Endgame (46)

That night, the large warehouse not far from the docks was shrouded in darkness, lit only by a single kerosene lamp, its faint glow barely visible from a distance.

Several cars were parked outside the warehouse. "Is this the place?" someone asked. "Yes, sir," came the reply.

Bi Qingtang stepped out, adjusting his gray felt hat. His attendant hurried forward, pounding on the warehouse door. After a moment, a voice called from inside, "Bi Qingtang, have your men back off. Then, bring your precious daughter in with you."

All eyes turned to Bi Qingtang. He nodded, and his men withdrew. Uncle Chen emerged from the rear car, carrying the child. Bi Qingtang took her, draping his own gray overcoat over her small form, carefully shielding her eyes with the collar.

The lock clicked open. With the child in his arms, Bi Qingtang freed a hand to push open the warehouse door. No sooner had he stepped inside and begun to adjust to the pitch darkness than the door slammed shut behind him, locked from the outside.

Bi Qingtang suddenly laughed, his voice laced with mockery. "You've grown old—and timid."

A plaintive call came from the corner, trembling with tears. "Brother, are you here?"

Bi Qingtang only grunted in reply, clutching the child tightly.

The man did not respond with anger but pressed a gun to Bi Qingtang's back, his other hand reaching to uncover the child's face. "Damn it, that bastard of a father of yours survived to become a grandfather after all."

Bi Qingtang shielded his daughter's head, snarling, "Don't touch my daughter!"

The man grew agitated, his voice hysterical. "Don't touch your daughter? So your child is human, but my son wasn't? Eight years ago, you killed my son in Hong Kong—why don't you mention that?"

Bi Qingtang sighed. "A stray bullet, a mistake."

"A mistake? Greed blinded you! I only wanted peace with my foolish son—no riches, just a quiet life. But then you came! I handed over the goods, and your men killed my son anyway. Six years I rotted in a Hong Kong prison! You're even greedier and more ruthless than your father!"

As the man railed at him, Bi Qingtang suddenly hurled the child at him, seizing the opportunity to snatch the gun. In the struggle, the gun discharged, the bullet striking the child.

Ignoring all else, Bi Qingtang rushed to Tan Yang, untying her hands, breath ragged. "Sister, don't be afraid. I'm here."

Tan Yang tore the blindfold from her eyes, her hair in disarray, and collapsed into Bi Qingtang's arms, trembling with terror.

The man shouted, "Bi, curse your ancestors! I knew you weren't to be trusted. I came prepared—if it comes to it, we'll all die together!" He ripped open his coat, lifting the kerosene lamp to his side. Both Bi Qingtang and Tan Yang saw the homemade explosives strapped to the old man's body, the lamp's flame mere inches from the fuse.

"Don't do anything rash—you'll regret it!" Bi Qingtang shouted.

The old man sneered, "Afraid, are you? I don't fear death. If you accompany me to the underworld, it's worth it."

Bi Qingtang drew a deep breath, holding Tan Yang's hand. "Our families are enemies—kill me if you must, but spare her," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing with emotion. "She is Uncle Tan's daughter—Tan Yang."

The last words were slow and difficult, as if destiny itself gripped his throat.

"What are you saying, you wretch? That's impossible!" the old man roared, eyes wide.

"Why is it impossible? Didn't you call me greedy? Greedy and ruthless," Bi Qingtang replied, his self-mockery edged with despair.

The old man raised the lamp, shining it on Tan Yang's face, squinting for a long moment. A realization dawned. "You haven't changed much since you were a child. You're the little sister, aren't you?"

His tone softened, and Tan Yang, bewildered, nodded.

"Do you remember me? When you were seven, who brought you pastries from Lianxiang Lou in Guangzhou?"

Tan Yang stared in shock, steadying herself against the wall. "Was it Uncle Xu?"

The old man nodded, tears in his eyes. "Yes, I am your father's second brother—Xu Feihu, child!"

Tan Yang's mouth opened and closed, her mind muddled by the scene and the presence of Uncle Xu.

Xu Feihu set down the lamp and took a few steps, glancing at Bi Qingtang before turning back to Tan Yang, his voice anguished. "But how—how could you marry him? Didn't your father or your cousin stop you? After all your father's suffering—"

Before he could finish, a gunshot rang out. Bi Qingtang, resolute, fired a bullet into Xu Feihu's heart. The old man toppled like a felled tree.

Tan Yang screamed, rushing to Xu Feihu, trying to staunch the blood pouring from his chest. "Uncle Xu, hold on—we'll get you to the hospital!" She turned to Bi Qingtang, shouting, "Hurry! Drive him to the hospital!"

Bi Qingtang only stared at the kerosene lamp on the floor, saying nothing.

The shot seemed to bring clarity to the dying old man. Gritting his teeth, he gripped Tan Yang's hand, gasping, "He—he deceived you—for money—hardship—"

Bi Qingtang lunged forward, shoving Tan Yang aside, and fired twice more into Xu Feihu's head. The shots were swift and merciless.

The gunshots thundered in Tan Yang's ears, her hearing ringing. Xu Feihu's blood and brains splattered across her. Speechless in horror, her gaze drifted to the corner where the child lay.

Bi Qingtang exhaled, squatting down to stroke Tan Yang's hair. "Don't be afraid, little sister. It's over. You're safe now."

