Yu Lanchuan seized Gan Qing's hand, pushing down her chopsticks. "What are you doing… Drink some water first!"

He picked up a baked pastry with a flaky shell, broke it into two and passed one half to Gan Qing. "Here, it has sugar filling."

After that, he fell silent for a while. Then, he said vaguely, "Do you know how shows and movies kill off characters?"

Yu Lanchuan liked to be frank with his speech and rarely beat around the bush. For a moment, Gan Qing didn't understand what he was getting at. She held the pastry and looked at him in confusion.

"Before the character gets killed off, they would have a plan that they can never complete," Yu Lanchuan said. "Before we reach the age of dementia, all those clothes that we couldn't buy, the things we didn't complete, the chances we missed, they would all stay persistently in our minds like a holdout, like those homes the owners refuse to allow to be demolished. Back then, you were a holdout in my mind."

Gan Qing laughed. "Little Master Yu, you…"

"That's why, if there's someone you didn't manage to say farewell to whom you can't let go of, there's nothing shameful about admitting it." Yu Lanchuan enunciated each word clearly. "It's human nature."

Gan Qing froze all of a sudden. Yu Lanchuan seemed to have suddenly gone blind and did not notice at all that her expression of forced calm was breaking apart. He focused all his attention on analysing the baked pastry. "It's been many years since I last had a baked sugar pastry. The ones sold in shops outside aren't good. When you break them open, the sugar inside is always in dregs."

Beside them, the boss slowly wiped the tables as he said, "That's because they've gone cold. It has to be freshly taken out of the oven so it's piping hot. Only then will the sugar be melted and runny. Both of you, be careful not to burn your mouth."

Gan Qing used that as an excuse to cover her mouth and let out a hiss of pain, pretending that the sugar filling had scalded her, and took the chance to wipe away the wetness in her eyes.

"Are you a reincarnation of a hungry ghost?" Yu Lanchuan put away that once-in-a-blue moon gentleness of his and rolled his eyes at her. "Do you scarf your food down this way too when eating with other people?"

Gan Qing reached up and wiped away the bit of sugar residue on the corner of her mouth. "Isn't this all because I'm afraid that Little Master Yu looks so delectable that if I take one more look, I will eat him up."

Yu Lanchuan nearly forgot the proper way to bring the baked pastry to his mouth and in his distraction, he scalded his mouth with the melted sugar. Other people used the sugar to hide their eyes and pretend to be scalded but he was the opposite and had nearly burned off a layer of skin. Even his glasses had slid down.

Gan Qing started laughing. But after laughing, she felt a little discomfited. She was someone who had once let down the infinite kindness and warmth she had received and was too ashamed to expect fondness from others now. She had never thought that the people around her—Little Master Yu, Uncle Meng, Meizhen-jie… even Old Sect Leader Yang and the other people of No. 110 Courtyard—would still dare to put their kindness in her hands and was not afraid that her hands would slip up once more and shatter them.

She was struck by fear and trepidation. She didn't know what to do, and because of that, her words sounded even more like they were not from her heart, insincere and glib.

The boss quickly poured a glass of cool water for Yu Lanchuan. Gan Qing said, "You don't skimp at all when making your baked pastries, it's really very good of you. If the soup noodles could be a little more like the original taste, that would be great. The seasonings were a little heavy. People nowadays are tired of eating heavy and greasy food outside. Everyone thinks that the simpler the taste, the more high class it is."

After hearing that, the boss eyed her with his two murky old eyes and asked quietly, "Miss, is it too salty?"

"Erm…"

"Ai, I'm old now, my tongue doesn't work well anymore. Only my ears can still detect the flavours hidden in words. I can still understand human speech." The boss heaved a gloomy sigh. "I'm afraid it's time to close shop."

Gan Qing knew that ever since he lost his son in his middle age, the only thing left that his heart could not put down was this little shop. She hastily said, "Please don't. The students who have graduated all miss your baked pastries and noodles. We purposely came here today to eat them. If you close your shop, what if your regulars come here in the future?"

"What regulars? They've all left, they don't come anymore." The boss waved his hand. Like an old monkey who could not move easily, he slowly walked behind the counter and took out a large plastic file from the drawer. He took out a few pieces of paper. "Coincidentally, you young people have good eyesight and can help me read this."

Yu Lanchuan wiped his hands and took the papers. It was a contract related to the demolition compensation.

"In the past two years, there have been fewer kids here. No. 13 High is getting worse and worse, so naturally, they can't attract students. It seems like they're going to merge with another school soon. After the merger, they will expand their grounds and all of us have to move away." The boss sat down. Through the windows, he looked in the direction of the school, then continued to say, "I guess it's a good thing. After the merger, it won't be called No. 13 High anymore. They just need to change the atmosphere at the school and it would be good."

