Chapter 13 – Attempt

He stepped into the living room with a quiet hesitation. Though he was not yet fifty, his hair was already turning white, and years of hard work had whittled him down to a bent, bony frame with hardly any flesh left on it.

“Officers, please have some hot water,” he said, handing two enamel cups stained with tea residue and water marks to Meng Yi and Lu Anchi, offering an ingratiating smile. His yellowed, sparse teeth showed as he spoke nervously in dialect, “I dunno why y’all are visitin’ my place. What’s the matter?”

Meng Yi said, “Chen Dahong, don’t be nervous. Sit down first.”

Outside, a few onlookers stood at a distance—villagers from the area. Like all rural villages, Xuehua Village had seen its young and strong leave for big cities, leaving behind mostly the elderly and children. Life was quiet and tediously uneventful. The arrival of the police was earth-shattering news to the villagers.

The last time something like this happened was over twenty years ago, when the murderer Yan Ande was arrested.

Chen Dahong rubbed his hands together and went to close the door to the main hall. As the saying goes, “Family scandals shouldn’t be aired in public.” Whether this was good or bad news, he couldn’t let the villagers laugh at his expense.

The room darkened abruptly. Chen Dahong walked to the wall and turned on the ceiling light. A dim yellow glow spread through the space.

“Officers, go ahead,” Chen Dahong said, taking a deep breath.

Meng Yi glanced at Lu Anchi, who gave a slight nod. Only then did Meng Yi pull a photo from his pocket and hand it to Chen Dahong. “Do you recognize this person?”

Chen Dahong took the photo and squinted hard at it. After a long moment of futile staring, he fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out folding reading glasses with one broken arm. It took him a moment to position them just right, and only then could he make out what he was looking at.

In the photo, a gloomy young man stared back at him expressionlessly, his eyes upturned at the corners, brows sharp. His gaze carried a hint of provocation and indifference, like a snake lurking in the shadows. Thin, red lips. In the village, they’d call that the mark of a cold heart, someone who’d grow into an ungrateful wretch.

Though undeniably good-looking, Chen Dahong felt no fondness for the face.

“Dunno ‘im,” Chen Dahong quickly shook his head.

Meng Yi frowned and patiently guided him, “Take another look.”

No matter how long he stared, Chen Dahong couldn’t place the person in the photo.

“He’s your adopted son, Yan Ru,” Lu Anchi said quietly.

“Wha—?! That’s Yan Ru?!” Chen Dahong’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

His last memory of Yan Ru was of a stubborn little boy with eyes burning with suppressed rage. Back then, the young Yan Ru had stood in the rain, his hair plastered to his face, yet the downpour couldn’t extinguish the fire in his gaze.

Every time Chen Dahong recalled it, those eyes sent a chill down his spine. He had even feared Yan Ru might pounce and tear into him.

But Yan Ru hadn’t. He’d simply turned and walked away resolutely. Since then—fifteen years, maybe—Chen Dahong hadn’t seen him again.

“Did he do somethin’ wrong?” Chen Dahong hurriedly handed the photo back to Meng Yi, as if holding it a second longer would bring him calamity. “I ain’t had nothin’ to do with ‘im for over ten years! Whatever he did, it ain’t got nothin’ to do with me!”

Just as Meng Yi was about to speak, Lu Anchi cut in first. “I’d like to ask—when he was eleven or twelve, why did he leave your home and move out?”

Chen Dahong lowered his head and remained silent for a long time before answering. “Good news never leaves the house, but bad news spreads far and wide. After he came to my place, folks in the village kept sayin’ I’d end up just like his old man—a rapist and murderer. Tell me, who could stand hearin’ that kinda talk?”

The faint chirping of birds in the mountains drifted in and out, a cacophony that seeped into the ears relentlessly.

I wanted to yank them from the sky, tear them apart, and see if they could still make such an irritating noise.

