Chapter 19
LUO WENZHOU HAD his own private office, but perhaps for ease of communication—or maybe because he was too chatty to bear staying in a room on his own—it was always open to the outside. There was a door, but it had probably last been shut a geological age ago. A heap of the whole team’s random junk now held the door flat against a wall; it might as well not have existed.
His office plants were well tended to. Flowers and greenery flourished in charming disorder near the windowsill; the light-loving plants stood closest to the window, and those that preferred shade were clustered in the corner. The only ones in bad shape were the two pothos by the door, which were on their last legs after being drowned morning after morning in the lazy officers’ overnight tea. The abundant dregs in the two pots practically emanated noxious fumes.
Luo Wenzhou had left his wallet and keys lying on his desk without fear that anyone would take them—and, to Fei Du, they weren’t worth taking anyway. Fei Du waited patiently in the office for a while, but he was bored stiff, and he soon grew sick of the room’s smell. He didn’t expect Luo Wenzhou to finish anytime soon, so he texted, Need me to feed your cat?
The sergeant was so busy that he only replied with a simple period. Fei Du took this as assent. He picked up the keys and left.
Luo Wenzhou’s place was near the station, close enough for a bicycle ride, or a cab ride covered by the base fare alone. His previous visit had been adequate to familiarize Fei Du with the route to the apartment. Once there, he’d only opened the door a crack when a furball eagerly stuck its head out—and immediately realized that it wasn’t the right man at the door. The creature swooped under the sofa at the speed of light, then peeked out to look frantically around.
Tao Ran had summoned them midway through dinner last night, so there hadn’t been time to clean up. Instead, Luo Wenzhou had just channeled a student during a dorm inspection and stuffed all the dishes on the table into the fridge. The mess inside afforded no space for the final plate of deep-fried meatballs, so Luo Wenzhou had left that atop the six-foot fridge and prayed that the cat couldn’t climb up there.
Those prayers had clearly gone unanswered.
Porcelain shards were scattered across the apartment like stars in the sky, from the dining area all the way to the living room. The corpses of meatballs lay everywhere, each bearing tooth marks. Comrade Luo Yiguo’s passion for experimentation was extraordinary. He seemed to have tried every meatball, concluding via proof by exhaustion that none suited his palate.
His food bowl was empty and glistened slightly in the light—probably because the cat had been licking it. Fei Du poured in some dry cat food. After a pause, he also opened two cans of wet food and put them next to the bowl too. Luo Yiguo—so hungry that he’d been reduced to licking an empty bowl—couldn’t resist the temptation. He quietly poked his head out from under the couch. When he suddenly met Fei Du’s gaze, however, he scooted back, trembling.
Fei Du ignored him. He had to wash his hands twice to get rid of the cat food’s stench. When that was done, he found a broom in the kitchen and attempted to clear up the mess. He really wasn’t made for labor, though; he swept for ages without figuring out how to get all the debris into the pan. Having never before toiled, Fei-zong lifted a hand and leaned on the broom to survey the fruits of his labor. With an objective eye, he concluded that he’d made the floor shine…but in much the same way that the floors of the cafeteria at the station appeared to have been mopped with grease.
He promptly gave up and called a cleaning agency he knew of to hire an hourly worker for an emergency clean.
Just then, something touched the back of his foot. Fei Du turned to look and found that Luo Yiguo had come over. Some of the food in his bowl was gone too. Now that he’d eaten and drunk his fill, the cat seemed to have mustered some courage; he made a show of circling Fei Du a few times, then sniffed his feet hesitantly. When he realized that Fei Du had noticed him, he turned tail and shot two yards away…but after a while, Fei Du’s lack of reaction emboldened him to venture back.
Fei Du pulled up his trouser legs and stooped down. He extended two fingers toward Luo Yiguo.
Luo Yiguo instinctively ducked backward, but then—seeing Fei Du motionless—he approached and sniffed, his whiskers trembling. Maybe the familiar smell of cat food had helped to gradually lower his defenses. His nose touched Fei Du’s fingers; when nothing bad happened, he gathered the courage to lower his head and brush the top of it against Fei Du’s palm.
