Chapter 19: Classmate Ding Ran (Please add to your favorites and vote for this chapter!)

This was a rather tedious and meticulous task—without a bit of patience, it was impossible to carry out. Yet now, with someone at his side, watching him closely, it was clear his work was being disrupted.

"Secretary Kim, if you don't leave now, you'll be late for the ball," Zhou Sen reminded her.

Kim So-young paid him no mind; she pointed directly at the film negatives in Zhou Sen's hand, her curiosity piqued. "Zhou Sen, where did you get these photo negatives?"

"Classified. No comment."

"You think I won't find out just because you refuse to tell me?" Kim So-young snorted, clearly dissatisfied with Zhou Sen's attitude. In just a few days, the changes in him were astonishing.

"Suit yourself, Secretary Kim. If you arrive late, you'll miss your chance to snag a wealthy bachelor," Zhou Sen speculated with a hint of malice.

"I don't need to snare any rich husbands. There are plenty of men who fancy me..." Her words trailed off, and she reconsidered, "Forget it, I'm too lazy to argue with you. I'm leaving. And today's events—you mustn't tell Mr. Akiyama, or you'll bear the consequences."

Indeed, her conscience was uneasy. Zhou Sen had guessed right—this woman was full of schemes. Whatever "Mr. Akiyama wants him to accompany her to the ball" was just a pretext; she'd deliberately deceived him. If Akiyama Jisuke found out, she'd surely be reprimanded.

"I'm not interested in tattling on you. Just stay out of my business," Zhou Sen warned her, veiled but clear.

Don't cause trouble—I won't meddle in your affairs, and we can both mind our own business.

"Hmph." With a cold snort, Kim So-young turned on her heel, swaying her hips as she exited.

She knew that if she kept tangling with Zhou Sen, tonight's ball really would be ruined. Soon, several wealthy young men of Ice City would arrive; if she was late, others would beat her to them.

To borrow a fashionable phrase from later generations, Zhou Sen was nothing more than a devoted admirer, her most loyal backup.

"Miss Kim, you..."

"Shut up!"

At the warehouse entrance, Ye San'er, just returned, encountered Kim So-young. His expression was one of astonishment, clearly never having witnessed Kim So-young seeking Zhou Sen out on her own.

"Brother, I just saw Miss Kim at the door. Are you two alright?" Ye San'er stepped inside, peering at Zhou Sen with curiosity.

"What could possibly happen between us?" Zhou Sen, busy examining the markings on the negatives under the light, didn't even glance at Ye San'er as he replied.

"That's good. If something really did happen, it wouldn't be much anyway..." Ye San'er laughed, a sense of relief evident.

"Everything settled?"

"Don't worry, Brother. I specifically instructed the innkeeper—not a word will slip out," Ye San'er nodded.

"Then head back—don't go gambling. Gamblers rarely win; calculate how much you've lost already," Zhou Sen cautioned. "If you didn't have this badge, the debt collectors would have torn your house apart by now."

"Got it, Brother." Ye San'er answered sheepishly. He knew his vices were hard to shake.

The night Ye San'er stayed at Ningxiang Hall, he'd left early, probably to gamble—no wonder Zhou Sen had been plied with drink that evening.

After Ye San'er departed, Zhou Sen resumed his work.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly noticed a portion of the negatives from the Songjiang Daily was missing.

Specifically, around May of the first half of the year, nearly half a month was completely absent—no negatives, no photographic record. During that time, he hadn't published any articles in the Songjiang Daily either, as if he'd vanished from the world.

Upon further investigation, he discovered that he'd gone to Manchuria as a reporter, but there was no mention of the purpose.

Shortly after returning from Manchuria, Sherkin's position was upgraded from reporter to editor, and upon her return, she happened to meet Susanna, who worked at Darbonk Bank.

The timing was close, though nothing directly connected them. Yet Zhou Sen couldn't shake the feeling that something eluded him.

Of course, it was just intuition—a vague, inexplicable sense.

He glanced outside; night had fallen. If he didn't head home now, the journey would become difficult, though home wasn't far.

He quickly tidied up, donned his coat and scarf, pulled on his wool hat, locked the door, and headed home.

The wind was biting. Zhou Sen instinctively tightened his coat, turning away from the gusts, head down, hurrying toward his house.

On the street, only a rare few returning home could be seen. The broad avenue echoed with the sound of wind rustling the trees.

Under the dim streetlights, the shadows of those heading home stretched long.

Shuffling, clicking...