"Why did you kill him?" Tan Yang quivered.

Bi Qingtang glanced at the child in the corner. "Uncle Chen found her in the hospital morgue—she died of illness, not by my hand."

"I'm asking about Uncle Xu!" Tan Yang sobbed.

Bi Qingtang ignored her, murmuring, "Come, let's go home."

Bi Qingtang brought Tan Yang back to the family mansion. He bathed her, changed her clothes, and called a doctor to treat her injured ear. She remained silent, compliant with all arrangements. By then, dawn had broken.

Bi Qingtang sat wordlessly on the sofa by the bed. The maid brought two bowls of porridge. He set one by Tan Yang's bedside, finished the other in a few mouthfuls, then grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Have you nothing to say to me?" Tan Yang asked.

Bi Qingtang, already at the threshold, turned back. "I have to fetch Nannan from Sister Fangya's. I arranged everything for our daughter and the family fortune before I came for you. I never expected to return. Little sister, you only ever question and reproach, yet you forget to thank the husband who risked everything for you."

Without waiting for her response, he closed the door behind him.

An hour later, Yan Qin burst into the bedroom, flinging herself into her mother's arms, sobbing, "Mama, you're back!" The five- or six-year-old child, half-aware of the gravity of recent events, clung tightly to her mother, grasping the sash of Tan Yang's nightgown.

The fear and yearning of the past days, her longing for her daughter and husband, the sudden appearance and death of Xu Feihu—all these emotions surged forth in Tan Yang with her daughter's tears. Mother and child held each other, weeping uncontrollably.

Bi Qingtang leaned weakly in the doorway, his heart drowning in the sound of their sobs. He did not know how to face it all. If this was the end of the danger, how would he settle the aftermath?

That day, Yan Qin refused to leave her mother's side, curling up next to her as she slept. Bi Qingtang lingered in the bedroom from time to time, speaking only to his daughter, never to his wife. That night, all three slept on the large bed. After Yan Qin fell asleep in her mother's arms, Bi Qingtang wound Tan Yang's watch, placed it beneath her pillow, and turned off the light before lying down himself.

Restless, the couple tossed and turned late into the night. As Tan Yang was about to drift into sleep, Bi Qingtang suddenly gripped her hand tightly. She opened her eyes. The curtains were undrawn, and silver moonlight spilled across Bi Qingtang's face—his eyes closed, brow creased. He, too, was troubled. But was his sorrow the same as hers? Tan Yang wondered, yet she held his thumb firmly.

Whatever troubles remained could wait for morning. She believed their love, their understanding, their faith could overcome any hardship.

At dawn, Tan Yang woke to find Bi Qingtang gone. Looking out the window, she saw him standing on the second-floor balcony, still in his pajamas.

She dressed, took his overcoat, and joined him. As she opened the door, he did not turn. He was smoking, the ashes swirling around him like mourning doves.

The sky was overcast—a damp, early spring morning in Shanghai. Tan Yang draped the coat gently over his shoulders. Bi Qingtang turned, smiled, and squeezed her hand.

"Brother."

"Hmm?"

"In this world, you are the only one willing to risk your life for my safety."

Bi Qingtang inhaled deeply, silent.

She continued, "I am grateful, but after years of marriage, some words are hard to say. I hope you understand. But in my heart, I believe if the day comes, I would do the same for you."

Bi Qingtang was deeply moved. He embraced her, nodding repeatedly. "Little sister, I understand."

Clinging to his arm, Tan Yang softly asked, "Brother, I still have questions in my heart. May I ask, will you answer?"

"I'll answer anything, as long as you believe me."

She pondered for a moment, then asked, "Why did you kill him? He was as close as a brother to our fathers."

"I was afraid he'd harm you, or me. That's why I killed him."

"And the second time you shot? He had no strength left to fight."

"I was afraid he'd say something reckless and damage our bond."

Tan Yang was silent for a long time, then changed the subject. "Brother, my father gave me a Kuan Yin of Suffering. It's still with you, isn't it?"

Bi Qingtang seemed dispirited, sighing lightly. "I lost it—carelessly misplaced it."

The two fell silent. Tan Yang leaned on his shoulder, saying nothing. After a while, Bi Qingtang grew uneasy. "What? You don't believe me?"

She lifted her head, gazing at him with a melancholy expression. "I believe you. We are closer than anyone. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" Her tone was filled with sorrow and resignation.

Faced with his feeble explanation, Tan Yang chose to trust him, unwilling to be a foolish woman who destroyed their love and life with endless suspicion.

Thus, peace and warmth returned to the Bi household.

That weekend, Manager Liu from the department store visited to discuss business with Bi Qingtang. In the first-floor parlor, he encountered Tan Yang playing with her daughter. As usual, they exchanged pleasantries. Casually, Tan Yang asked when Old Ma would return to Shanghai.

Manager Liu smiled, "By the end of the month—on the twenty-eighth, I suppose."

Tan Yang repeated to herself with a smile, "Ah, the twenty-eighth."

Between husband and wife, there should be trust—not endless questioning or suspicion. Yet, blind trust is just as unwise. One must seek the truth to justify such faith, or perhaps, to overturn it.

The End of the Aftermath—Chapter 48 (46) of The Chronicle of Jade Cypress.