Chapter 71: Early Winter in Bincheng

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

After a night’s voyage, the ship arrived at the northern port of Bincheng. He was still in the midst of sleep, vaguely hearing someone calling out, instructing passengers to prepare to disembark. Whether it was from seasickness or the restless dreams of the night, his consciousness remained hazy; it felt as if something pulled at his eyelids, making them reluctant to open.

Perhaps too much had happened during the journey, transforming what was meant to be a pleasant trip into something akin to a nightmare.

He thought that if he never opened his eyes again, perhaps he might find a sliver of peace in endless slumber. Recalling the events of the past few days, he wondered, “Why didn’t the ship sink during the night at sea? Had such a disaster occurred, the seventy or eighty thousand yuan I lost these past days would have been erased, and my family might even have received a handsome compensation.”

But none of this came to pass, and instead, Chi Zhaoming felt a tinge of disappointment.

As the ship slowly drew near to the dock, he opened his laptop and found the network signal at full strength. He brought up the live scores on the Football Club Network, eager to see the result of the E-League match he had failed to bet on when boarding due to lack of signal.

When the score of 6:2 appeared before his eyes, he was overcome with fury, for the team he’d wanted to wager on had won by a landslide.

He felt even more regret, thinking that had there been a signal on the ship that night, he wouldn’t have let such an opportunity slip away. The loss was not simply the ten thousand yuan of a single bet; he considered the additional two or three chances for in-game wagers. In the past, he believed he managed such opportunities well, though he rarely wagered more than three to five thousand yuan, thinking the stakes were never too high.

But now, circumstances had changed. He needed to recover his losses within a limited time, so he had to take risks.

Yet life is just so: when fortune deserts you, luck seems always to turn its back. Ideals are forever at odds with reality, as the saying goes, things rarely turn out as one wishes.

He blamed his poor luck; he blamed fate for turning a blind eye. The deity he brought from the Pavilion of Immortals was meant to grant him smooth passage through the remaining days of his journey.

Yet that very deity seemed indifferent to his sincerity.

He was embarrassed even to take it out, for that night in the internet café, the deity had accompanied him through a sleepless night, but to no avail—only his debts had grown.

Chi Zhaoming no longer knew what god could protect him. He’d lost faith in heaven and earth and even in the existence of deities; the only thing he trusted now was himself.

These thoughts filled his heart with an inexplicable sorrow.

He took out the deity, glanced at it, and stroked its belly, muttering, “They all say you have a heart of compassion, that in moments of peril you bestow your mercy, but where has your kindness gone? Who receives the benevolence you claim to grant all beings?” His eyes grew moist.

“They say Heaven sees all. Has Heaven witnessed your great compassion? To me, you are but a hypocrite in name only. I waited so devoutly for your salvation, yet you ignored my pleas, making not the slightest difference.” With that, Chi Zhaoming hurled the deity with all his strength into the fog-shrouded sea.

The deity traced an arc through the air and plunged into the water not far from the ship.

Gradually, it drifted further from the hull. Gazing at the waves, Chi Zhaoming mused, “Perhaps one day a fisherman will haul you from the depths, or perhaps you’ll sleep forever at the bottomless sea, for ten thousand, twenty thousand years, and we’ll never meet again.” He continued speaking to himself.

After about half an hour, the ship finally docked at the passenger terminal. Only moments before, they’d been surrounded by a sea of white mist; now, the crew bustled about on deck, securing the vessel.

On the shore, shadowy crowds waited to greet arrivals. For travelers like himself, without anyone to meet them, their presence seemed inconsequential; they followed the team leader’s loud calls not to get separated and to wait nearby once ashore.

The ship had docked at an awkward hour, with nearly two hours yet till dawn. The sky glowed with a misty, bluish haze.

Chi Zhaoming walked amid the disembarking crowd, his steps heavy, his hand dragging the luggage almost numb. A gust of wind swept past, making him shiver.

He felt an unprecedented loneliness. It was the start of winter in the north—the air frigid, the sky bleak blue, and the north wind howling through withered mulberry trees.

Chi Zhaoming trailed at the rear of the group, trudging wearily.

Outside the group, local guides discussed sightseeing plans, but he had no interest at all; he barely heard a word of what they said.

For he had no intention of sightseeing—he simply wanted a day’s rest. With little time left before returning home, he had to find some way to minimize his losses. Whether he could achieve that, he could only hope for a stroke of luck.

After so many defeats, he was filled with sorrow and lament, his heart as calm as still water, feeling as though the good days were truly over.

He thought back to earlier times: though his income was modest, life was content enough. Lacking greed, he was free from want; his son was simple and hardworking, never giving him or his wife cause for worry.

Looking back, his initial foray into online football betting was merely to improve his meager circumstances. Seeing the living standards of his colleagues, he felt himself a pauper at the very bottom of society. Especially when he couldn’t buy a pre-arranged apartment for lack of funds, his vanity suffered a tremendous blow.

