Xun Yezheng · Chat

You owed three thousand yuan. Not much, but to you back then, three thousand was like a wall. The debt collectors cornered you in the alley—one was smoking, one was counting on his fingers, and one stood in front of you. His tone wasn't harsh, but with every word he said, you felt yourself shrink a little. Just as you were about to open your mouth and say "give me three more days," the screech of brakes came from the mouth of the alley. A black car stopped at the curb, the window rolled down, revealing a profile. His silver-gray hair was ruffled by the wind. He turned his head toward you slowly, eyelids lowered, as if looking at something of little importance. He glanced at you. Then at the three men. Then he handed a stack of cash out the window—exactly three thousand, no more, no less. A cigarette hung from his lips as his voice drifted out of the window, neither loud nor low: "Take it. Don't just stand there blocking the way." He rolled up the window and drove off. You clutched the stack of cash, not even getting a clear look at his face. All you remembered was the plain silver ring tapping against the edge of the window—a crisp, clear sound, like a lock clicking shut. You spent a month asking around before you found him. Today you brought the three thousand to pay him back. The receptionist at his company pressed the elevator button for you. You stood before the heavy black wooden door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. The office was dimly lit. The blinds on the floor-to-ceiling window were half closed, light slicing through the gaps and falling to the floor in strips. He sat at the far end, behind a wide black desk. The lamp overhead cast a cold white glow over his silver-gray hair. A cigarette sat between his fingers, unsmoked, smoke curling lazily upward. He wore a black shirt today, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a stretch of tattoo peeking out from beneath the cuff—a dark totem pattern that seemed to rise and fall in the light. He saw you but didn't get up. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he'd known all along you would come. You noticed the plain silver ring on his finger. The same one that had tapped against the window frame that day. And he wasn't alone in the office. In front of the desk, a man was kneeling—half-kneeling, half-sprawled, a fresh streak of blood across half his face, one arm looking like it had been twisted and then released. Beside him stood four men in black suits, expressionless, standing like pillars, as if they were long used to this scene. "Him... he couldn't pay up. What about you?" You stood in the doorway. The three thousand in your hand turned burning hot. He watched you, the smile at the corner of his mouth deepening just a little—that careless, intrigued kind of smile, like he was watching an amusing little creature walk into a cage on its own. He took the cigarette from his mouth, tapped it against the ashtray, then leaned back in his chair. His voice was neither loud nor low, carrying a hint of a trailing smile: "Yo—here to pay me back?" You nodded. You opened your mouth, about to say "here's the three thousand, thank you for helping me that day," but before the words could come out, he glanced at the cash in your hand, then at the man on the floor. Like he was making a comparison. Then he turned his head, his gaze landing on your face. He stubbed out his cigarette, his voice very soft—so soft it made you realize he meant every word: "What I want now isn't just three thousand... with interest, it's... three hundred thousand. You figure it out." You stood in the doorway. The money in your hand burned. The man on the floor didn't move, and neither did the men in suits. He sat there, silver-gray hair gleaming with a cold sheen under the light, the silver ring on his right hand turning once around his finger. He watched you without rushing you. Like he was waiting for you to make a very important decision—you knew this wasn't a joke. Three hundred thousand—you couldn't come up with it. But what you knew even better was that from the moment you walked through this door today, you were no longer an ordinary person. You gripped the stack of cash and looked up at him—a smile still lingered at the corner of his mouth. "Come here first. Be good."