Chapter 1: Mud on His Liberation Shoes

“Qin Feng? Oh, is that really you?”

Zhao Degui crushed his cigarette butt on the ground, circling the old man with the weathered canvas bag twice, his eyes getting wider with every loop. The cement floor of the county bus station shimmered with heat waves, and the cicadas in the parasol trees were screeching so loud they drove you up the wall. Qin Feng’s military-style shoes were caked with yellow mud, his pant legs rolled up to his calves, half his hair white, and his face as dark as thirty-year-old bark.

“Degui,” Qin Feng nodded.

“You remember me?” Zhao Degui grinned, gums and all. “I thought you’d gone stupid living in the mountains.”

“You’ve gotten fat.”

“Fat?” Zhao Degui patted his belly, turning to shout at two tricycle drivers hanging around for work. “Listen to that! That old fart says I’m fat. So what if I am? I’m full! Unlike some people who ditched three kids to live like wild men in the mountains, showing up back here looking like a mess.”

Qin Feng didn’t answer, just hoisted the canvas bag higher on his shoulder.

Zhao Degui got into it, stepping closer. “I tell you, Qin Feng, how old are you this year? Fifty-six? Your face looks seventy. What do you eat out there? Tree bark?”

“Get to the point.”

“The point?” Zhao Degui pointed at his own nose. “What point? I, Zhao Degui, own two apartments in this county, a Wuling, and a building materials store. Do I need you for anything?”

“Then move, I’m buying tickets.”

“Tickets? Where are you going?”

Qin Feng looked at him. “Looking for my kids.”

The moment those three words left his mouth, Zhao Degui’s smile stayed plastered on his face, but his eyes narrowed.

“Looking for my kids.” He repeated it, voice dropping low. “Qin Feng, do you have the face to say those three words?”

Qin Feng stayed silent.

“Back then, when my sister got sick and died, what did you do? You dumped three kids on the old Zhao family and vanished. Qin Yuan was nine, Qin Lan was seven, and poor Qin Shu was only four! Four!” Zhao Degui jabbed the air with a finger. “My sister held your hand on her deathbed, begged you to raise the kids. What did you raise them into?”

“Had I raised them, they wouldn’t have made it to today,” Qin Feng said.

“Hah!” Zhao Degui burst out laughing in anger. “And you think you’re right. Fine, you’re right. So what are you back for now? Heard the kids did well. Came back to pick peaches off the tree, did you?”

Qin Feng lifted his eyes. “Where are they now?”

“Where are they?” Zhao Degui crossed his arms and leaned against a van. “Listen up. Your eldest, Qin Yuan, is the chairman of the Qin Group. Half the streets in the provincial capital were built by his company. He’s been on TV, did you know? Your daughter, Qin Lan, is in the military. A major general! Do you know what that is? Stars on the shoulders. And your youngest, Qin Shu, is a professor at the Capital University. Supervising doctoral students in his thirties.”

He held up a finger for each child, his hand shaking by the end. “Three kids, each more successful than the last, and each less likely to recognize you. You’re going to claim them now. What are you going to use to claim them? This outfit?”

Qin Feng looked down at his tunic. The front was still covered in crushed medicinal herbs.

“I won’t claim them,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m going to see them.”

Zhao Degui stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed. “Fine, go see them. Perfect timing. I’m heading to the county hospital today to visit Boss Zhou’s old man. I’ll take you along. I’ll let you see how the world is now. If someone like you walks in, you think the security guards will stop you?”

A row of cars was parked outside the outpatient building of the county hospital. Zhao Degui parked the Wuling on the side, grabbed two cartons of milk, and headed for the emergency room. Qin Feng followed, his eyes scanning the signs hanging in the corridor.

“What are you following me for?”

“You’re bringing me.”

“I brought you, I didn’t say you could come in with me.” Zhao Degui lowered his voice. “Boss Zhou’s father is inside. Director Zhou is watching over him personally. Don’t go in and embarrass yourself.”

The door to the emergency resuscitation room was cracked open. Inside was a chaos. A middle-aged man in a white coat stood by the bed, holding CT films in his hand, brows knotted in a frown. On the bed lay an old man, his face pale as paper, slick with cold sweat, unresponsive. Beside him, a man in his forties gripped the bed rail, a gold chain on his neck swinging dizzily.

“Director Zhou, what’s really going on with my dad?” The man with the gold chain shouted.

“Boss Zhou, the CT shows no obvious bleeding, but he’s in a coma. His pupils still react to light a bit...”

“What does ‘a bit’ mean? Just treat him!”

Zhao Degui hurried over. “Boss Zhou, Boss Zhou, I’m here.” He dropped the milk on the floor. “The old man is...”

Nobody paid him any mind.

Qin Feng stood in the doorway and took two steps forward. He looked at the old man on the bed, then at the heart monitor next to it, and sniffed the air.

“It’s not a brain hemorrhage.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but the room went silent instantly.

Director Zhou turned around. “Who are you?”

“He says he is...” Zhao Degui’s face went pale. “Director Zhou, don’t listen to him. He’s from the mountains, he doesn’t know what he’s doing...”

