One Third Remaining Chapter Fifty: Reunion

There will be days when flowers bloom again, and moments when people meet once more.

When Hou San’s head blossomed red, Huang Mao was just fifty meters from the pharmacy, casting a fleeting glance toward it. Often, a seemingly insignificant gesture can alter the course of events dramatically; after all, a friend and an enemy are separated only by a turn of the heart.

With that glance, Huang Mao spotted an old acquaintance—now an adversary. He slipped behind the nearest tree, furtively pulling out his phone to warn Zhang Xiaoman.

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you. Huang Mao could no longer recall who had said that—perhaps a foreign philosopher, perhaps a dog-riding archer in some game. Whoever it was, he now understood the suffocating sense within those words.

His finger hovered above the dial button; just a tap, and he could reach Zhang Xiaoman, but at that moment it felt impossibly heavy, as if weighed down by a thousand pounds. While he hid behind the tree, a man with the bulk of a pig silently appeared before him. Staring at the man’s millstone-sized face, Huang Mao forced an awkward smile. “Fat Bro, what a coincidence! We just said goodbye and now bump into each other again… It’s fate that brings people together even from a thousand miles away!”

Zhu Dachang frowned, imitating the fierce look of a village dog. “Weren’t you following us?”

“Come on, just kidding…” Huang Mao laughed awkwardly, remembering the time in the auto repair shed when he was below and Zhu Dachang was above, baring his teeth and staring him down. Knowing if he didn’t explain himself, a blow would surely follow, he quickly put away his phone. “Just passing by… When you left, I was still tied to the table. It took ages to break the ropes; by then, you’d long gone from the shop. I didn’t put any tracker on you, so how could I follow?”

Zhu Dachang rubbed his chin, considering for a moment as he sized up Huang Mao. “That… makes some sense. I’ll believe you for now.” His lips curled into a sly grin, his shoulders shrugged. “Sometimes luck just works that way—the pillow arrives when sleep beckons.” He rested a hand on Huang Mao’s shoulder, staring into his eyes. “Got your ID card?”

Huang Mao crossed his arms, brow furrowed, sniffing. “Fat Bro… let’s negotiate. I’ll do anything you ask… just don’t make me pick up the soap, it’s a bit unhygienic…”

“Pick up what soap?” Zhu Dachang scratched the back of his head and glanced at Hou San lying at the pharmacy entrance, growing anxious. “Just tell me if you have your ID, no nonsense!”

“I do…” Huang Mao’s lips trembled as he confessed, shutting his eyes in resignation. After a few seconds, he added, “Fat Bro… picking up the soap isn’t impossible, just please don’t be too rough…”

Zhu Dachang’s eyes brightened, a smile spreading across his face as he grabbed Huang Mao’s arm. “Good! Let’s hurry, time waits for no one.”

“Fat Bro, I think we should take it slow, don’t rush…” Huang Mao complained, his face drawn. “It’s my first time, I need some mental preparation…”

“Preparation my foot! If you take your time, Third Brother will be dead.” Zhu Dachang hurried Huang Mao to the pharmacy entrance, hoisted Hou San onto his back, glanced at the bloody stone nearby, and quietly kicked it into the grass. Rolling his eyes, he concocted a lie: “Go flag down a car right now. We must get to the hospital quickly—Third Brother’s wound got worse. If we had IDs, we’d have gone to the hospital ages ago, wouldn’t need to search for pharmacies.”

Huang Mao breathed a sigh of relief—so long as his rear remained intact, all else was trivial. He pursed his lips, plotting, then laughed heartily. “That’s all? Hahaha, no problem! We know each other, after all. Nowadays, seeing a doctor’s a hassle—you need an ID to register. I’ll go hail a cab and accompany you to the hospital.”

“Wait.” Zhu Dachang resumed his fierce dog act. “I’ll say it up front: if you try anything funny, I’ll put a few holes in your chest—Third Brother calls that, uh… yes, ‘heart in full bloom.’”

“Relax, relax,” Huang Mao said, arms folded, swaggering ahead. “I’m a man of honor, never kick a man when he’s down. We’re colleagues, should look out for each other, moving forward together.”

Zhu Dachang eyed Huang Mao suspiciously. “If you really help us this time, once Third Brother’s well, we’ll treat you to ‘Jiangnan Good Eats.’”

“Jiangnan Good Eats?” Huang Mao stood at the roadside, waving down a taxi. “Isn’t that a bathhouse? They serve food too?”

Zhu Dachang chuckled. “I’ve never been, but Third Brother says they do, so it must be true.” He squeezed Hou San into the back seat of the taxi, slid in beside him, and pointed to the front passenger seat. “Hurry up, we’ll talk about the rest after Third Brother’s fixed.”

Huang Mao nodded obediently and took the front passenger seat, smiling at the driver. “Sir, please take us to the nearest hospital.”

Once the taxi started, Huang Mao discreetly took out his phone again, quickly found Zhang Xiaoman’s number, and sent a rapid text before leaning against the window, feigning sleep.

Such is life. What seems inevitable often ends in surprise.

Huang Mao expected a prompt reply from Zhang Xiaoman, but even as the taxi parked at the hospital entrance, his phone screen remained dark. For a moment, Huang Mao was at a loss, gazing blankly at the hospital’s gate.

“Hey! Which one of you is paying?” The taxi driver grew impatient. “Come on, we’re here. You all acted so urgent before, kept rushing me, now you’re dumbstruck? It’s just a few dozen bucks…”

In the back seat, Zhu Dachang finally came to his senses. “I’ll pay, I’ll pay…” He fished a red bill from his pocket, apologizing, “Sorry, driver, Third Brother usually pays… Is this the hospital?”

The driver accepted the bill, searching for change as he gestured toward the hospital sign. “Those big letters—you can’t read them?” He handed back the change, then sneered at Huang Mao. “No money but rides shotgun, acting big.”

“Are you kidding me…” Huang Mao glared, neck stiff. “That’s insulting. Who said I don’t have money? What law says you have to pay if you sit up front?”

Zhu Dachang, after hearing the driver’s response, hurriedly carried Hou San out of the car and shot Huang Mao a cold glance. “Cut the crap, getting Third Brother treated is the priority! Move!”

Huang Mao took a deep breath, flashed his middle finger at the driver, opened the door, and got out. He followed Zhu Dachang—not too close, not too far—drifting toward the hospital’s emergency room.