Chapter 22: The Young Mistress Arrives (Bonus Chapter)

He did not know if this could be considered a disappearance in any meaningful sense, but since the timeline did not add up, he still asked their homeroom teacher about her.

Old Song, not in the mood for conversation, sat in the office with a sullen face, only saying that he saw her head to the library to be with a group of friends.

Zhang Shutong realized it upon a moment’s reflection: if that abandoned drainage tunnel was the secret base for his own gang of close friends, then the library held much the same significance for Gu Qiumian—after all, it had been built by her family.

In that two-story building, the art classroom upstairs, which had long sat vacant, served as the headquarters for Gu Qiumian and her retinue of followers.

Sometimes, when returning to the classroom after lunch, one could see Gu Qiumian coming down from the upper floor. She would smooth the hair behind her ear, followed by a large procession of people, sweeping through the campus in a grand display.

Zhang Shutong was still pondering the events of the long break. He had no leads yet, and what struck him as strange was Gu Qiumian’s attitude. She was the one who had argued with him, eyes red over a scarf, yet she was also the one who remained indifferent when her toy castle was smashed to pieces.

It was impossible to tell which side was the real Gu Qiumian; perhaps both were.

Zhang Shutong was still unsure how to categorize this matter. Was it a continuation of the scarf incident? If so, that would be fine—though it sounded cold-blooded, it meant the matter had nothing to do with a homicide, and thus, he could pay less attention to it.

But if Gu Qiumian’s death were truly the result of retaliation by a student…

Zhang Shutong pinched the bridge of his nose.

That couldn't be it. It would be too absurd.

Just then, Ruoping and the others ran over, calling him to go out for lunch. Their school was too small—or to use the official explanation, to increase employment opportunities for the island’s residents, the school simply allowed students to go out for lunch, which also supported the surrounding eateries.

There was no need to worry about food safety. Even at the roadside stalls, people on the island were familiar faces; even if you didn't know someone personally, you’d have a general impression of them. If you threw away your conscience for a bit of money, you’d be cursed behind your back for the rest of your life.

Ruoping shouted for everyone to have a celebratory feast. The four of them prepared to go out to eat together. They had intended to call Lu Qinglian because of last night’s events, but when they looked back, the girl had long since vanished, drifting off to who knows where.

Zhang Shutong was deep in thought, moving a bit sluggishly. Seeing Ruoping glare at him, she snapped, "Still thinking about your deskmate? Not even going to eat? Why don't you go find her and ask the young lady if she’s going to take care of your lunch?" She sounded as if she were ready to sever their friendship right there.

Zhang Shutong was dragged up, feeling a bit helpless. But on second thought, he had to eat, and since he had no leads anyway, he might as well go for a walk.

As they walked, Dukang took the initiative to discuss Zhou Ziheng, half because he found the other boy's guilty conscience strange, and half because he thought the kid was too cunning.

Ruoping laughed after listening for a while:

"Can’t you guys tell that Zhou Ziheng likes Gu Qiumian? I think the reason he didn't want to tell Shutong at the time is quite simple: isn't he just jealous?"

Every girl is a master when it comes to matters of the heart:

"Think about it. If it were you, and you discovered the girl you liked was in danger, you rush over to tell her, but she ignores you completely. A while later, her deskmate comes over to ask questions—oh, and Zhou Ziheng is her old deskmate too. The contrast makes it even more intense. If it were you, you wouldn't be happy either, would you?"

Zhang Shutong had been puzzled by Zhou Ziheng’s attitude, but with this explanation, many things fell into place. He nodded in sudden realization:

"If that’s the case, it’s easier to handle..."

"What do you mean?" Ruoping asked curiously. "Do you know who did it?"

"No."

"Then why talk big?"

"I’ve just ruled out Zhou Ziheng, which narrows the scope."

"Shouldn't ruling him out make it even more confusing?"

Ruoping was skeptical and asked Qingyi:

"What about you, Qingyi?"

"I’m really not sure this time. But there is one suspicious point: does the toilet partition really have anything to do with this? Why would someone seeking revenge write a name on a partition, as if they were afraid of not being exposed?"

"Then tell us, Shutong, who is the killer?"

"I can't figure out that point Qingyi mentioned either," Zhang Shutong said, spreading his hands. "So, there’s no way to be sure who it is right now. I only have a rough train of thought, very hasty. At the earliest, it will be tomorrow."

Ruoping curled her lip and ignored him.

The group continued talking about lunch. Their destination was the island’s only commercial street, located in the central district.

The reason they called it a commercial street was that, for a celebratory feast, getting rice bowls at the school gate felt lacking in style. However, since the island lacked gathering spots for teenagers like KFC or McDonald's, they settled for the next best thing and went to the island’s most prosperous area.