“Was the patient given insulin?” Qin Feng interrupted.

Boss Zhou blinked. “Yes, this morning.”

“Did he eat?”

“No... no, he didn’t. He had a fight with me this morning, didn’t eat, and went straight to his room.”

“Then it’s hypoglycemia.” Qin Feng walked to the bed. “He’s drenched in sweat, you could wring water out of his clothes. Heart rate is one-twenty, pupils are equal in size, no hemiplegia in his limbs. The high blood pressure is just a stress response. Check his finger-prick blood sugar. Thirty seconds.”

Director Zhou reflexively reached out to press on the patient’s eyelid, then froze his hand in mid-air.

“We routinely check blood sugar for—”

“Did you check it?”

Director Zhou turned and shouted at the nurses. “Blood sugar! Now!”

The nurses scrambled over with the equipment, pricked a finger, squeezed the blood, and stuck it in the strip. Thirty seconds later, a number appeared on the screen.

“1.9.” The nurse’s voice cracked. “Director, it’s 1.9!”

“Hypoglycemic coma!” Director Zhou slapped his thigh. “Fifty milliliters of glucose, IV push, now!”

Qin Feng had already pulled a cloth bundle from his canvas bag. He shook it open, revealing a row of silver needles tucked inside. He picked one up, flicked his wrist, and drove the needle into the old man’s philtrum. He twisted it twice, then drove another into the Yongquan point on the sole of his foot.

“What are you doing?” Director Zhou reached out to stop him.

“Waking him up.” Qin Feng didn’t look up. “Push your sugar, I’ll do my needling. We’re not in each other’s way.”

The tip of the needle in the philtrum point trembled slightly. A gurgle came from the old man’s throat. The nurse attached the IV line and pushed the glucose in. Less than three minutes later, the old man’s eyelid fluttered, another sound came from his throat, and his fingers twitched.

“Dad!” Boss Zhou lunged forward.

The old man’s eyes cracked open a slit. His mouth moved. “...Hungry.”

Everyone in the room exhaled in relief. Boss Zhou collapsed onto the floor, wiping his face.

Director Zhou stood still, looking at the old man on the bed, then at the roll of needles in Qin Feng’s hand. His expression shifted gradually. He threw the CT films on the table, walked over, and extended his hand. “Comrade, I was rude earlier. What’s your surname?”

“Qin Feng.”

“Qin...” Director Zhou’s eyebrow twitched. “Which Qin?”

“The Qin of Qin Shihuang.”

Director Zhou let out a slightly strained laugh. “Mr. Qin, is this technique something you learned at home? A family trade?”

“Learned it from a master in the mountains.”

Zhao Degui stood in the corner, still holding the two cartons of milk, his mouth open, unable to close it for a long time.

Boss Zhou crawled up from the floor, pulled out a card, and shoved it into Qin Feng’s hand. “Master, Master! If it weren’t for you today, my dad would have...” He waved the card. “Take this. The PIN is six eights. There’s two hundred thousand in it. Not much, but don’t you dare say I’m being stingy.”

Qin Feng pushed the card back. “No need.”

“That’s not going to do!”

“I said no.” Qin Feng wiped the silver needles clean one by one and rolled them back into the cloth. “Your father uses insulin regularly. After an injection, he must eat. Keep an eye on him. Don’t let him sulk and skip meals. Hypoglycemia hits faster than high blood sugar. If he loses consciousness for more than six hours, his brain will burn out. Keep some candy at home. If he starts sweating, gets palpitations, or talks nonsense, stuff two pieces of sugar in his mouth first.”

“Got it, got it.” Boss Zhou nodded vigorously, then turned and glared at Zhao Degui. “Old Zhao, is this Master someone you brought here?”

Zhao Degui’s spine curved. “Yes, yes, yes. He’s my... my brother-in-law.”

“Brother-in-law?” Boss Zhou’s eyes lit up. “That’s great! Master, leave your phone number. I’ll definitely come visit you another time—”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“What?”

“I have an old brick phone. I don’t turn it on much.”

Director Zhou chimed in at this point, his face wearing a new expression. “Mr. Qin, let me say something. Your insight and your technique are wasted in a county seat. Our hospital’s traditional Chinese medicine department is short-staffed. If you’re willing to come, I’ll sort out your official status. We can sit down and discuss the pay.”

Qin Feng looked at him. “How many are in your TCM department?”

“Three.”

“None of them can treat patients?”

Director Zhou’s smile stiffened. “...That wasn’t what I meant.”

“If I can treat patients and you can’t, that’s your problem.” Qin Feng slung his canvas bag over his shoulder. “I don’t practice clinical medicine.”

“Mr. Qin—”

“Director Zhou.” Qin Feng stopped walking, turned to look at him. “With those CT films earlier, if you had just told a nurse to check his blood sugar sooner, you could have treated him too.”

No one spoke in the room. Zhao Degui quickly followed out, jogging to the corner of the corridor, where he reached out and adjusted the strap of Qin Feng’s bag.

“Brother-in-law, brother-in-law, slow down.”

Qin Feng stopped. “What did you call me?”

