Sometimes, life really is a mysterious thing.
Real life isn’t like movies or TV dramas—where every plot, direction, and value feels predictable. Life is chaotic, messy, meaningless. If you aren’t strong enough to give it meaning, it can drive you mad.
I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor. Early morning silence hung in the air. Not far away, an old man in farmer’s clothes leaned against the wall, head bowed with age, breathing evenly.
Long Ge was still in the ICU. Around dawn, a doctor stepped out. He rubbed his tired eyes and asked our relationship. “She’s my younger sister,” I said. Without a word, he handed me a form. “Not optimistic,” he murmured—ruptured spleen, minor spinal fracture, severe bruising on the left arm…
I barely heard him. Took the form. Signed hastily, dazed. He turned and vanished back into the ICU. The red light glowed. Even now, it feels unreal. I sat there wondering—did that doctor even come?
Li Goudan came down from the mountains. Saw city lights, neon glow, bustling streets. He dreamed of that life. Found work in a third-tier city, washing dishes day and night. Saved enough to rent a room. Full of hope. Then—his parents fell gravely ill. All his savings went to their treatment. A sudden blow. Back to zero.
He worked harder. Cursed fate. As a country boy, he faced sneers. When he spoke of seeing the world, people scoffed. Then—accidentally tangled in a gang feud. Gunfire. Running. Hunted. Police arrived. Arrested everyone. By chance, Li Goudan found drug money hidden in a ventilation duct.
He used it to heal his parents, moved into the city. Believed a lesson: strive for your dream, and you’ll get it—even if your path is wrong, even if it’s futile, money will fall from the sky.
But that’s TV.
Real life? A good man, family destitute, their only hope. Boards a bus to the city. Landslide. Gone forever.
Like Long Ge. He used to fight, had a short temper—but it wasn’t his fault. Grew up in that world. Learned: never back down, charge in; whoever shouts loudest wins. And for a while… it worked.
Then one day, she became a woman. Cut all ties. Got a job. Started fresh. One evening after work, she said, “Dinner’s on me.” A motorcycle sped past. Sent her flying two meters. That’s life.
The corridor stayed silent. I looked up. Wall clock: 5:56 AM. Five minutes after the crash, sirens wailed down the pedestrian street. Two vehicles arrived. One team unfolded a stretcher, loaded Long Ge into the ambulance. Officers from the other dispersed the crowd. Some approached me, notebooks open, lips moving. I heard nothing. The lead officer sighed. Sounds sharpened. “Come to the city police station at ten. When you’re calm.” This time, I understood.
Footsteps echoed—soft, approaching. I kept my eyes on the floor.
They slowed. Someone sat beside me.
I turned.
A petite girl in a black hoodie. Dim light traced her profile: pale skin, black strands escaping her hood, a straight, fair nose.
Neither Lao Han nor I spoke. Silence so deep you could hear a pin drop. After a moment, she whispered, “Morning run. Heard something happened.”
I stayed quiet.
“How’s Long Ge?”
I leaned forward, hands clasped over my mouth. Paused. Repeated the doctor’s words: “Ruptured spleen… minor spinal fracture… severe bruising on the left arm…”
Lao Han: “The police?”
“Ten o’clock. Police station.”
She stared at the wall, lowered her eyes, nodded.
“If I find who did this,” I heard myself say, voice raw, unfamiliar, “I’ll tear them apart.”
Lao Han was silent. Then: “Medical costs?”
“Forty, fifty thousand. Spine injury… small chance of paralysis.”
She paused. Softly: “Enough? I called Lao Chu. She offered to cover it.”
I shook my head. “Don’t involve her. Pulls all-nighters on that crappy code. Passed out from low blood sugar last week—landed in the hospital half a day. I’ll handle the money. Other things… later.”
Dawn brightened outside. Sunlight spilled gold. The old farmer in the corner, still asleep, his tense lips softened.
I stood. Lao Han turned her head. “Where to?”
I exhaled. Stretched my stiff limbs. Walked toward the exit.
She followed silently. I glanced back. Her face pale, dark eyes hidden under the hood, watching me intently.
“Going down for soy milk. You’re hungry too… Old man’s downstairs. Still asleep. Keep an eye on him later?”
She held my gaze. “Of course.”
“Mm.”
I smiled, turned away. Sky washed azure. Sun clean and warm. Thin clouds drifted. Down below, the tea-egg vendor rubbed her hands, calling to passersby.
From behind, Lao Han’s voice, gentle: “I was afraid you’d do something reckless.”
I laughed softly. “I’ve done plenty of stupid things. One or two more won’t matter.”
I turned to leave.
“Lu Ren!”
I turned calmly.
Sunlight warmed my back. Lao Han squinted against the glare, face pale—almost translucent, like Long Ge’s. Black hair spilled from her hood.
“That’s my brother.” My voice cracked—hoarse, dry, choked. Not my own. “She was hit right in front of me… Lao Han. That’s my brother.”
Lao Han stared. Stunned. Then bowed her head in silence.
Sunlight pooled quietly in the corridor.
I walked on.
