Chapter 56: Late-Night Knocking

“You should have some connections; how could you not find him?”

“Don’t forget, I’ve never been to Scarface’s place even once. How would I know where he lives?”

“Mom is right here beside me. Why don’t you go inside her and ask? Then you’d know.”

“No, I can’t go in!”

“Why not? This is the perfect opportunity. Why not try?”

“You don’t understand; Mom wouldn’t let me scare Scarface. Would going inside help at all?”

I thought hard in my dream but couldn’t come up with a good idea. I said, “The ritual is tomorrow. If we don’t figure something out now, there won’t be any chance left!”

She had her own plan: “Even if I went inside Mom now, it still wouldn’t help.”

“How would you know unless you try?”

That worked. The boy’s spirit floated out of my body and into my wife’s for a moment, then a voice came through: “Mom, where does Scarface live?”

“Why are you asking? Don’t think about causing trouble.”

“I’m not trying to cause trouble, just trying to understand the situation.”

“You should know; our family’s income comes from Scarface. If something goes wrong, we’ll starve. You better not have any ideas against him. He’s the only pillar of our family. If he falls, you can imagine the consequences.”

The boy’s spirit talked with my wife for a long time before floating back and re-entering my body. I had already sensed it all silently, but since I didn’t know the details, she told me: “Mom has great hopes for Scarface, so she wants to have his child. Even if I knew where he lived, I couldn’t scare him off. If he collapses, our family loses its income.”

“I feel the same way. That’s why I don’t support you scaring him.”

“But you were the one who told me to scare him in the first place. Now you deny it?”

“I never said that. You brought it up first. How can you blame me?”

“I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m tired and need to rest.”

The boy’s spirit left me restless, tossing and turning in bed, gloomy and unable to recover.

“Knock knock knock!” Someone knocked. It was Niu Zhenqing’s rough voice: “Wife! Are you in there? The sheets are very wet. What should I do?”

My wife and I woke up startled, puzzled as to why the sheets would be wet. We thought hard but couldn’t guess.

My wife was uneasy, unable to sleep peacefully. She wore a beautiful translucent dress, even more stunning than Jiang Meili’s mother, with faint scars visible on her back.

I asked if she wanted to wear underwear, but she feared it wouldn’t catch a man’s eye and said, “No need.”

Some things are hard to understand, so I didn’t ask further. I put on my school uniform and went with her to the door.

Niu Zhenqing called out foolishly many times before my wife finally opened the door.

What we saw stunned us: Niu Zhenqing stood there in just his underwear, with a large puddle of watery stuff on the floor, his clothes in a messy heap nearby. Seeing my wife’s silly plea, “Wife, can you help me?”

My wife was utterly frustrated. Dementia isn’t something fun. What to do? This is Niu Zhenqing! When he was sane, I almost wanted to beat him to death; now, it’s completely different.

My wife and I decided to check the big bedroom. Entering, we were shocked again. The sheets were torn off and thrown on the floor, the mattress soaked through, all messy.

No need to look closely—the stench was overwhelming. What to do now? Who would take care of Niu Zhenqing? My wife’s mind was in chaos.

Faced with this, we didn’t know how to handle it and stood there dazed. After a long thought, my wife found Niu Zhenqing’s underwear and casual clothes in the wardrobe and prepared to leave.

Her phone suddenly played a beautiful song. Listening carefully, it came from the mess of sheets on the floor. My wife flipped them open, disgusted, and knelt down to vomit a while before recovering.

I couldn’t look—it was too foul, nauseating beyond words.

My wife covered her mouth, holding her breath, took out her stained handbag, grabbed a bunch of tissues, and then found her phone. It was an unknown number. She answered, and a woman’s voice came through: “Hello, where are you?”

My wife was confused and had to ask, “Weren’t you the one who called just now?”

Meanwhile, Niu Zhenqing was still restless, dragging the foul sheets outside and piling them near the door, making a mess everywhere.

My wife struggled to keep control while on the call.

I covered my mouth with my hand and kept my distance—the sight was too disturbing.

The call continued, the unknown woman’s voice loud enough to fill the room: “Don’t be late for the ritual. Just a heads-up.”

Finally, my wife understood. Having someone with dementia at home was harder to manage than anyone foolish. Without realizing it, she hung up.

I glanced at the phone hanging on my neck. It showed 8:21. I said, “Mom, hurry up, we still have to catch the bus.”

That reminded my wife, who checked her phone and called again. After a minute, the response was, “Sorry, the number you dialed…”

My wife was exhausted. At such a critical moment, no one was answering. “It’s only 8:30. Why is no one picking up?”

I remembered Scarface saying he had a meeting today. Since the call went through, it meant it hadn’t started yet.

My wife couldn’t wait any longer. She put the phone in her bag and took Niu Zhenqing into the bathroom. She shouted, “Boy, wrap up the sheets on the floor, put them in a plastic bag, and take them out!”

This was such a torment for me! Just seeing it made me sick. How to put such filth into a plastic bag was a huge problem.

I went to the kitchen and found a pile of used disposable plastic bags. I found a big one, put on two small ones as gloves, wrapped the sheets, and knelt vomiting for a long time. Only with great effort did I manage to put the mess inside. Yet much foul stuff remained on the floor.

My wife came out of the bathroom with Niu Zhenqing, looking like a different person, and settled him on the living room sofa.

I grabbed a mop, covered my mouth with one hand, mopped with the other. It was nearly 9 o’clock. My wife hurriedly led me out.

Niu Zhenqing shouted loudly, “Wife, wait for me!”

My wife had no choice but to lock him inside. But he refused and rolled on the floor in protest.

Time would not wait. My wife, handbag in arm, called while walking, but the other side was off.

After disposing of the trash and much fuss, we arrived at the bus stop, unsure where the temple was. My wife called again, hearing the same message.

Several buses came and went, but we couldn’t get on. It was already past 9, and we were still at the stop. My wife was disappointed. Even if we boarded, the ritual would be past the scheduled time. We could only blame Niu Zhenqing.

My wife thought for a long time, then led me to keep walking. We entered a store crowded with people.

We had just sat down when a waitress cleared the table.

My wife called out to the kitchen, “Two bowls of rice noodles and two fried eggs, please.”

I stared at a food picture on the opposite wall, where a poem was inscribed:

“Fresh and fragrant; guests from all directions, family’s culinary art, savor with heart.”

The poem seemed like a modern, stylish food advertisement, somewhat exaggerated compared to the rice noodles on the table. Still, people accepted it.

I savored the food while pondering: the phrase “fragrant” often attracts attention, especially when describing freshness and tenderness. The poem’s meaning wasn’t deep—any middle schooler could understand it.

My wife was lost in thought: What to do with Niu Zhenqing in the future? Why didn’t Scarface answer the phone? Didn’t the phone show a signal?

I also had many chaotic thoughts filling my mind.

Seeing me like this, my wife urged, “Eat quickly!”

I hadn’t eaten well last night, so I ate ravenously. Meanwhile, the men’s greedy eyes never stopped staring at me, always so covetous! I remember when I was a man, it wasn’t like this.

Yet, a tall, big, baby-faced girl with golden hair and sky-blue eyes could attract a crowd without wearing a translucent dress like my wife. It wasn’t surprising at all.