Prophis lowered his gaze to his gun. Before him, Bai Shi had not spoken for a full minute. He kept his head down, seemingly immersed in his own emotions—or so Prophis chose to interpret it.
He ventured to speak: "You know as well as I do that some people are truly ungrateful. No matter how well you treat them, no matter what you've done for them..."
Bai Shi looked up. His pupils were a pure, deep black. His expression wasn't one of agony as Prophis had imagined; instead, it was remarkably calm as he waited for Prophis to continue.
Prophis read the atmosphere as naturally as he breathed, and he instantly realized that Bai Shi wasn't grieving. He shifted his tone accordingly. "If there is something you wish to do, I hope I can be of some assistance."
Bai Shi sat up straight, his fingers interlaced on the table. "Is that so?"
Prophis gave a slight nod. While he wouldn't call it fear, he felt an indescribable wariness toward Bai Shi.
He watched as Bai Shi stood up. Prophis quickly raised his gun, aiming it at him. Bai Shi frowned slightly, looking somewhat puzzled. He raised his hands and stood still. "You said you wanted to help."
Prophis didn't move. Bai Shi was much younger than him; it wasn't an exaggeration to say he could have had a son Bai Shi's age. However, this didn't instill the slightest bit of goodwill in him toward the young man.
Bai Shi took a tentative step forward. Ultimately, Prophis did not force him back.
Prophis’s hesitation stemmed largely from the fact that Bai Shi looked somewhat helpless at that moment. From the first time he met Bai Shi, he knew this young man had been raised to be exceptionally arrogant and overbearing because he had the world at his beck and call. He wanted everything, and he wanted the best of everything. Prophis came from a harsh background and had an innate instinct for spotting "young masters." Even though Bai Shi exuded a dangerous aura, in Prophis’s eyes, it was merely the incurable inner demons of the wealthy. At the end of the day, to Prophis, no inner demon was as terrifying as being broke.
Thus, in his previous dealings with Bai Shi, he had maintained a certain level of confidence that he could manipulate him.
Now, Bai Shi had managed to make him lower his guard, at least a little.
Bai Shi walked toward him and looked down at him. Prophis pressed the gun against Bai Shi’s chin, his finger resting on the trigger. Bai Shi watched him and slowly lowered himself, kneeling on the floor. His knees pressed against Prophis’s feet, and his hands rested on Prophis’s legs.
Prophis was startled, his palms breaking into a layer of sweat. The muzzle of his gun was pressed against Bai Shi’s pale cheek, trembling slightly. The barrel nudged Bai Shi’s face, causing him to frown. Prophis hesitated for a moment, then withdrew the gun.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Bai Shi looked up at him. At that moment, Prophis felt an ill-timed flash of surprise at how handsome Bai Shi’s face was, only to hear him say: "I want to confess."
Prophis froze for a few seconds before saying, "I’m not a priest."
Bai Shi nodded. "That doesn't matter."
Prophis began to feel uncomfortable now. Bai Shi’s eeriness had reawakened his vigilance.
"First, regarding murder," Bai Shi began his narration.
Prophis wasn't sure what to do. If he stood up forcefully—Bai Shi didn't look as strong as him—perhaps he could try.
"The first time I killed someone, it was a person just like you."
Prophis’s movement to stand up stiffened. He looked down at the crown of Bai Shi’s head. Bai Shi’s palms remained on his knees. He didn't look up, and his voice was soft. In the dim light, it sounded distant and serene.
"I didn't know him. I only found out his name later. But I had to do it. After that, I often had this feeling." Bai Shi looked up. "That I *must* do it. The feeling is similar to..."
He frowned, searching for an adjective.
Prophis offered: "A sense of mission."
"Something like that." Bai Shi continued, "But I don't feel any guilt. Is that normal?"
"It’s not."
"Then when you do those things, do you feel guilt?"
Prophis leaned back, squinting at Bai Shi. "Is it necessary for us to have a heart-to-heart here?"
Bai Shi let go of him, shifting from a kneeling position to sitting cross-legged on the floor. He brushed his hair back, shedding his "good boy" expression.
"I don't understand," Bai Shi said.
Prophis grew increasingly uneasy. Bai Shi’s ability to switch between different states made one wonder if he even existed at all, or if he was just a ghost pieced together from a collection of shadows.
"Who do you think is more wicked, you or me?"
Prophis looked at Bai Shi. "You."
Bai Shi stood up abruptly. Prophis’s gun barrel followed the movement, letting out a click. Bai Shi didn't even glance at it. He paced the room, frowning, walking quickly, yet still remembering to straighten his cuffs.
"No. No. You are more wicked—or we’re about the same," he said. "You see, it’s not fair."
Prophis spat. "Fair? You think you’re in a position to talk about fairness?" He stood up. "I’ve had enough of you. This isn't the place for you to play out your madness. Get the hell out."
Bai Shi seemed not to hear him. "I only did what everyone should do. I don't get along with the law. It doesn't satisfy me, so I don't listen to it. It’s unfair, and I’m abnormal, so neither of us owes the other anything."
Prophis racked the slide of his gun.
Bai Shi stopped in his tracks. "I don't want to go to prison."
Prophis looked at him coldly. "Get out, or the consequences will be worse than prison."
Bai Shi’s manic energy dissipated. Standing two paces away from Prophis, he gave a gentle smile. "I can't let you go."
"Why?"
Bai Shi spread his hands. "I just can't. You have to let her go. And them."
