Chapter 4 My First Death
But why?
Before I could think it through, the killers pried the door open and slipped in without a sound.
Tap, tap, tap—
The footsteps came closer and closer.
I held my breath under the bed, shaking, clamping a hand over my mouth. It felt like my heart would leap out of my chest.
Through the gap, I saw the two of them heading toward the bedroom. They gathered up valuables. At the closest point, Fei Kun was no more than half a meter from me.
They looked around and saw no one. The thin one spoke first. "Fei Kun, let's check upstairs."
A door closing sounded faintly. After a long while, my heart still hammering, I let go and crept out from under the bed.
A fat face suddenly pressed right in front of my eyes.
My heart stopped. They had not left at all!
Fei Kun's face, the one that had shown up in my nightmares countless times, grinned at me lewdly.
"Hehe. Showing off cheap tricks in front of the grandmaster? The water in the cups is still hot. How could nobody be here?"
That was my first death.
Everything after that was more or less the same as before.
The only difference was that in the struggle, I stabbed the fat man with a fruit knife, then got chopped to death on the spot.
In the instant the blood sprayed, I saw Grandma's eyes fly open in terror.
Then Ma Jiu looped a rope around her neck. She was dazed and did not struggle at all.
I wanted to call her, but not a single word could squeeze out of my cut throat.
After my parents died in a car crash, Grandma and I depended on each other.
She sold pancakes on the street to raise me, up before four in the morning, working until midnight. Some mean neighbors gossiped. "Grandma Deng, your life's so bitter. If you had a grandson, you'd at least have someone to lean on later."
Grandma had a good temper and did not get angry. "My Songsong is smart and hardworking. You think she won't take care of this old woman later? Besides, whose boy can beat her? Granny Zhang, your grandson is in the same class as Songsong. You tell me, what rank is my Songsong?"
My name was Qin Song, because Grandma loved pine trees most.
No matter wild wind, flood, bitter cold, or drought, nothing could destroy it.
It could grow on a cliff face, or stretch toward the clouds, competing with the sky.
I swore I would keep climbing like a wild pine. The best school, the best major, a lot of money.
Then Grandma would not have to rise before dawn and work into the night, would not have to smell so much oil smoke, would not have to take the gossip of neighborhood women.
Would not have to cry her eyes out over a fake bill again.
But why? Why could I not do it?