Yu Lanchuan was used to reading contracts. With just a quick skim, he could pick out many points and he explained each one to the boss. Gan Qing listened for a bit but only half understood what he was saying, so she informed the boss and flipped through the thick file.

There were all sorts of things inside. Postcards from old customers, photos from No. 13 High's yearly Sports Day and School Founding Day…

Yu Lanchuan took a pen to mark the important points for the boss. While waiting for him, the boss explained to Gan Qing, "Those are from a photographer. He wanders around the streets and alleys and takes photos. He took a photo of the shopfront and that photo even won some kind of award. It's quite an honour. I purposely kept a copy of the magazine."

Gan Qing took a closer look and saw that there was indeed a small photo of the restaurant in the magazine. It had obtained the glory of the "consolation prize." There was a tiny caption under the photo: Even though this work has some weaknesses, the photographer has focused their lens on the lowest rung of society, reproducing faithfully the dirty and narrow alley, and capturing a corner of the life of the people who live on the fringes of life in the city. The scene within the lens is full of emotion, the photographer bemoans the world and pities the people.

"That was from one year when No. 13 High was like a salted fish turning over a new leaf during the gaokao. Fifteen students met the first tier acceptance score, that's more than if you add up the few years before and after that. It was such glory! The school put up the honours list at the entrance. It made me happy just looking at it, so I took a picture. My son won't get into the list so I can only freeload off other people's joy and feel proud along with them."

There were fifteen names on that honours list. Among them, thirteen people were noted to be from a certain class in Year 4. Gan Qing remembered this matter. The year she first entered the school, No. 13 started a remedial class and waived the school fees to entice students. They tricked a group of poor students with good results into enrolling. These remedial students helped No. 13 High set a new record and, at the same time, were held back one year by this rubbish school. On average, their scores fell by twenty marks compared to their first gaokao attempt. Hence, this glorious remedial class was closed the very next year. Even if they paid students to come, no one would.

Gan Qing continued flipping through the file. Then, her hand paused.

It was a newspaper cutting. The report was on a murder case. The victim's name was naturally concealed and the photo was also censored with pixelation. But Gan Qing could immediately tell—it was Wei Huan.

"Oh, this." The boss peered at it and carefully recalled for a moment. "This is not a happy thing. Just one day before, this man came here to eat. The very next day, he was killed. Apparently, when he died, he had a pile of fake I.D.s on him, who knows what it was that he did. Ai, he was still a customer after all."

Gan Qing stared blankly. "He came here before?"

"He sure did!" The boss pointed at the crooked and childish writing beside the cutting. "See, I even made a note here. When this person came, he ordered three large bowls of noodles. I said, 'Eating so much soupy food will definitely make your stomach feel uncomfortable later. If you're afraid that eating something light won't keep you full for long, how about I bring you two baked pastries?' He said there was no need to. He just wanted to enjoy the soup noodles."

Gan Qing's brows twitched slightly.

"Isn't it strange? This man didn't eat the noodles and just drank the soup. After he finished the soup, he finally took a few forced bites. I said, 'You really have good taste and know that the main chef is not in today. The noodles were made by the assistant and only the soup base was made by the main chef.' He didn't seem to have heard me and also didn't say anything. I saw that his face was gloomy and there was a rather evil air between his brows. I knew immediately that he wasn't someone I should offend and I didn't dare chat much with him… See, something really did happen to him."

Wei Huan coming on his own to the little restaurant where his… former shifu worked and took the chance when his shifu was not there to order the soup noodles that his shifu made?

Yu Lanchuan looked up from the contract, astonished at what he was hearing. He had always thought that a murderer-for-hire like Wei Huan would be of the same type as Yang Ping—something wrong with his brain, and his heart and mind entirely set on being inhumane. Curious, he took the plastic file away from Gan Qing's hand. "Let me see…"

When he moved the file, a small envelope slid out from behind the newspaper cutting that was not stuck firmly, nearly falling into the soup. Gan Qing's hand was quick as lightning, reaching under the file to catch the envelope in time. "Boss, why do you even have a secret weapon hidden here?"

"Ah." The boss made a noise of utter confusion. He was also rather dumbstruck for the moment.

The envelope was sealed. There was no header and no inscription, and only had a "10" written on it. The white paper was turning yellow and because so many years had passed, the glue at the seal had dried out until a corner was lifted up, revealing the edge of the type of old-fashioned writing paper that had a red frame. The boss turned it over a few times, looking at it, before finally recalling his memories with much effort. "That's right, I remember now. It was that customer who left this letter here."

Yu Lanchuan and Gan Qing both sat up straight simultaneously. The two of them exchanged a quick look. A cold light flickered in Gan Qing's eyes.

She lowered her voice a little. "Did he leave it for you?"