Outside, the sky was bright. Beams of light like golden blades pierced through layers of wreckage, stabbing into the train car and leaving scattered patches of brightness.

I opened my eyes, carefully assessing our situation—mine and Yan Ru’s.

Yan Ru’s body was pressed against the train wall, with an overturned seat wedged above us, its cold metal frame right against my forehead. On top of the seat were who-knows-how-many suitcases, weighing it down firmly. To my left was the large suitcase that had collapsed yesterday. Behind it were not just train seats but also the wall panels torn loose by the immense force of the crash.

I could almost picture it—the train toppling, the terrifying inertia flipping the fixed seats, the side walls collapsing, everything surging toward us.

That the two of us had survived was nothing short of a miracle.

A beam of light broke through the layers of debris, landing directly on my face. I instinctively leaned back to avoid the glare.

The sensation against the back of my head was firm—probably Yan Ru’s chest. The kid had a decent build, though it was hidden under that outdated polo shirt of his.

I could clearly feel Yan Ru’s breathing grow slightly quicker. “You awake, Yan Ru?”

Behind me, Yan Ru responded softly with a single syllable. “Mn.”

In a cheesy TV drama, this would be the pivotal moment for the leads’ romantic development. I was about to tease Yan Ru when a series of embarrassingly loud growls erupted from my stomach.

A new problem had appeared—we’d left our phones behind when we went to check on the accident. We had no idea how long we’d been buried, nor had we had so much as a sip of water.

“Are we really gonna starve to death before rescue arrives?” I grumbled irritably.

Yan Ru reassured me, “No, don’t worry. Given our physiques, we can probably last a week.”

Yeah, that wasn’t exactly comforting.

To conserve energy, we stopped talking, closing our eyes and trying to sleep, hoping rescue would come by the time we woke.

Who knew how much time passed? The sky darkened and lightened again. My limbs were stiff and sore from lying still for so long, cracking audibly with the slightest movement. I was dizzy with hunger, my patience worn thin.

There was no sign of rescue—not even a single voice from outside.

We couldn’t just wait around like this. We had to find a way out. Even if it triggered another collapse, being crushed to death was better than starving.

I shared my thoughts with Yan Ru. After a brief silence, he agreed.

I lay flat, studying the space we were trapped in, searching for any gap that might offer escape.

Above us was the train’s undercarriage. I reached up and pushed—it didn’t budge. Who knew how many things were piled on top like a game of Jenga? The left side was even worse, completely blocked.

“Neither side works,” I said.

Yan Ru asked, “What about below?”

The space above us was limited—I couldn’t even sit up straight. Craning my neck, I checked. “Below is the suitcase. Not sure if we can push it aside.”

Yan Ru’s gaze was firm. “We can try.”

They say long-distance running is a sport for two—when one wants to quit, seeing the other keep going makes them push forward. And vice versa. In this situation, though Yan Ru’s hair was disheveled, there wasn’t a trace of defeat in his expression. Gritting my teeth, I steeled myself.

Yan Ru said, “The space below is even narrower—only one person can fit. You’re smaller and more agile than me.”

I nodded. He’d said exactly what I was thinking. “I’ll go first.”

I mapped out my movements in my head and prepared to act.

Curling up, I tightened my core and tried to turn around in the confined space. I was practically crawling, inevitably pressing closer to Yan Ru as I climbed over him.

Yan Ru watched me, his long lashes fluttering slightly. Whatever was going through his mind, his ears turned red.

He coughed lightly and turned his face away just as a drop of my sweat landed on his neck.

I had no time to dwell on it, painstakingly inching toward my target.

Those two or three meters left me drenched in sweat, my overly long bangs plastered to my face.

Damn it, the first thing I’m doing when we get out is shaving my head!

After what felt like forever, my arms aching, I finally reached the suitcase below. The space here was even tighter, but at least I could sit up slightly.

I pushed at the suitcase. It tilted backward—something behind it kept it from moving completely.

But it wasn’t entirely hopeless.