by Lei Mi
1
Orphanage
Fang Mu took the paper docket from the bank's counter. On it was a clear record that the 800 yuan had been deposited in the account. He gave it a cursory glance, and then ripped it to pieces and threw them into the waste basket.
Walking out of the front entrance to the bank, he looked at his watch. It was already nearly three o'clock. He hesitated a moment, but then decided not to go back to the office. Better to drive around outside than to sit at his desk sipping tea until five o'clock.
It was not until he got in his jeep that Fang Mu discovered he was at a bit of a loss as to what to do with the two extra hours he suddenly had to kill. Where should he go? He placed his hands on the steering wheel and gazed at the tall buildings standing like a forest in the distance. Those hard, cold, drab buildings loomed from a swath of viscous gray mist, barely discernable. The sky seemed to hang lower than usual, as if slowly pressing the last drops of juice out of the city.
For some reason Fang Mu thought of a kind of fruit that was sweet and brightly colored, but at the same time was frail and weak. He returned from his reverie and started the car.
Half an hour later he had parked along a small street in the outskirts. He got out of the jeep and walked over to a courtyard that opened along the side of the street.
The courtyard occupied an area of just under 1000-square-yards. Through an iron fence, a two-story building could be seen standing tall and upright dead center in the yard. The space had been carefully divided into several sections; the one right in front of the building was big and empty except for two swing sets and a few concrete benches. A few five- or six-year-old children were there running around and chasing each other. A middle-aged woman in her forties held a baby in her arms that was only a few months old, shading it from the non-existent sun while watching nervously as the children ran in circles around her.
Neatly partitioned vegetable and flower gardens lay on both sides of the clearing. Green leaves were accompanied by brilliant blossoms and fruit that seemed to overflow with vitality. Even in the dim afternoon light, they still had a sincerely cheerful effect. Fang Mu couldn't help but smile as he gripped the bars of the fence with his hands.
A little figure appeared suddenly in his peripheral vision. He turned and saw a child, 10-year-old or so, standing in the exact same posture as he himself was: hands on the bars of the fence, staring in at the courtyard.
The child noticed Fang Mu looking at him and turned his head. The boy's hair was slightly curly, and the skin of his face was quite fair but extremely dirty. He wore a loosely-fitting school uniform, and a huge school bag hung crookedly from one shoulder.
Fang Mu smiled amiably at him. "Is school out?"
The boy dodged his gaze in a panic, but then after a while he stole another glance at Fang Mu. Fang Mu was amused, so for the quirk of it he turned and looked squarely at the boy. Appearing even more at a loss, the boy blushed. He turned away and sweat began to ooze from the tip of his tiny nose.
The little boy's nervous manner made Fang Mu feel sympathetic toward him. He decided to tease the kid. Glancing surreptitiously at the boy's school bag, he suddenly made a face and barked, "He Jing, have you finished your homework?"
Surprised, the boy took a step back, looking Fang Mu up and down, eyes full of suspicion. "How…how did you know…?"
Fang Mu laughed. "I know everything."
The boy stared at Fang Mu in fright for a moment. Then, suddenly understanding, he dumped the school bag from his shoulder. On the side of the bag in black marker was written the name He Jing.
"You saw this." The boy grinned, but the grin was exactly like one of a child who was making fun of a fellow classmate. "Actually, my name's not He Jing."
No sooner had the words left the boy's lips than he turned and ran off.
Fang Mu stared blankly after him for a moment, and was just about to open his mouth when he heard someone calling out behind him.
"Officer Fang, hello!"
Fang Mu turned around. It was the middle-aged woman holding the baby. She nodded over in the direction in which the boy had disappeared. "You know that kid?"
"Huh?" Fang Mu was startled. "Hello, Ms. Zhao. Doesn't that boy go here?"
She shook her head. "No. And I don't know whose child he is, either; he always shows up here when he has nothing better to do. But he won't come in; he just stands outside and watches. As soon as I go out to say hi to him, he runs away."
"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "Is Teacher Zhou here?"
"Yes, he is." She pointed at the courtyard behind her. "He's working in the garden. Want me to go get him for you?"
