Jiangluo countless times, always from my brother’s lips.

This time, he spoke his own name, followed by the grim announcement of death.

Still, I refused to believe it, convinced it was a cruel prank. But I knew I had to confront this shameful joke head-on. I couldn’t tell my parents; I had to return to China immediately.

During the dozen hours on the plane, my mind stopped functioning. There wasn’t a single minute where I could focus on thinking.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t ponder, could only empty my mind.

For the first time, I was returning to China without joy in my heart.

Throughout the journey, I was irritable, which was unusual for me.

I prided myself on being a cultured individual, maintaining composure regardless of circumstances or people I faced. But that day, I failed to do so.

I complained about the crying child next to me, the delayed landing, the crowded luggage claim area, complaining about this and that.

I couldn’t calm down. I thought, when I saw that little bastard Xing Bolin, I would definitely give him a piece of my mind.

But my self-deception crumbled when I caught sight of the airport news. I paused for only a minute, but every word the news anchor uttered turned into a hard, cold bullet that pierced my heart.

After a few violent beats, it froze, much like a candle struggling fiercely before its inevitable extinguishment.

There was no more room for denial; my hand holding the suitcase shook.

That rascal had said he would visit us for Christmas, telling me to prepare a bigger Christmas tree.

Less than two months remained, and he had broken our agreement.

I couldn’t forgive him.

Clenching my teeth, I headed out, determined to uncover the truth. What had happened to my brother? I had to find out.

Someone was waiting for me outside; it was most likely Li Jiangluo.

I hadn’t seen his photo; Bolin said he wanted to maintain an air of mystery, saving a bigger surprise for when they met in person.

Bolin spoke of Li Jiangluo as if he were a god sent from heaven, praising him for everything and his deep affection.

More than once, Bolin had expressed his desire to spend the rest of his life with this person. I supported him, even though I hadn’t met Li Jiangluo. As long as my brother was happy and in love, why wouldn’t I?

Dragging my luggage, I approached. From afar, I saw a man dressed in a black trench coat, head bowed, appearing despondent.

He was too thin; my first thought was that he seemed like he could be blown away by the autumn wind.

This wasn’t the Li Jiangluo I had imagined.

Through Bolin’s countless verbal descriptions, Li Jiangluo should have been a young man wearing a white T-shirt, carrying a backpack, flashing adorable little tiger teeth when he smiled—a sunny boy. Bolin once said, “I was working overtime, and Jiangluo waited for me in the coffee shop across from the company. Late at night, when I stepped out, I saw him sitting by the window at once, wearing a dark blue sweater, head lowered, engrossed in a book. Brother, do you know what it means to have peaceful moments?”

Such a person should be warm, like a small sun in winter.

But the person in front of me clearly wasn’t. This real Li Jiangluo had a ghastly pallor, his chin dotted with stubble, looking haggard like a drug addict.

I knew I shouldn’t describe him this way, considering he was my brother’s lover.

But I couldn’t help it; I was suspicious of him.

I suspected that my brother’s death had something to do with him.

The policeman was peculiar.

Li Jiangluo accompanied me to the police station. Seeing those photos, I felt as if I was being torn apart by bullets once again.

The autopsy report wasn’t out yet. I wanted to criticize their efficiency, but I held back.

I was in a hurry, eager to learn everything about my brother. His cause of death couldn’t be that simple.

I couldn’t bear to scrutinize those photos, images of the death scene, documenting my brother’s final moments in this world.

Not handsome, not how he should have been.

If he could stand before me now, I would scold him, then tell him how much pain he had caused me.

We were twins, almost identical in appearance when we were young. He had a mole on his left eyelid, while mine was in the middle of my right eyebrow. For many years, our elders and classmates, as well as teachers, identified us based on these features.

But later, as we grew older and our life paths diverged, we began to differ. From temperament and hobbies to clothing styles, we developed significant contrasts. My mother often commented that I seemed too old-fashioned, and when we stood together, it was as if I was several years older than Bolin.

In the past, we liked comparing our heights, a habit we maintained to this day. Whenever we reunited, the first thing we did was stand back-to-back and see if he had grown taller.

I was three centimeters taller than him, and it had always been that way.

Leaving the police station, the wind gave me a headache. I realized that from now on, there would never be anyone in this world who resembled me so closely yet was so different. There would be no one calling me “Brother” and grinning while comparing our heights.

My beloved younger brother, his blood dried on that dark carpet. I wished I could slash my own arteries and pour my blood over him to warm him, but it was useless; I was too late.

The man walking ahead remained silent. Looking at his silhouette, I harbored intense resentment. My brother had said Li Jiangluo was his only family here, and now, he had died in front of this family member.

That silhouette was frail, seeming pitiful, but if I had a knife in my hand, I would have stabbed him without hesitation.

I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t taken better care of my brother, why such a thing had happened.

I needed to talk to Li Jiangluo about things between him and Bolin that I didn’t know about.

The policeman asked if my brother might have committed suicide. The question was absurd; I knew Bolin too well. He loved life and the people in it; how could he possibly take his own life.

The policeman’s gaze contained something I didn’t understand when he looked at me. I asked him about Li Jiangluo’s suspicion level, but he remained silent, standing up to escort me out.

In fact, there was no need for him to say anything. In such cases, the first person to suspect was naturally Li Jiangluo.

“Is it convenient to chat for a bit?”

“Yes.”

I followed Li Jiangluo to a hotel, where he was currently staying, as his home was sealed off and uninhabitable.

He arranged my check-in, and we entered my room together.

The moment he closed the door, my pent-up anger finally erupted. I slammed my suitcase down hard and lunged forward, pinning him against the door.

I grabbed his collar, gritting my teeth as I looked at him.

He seemed startled, staring at me with red eyes.

Then, tears began to fall.

Why was he crying? My flesh-and-blood brother was dead, and I hadn’t shed a tear yet. What did he have to cry about?

We stood facing each other, and I watched as he couldn’t stop the tears flowing, biting his lip until he drew blood. Finally, I released my grip.

He didn’t leave, sliding down the door to sit on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees.

I heard his sobbing, then stood beside him, tilting my head back, but tears still streamed down my face.