Prophis shook his head slightly. "She is my business. The other one betrayed you."
"That has nothing to do with it," Bai Shi said. "Like you just said: a sense of mission."
Prophis reacted as if he’d heard a joke. "A murderer shouldn't use such pretty words. Don't you find it disgusting?" He looked at Bai Shi with contempt. "Murder is your mission? You might as well say Matthew’s mission was to record the life of Judas."
"What?" Bai Shi paused, then realized the reference and shook his head. "Not that kind of mission."
He said, "My mission is to protect him."
Prophis’s face twitched. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Bai Shi took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "I don't know. A twisted fate, I suppose."
He smiled.
Prophis took a step back in disgust. At this distance, he could blow Bai Shi’s head off with one shot.
Just as he moved back, he saw Bai Shi leap forward with indescribable speed. He dodged the shot that was fired and grabbed the gun barrel. The scorching metal instantly burned his hand, emitting a faint smell of singed flesh, but Bai Shi was already in his face.
Before Prophis could fire another shot, the gun was snatched away and tossed aside. The misfired gun discharged a round of buckshot onto the floor, which then ricocheted into the chandelier above. The chandelier shattered, shards of glass flying everywhere. Prophis instinctively tried to duck, but Bai Shi grabbed him by the collar, rendering him immobile. Bai Shi didn't even blink; a falling shard sliced his forehead, and a drop of blood slid down, coming to rest on his eyelashes.
Prophis felt as if he were witnessing a judgment. Bai Shi’s voice echoed in his mind—that word "confession" rang like a midnight bell, booming dully in the heavens. He suddenly recalled the day he was born, his mother dying in a pool of blood; the biting dog on that street, his drunken father, the floor covered in wine bottles, the countless injuries; the priest’s leisurely tone on Sundays, the white doves released by the church while only crows circled the dome day and night. The white clerical collar, the rough hands, the ruby ring, the purple robes; a withered palm grasping a young boy’s ankle, a snake-like red tongue licking a naked back beneath purple fabric; and that crucifix that always swayed before his eyes, alongside the shadows of crows flying past the stained glass.
Bai Shi clenched both fists and swung from both sides of Prophis’s head. They carried a gust of wind and slammed hard against his ears. The roar of that moment was like the church bells he had heard countless times in his youth, always ringing during his most defiled moments.
Then, there was silence.
Blood flowed from his ears. He could no longer hear any sound.
He slumped limply to the floor and looked up at Bai Shi. There was no fear, no terror, no expression, no reaction. In this pocket of tranquility, he asked, "You know everything."
Bai Shi looked down at him without speaking.
Prophis almost wanted to cry.
"You’re going to kill me, aren't you?"
Bai Shi said nothing.
The police sirens arrived leisurely, twenty minutes after the shotgun blast. By then, Bai Shi was already in Prophis’s car.
He saw the police arriving in droves through the rearview mirror. With this much manpower, it was only a matter of time before they found him.
Before that, he had to return to his current hideout to prepare his things. He might be facing another flight, or he might be killed today.
This was the cost of living as a fugitive.
But regardless of the outcome, he was alone.
After they moved in, Pei Cangyu’s movements had been secretive. It hadn't taken much effort for Bai Shi to discover Vanessa hidden in the empty house next door, along with a packed bag—food and supplies enough for a three-day escape.
If they were going to the police, that was about enough.
Bai Shi rolled down the window and bit into a cigarette. He held the steering wheel with one hand and flicked a lighter with the other.
But the wind was too strong; the flame kept failing to catch. Bai Shi leaned down close, but the flame flickered and died.
After several attempts, Bai Shi cursed under his breath and threw both the lighter and the cigarette out the window.
Pei Cangyu.
Pei Cangyu.
Bai Shi recited the name, wishing he could crush those three syllables between his teeth.
Even though he had stopped Prophis from going after him, it didn't mean Bai Shi wasn't angry.
Betrayal. Any kind of betrayal was still betrayal, no matter the reason.
Bai Shi drove fast. He didn't have much time; he might not be able to escape this town this time.
Behind the stars on the horizon, the night was heavy and dark.
Two in the morning was a good time for a night flight.
He was fleeing, heading for the next safe house. Pei Cangyu was also fleeing, escaping from his side with that girl.
Everything felt like a repeat of when they were fourteen. They had never said goodbye, never talked things out. Bai Shi always provided the best solutions; no one could be more decisive than him, yet Pei Cangyu didn't know how to be grateful.
Forgiveness was impossible.
Bai Shi pulled into the parking lot, the brakes letting out a sharp screech. He took his hands off the steering wheel; as he gripped them into fists, his knuckles let out a series of cracks. He got out of the car and slammed the door.
He walked toward "home." It was pitch black, the house seemingly deserted.
Bai Shi kicked open the gate and strode toward the house. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. A chair had been wedged against the door; he kicked it aside, sending it tumbling.
Bai Shi needed to get his new passport—assuming Pei Cangyu hadn't thrown it away.
Just as he moved, he felt his foot step on something soft, followed by a whimper.
A dog?
The lights in the room suddenly snapped on. Bai Shi looked up and saw Pei Cangyu’s hand moving away from the switch. In his other hand, he held a handgun, aimed straight at Bai Shi.
"Walk over here," Pei Cangyu said.
Bai Shi’s brow furrowed. "Dammit, is everyone going to point a gun at me today?"
***