"No need," he said hastily. "I'll just head over there."
A white-haired old man with trousers rolled up over his ankles was squatting in the vegetable garden, working busily with both hands covered in mud. Upon hearing footsteps, he lifted his head. Presently, a faint smile climbed across his face.
"You've come."
"Yeah; hello, Teacher Zhou." Fang Mu squatted down next to him. "What are you working on?"
"Loosening the soil for some seedlings," he said with a chuckle.
"What kind of sprouts are these?"
"Strawberries. Planted them myself; they have a different taste. I think you tried some last time. Not bad, eh?"
A wave of sweet and sour suddenly washed over Fang Mu's tongue. He swallowed. "It's okay; a little sour, that's all."
Teacher Zhou laughed. "Well, at least you didn't spit it out, so it must be all right. This little pack of brats couldn't wait for them to get ripe, so they went ahead and picked them."
He stood with some effort, his feet obviously a bit numb from his having squatted for too long. Fang Mu quickly held out a hand to steady him.
"Oh, I'm fine. I've got mud on my hands; don't get your clothes dirty."
Not letting go, Fang Mu helped him over to one of the concrete benches. Teacher Zhou stretched his legs out, massaging his thigh with his right hand and emitting a series of sighs and moans.
"Teacher Zhou, is your leg okay?"
"I got shot here during the Cultural Revolution; every time the weather changes, it aches. Oh, thank you." Teacher Zhou accepted Fang Mu's proffered cigarette. When it was lit he inhaled deeply and exhaled with great satisfaction.
Fang Mu lit one as well and watched as the children ran around chasing each other tirelessly through the yard.
"No work this afternoon?" Teacher Zhou asked.
"Oh, I went and made a deposit for you all, and after that I didn't have to go back and do anything, so I decided to come over and see you."
"Ah." Teacher Zhou flicked away his cigarette butt, and then turned to him and said very earnestly, "I thank you on behalf of Yafan."
"No need, Teacher Zhou," Fang Mu replied quickly. "It's hard enough for you to have to keep such a large orphanage going all by yourself."
Teacher Zhou laughed and asked, "Still want me to keep your secret for you?"
"Yes." Fang Mu nodded. "Until she has finished school and found a job. I don't make a lot of money right now, so for the time being this is all I can take out each month. But if Yafan ever needs more money, just let me know."
"Mind if I ask..." Teacher Zhou chose his words carefully. "Why are you subsidizing Liao Yafan, anyway? Why her alone, I mean."
Fang Mu stared into the smoke curling upwards above him. After a while, he lowered his head and said, "I'm sorry, Teacher Zhou."
"It's fine." The older man gave him a pat on the shoulder, a slow chuckle trickling out of him. "Everyone has secrets. You're helping Liao Yafan, and I know you wouldn't be doing it out of any evil intentions. Ah, speak of the devil."
Fang Mu followed Teacher Zhou’s gaze toward the gate to see a girl with a backpack walking up to them. Flustered, he stood to leave, but the teacher restrained him. "It's not like she's ever seen you before. What are you afraid of?" he looked to the girl and waved. "Liao Yafan!"
Startled, Liao Yafan stopped in her tracks. When she
saw that it was Teacher Zhou calling her, she walked over obediently.
"Hello, Teacher Zhou." She gave a slight bow, her gaze wandering in Fang Mu's direction. Not knowing how to address him, she nodded at him. Fang Mu squinted amicably and returned the nod.
"Is school out?" Teacher Zhou chuckled and sized Liao Yafan up. "Finished with your homework?"
"I finished it in class." She stood straight as a pen in front of Teacher Zhou, one hand repeatedly fingering the strap of her backpack.
"Ah, good girl. Don't forget to help little Yong on the first floor go over his math this evening. Oh, that's right; do you like your new backpack?"
A shy smile spread across Liao Yafan's face. "I do."
"Ah, well, that's good. Go back and have a rest."
Blushing, Liao Yafan nodded in compliance, turned, and ran off, the energy of youth in her steps.
She did not go back and rest as Teacher Zhou had told her, however; five minutes Fang Mu later saw she was back out in the courtyard with a large aluminum basin full of potatoes and was soon peeling them one after another.
