Chapter 2: A Rescue on the Night Bus

Twenty minutes after rolling out of the station, the sky had already gone pitch black.

The dome light inside the bus buzzed a dull yellow, flickering along. Not many passengers; they were scattered around. Qin Feng leaned against the window in the very back, his canvas bag clutched to his chest, eyes shut.

In the third row up front, a man coughed twice.

At first, nobody paid it much mind. Two minutes later, he coughed again, shoulders hitching with each racking sound. The woman next to him patted his back. "Old Zhou, have some water."

The man didn't take the cup. Instead, he clawed at his chest and slumped sideways.

"Old Zhou? Old Zhou!"

The woman's voice cracked. "Driver! Stop the bus! My husband isn't good!"

The ticket taker sprinted down the aisle, crouched over the man, and went pale. "What... what's happening here?"

"He has heart trouble. Ran out of his meds, figured he'd just tough it out until we hit the provincial capital and buy some..." Her hands shook as she rummaged through her purse. "Anyone got some quick-acting nitroglycerin? Please, anyone?"

Silence in the cabin. Some passengers pulled their feet back; others fished out their phones. "Should we call 120?"

"We're forty minutes from the provincial capital, and 120 is on that end of the line," the ticket taker said, rubbing her hands together. "Driver, maybe pull over?"

"Pulling over just wastes more time." The driver checked the rearview mirror, his voice tight.

Qin Feng opened his eyes.

He braced himself against the chair back, stood up, and walked over. He bent down to look at the man's face.

"Give him some room," he said. "You're packed in here like sardines; he can't breathe."

The ticket taker looked up. "Sir, you're..."

"I'm a doctor."

He didn't shout it, but the cabin went quiet for a beat. The woman grabbed onto the lifeline. "Old sir, please save him, I beg you!"

Qin Feng didn't answer. He set his canvas bag on the floor and placed two fingers on the man's wrist.

"Cold hands," he said.

"His hands and feet have always been cold."

"That's not it." Qin Feng lowered the man flat onto the aisle and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. "Whatever's blocking his heart has been building up for more than just a day or two."

"It's been three years," the woman said. "The illness started three years ago."

"Did someone beat him up three years ago?"

The woman blinked. "How... how did you know that?"

"It's written in his pulse." Qin Feng said. "The Qi in his chest isn't flowing. The injury back then wasn't fatal, but the breath never cleared out. It just kept piling up, day after day. The bumps on this bus today broke the dam."

The woman's eyes turned red in a second. "Something happened at the gym that year. He took a hit for someone... He didn't complain about the pain later, so nobody thought it was serious."

"No pain doesn't mean it's healed." Qin Feng unzipped his canvas bag and pulled out a blue cloth roll.

He spread it out on the seat. A row of needles, varying in length, was tucked into the fabric.

A young man sitting nearby shuffled back half a step. "Old sir, you're... needling someone on the bus?"

"I'm not needling flesh," Qin Feng said. "I'm needling points."

"But this is just..."

"You know what you're talking about?" Qin Feng shot him a look.

The young man shut up.

Qin Feng picked out a needle, held it between his fingers, and slowly coaxed it into a point above the man's chest. His hand was steady. The needle slid down millimeter by millimeter.

The man let out a guttural groan.

"As long as there's breath, we're fine," Qin Feng said.

Second needle. Third. He wasn't rushing. He paused after each insertion, watching the man's face.

No one spoke in the cabin. Someone held up a phone to film it; Qin Feng didn't even look up.

By the fifth needle, the man took a sharp, deep gasp. His chest began to rise and fall. The pallor on his face slowly gave way to a hint of color.

"Old Zhou!" The woman lunged forward.

"Don't shake him," Qin Feng held her back. "Let him breathe on his own."

Another thirty seconds passed. The man opened his eyes. His focus was scattered, taking a while to snap back. "Where... where am I? On the bus?"

"You're on the bus." The woman was sobbing. "You scared the hell out of me."

Qin Feng pulled the needles out one by one, wiped them on the cloth, and rolled them back up.

"Remember three rules," he said, packing the needles away. "No cold food. No alcohol. In bed before eleven p.m."

"Got it, got it." The woman nodded frantically. "Old sir, what's your name? How much do I owe you? Let me just..."

"Don't pay a dime."

"That's impossible. This is a life-or-death matter..."

"If I said no, it's no." Qin Feng shoved the cloth roll back into his bag. "It was just something I had on hand."

The man propped himself up, trying to speak, but Qin Feng waved him down. "Save your breath. Once we hit the provincial capital, find a place to get checked out. We need to clear out that old blockage from three years ago before you're truly okay."

"Old sir." The man caught his breath. "My name is Zhou Dehai. Are you visiting relatives in the provincial capital, or running some errands?"

"Looking for a person."

"Who? I know the north side of the city like the back of my hand."

Qin Feng paused for a second. "A Gu."

Zhou Dehai's eyes shot up. "Gu? There are lots of Gu's in the north. Which Gu are you talking about?"

"Yuanshan Martial Arts Gym. Gu Yuan."

Zhou Dehai froze, then slapped his thigh—only to immediately clutch his chest in pain. "Ouch... Yuanshan Martial Arts Gym? That's our gym! I cook over there! You're looking for our master?"

Qin Feng glanced at him. "How long have you been there?"

"Eleven years," Zhou Dehai said. "Master Gu's been good to me."

"Then that's convenient," Qin Feng leaned back against the chair. "Saves me the trouble of asking around."

Zhou Dehai wanted to ask more, but his wife tugged his arm. He changed the subject. "Old sir, I'll take you tomorrow morning. I have to be at the gym at six to prep breakfast. Where are you staying?"

"Haven't decided yet."

"Well..."

"I'll find a spot myself," Qin Feng said. "You handle your business."