Fei Du’s hand froze.
This lack of response heartened Luo Yiguo further. He dismissed his own inner alarm bells; lifting his bushy tail high, he walked around Fei Du, sniffing the young man all over and letting out a soft, effete whine. Fei Du let his frozen hand fall to Luo Yiguo’s back, stiffly but gently stroking his silky-smooth fur. Luo Yiguo began to scrabble at Fei Du, searching for a comfortable spot. He even pushed his face into Fei Du’s sleeve, forcing Fei Du to lift his arm to roll the fabric up.
“Don’t you remember me?” Fei Du asked the cat softly.
Luo Yiguo looked up with that head no bigger than a fist, eyeing Fei Du with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. Animals followed their instincts, and he was instinctively afraid of Fei Du, even if he didn’t know why. Unfortunately, Luo Wenzhou had raised Luo Yiguo into an entirely food-motivated creature that knew no fear, so a single bowl of cat food overcame those instincts.
As Fei Du gazed down at the cat, his palm started to sweat. Carefully, he moved Luo Yiguo to one side, then jerked his hand back. The little animal’s soft body, the rise and fall of his breathing, the beating of his heart—it was all unbearable to Fei Du. He shot to his feet and pressed his back against the wall, avoiding Luo Yiguo’s curious nose.
What was “life”?
It was seemingly a biological term, yet most people understood what “life” meant long before they took a biology class. Some were very young when they first witnessed events like birth, aging, illness, or dying. Adults used their own experiences to explain life and death to children, some plainly, some fancifully. And there were those who formed their fuzzy concept of life by reading books or watching shows that brought it up constantly.
Fei Du dug out his phone and earbuds. Trying to escape, he hurriedly stuffed the earbuds into his ears, and a sad, familiar song filled his world. He couldn’t help holding his breath as his gaze fell on the cat nearby. Luo Yiguo was making a real nuisance of himself; with nothing to do now that he’d eaten his fill, he was combing through the broken porcelain and the meatballs. As he played happily with the latter, the floor gained even more oil stains.
That man’s voice seemed to ring in Fei Du’s ear. “What is life?”
He’d held Fei Du’s hand and placed it on a small animal. Maybe it was a hamster, or a quail chick, or even a baby bunny—Fei Du couldn’t remember. It was always an animal small enough to fit in a child’s hand. All he remembered was that tiny ball of fluff curled in his palm, warm and soft. Its heartbeat was palpable, almost fluttering.
It was a strange feeling.
“This is life,” said the voice.
The gentle hand guiding his suddenly closed tight. Like a massive pair of iron pliers, it clamped Fei Du’s hand shut, forcing his fingers to pinch tight around that little creature’s neck. The animal struggled and let out a dying cry. Involuntarily, young Fei Du struggled too, but the man controlled his movements with ease. He held on until the frantic heartbeat and thrashing dwindled to nothing in Fei Du’s grasp.
“This is death,” that voice said. “You see, only one simple process leads from life to death, and it’s not nearly as serious as humankind makes it out to be. Humans only romanticize it that way because they’re social animals with brutish natures. On the one hand, they seek the support of their community and society for a better life, but on the other, they struggle to control their evil urges and desires. That’s why they need agreed-upon rules to keep their behavior in check, rules such as ‘laws’ and ‘principles.’ The former are a contract with your society, and the latter exist to prevent you from breaking that contract in private. Such principles leave you open to brainwashing, so you accept the society’s values and wholeheartedly align your behavior with that of the majority. Understanding that frees you of the pattern most people are trapped in. Want to experience the truth of life and death again? Why are you shaking your head? You must be humble; learning requires repetition and reinforcement for a lesson to truly be absorbed. Come on, let’s do it again—”
The recollection was interrupted by a knock at the door. The hired cleaner had arrived. Fei Du shuddered violently, sweat beading on his temples, and he quickly pulled his foot from under Luo Yiguo.