In that instant, Su Qing began to hate his above average vision. Su Chengde was about three meters away from him. That was close enough for him to clearly see every faint expression on Su Chengde’s face, the flickering movements at the corners of his mouth and eyes as though he was desperately trying to cover something up, and the small and numerous agitated wrinkles. 

He saw Su Chengde’s eyebrows drooping from age, saw the marks of time carved on his face, saw the khaki coat he was wearing and the untied checked scarf around his neck, and the edges of a shirt and vest exposed under it. 

So familiar, yet so strange. 

The two of them stared at each other for a full five minutes. During that time, Su Chengde opened his mouth over and over, but from beginning to end, he couldn’t say a word. His chest rose and fell violently. The setting sun seemed to be stabbing his eyes; all of a sudden, Su Chengde fiercely closed his eyes, as though they had been hit by something. He took a slight step back. 

Su Qing straightened up and said “dad,” but only his lips moved. He couldn’t make a sound. 

At last, this elderly successful businessman succeeded in controlling his emotions. He slowly waved a hand, then silently turned, parked the car and locked it, paused, then beckoned to Su Qing. “Come in and talk.” 

Su Qing’s glib tongue seemed to have gone mute. There was something blocking his chest, blocking it so firmly he could barely catch his breath. 

He followed Su Chengde inside. The housekeeper came out to welcome them and couldn’t resist staring when she saw Su Qing. Her eyes traveled over his always appealing face. Even her voice lowered a little. “Uncle, you’re back.” 

Su Chengde pointed to Su Qing as though nothing were the matter. “This is my son. He’s staying for dinner today. Go out and buy some more food.” 

Xiao Wu agreed. When she passed by Su Qing, she couldn’t resist lowering her head slightly. She nimbly changed her shoes. In the whole enormous house, only father and son remained. 

Su Qing looked the place over and found that the furnishings were no different from what they had been many years ago. Since the time father and son had fallen out over his troublemaking and he had moved out, up to now, counting it all up, nearly seven years had passed—it was like another lifetime. Truly like another lifetime. 

“Where did you go?” Su Chengde asked quietly when Xiao Wu left. He had just taken off his coat and hung it over the back of the couch, but his hand hadn’t moved. His fingers tightly clutched the couch, too tightly, so much so that his hand seemed to be trembling. 

This question was too hard to answer. Su Qing stared blankly. For a time, he didn’t know where to start. 

Su Chengde suddenly stepped up and fiercely slapped Su Qing. The hit nearly turned his head. Su Qing was taken unawares. His mind buzzed. That slap of Su Chengde’s fell hard. The imprints of five fingers immediately rose up on his white skin. Su Qing’s ears were ringing. He closed his eyes and slowly raised his hand to hold his cheek, belatedly feeling the stinging pain… It really hurt. 

“How many years? Where did you go?” Su Chengde yelled this. Su Qing could almost hear a sob in his voice. “Well? Where the hell did you go?” 

“Dad…” he stammered almost inaudibly. 

“Don’t call me dad! You aren’t my son!” Su Chengde’s eyes were open very wide, the rims of his eyes as red as burning iron. He suddenly exploded into roaring: “Count it up for yourself, how many years has it been? How many years without even a phone call from you, not one glimpse of you? You might have left an address! Even if you didn’t want to see me, couldn’t you have left an address with those useless friends of yours, huh? Why didn’t you take pity on an old man, at least let me know whether you were dead or still living?” 

Su Qing closed his eyes. He forgot where he had heard why the ancients spoke of “tears traveling from aged eyes”—because a person’s wrinkles extended horizontally, when clouded tears flowed, they would stick in those deep wrinkles, as though they didn’t even have the strength to roll. One look, and it was as if someone had fiercely stabbed a knife into his heart. 

He felt a chill on his face. He didn’t know what to say, only kept repeating, “I’m back, dad…I’m back.” 

“Dad…I was wrong.” 

On hearing these words, the almost hysterical Su Chengde suddenly quieted down. He stared blankly for a moment and irresistibly raised his head, staring at the lamp hanging off the ceiling with all sorts of feelings in his heart. He found that in all these years—when he was angry, when he was regretful—searching all over the world for this child as though he had gone mad, all he had been looking forward to and all he had been unable to say, added up together all came to these three words. Now Su Qing had said them first. He had finally waited long enough. 

Then his nose stung unbearably. This man of iron, who had struggled in society and gambled with his life for many years, felt a melancholy down to the bottom of his heart. He simply couldn’t tell whether he wanted to have a good cry or laugh aloud. 

But in the end, Su Chengde didn’t do anything—he was old. He didn’t have the strength. 

After standing there rigidly for a long time, he at last slowly raised his arms and put them around Su Qing’s shoulders. This child had at some point grown taller than him, but, like when he had been small, Su Qing still curled up in his arms. 

This was the person he had respected throughout his childhood, the target of his hatred throughout his adolescence, and the man he had most wanted to see but had found it hardest to see as an adult. 

He had been a hero, a monster, a dictator, but now, Su Qing found that he was only an ordinary old man, only…an ordinary father. 