They hit the provincial capital bus station at 10:40 p.m.

The lights in the plaza blazed bright enough to dazzle. Taxis lined up in a long row, their horns blaring in waves. Qin Feng stood at the exit, looking up at the surrounding high-rises, stacking up floor after floor, tops disappearing into the dark.

Zhou Dehai hurried up to catch him. "Old sir, you really aren't coming with me? I've got an empty bed."

"Nah," Qin Feng said. "I'll head over on my own tomorrow morning."

"Then just remember: Wenchang Street in the north. Walk to the end, there's a big iron gate with two stone lions flanking it. That's Yuanshan Martial Arts Gym." Zhou Dehai gestured with his hands. "When you get there, tell the gatekeeper you're here to see Zhou Dehai. He'll let you in."

"Okay."

Zhou Dehai tried to say something else, but his wife dragged him away.

Qin Feng wandered around the station for a bit before settling on a small guesthouse next to the bus terminal. Fifty bucks a night. One bed, one TV, and a window facing a back alley.

He put his canvas bag by his pillow, didn't even take off his jacket, and was out cold the moment he lay down.

He slept for three hours, then woke up.

It was still pitch black outside. He sat up, pulled out the photo, and stared at it for a moment before stuffing it back in his pocket.

When the sky started to gray at dawn, he left the guesthouse.

Wenchang Street was in the north, lined with old shops on both sides. The breakfast vendors were just setting up their stalls, frying dough sticks sizzling in the woks.

Qin Feng walked all the way down, asking two people for directions, until he reached the end of the street.

A big iron gate. Two stone lions. Inside was a three-story building, with an open courtyard paved in blue bricks out front. A dozen or so young guys in white jackets were running laps, shouting battle cries in perfect unison.

The gatekeeper was a skinny old man, holding a tea mug, watching the students run.

Qin Feng walked up to him. "Looking for someone."

"A student? Registration is in that building on the north side."

"Looking for Gu Yuan."

The skinny old man set down his tea mug and sized Qin Feng up and down. "Who are you?"

"Tell him Qin Feng is here."

"Qin Feng?" The old man chewed on the name, then shook his head. "Never heard of him. Did you make an appointment with our master?"

"No."

"That's a no." The old man picked his mug back up. "Our master is so busy his feet don't touch the ground. Not just anyone gets an audience. If you're a parent of a student, go to the north building. If it's some other business, leave a message and I'll pass it along."

"Pass along what?"

"Write it down."

Qin Feng thought for a second, then pulled the photo from his bag and handed it over. "Show him this. He'll know what to do."

The old man took it, flipped it over, and looked at the back. Three characters, the ink long faded.

"Alright." He tucked the photo between the pages of his ledger. "I'll take it up to him in a bit. Wait by the gate, and don't wander off."

Qin Feng stayed standing by the gate.

The students finished their run and headed inside the building. A little while later, cars started rolling in. Suits, training gis—everyone nodded at the skinny old man as they entered.

The sun climbed over the roof, baking the stone lions until they looked whitewashed.

Qin Feng stood there for an hour, not moving his legs.

At 9:15, a group came out of the building. Leading the pack was a man in his forties. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark gray training suit with the sleeves rolled up, revealing solid forearms.

The skinny old man hurried over, exchanged a couple of words, and handed over the photo.

The man took it.

He glanced down at it.

His steps stopped.

Just for a blink. Then he flipped the photo over to look at the three characters on the back.

Qin Feng walked forward.

"Little Yuan."

The man looked up.

From seven or eight paces away, Qin Feng watched the muscles on the man's face tense up.

"I'm Qin Feng."

The man didn't say a word.

The group behind him stopped too. Someone murmured, "Master Gu, what's wrong?"

Gu Yuan kept the photo in his hand and took a step forward.

"You've got the wrong person," he said.

Qin Feng looked at him. "You have a scar on your left arm. Winter when you were six. You fell off the woodpile and knocked yourself. You were afraid I'd yell at you, so you hid behind the stove and stayed there all afternoon."

Gu Yuan's mouth twitched.

"When you were nine, you ate four bowls of rice in one sitting. You were so stuffed you couldn't walk. I needled you at three points to loosen it up," Qin Feng said. "You cried and said you'd never eat that much again, but you did it the very next day."

Someone in the back let out a snort, then quickly choked it back.

Gu Yuan handed the photo back. "Old man, you're too old. Your memory's gone. I don't know who you are."

Qin Feng didn't take the photo.

"I walked three hundred miles to get here," he said. "Not just to hear that."

"Well, I can't do anything about it." Gu Yuan shoved the photo into his hand. His voice wasn't loud or soft; his face was blank. "If you need money, I'll have the finance department give you two thousand. If you need a roof, I'll have someone take you to the shelter."

The area went silent.

A young student whispered to a neighbor. "Who is this old guy?"

"I don't know."

Gu Yuan turned around and told the gatekeeper, "Old Li, show this old man out. From now on, don't let just anyone in."

"Sure." The skinny old man chimed in quickly.

Gu Yuan turned and started walking back toward the building.

Qin Feng stayed planted where he was, watching his back.

"Gu Yuan." He called out.

Gu Yuan didn't turn around.

"Your master is still alive."

Gu Yuan's rhythm faltered for half a beat. Then he steadied his pace, not stopping, and went inside.

At the far end of the hallway inside the building, Gu Yuan stopped.

He braced his hand against the wall, stood there for ten seconds, and waited for his breathing to level out.

Then he pulled out his phone, found a number, and dialed.

It rang four times before it connected.

No one spoke on the other end.

"Big Brother." Gu Yuan kept his voice low. "He's here."

Silence from the other end for a few seconds.

"Did he recognize you?"

Gu Yuan closed his eyes.

"No."