He never imagined how swiftly and unexpectedly this pain would strike.

He believed that with his analytical skills and understanding of football, if not to make a fortune, at least he could be a steady player among gamblers.

Chi Zhaoming regretted listening to Xiao Jin’s wild boasting, and not heeding Wu Zhengzhe’s earnest advice. When colleagues warned that football gambling led only to ruin, he always sneered and dismissed their concerns. But now, there was no remedy for regret.

The coach stopped at a hotel entrance, and the guide urged everyone to make the most of breakfast.

After breakfast, they would spend a few hours at the city’s Guangming Square. “At the square, you’ll experience its grandeur and endless charm,” the guide kept promoting the newly built plaza.

After so many years away, he wondered how his old comrades were faring. Seeing it was still early, he reckoned his old classmate would still be warm in bed, and, not wanting to disturb his dreams, put away his phone and joined his companions for breakfast.

The ship had rocked through the night, making sleep elusive; curtains fluttered in the wind, and the moon shone amid the clouds.

All night, he drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling the ship sway amidst the sea, clinging on until dawn.

When the ship docked at the Bincheng seaside port, his companions were all full of energy and excitement.

The coach wandered through the city, and he found time dragging unbearably. At last, they arrived at a hotel. As the doors opened, guests streamed in one after another.

Everyone eagerly sampled Bincheng’s delicacies at the buffet, but he, weighed down by exhaustion, found no pleasure in the food. Once, while studying here, his favorite northern comfort dish was pork braised with glass noodles, but now it tasted bland and joyless. He nibbled on a few wheat-scented northern buns, barely filling his stomach.

With no matches scheduled that morning, he had nothing to hope for. He had no choice but to follow the group to Guangming Square.

When they reached the square, the sky was a solid gray, thick with oppressive clouds. Suddenly, chilly gusts swept through, and, dressed too lightly, he shivered from the cold. He ran quickly to a sheltered spot to rest for a moment.

The city’s ceremonial columns on the square proclaimed its pioneering spirit. The enchanting scenery drew countless visitors from home and abroad.

Back when Chi Zhaoming attended the military academy, he’d felt a deep connection to this city. He knew the square well, the trams that carried his youthful dreams—the very city where his alma mater stood.

In summer, they’d frolic at the seaside, roast seafood at the night market on the square, drink beer, discuss ambitions and reflect on life with classmates. Sometimes, defying school rules, they’d buy shellfish and mantis shrimp from the market, boiling them in electric kettles.

Back then, Chi Zhaoming had no worries, only a burning passion to serve his country. They longed to be posted to all corners of the nation, yet were reluctant to leave this beautiful coastal city. At graduation, everyone wept like children before being assigned to their posts.

Standing in Guangming Square now, his heart was conflicted. A local elder, noticing Chi Zhaoming’s poor spirits, kindly asked, “Young man, are you feeling unwell?”

Moved by the elder’s warmth, Chi Zhaoming replied quickly, “Just didn’t sleep well last night. Thank you for your concern.” He chatted with the elder for a while.

When the elder learned he was returning to an old haunt, he realized Chi Zhaoming was no stranger to the city, though the square hadn’t existed back in his day.

The elder recounted stories of famous people associated with the columns, tales of Bincheng life, explained the origin of the footprints before the square’s statues, and pointed out a nearby residential complex endorsed by the superstar Hu Yige, whose enormous portrait loomed amidst green hills, grassy leaves, and golden flowers.

At this moment, Chi Zhaoming seemed to forget his recent wounds. With no football matches to obsess over, he became an idle wanderer—yet his idleness was uneasy, for only he knew the pain in his heart, with no one to confide in. Outwardly, he appeared unfazed, but inside, he was like a shattered pane of glass, his heart bleeding.

Upon learning of his arrival, his Bincheng classmate A Jun booked a private room at a seafood restaurant, gathering all their military academy friends—just eight of them, not one missing.

Chi Zhaoming invited his colleagues to join them for drinks.

The table was laden with delicacies from land and sea, and bottles of liquor disappeared almost unnoticed. A Jun ordered two more crates of beer. Chi Zhaoming protested, “In this freezing weather, do you want us all to drink ourselves under the table, old friend?”

“Nonsense! Back in the academy, I remember your capacity well—two bottles of liquor without flinching, and beer was like water to you. Don’t try to fool me. We haven’t all been together for years; tonight, we’re not going home sober.”

After several rounds, a few classmates were already tipsy, and, spurred by their merriment, they moved on to a karaoke lounge.

At the KTV, Du Juan’s phone rang incessantly. Amidst the blaring music and singing, Chi Zhaoming knew only drunkenness and revelry. By the time he noticed Du Juan’s missed calls, it was already the next morning.

(To be continued)