Even before being executed, a man still had to be given a last meal. When he had unilaterally hung up the communicator on Hu Bugui, Su Qing had known that he would be free for tonight. He felt very steady, steadier than any person on earth, because he had found that there was actually nothing on earth to dread. To use Hu Bugui’s words—the sky won’t fall, and if it does fall, I’ll hold it up. 

It was the people who depended on others to hold it up who didn’t feel steady. That was why they would be scared and uneasy. 

Su Qing was very calm now—If I can hold it up, then everyone will be safe and sound. If I can’t hold it up…then that will be my fault for lacking the ability. I won’t blame others. If the floodwaters rise to the sky later, that will be after my death. 

Xiao Wu came back from buying groceries. Su Qing had taken off his coat and gone into the kitchen. Then Su Chengde told her he was giving her the day off. She could go do what she wanted. There was no need for her to be responsible for anything. 

Having calmed down, Su Chengde finally sensed that his son was different. It wasn’t that he had changed, or that he had become more sensible—of course he would become a little more sensible after getting a few years older. It was the quality of each of his movements. Su Chengde leaned against the kitchen door, watching Su Qing’s back. He suddenly found that his son’s back was particularly straight. When he lowered his head, his thin profile naturally displayed a kind of certainty. 

The look in his eyes had changed in particular. He couldn’t say precisely how. But he could sense that during these years, he had experienced many things…that perhaps others couldn’t imagine. 

“Dad, there’s no more chicken stock in the pot.” 

“There’s some in the cabinet. Open a bag.” 

Su Qing gave an affirmative and reached out to pull open the little cabinet’s door. The wooden door gently touched his lower leg and seemed to knock against something. Su Chengde was currently very sensitive towards everything having to do with Su Qing. His eyes immediately moved to a spot on Su Qing’s lower leg close to his ankle. He felt that the slightly wide pant leg was hiding something. He frowned and couldn’t resist asking, “Su Qing, what do you have there? Why have you stuffed it in your pant leg?” 

Su Qing paused in the middle of serving food. After a moment, he turned his head. “I’ll explain it to you in a while, sir.” 

Then he handed a serving plate to Su Chengde. “Eat it while it’s hot. I’ll make another.” 

Su Chengde’s heart stung—this was that darling son of his who before hadn’t even known to pick up a bottle of soy sauce when it fell. 

He took the things from Su Qing and suddenly noticed that there were many calluses on his hands. The others, he couldn’t say how they had been made, but the thin calluses on the palm and the places where fingers and palm met, Su Chengde knew about those. He had a childhood friend who had gone into the military and had these calluses. They came from holding a gun. 

Su Chengde immediately raised his head to look at Su Qing, suddenly understanding that indescribable feeling about him—this was a powerful calm that came of being tempered by great danger. 

Father and son sat at the dining table. This time, there was at last only one set of unused tableware left on the table. They spoke at great length—how these years had been, how their health was. 

But only when the meal ended and Su Qing automatically stood up to pick up the dishes did Su Chengde realize that during all this time, he had been speaking a lot, while the little whelp had only occasionally chipped in, turning the subject away from himself each time and returning it to Su Chengde. 

Good child. He had turned sly. 

Only when he had sent Su Qing off to take a shower did Su Chengde get a chance to gently go through the coat Su Qing had left on the couch. 

When Su Qing walked out drying his hair, he saw laid out on the coffee table a handgun, his credentials, and a small knife. His dad was sitting on the couch with a cigarette in his mouth, his expression very grave. 

Su Qing wasn’t at all ruffled. At any rate, he had to lay these things out sooner or later. Not only did he have to lay them out, he also had to think of a way to get Su Chengde to leave. So he plopped down across from him. 

Hu Bugui waited all day, but Su Qing’s communicator didn’t turn on again. He had even turned off his phone. But he wasn’t especially worried—since Tu Tutu had already been taken away, that clearly showed that Su Qing understood what was happening. Speaking purely from selfishness, Hu Bugui even hoped that he would never come back. 

That night, Hu Bugui saw off all his teammates, who wanted to speak but held themselves back. He ate and slept as usual, without any difference—oh, except going back to an empty room. 

The next morning, he greeted the so-called “political investigation.” 

The person who came was a stranger. He bluntly told Hu Bugui that during the period of the political investigation, all of the RZ Unit’s activities were to cease. All members who remained at headquarters would stay put and await orders. They couldn’t leave at will. As for those who had already left, conforming to Hu Bugui’s expectations, this person didn’t ask too many questions about them. 

His area of activity was confined to a line between a single office and bedroom. He noticed at once that this place had no surveillance system. The examiner didn’t inconvenience him too much, only asked some routine ambiguous questions, gave him a stack of materials, and told him to write. 

On the first day of house arrest, while Hu Bugui wrote his materials, there were two people next to him watching. On the second day of house arrest, Hu Bugui was still writing materials, and the two people had become one. On the third day of house arrest, the materials had only increased, but the person watching him had gone from sitting there watching all day to occasionally coming in to take a look at him. 

Hu Bugui finally found an opportunity. While no one was paying attention, he stealthily felt for the locked cabinet under the simple desk. He took out General Xiong’s keys and tried each in turn. When he tried the fourth one, it opened for him.