Thinking back, Fang Mu realized she would be 16 by now. Her features strongly resembled those of her mother; and he could see at a glance that she had Sun Mei's brows and eyes. But her face was calm, indifferent, and carried an expression of anxious sorrow that was rare among girls her age. While other girls were at home eating snacks, watching TV, or chatting online, here she was preparing a basin full of potatoes for a few dozen people's dinner. Judging by her practiced movements, Fang Mu could see Liao Yafan was no stranger to having to do chores like this. The thought made his heart ache. He figured it had something to do with the fact that both he and Liao Yafan had both been deprived of their childhood.
Sometimes Liao Yafan would suddenly stop and just stand there, knife and potato in hand, staring vaguely at a spot a few yards in front of her. Then, a few seconds later, she would hang her head and continue peeling forcefully, only to stop and stare blankly again. Occasionally, when she raised her head, she would lock eyes with Fang Mu and stare straight back at him. He would smile at her, but she had no other response that to lower her head, again with that distraught look on her face.
One after another, children were returning from their schools to the orphanage, and the courtyard gradually began to bustle with excitement. Boys and girls of all ages, both healthy and deformed, streamed into the yard, most of them running around and shouting. Some were talking in excited voices about their days at school; some were seeking to recover candy that had been snatched from them during the day. Some were just squatting at the foot of the wall, giggling, their noses trailing snot.
Having finished peeling all the potatoes, Liao Yafan carried the basin into the small building. Black smoke was billowing from the chimney on the roof. Soon the sweet smell of boiled cabbage and potatoes began to waft across the courtyard.
Teacher Zhou clapped the dirt from his hands and said, "Little Fang, why don't you stay for dinner? It might not be fancy, but it sure will taste good."
Fang Mu shook his head; he could not imagine going through the awkwardness of sitting at a table with Liao Yafan and sharing a meal with her. She might not have any idea what the person looked like who had twice been saved by her mother, nor could she possibly remember a certain aloof male student that had once passed briskly by her while she stood like a princess in the hallway of the No. 2 Boys' Dormitory. But still Fang Mu could not bring himself to face this girl as he should as a benefactor.
Just as he was trying to think of an excuse to politely decline the invitation, his cell phone rang.
"Fang Mu, where are you?" Bian Ping's tone of voice was urgent as Fang Mu answered the call.
"I'm out. What's up?"
"Be at the dormitory of the Kuantian District Paper Mill in fifteen minutes!"
Fang Mu was about to ask what had happened, but the call ended. Not daring to delay, he hurriedly said goodbye to Teacher Zhou, got in his jeep, and sped off, siren blaring.
Kuantian District was in the oldest part of the city and had at one time been a center of heavy industry. Before urban environmental awareness became vogue, the place had been booming. But along with the city's constant expansion and the relocation of factories, Kuantian District had gradually turned into a quiet corner left far behind by high urban culture. Its ubiquitous bungalows and three-story buildings already looked out of place compared to the rest of the city's architecture. But whether they resided in a new city district or an old one, people's curiosity remained the same everywhere.
A crowd of onlookers stood packed around the front of an old three-story building. Police cars had been parked haphazardly wherever there was a spot, so getting anywhere close was quite a challenge. Fang Mu ended up parking the jeep a block away and trotting over.
A space in front of the building had been cordoned off with police tape. People wearing plain clothes or police uniforms were busy inside, their faces solemn with concentration. Fang Mu attached his ID badge to the front of his shirt, lifted the police tape, and ducked inside. Bian Ping was conversing with a constable wearing an Armed Police uniform; upon seeing Fang Mu, he waved him over.
"This is Officer Fang from our precinct," Bian Ping said by way of introduction. "This is Constable Duan from SWAT."
Fang Mu reached out to shake hands with Constable Duan. The other man's hand felt coarse and hard and he had a very strong grip.
