Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 11: A Dark Rainy Night (11)

Dragon Raja 2

On July 3rd of that year, a typhoon made landfall in the city, bringing heavy rain and gale-force winds. The city declared a three-day holiday.

For the people of this coastal city, typhoons were nothing unusual, so there was no panic. Instead, they were happy to enjoy an unexpected three-day holiday at home. On a typhoon day, since people couldn’t go out, families gathered in front of the television to watch variety shows, parents taking the opportunity to make up for the time they usually couldn’t spend with their children.

Typhoons inevitably caused some trouble. For example, even though the elevated roads were closed in time, some drivers still ended up driving onto them. Eventually, when the wind got too strong, they were too scared to continue driving, and the police couldn’t get up there to rescue them. So they had to rely on their phones, instructing the drivers to park by the roadside guardrails, roll up their windows tight, and tough it out through the night in the storm. Thanks to this measure, no car was overturned by the typhoon—only some car paint got scratched up on the guardrails, and the engines got flooded. As soon as the wind subsided in the morning, tow trucks drove onto the elevated road, towing cars off one by one. Each rescued person was overjoyed—it didn’t matter if the car was damaged, since insurance would cover it. Surviving such a dangerous situation was more important than anything else. Once they got off the elevated road, they hugged their waiting families, the young people kissed passionately, the elderly shed tears—it was a very touching scene.

Eventually, the families waiting at the exit left one by one, until only one boy was left.

He had no umbrella, his whole body soaked through. He stood at the back of the crowd, staring at each car as it was towed down. He looked like he was about to freeze, his lips purple, trembling slightly, but he didn’t move. Finally, when all the tow trucks left, the boy walked over to the police officer in charge and asked, “Is that all of them?”

“That’s all of them,” the officer said. “Haven’t found your family? Don’t worry. We rescued everyone from the elevated road—no one got hurt. If you didn’t find them here, you probably just missed them. Go home and check.”

It seemed that something faint in the boy’s eyes was finally extinguished. After a long silence, he slowly squatted down, his hands supporting him on the ground, saying nothing.

The officer couldn’t see the boy’s face and thought he was crying, wanting to go over and pat his shoulder to comfort him. After all, even if something had gone wrong, a boy shouldn’t have to cry—when in trouble, find a police officer…

But suddenly, he stopped. He didn’t dare approach. He clearly saw the boy’s hands, fingers curved like claws, digging deep into the asphalt. He didn’t have time to wonder how a middle school boy could have such a terrifying strength; he only instinctively felt the overwhelming waves of grief bursting from that thin body.

On the night of July 12th, six years later, it began to rain again in the city—a light, continuous drizzle.

The World Cup finals were being held. The streets were empty, the traffic lights changing back and forth in solitude. The entire city’s population had gathered in front of different televisions, drinking beer, cheering, and jeering at the game.

Chu Zihang lay flat in the darkness, his hands folded across his chest, staring at the enamel chandelier on the ceiling. From next door, he could hear his mother and her friends screaming—probably because of a goal. They had already downed a case of beer, and if they kept drinking, the group of beautiful yet crazy aunties would end up running out to the garden, wearing low-cut silk nightgowns, holding hands and dancing wildly. But it didn’t matter. Let them be—it was good to let loose once in a while.

Tonight, his mother had already had her milk.

Chu Zihang was reciting his memories—he didn’t write his diary on paper or in electronic documents but in his mind. There were many images there, passing frame by frame. Some showed him riding on that man’s shoulders, shouting, “Giddy up, giddy up!”; some showed the only expensive toy the man had bought him—a model train set; others showed the moment that man had rated the coolest of his life, standing with his legs apart, holding a sacred or god-slaying sword… Every night before going to bed, Chu Zihang would recall each scene, recalling every detail until he confirmed that he hadn’t forgotten anything.

The teacher of “Introduction to Neuroscience,” Toyama Masashi, said that human memory was unreliable, like a fragile hard drive prone to demagnetization. The past was like a drawing in the sand; as time passed, the sand was blown away, the memory blurred, and in the end, it faded away completely, impossible to make out.

Toyama Masashi said that this was actually the brain’s self-protection mechanism. Imagine if you could remember every detail of the past, never forgetting anything—then the saddest, most painful, most sorrowful moments of your life would keep torturing you, and you would never be able to move on from a bad place.

But Chu Zihang didn’t want to forget. Because in this world, he was the only one who still remembered that man. If he forgot too, that man would be as though he had never existed.

That man once said that if one day he died, there would be only one thing in the world to prove he existed—the half of his blood that flowed in Chu Zihang.

“Dad, it’s raining again,” Chu Zihang said softly after recalling the last image.

The rain pounded against the window. He slowly closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Series Navigation

<< Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 10: A Dark Rainy Night (10)Dragon Raja 2; Chapter 12: A Birthday Cake is the Grave of Youth >>