"No, I don't know him anyway." The boss waved his hands a few times. "But yeah, who was it that he left this for… Why is it here with me?"

He was muddled and confused, and might have the beginnings of old age dementia. Before he could become old and senile, he had already lived his life until it was like a tangle of threads with loose ends in all directions. It would be a while before he could straighten things out in his head.

Right at that moment, the teenager in the back kitchen shouted and dashed out like a gust of wind. He pushed his scalded-red hand into the boss's face, opened his mouth and immediately started to wail.

The boss tsk-ed. "I told you not to go to the back kitchen and make a mess. There's boiling water there. This burn should teach you a lesson!"

The two old man and child who depended on each other for survival were both not very quick-witted. One was wailing loud enough to bring the roof down while the other chased after him to coax him. Yu Lanchuan and Gan Qing were left at the table, four eyes staring at the unopened envelope, looking as though they were watching a detonator about to go off.

Just as Yu Lanchuan was hesitating over whether opening someone else's letter would be impolite, Gan Qing had already ripped it open without a word.

"Hey, you…"

Shifu—the opening of the letter stated the addressee clearly. Was this a letter for Wei Xiao?

Wei Huan's handwriting was very tidy, the martial arts skills he had in his hand seemed to have been used in his writing too. His strokes were firm and steady like they were printed. Gan Qing skimmed through it.

I've left my instructions with the boss. This letter will be kept here for ten days. I told him to pay attention to the local news. If he hears news that I have died within these ten days, then there is no need for him to give this letter to you and it will save you the trouble of being broken-hearted. If he does not hear any news, ten days is enough for me to go somewhere far. When he gives this letter to you, it will save you the trouble of looking for me.

Shifu, when I was young, I always felt that our family has too many rules—this is not allowed, that is also not allowed. Each generation can only take in one disciple. If other people don't attack, we are not allowed to make a move. When we are outside, we are not allowed to bring up the lineage of our skills to others. Especially that last one; our Wan Mu Chun is also a proper and mighty sect, so why can't we bring it up? I always thought that even though Grand-Master had washed his hands clean of the past, he was also one of the outstanding Five Supremes. You are his disciple that he had brought up all on his own and your abilities are comparable with Grand-Master. Everyone says that you are a disciple who has exceeded his master but before you made a name for yourself, you were already living in hiding. In this drifting state, with neither family nor career, you lived your whole life. Are you really happy with this? I remember, when I was young, I was practising my knife skills when Grand-Master saw me. At the end of it, he shook his head at once. He found me stupid and said that when comparing me to you, our innate talents were as different as the sky and the earth. Perhaps that is indeed the case. When talentless people like us who can only learn via the slow and foolish way finally achieve a little bit of skill after much effort, we will think of it as something great. And hence, we will be exceptionally unwilling to be content with this.

I thought, our sect existed since the Song Dynasty and has been passed on until now, hasn't it? Why is it that the later it is, the more we're hiding and cowering?

Now, I finally understand a little. This is a dangerous road, the razor's edge. Once you walk this road, you can never look back again and can only go forward, forced all the way until you reach the point of no escape, the cliff's edge. And you jump to end things. During the era of chaos in ancient times, human lives were worth nothing and all roads ended in a cliff, so there was no difference. But it is not the same now. On the level ground, the many ways to live can be clearly seen going in all directions. Insisting on walking the tightrope high above the ground is something only an idiot would do.

I am that idiot.

Shifu, every time I startle awake in the middle of the night, I always remember the coin Zhu Cong gave me. That was the first transaction I did as a murderer-for-hire. I only collected one yuan from him. The two of us met at the train station in Yanning. I had not seen him for a few years ever since tragedy struck his family and I nearly could not recognise him. Zhu Cong is my brother, we grew up with each other. When I was young, I obeyed your instructions. I didn't dare bring up the lineage of my skills to others and had also never dared to fight with others. When I was bullied outside, I could only endure and he was always the one looking out for me. You have also personally said that he was a warm-hearted child.

A warm-hearted person ended up like this. Shifu, if it was you, what would you do? Could you keep your Wan Mu Chun blade hidden until the end and watch everything like a detached bystander, pretending that you don't know anything?

I can't.

Based on a few clues, the two of us followed the trail for over a month and found the person who set fire to the factory that year. He hid himself in another part of the country and even started a family, living like a model citizen. All those who died such unjust deaths—the young and old, the womenfolk and the children—didn't they tear his conscience apart in the middle of the night?

If they didn't, then it clearly shows that there are no such things as ghosts and gods in this world. In that case, what is there to fear for people like us who hold the butcher's knife? After that, I took that one yuan and bought two popsicles to share with Zhu Cong. When we finished the popsicles, I understood that I can really no longer go back home. Do you blame me?

But with regards to this matter, I have no regrets.