This "prosperity," however, required quotation marks. It was merely a long street lined with shops: a supermarket, a bubble tea shop, various restaurants, a rental bookstore, and a two-dollar shop selling small trinkets.

They say that even a small sparrow has all the internal organs, and there was even a fried chicken and burger joint there. Zhang Shutong remembered it being called "Ken De Ji" (a clever play on KFC). Honestly, it was quite innovative.

It took only ten minutes to bike from the school to the commercial street. Returning to this place again, Zhang Shutong felt a sense of nostalgia.

The entire road was about ten meters wide, roughly equivalent to four lanes. On both sides were uneven storefronts, though the tallest were only two stories high, with people living upstairs and shops downstairs.

Other students also biked here to hang out, mostly girls—perhaps to eat, or to buy hair ties and clips. Ruoping’s schoolbag was full of such things.

But even with the students and passersby, the street wasn't crowded, and it was poorly kept. Black, dirty snow was piled on both sides of the curb. Every few steps, one could see snack wrappers discarded on the ground. As the cold wind blew, the plastic wrappers on straws tumbled along with them, creating a desolate scene.

Eight years later, when attending a funeral, Zhang Shutong had passed by on the only bus line. Back then, he had assumed the commercial street was long gone, but to his surprise, it was still there. Comparing it to now, there was barely any difference after eight years.

"Still the same as ever."

Unlike Ruoping and the others, who were head-down and biking straight toward the restaurant, he looked around every few steps.

"Then take a good look, then."

To his surprise, Ruoping also stopped her bike and looked around, as if trying to commit the appearance of the area to memory. She sighed:

"It’ll be gone soon, too. Who knows where we’ll be eating in the future... but by then, we’ll be in high school in the city, probably on a real commercial street."

"That would be perfect. I’ve always wanted to try Pizza Hut. I heard one just opened in the city," Dukang chimed in. "We haven't had real Western food yet. Pizza, steak, the three-piece set... what was the other thing?"

Zhang Shutong wanted to tell him that Pizza Hut wasn't exactly authentic Western food, but seeing their sudden interest, he felt the process itself was beautiful—discovering the world beyond the small island, bit by bit.

It was like a child strolling on the beach, treating every seashell they found as a treasure. But that wasn't the issue. Zhang Shutong was more concerned with what Ruoping had said:

"What do you mean, 'it’ll be gone soon'?"

It was clearly still there eight years later. He wondered if that "Ken De Ji" had opened any chains.

"You have the nerve to call yourself a child of the island," Ruoping said dismissively. "You really are an ignorant city boy."

What was with this inexplicable regional discrimination?

Ruoping joked, in good spirits:

"Even though we’re graduating soon, Shutong, you really should pay more attention to things on the island. Why don't you go ask your deskmate? This whole thing actually has a lot to do with her."

"What does it have to do with Gu Qiumian?"

"To be precise, it has to do with her father," Dukang interjected. "Look over there first—"

Zhang Shutong followed where he was pointing and saw a three-story building in the distance—on the island, three stories really counted as a high-rise.

"Isn't that Beiyi Mall?"

Zhang Shutong knew it. It was the largest building on the island, a department store. In reality, it was much like a large supermarket and nowhere near a real commercial plaza.

The first floor seemed to be a supermarket, the second floor sold clothes, and the third floor was a hodgepodge of home appliances, stationery, toys... all sorts of things.

The footprint of the mall wasn't large. He called it a "mall" out of habit, but from his current perspective, it was just a medium-to-large supermarket.

"Don't tell me you didn't know that was built by Gu Qiumian's dad?" Ruoping asked, surprised.

When she put it that way, Zhang Shutong had a vague memory. When the mall opened, his parents had received a gift card and gone inside to stock up on a bunch of goods.

"So what does that have to do with the commercial street disappearing..." As he said this, Zhang Shutong realized. "Seriously? How come I never heard of this before?"

"You were too busy thinking about fish."

Ruoping slowed down, biking alongside him, and explained the whole story:

"If it were closer to this street, it would be fine—it would bring in foot traffic. But it’s too far away, and people have been sucked away by the mall. The mall has basically everything this street has, but with more styles, and sometimes they hold promotions with lower prices. Tell me, how can this place compete? My mom likes to go there now to snatch up eggs—oh, Dukang has the most to say about that."

Dukang took over, looking a bit shaken:

"You’re telling me. My dad told me that it’s a good thing our family’s restaurant is far from there, or business would be tough. I’ve heard what Ruoping was talking about, too. It seems... Gu Qiumian’s dad originally had his eye on this land to build the mall. The relocation talks were almost done, but some people started demanding exorbitant prices. Anyway, it fell through."

