Chapter 006: Dreaming of Childhood Friends

This story is purely a work of fiction.

Under the silver glow of the midnight stars, Wu Zhengzhe and Zhao Ming hurried along a country path back to Dahe. To avoid any unexpected incidents or a run-in with their pursuers, Wu Zhengzhe took a familiar shortcut. The narrow lane was just barely wide enough for two cars to pass if the drivers were skilled enough, but considering the late hour, there shouldn’t be any traffic.

Their journey went smoothly enough. In the county town, Wu Zhengzhe switched cars with a classmate. Although his friend’s car was not as robust as Wu Zhengzhe’s Hummer, Wu’s expert driving allowed them to race ahead, reaching Dahe in less than an hour.

When Wu Zhengzhe’s vehicle arrived at Dahe Hospital, he noticed Ma Shengwei’s men lurking suspiciously in one corner, whispering among themselves. Ma Shengwei, it seemed, had correctly guessed that Wu would return to the hospital and had stationed his people nearby, lying in wait.

Meanwhile, Xiyu, who had been secretly investigating, had already arranged for personnel to intercept Wu Zhengzhe and Zhao Ming before they even reached the hospital. Zhao Ming, once stopped, was transferred to an ambulance according to Xiyu’s plan, with two nurses—actually policewomen from the provincial office—ensuring that he could be brought safely to the hospital for Dujuan’s surgery, all while avoiding police checkpoints at the entrance.

The nurses placed an oxygen mask on Zhao Ming, wrapped his abdomen with medical gauze, and dabbed it with red dye to simulate blood from a supposed car accident.

Watching Zhao Ming being whisked away by the police in the ambulance, Wu Zhengzhe finally felt a weight lift from his heart—he had successfully entrusted Zhao Ming to reliable hands.

The wailing siren of the ambulance echoed as it neared the hospital entrance, where several police officers stopped it for inspection. “We’re searching for a suspect. For the hospital’s safety, we need to conduct a routine check. Please cooperate,” one officer announced.

The ambulance screeched to a halt—Wu Zhengzhe could hear the brakes from a distance.

“There’s a patient from a car accident inside. The situation is urgent,” one of the nurses explained to the officers.

“Less talking—open the door!” one policeman barked.

When the doors swung open, they saw an apparently grievously injured patient, bloodstained, with an oxygen mask and an IV drip.

The officer leaned in for a closer look, then waved his hand. “Go ahead.”

Seeing the police let them pass, Wu Zhengzhe let out a long sigh of relief. The two nurses, too, finally released the tension that had gripped their hearts.

Ma Shengwei, meanwhile, was growing increasingly agitated, unable to spot any trace of Wu Zhengzhe’s car on the surveillance feeds. He scoured the monitoring system, but came up empty-handed.

When Xiyu informed Wu Zhengzhe of the situation, Wu had already anticipated Ma Shengwei’s next move: setting up roadblocks at key intersections. When Wu told Xiyu that he had switched cars with his friend, Xiyu couldn’t help but admire his cunning: “The older, the wiser!”

The clock pointed to 10:00 a.m. Qu Wenkei and Zhao Ming’s family were all waiting for Wu Zhengzhe to pay the surgical fees, but Wu’s phone went straight to voicemail. The surgery, originally scheduled for 8:30, was repeatedly delayed. Finally, Qu Wenkei had no choice but to sign a guarantee for the surgery expenses.

Under Professor Qu’s guidance, Mingyue signed the operation consent as Zhao Ming’s guardian.

Zhao Ming, now dressed in the hospital’s blue-striped gown—several sizes too large—waved cheerfully to his family with his long arms before being wheeled into the operating room.

Inside, Professor Qu and his medical team went about their preoperative preparations with practiced order. Lying on the operating table, Zhao Ming watched as the anesthetist expelled air bubbles from a syringe. As the needle pierced his skin, a heavy drowsiness dragged at his eyelids until he finally surrendered to sleep. He began to dream—a strange, vivid dream, so clear it felt more like memory than fantasy.

He dreamed he was falling through a tunnel in time and space, his limbs bound to a white stretcher, spinning and tumbling downward into some unfathomable depth. Scenes from his childhood flickered past like film reels.

He had no idea how long he fell. At last, the stretcher seemed to lose its balance, as if it had struck something. He heard a “swish, swish, swish,” like the landing of an old propeller plane, and a stabbing pain seized his chest as the stretcher crashed into a desolate field of wild grass.

He opened his eyes to find himself shrouded in gray mist, surrounded by overgrown weeds. He lay in a damp, deserted wilderness, and faintly, he heard the wailing of ghosts—sometimes distant, sometimes shrill and close, as if right in his ear.

How did I end up in this haunted place? What is this place? It’s terrifying! The thought made him shiver.

After a long while, a skeletal figure with the word “Yamen” slung across its back approached, leading several soldiers and shining a fluorescent flashlight in his direction.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers shouted, “Director! I—I—I found something!”

The director replied, “What is it?”

“Look, there’s a man here! He’s moving—must be alive!” the soldier called out.

The director came closer, waved a finger under his nose, and said, “Oh! Still breathing!”