"I'll give you a run-down of the case so far." Bian Ping pointed up at the third floor. "This afternoon, a camera crew from the local television station took one of their audience members to apartment number three-hundred-one on the third floor to shoot a scene for their program. This viewer had claimed his name was Luo Jiahai, and said he wanted to see his teacher today, which is of course Teachers' Day. After entering the apartment, he drew a knife and stabbed his teacher. The woman's current condition is unknown, but based on descriptions by eyewitnesses, our guess is that she's dead. The real kicker is that there's also a girl inside, about nine-year-old or so, and our preliminary deduction is that she's being held against her will—which is why we haven't stormed the place yet."
As he spoke, a policeman picked up a megaphone and began shouting through it at the building. "Whoever's inside, listen up! You are surrounded! Put down your weapon and release the hostage! Your only way out is to surrender immediately! I'll say it one more time…"
Fang Mu eyed the building. The windows remained shut tight; there was no response whatsoever.
"Did the perp list any demands?" Fang Mu asked Bian Ping.
"No, no demands at all; so our plan is to send someone up there to talk to him and figure out what he wants, and look for an opportunity to subdue him." He held Fang Mu’s stare. "I was about to send you."
Fang Mu was stunned. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. He returned Bian Ping’s stare for several seconds. "Me?"
"That's right." Bian Ping's response was curt but adamant.
Fang Mu glanced at Constable Duan, somehow hoping for at least a nod of confirmation from him, but the expression on Constable Duan's face remained one of bafflement mixed with a trace of distrust.
Bian Ping, too, noticed Duan's bewilderment. He turned to him and said, "Duan, ol' pal, this is our best guy in the precinct." Then he waved Fang Mu off and said, "Go ahead; go over there and get ready."
Fang Mu was led somewhat reluctantly to the front of a command car, where a female cop with nimble hands fitted him with a wireless earpiece and mic, and another cop rolled up his pants cuff and attached a gun holster to his ankle. Fang Mu surrendered himself vacantly to their administrations, his eyes drifting over to where Bian Ping was still standing. He was saying something to Constable Duan, and the latter kept nodding, his eyebrows slightly pinched. When Duan again turned to study Fang Mu, this time there was a look of expectation in his eyes.
"How are the preparations going?" Duan addressed the officers who were busy attending to Fang Mu as he joined them. After receiving a positive
reply, he pulled a Type 64 pistol from his waist and raised an eyebrow at Fang Mu. "Know how to use it?"
Fang Mu nodded and accepted the gun. With practiced ease he undid the safety and checked the clip; after he'd loaded a bullet into the chamber, he bent and tucked it into the ankle holster.
Bian Ping walked over to them. After looking Fang Mu up and down, he said, "Now let's talk about plans. We've got three of them. Plan A: do your best to talk him down. Plan B: look for an opportunity to subdue him; if you get a clear shot, take it. Plan C: we've got a sniper hiding on the roof of the building across the street, but he hasn't been able to get a lock on him yet. We suspect he and the hostage are hiding in the interior room somewhere. If you don't feel confident that you can talk the perp down or subdue him, try to lure him over to the window of the room facing south. The closer to the window the better. Leave the rest to SWAT." He paused. "Any questions?"
Fang Mu thought a moment; it felt like he had a thousand questions turning through his brain, but he did not know which to ask, so he just shook his head.
"Okay, go for it." Bian Ping clapped him on the shoulder. "I won't bore you with the basics of negotiating; just be careful."
Fang Mu nodded, took a deep breath, and turned to go, but Constable Duan told him to wait.
The constable squatted down, drew Fang Mu's gun, and emptied it of all its bullets. He spread them out in the palm of his hand, then carefully selected three of them and put them back in the clip and inserted it back into the pistol.
"Three should be enough; any extra bullets would be useless, and they would just make things messier if one misfired. Anyway, the second we hear gunfire our people will charge in."
Constable Duan's words didn't make Fang Mu feel at ease; on the contrary, while he was replacing the gun with only three bullets into its holster, he felt even more nervous. Even though he knew Constable Duan's logic made good sense, he still felt a bit weak in the knees.
A dozen or so SWAT agents lay in wait along the hallway. With stilted steps, Fang Mu made his way past these brawny experts with their guns aimed and ready to fire, and could feel pair after pair of astonished eyes glancing up at his face. In truth, he looked nothing like the typical calm and composed negotiator, but more like a greenhorn university student.