"Then Gu Qiumian’s dad, being a hard-nosed guy, simply chose another spot to build the mall, and he squeezed this place out of business. I heard they’re talking about relocation again recently, but I don't know the details..."

"No wonder..." Zhang Shutong mused.

"No wonder what?"

"No wonder Gu Qiumian has so many snacks in her schoolbag. Her family runs a supermarket." As soon as he said this, he received a glare from Ruoping.

Actually, he wanted to say, "No wonder the commercial street was still there eight years later." Gu Qiumian would die in a few days; he guessed the relocation Dukang mentioned hadn't been settled.

As they talked, they arrived at the restaurant. It was a local specialty place called "Jia Nan Lake Fish House." It was the largest on the street and even had private rooms.

The food was delicious, cheap, and the portions were large. If they were looking for a place to gather on the island, this fish house was their first choice.

They were all regular customers. As they entered, they saw a plump woman. Ruoping called her "Auntie" with such sweetness that the landlady’s face crinkled into a smile.

The interior had a distinct sense of age: crates of beer and a drink cooler by the door, white walls stained with a faint layer of grease, and wooden tables and chairs polished smooth by time. The tables were covered with floral cloths topped with tempered glass, which fit perfectly with the desolate scene outside. The main hall was empty; they were the first guests.

Dukang went straight to the counter to get the menu. It was laminated and looked like it had been in use forever, feeling sticky to the touch. The four of them sat down, heads huddled together, studying what to order.

Dukang, with his family background, wanted to show off his culinary knowledge, immediately claiming which dishes were the most authentic, but he was silenced by a tap on the head from Ruoping. Unconvinced, he insisted on ordering the stir-fried shrimp.

Ruoping loved sweets and ordered candied sweet potatoes. Qingyi’s taste was always consistent; he only ate the braised fish noodles there.

Finally, the three turned their gaze to Zhang Shutong. He couldn't think of anything and wanted to say "anything is fine," but Ruoping hated "anything." So, after a long time, he suggested shredded potatoes with vinegar and chili.

Ruoping tapped him again, asking if he had any ambition—they were here for a celebration, did he understand? He had to change it to braised pork ribs, a dish he knew all three of them liked.

While waiting for the food, Dukang shouted that they had to have some white liquor today. Qingyi hesitated, saying they had classes in the afternoon and wasn't that pushing it? Ruoping, acting like a knight-errant, slammed the table and said, "What are you afraid of? I’ll take the blame! Auntie, four bottles first, we’ll add more if we need it—"

So the landlady brought over four bottles of Nutrition Express.

They were quite ritualistic. They couldn't drink straight from the bottles; it had to be poured into glasses. Dukang was best at these occasions, and his toast flowed effortlessly: he noted that Comrades Qingyi, Ruoping, and Shutong had done a great job fighting crime last night, and in the name of all the island residents, he thanked them.

Zhang Shutong laughed while wondering what on earth he was talking about. By then, the other three had already stood up, waiting for him. Zhang Shutong stood up too, and four glasses clinked together. The smiles on their young faces bloomed in unison:

"Cheers!"

The crisp sound of the glasses rang out. Before the four heroes could finish their Nutrition Express, a male student suddenly pushed open the shop door, completely ruining the mood.

Dukang looked over, very annoyed, as if saying, "You kid, take a good look at who we are. Didn't we just see you at the flagpole during the long break?"

The boy didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his eyebrows in a show of defiance and shouted into the shop:

"Boss, any tables left?"

The landlady hurried over with a smile, "Of course! How many of you are there? Come in and sit anywhere, I’ve even got private rooms!"

The boy was dismissive, saying, "We’ve got a lot of people." As he spoke, he gestured toward the four of them, as if they were an eyesore, adding, "Just hoping your shop is big enough."

Dukang was so angry he laughed. "Look how arrogant this guy is. How many could there be? Are they trying to book the whole place? I’ll count them in a minute."

Then the boy ran out again. Through the shop door, they could hear him say, "Only one table inside, just students, they aren't too much of a bother. How about we just eat here?"

A moment later, the boy ran back, but instead of entering immediately, he held the door open as if expecting a massive crowd.

Dukang curled his lip and began to count: one, two, three, four... he counted up to thirteen, his eyes widening with each number.

"No way, there’s really that many?" With a white ring of yogurt on his lips, he looked stunned. "Are they here to eat or for a gang summit?"

But it wasn't over. The students who had entered the shop didn't rush to sit down. Instead, they looked behind them, automatically clearing a path. Zhang Shutong looked back at that "welcoming aisle" and suddenly felt a premonition.

Then, his premonition came true.

At the fish house entrance, the boy standing at the door gave them a disdainful smile.

Then, the leader of the gang—or rather, a small boot—stepped inside.