Taking a long spear from the soldier, the director poked Zhao Ming’s body, revealing a familiar face. The director cried out, “Hey, aren’t you Zhao Ming? What are you doing here in the middle of the night on my turf?”

Zhao Ming steadied himself and nearly fainted—these figures around him had heads but no feet. Could he have encountered ghosts?

“You know me? But I can’t for the life of me recall where we’ve met,” Zhao Ming asked, startled and apprehensive.

“Of course you don’t recognize me—it’s been nearly twenty years. I look nothing like I did when I was alive. I’m... different, you see?” the director replied.

“Different? Do you mean there are other people besides humans, or is this another world?” he pressed.

“Yes. Humans belong to the world of light—we to the world of shadows. The two realms are separate. We are ‘different’ indeed!” the director answered.

“Are you saying I’ve crossed from the world of the living into the underworld? Does that mean my time is up? No, it can’t be—my wife and son still need me. Please, I beg you, put in a good word for me with the King of Hell—let me live a little longer!” Zhao Ming pleaded with clasped hands.

“Of course I’ll plead for you. Because I am your childhood friend, Dacheng. I joined the army a year before you. Don’t you remember? Before I died, I wrote you a letter, just before heading to the front lines. But the Cat Hole became my grave—I died there on the front. It’s me, Dacheng—do you remember now?” the director said, raising his voice.

Zhao Ming, heart pounding, asked, “There’s an archive in the underworld?”

“Of course. The living have personnel bureaus, the dead have archives. Since becoming the director here, I discovered records of my past friends—including you. You’re a division chief in the world above. We keep files on all officials of that rank or higher,” Dacheng explained.

He took out a device the size of a cigarette box and tapped it with a stylus. “See? Name, date of birth, home address, employer—all here.” Zhao Ming stared in disbelief.

“The details aren’t all on this handheld. Come with me to the archives and we’ll look up your record from the world above,” Dacheng continued.

“In your previous life, you were a tiger, living on Jingyang Ridge. Over the years, you devoured many of the Liangshan heroes and enraged the heavens. The gods sent the hero Wu Song to bring you down. Because of your many misdeeds, the gods decided you should be reborn as a human,” Dacheng recounted.

“If I was a tiger, why exile me to the human world?” Zhao Ming asked.

“Because a tiger’s nature is to kill, and heaven feared you’d take more lives. Heaven is merciful, so you were sent to be reborn as a human to prevent more bloodshed. You know that writer Rousseau? He once said the human world is a vast hell, a giant gambling den, filled with disasters. Remember the great Tangshan earthquake? So many innocents perished. You were sent to the human world to taste suffering yourself—it’s where you belong,” Dacheng explained.

“If I was to endure disaster, why not send me to the mountains or earthquake zones? Why the plains?” he asked, still confused.

“Don’t you know the saying, ‘A tiger on the plains is bullied by dogs’? On the plains, you lose your predatory instincts. No meat, no blood. Even as a feline, you’re powerless!” Dacheng clarified.

“Now I understand,” Zhao Ming said, finally enlightened.

“But Dacheng, you were just a year older than me, yet you left the world so young—why was that?” Zhao Ming asked.

“I died young, but my name lives on. When I died, every local official came to my home, set up a shrine, and awarded my family the ‘Glorious Martyr’s Family’ plaque. I sacrificed for my country. Though my life was short, my name is inscribed in the annals of history. My parents have been well cared for by the Party and the government all these years. I often return home in the quiet of the night to see my loved ones and tell them about my life here. Knowing I have a good position gives them joy,” Dacheng boasted.

“What kind of position? You’re just a director,” Zhao Ming replied, a bit unimpressed.

“Don’t look down on this title—it’s the equivalent of a ministerial post among the living. That’s much higher than your current division chief rank,” Dacheng said with a hint of disdain.

“That is much higher than me. I’m just a division chief, a minor official, and I had to fight for even that. After graduating, I was assigned to the army but left after just two years to work locally,” Zhao Ming replied.

“I know. I also know about Zhengzhe. He graduated less than a year before an error cost him his position—he was demoted from deputy company commander to platoon leader and sent home. Jobs were scarce then, but with a little luck and his intelligence, he mastered the law, passed the bar, and found a good position. You only served two years, but many who served longer have it worse. Some were regimental commanders in the army but couldn’t even get a section chief post after returning. Nowadays, getting promoted to division chief is almost impossible,” Dacheng said, patting Zhao Ming on the shoulder.

“You’re right. It’s hard enough to reach this rank. But I could have gone further if only I’d seized my opportunity. Now, it’s all over. Life is unpredictable,” Zhao Ming sighed.

“Fate is decreed by heaven. No one else can be blamed for your situation. In your life, some people are your nemesis, others your benefactors. One misstep leads to regret for eternity; one lucky break, and a dog ascends to heaven. I’ve pulled up your record from the world above—take a look and reflect,” Dacheng said.

Zhao Ming heard the beeping of a massive computer as Dacheng pressed keys. “See for yourself,” he said.

Zhao Ming looked up and saw a giant screen, crystal clear, displaying the story of his life...

(To be continued)