“Brother-in-law.” Zhao Degui rubbed his hands together, his face plastered with a smile. “I was wrong earlier. My mouth, it needed a smack.” He gave his own cheek a light pat. “I truly didn’t know you had this kind of skill. Look, my sister went early. These past years, I’ve been looking after the three kids...”

“Did you raise the kids?”

“No, not exactly.” Zhao Degui’s voice dropped. “Qin Yuan went out on his own when he was sixteen. He made his own way.”

“But just now you said you raised the three of them.”

“I... I gave them a hand.”

Qin Feng nodded, saying nothing else. Zhao Degui followed him for two steps, then suddenly remembered something. “Brother-in-law, you’re looking for your kids. I have some info.”

Qin Feng stopped.

“Qin Yuan has a signing ceremony tomorrow afternoon at the Provincial Capital International Hotel. It’s on TV; the city officials are all going.” Zhao Degui fumbled with his phone for a long time before handing it over. “This is the main office number for his company. I called and they refused to transfer me. If you want to find him, that’s the place.”

Qin Feng looked at the string of numbers on the screen.

“Before you go, I need to warn you.” Zhao Degui’s smile vanished, his voice growing heavy. “What is Qin Yuan’s status now? One word from him, and how many people in this county have to bow and scrape? If you go there, whether he recognizes you or not is another story.”

“I don’t need him to recognize me.”

“Then what are you doing this for?”

Qin Feng memorized the number in his head and pushed the phone back. “I just want to see.”

The waiting hall of the county bus station was packed full of people, the air thick with the smell of sweat and instant noodles. Qin Feng bought a ticket to the provincial capital, the last bus, leaving at 7:30 PM.

He sat on a long bench and dug into the very bottom of his canvas bag for a photo. The corners were frayed. It showed three children standing against a dirt wall. The eldest had his arms around the second, who was holding the hand of the youngest. On the back of the photo, written in ballpoint pen, was a line of writing that had faded: Yuan, Lan, Shu.

He looked at it for a long time, tucked it back in, and pulled out the number Zhao Degui had given him, copying it onto the back of a bus ticket.

In the corner of the waiting hall was a public phone, next to a small shop that sold phone cards. Qin Feng walked over, bought a card, and stood in front of the receiver. He dialed the number.

Ring. Ring.

It rang six times.

“Hello, Qin Group main office, may I ask who you are looking for?” A female voice, very professional.

“I’m looking for Qin Yuan.”

“Who is calling? Do you have an appointment?”

“My name is Qin Feng.” He paused. “Tell him I’m his father.”

There was two seconds of silence on the other end.

“Did you... did you say what?”

“I’m his father.”

“Sir, that joke is not funny.” The female voice tightened. “Chairman Qin’s father... we’ve never heard of it. If you have business, you can follow the proper procedure and make an appointment. I can register you.”

“I have no other business.”

“Then I can’t transfer you.”

“Fine.” Qin Feng hung up the phone.

He stood there for a moment, then picked up the receiver again, inserted a coin, and dialed a different number on Zhao Degui’s phone—that was Qin Yuan’s personal number, which Zhao Degui said he’d asked a friend to get but had never dared to call.

This time, it connected after three rings.

“Who is this?” A male voice, steady, low, with the sound of paper flipping in the background.

Qin Feng held the receiver but didn’t speak.

“Hello?”

“...Yuanzi.”

The sound of paper flipping stopped on the other end.

Three seconds of silence.

“You have the wrong number.”

Click. The line went dead.

Qin Feng put the receiver back, his finger resting on the cold metal housing for a moment. He looked down at his tunic. The patch of crushed herbs on the front was still there.

The announcement system began calling for boarding on the bus to the provincial capital. Outside the waiting hall, the sky was already darkening. Streetlights flickered on one by one, stretching the shadows of the row of tricycles in the courtyard long across the ground.

Qin Feng slung his canvas bag over his shoulder, pulled out an enamel mug from the bag, filled it three-quarters full with cold water from the dispenser, and drank two gulps. Water ran down the corner of his mouth to his chin. He wiped it with his hand and walked toward the ticket check gate.

“Bus to the provincial capital, boarding now!” The ticket checker shouted.

Qin Feng handed over his ticket.

The checker glanced at it, tore off a corner, and handed it back. “Old man, traveling alone?”

“Yeah.”

“The provincial capital is big. Don’t get lost.”

Qin Feng took the ticket, stuffed it into his tunic pocket, and looked up to the north. The last bit of red on the horizon was sinking below the line. The provincial capital was in that direction, over three hundred miles away.

“I won’t get lost,” he said.

He got on the bus and sat in the last row by the window, hugging the canvas bag to his chest. The engine coughed to life, the body of the bus shuddered, and it slowly pulled out of the station. Qin Feng pulled the photo from the bag again and looked at it under the dim yellow light of the cabin. He flipped it over and traced the three characters on the back with his fingertip.

“Yuan, Lan, Shu.”

The bus turned onto the national highway, heading north. The trees outside the window retreated one by one, merging into a black blur.

Qin Feng tucked the photo into his chest pocket and closed his eyes.

“None of them can escape.”