Leather boots struck the icy pavement, producing crisp sounds—a solitary figure, surrounded by a sense of desolation.

This opening—if not quite hellish, was close enough.

How was he to escape this predicament? The identity label bestowed by Father Anthony, the pressure from the Japanese.

It was clear—they wanted to drag him onto their pirate ship.

Once he'd done something wrong, stepped aboard, it would be hard to disembark. They had countless ways to ensnare him, leaving him unable to defend himself, no matter how he tried.

Alas!

If it came to that, he'd have to flee, find a place to hide, live in obscurity—he'd get through it somehow...

Lost in heavy thoughts, Zhou Sen was unaware that behind him, a slender figure in a black leather coat and matching hat, hands casually in pockets, followed him at a distance.

The shadow watched as he returned to his home on Gaoshi Street, paused briefly at the entrance, then departed.

Meow!

As soon as he entered, Lucy leapt from the living room sofa into his arms, nuzzling her little head against his chest in affection.

"Alright, Lucy, let me take off my coat and let's have dinner," Zhou Sen stroked her a few times, hearing Irina call from the dining room.

Tonight's meal was noodles, with two fried eggs and sausages.

Lucy couldn't eat noodles, but Irina had prepared breadcrumbs and her favorite dried fish for her.

The noodles were decent, though nothing compared to traditional Chinese fare—those were a myriad of varieties, one each day for months without repetition.

"Irina, don't bother making breakfast for me tomorrow."

"Master Vasim, are you dissatisfied with my cooking?" Irina asked, a little hurt.

"No, it's just that after eating your breakfast for so many years, I'd like to try something different," Zhou Sen quickly explained.

"Alright," Irina nodded. Her young master had not only changed as a person, but his tastes as well—he used to love her cooking.

Now he cooked for himself, and better than she did. He wouldn't even eat breakfast anymore. Would she be reduced to just household chores?

How could Irina's value be reflected in such a way?

A bowl of steaming pork wontons left Zhou Sen feeling utterly comfortable, every pore soothed.

Breakfast—nothing beats the delicacies handed down by our ancestors.

"Zhou Sen, it really is you. I thought my eyes were playing tricks," a voice suddenly sounded as he was about to pay and leave. A figure slid onto the seat beside him, his tone enthusiastic.

"Boss, a bowl of wontons, extra cilantro!"

"Coming right up."

"Ding Ran," Zhou Sen finally remembered—the young man before him, wearing a fur felt hat and a gray cotton robe.

"I heard you went to the police academy after graduation. It's been five or six years, hasn't it?" Ding Ran had been outgoing in middle school, Zhou Sen's desk mate, and they'd gotten along well.

"Yes. What are you doing now?"

"After graduating, I became an apprentice at the tobacco factory—my father's arrangement. I actually wanted to work for the railroad, but you know, without connections, there's no way in..." Ding Ran, once he started, hardly stopped.

He talked about working at the Old Baduo Tobacco Factory, now a supervisor over dozens of people.

After middle school, Zhou Sen had been sent to the police academy by Father Anthony, two years of military management, then assigned to Nangang Police Station. Though the tobacco factory's new plant was on North Street, it wasn't his patrol area, so he rarely went.

Ding Ran and Zhou Sen were like two parallel lines; even in the same city, unless by design, they'd rarely meet. Ice City was the Far East's little Paris, a real metropolis with over a million residents.

"You work at Old Baduo Tobacco Factory—do you know a White Russian named Balov?" Zhou Sen suddenly thought.

"Yes, he's a veteran at the factory, been there twenty years at least. He works in tobacco cutting—I work in packing, so we're not close. How do you know him?" Ding Ran was curious; Zhou Sen had never been to the factory.

"It's related to a case, just asking," Zhou Sen replied offhand. Since Ding Ran didn't know him well, there was no need to press further. He rose, "I have matters to attend to—this bowl of wontons is my treat. If you need me, find me at Nangang Police Station."

"You're really a police officer?" Ding Ran's delight was obvious. His old desk mate hadn't been talkative at school, preferred reading quietly, was timid, and never dared confess to girls he liked—often bullied.

Perhaps that was why his adoptive White Russian father insisted on sending him to the police academy.

But now, Zhou Sen had changed so much, nothing like the past—almost a different person.

People grow up, and they hadn't seen each other for five or six years.

He didn't dwell on it. Just then, the wontons arrived, and he began eating heartily. He happened to have the day off, was shopping for New Year's goods, and only met Zhou Sen by chance. Otherwise, who knows how many years would pass before they'd cross paths again.