Chapter 39: Dream

Bai Yulan was mortified, her face flushed with shame and anger. What made it even more infuriating was that, after teasing her, that fellow had simply left... Was he her nemesis? She had wanted to lose her temper several times, even to hit him outright, but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Moreover, every word he said struck directly at her heart, making it impossible for her to refuse. Was this man really just a frivolous young master? He seemed no less cunning than those shrewd old foxes in the business world.

And then, when he left, his parting remark—“the scent is off”—left her both embarrassed and anxious, nearly prompting her to lash out and throw him out. Yet, after he had gone and she recalled his words more carefully, she realized she’d misheard. He hadn’t been referring to her, but to Sister Yan. Why had he said Sister Yan’s scent was off? Could he have noticed something? How could an outsider like him know there was something wrong with Sister Yan?

“Sister Lan, dinner is ready... Where’s Brother Sen?” Axian entered carrying the food and saw only Bai Yulan; Zhou Sen had long since left.

“Brother Sen... Axian, are you very familiar with him?” Bai Yulan snapped, her brows sharp as knives.

Axian’s voice was weak with guilt. “Sister Lan, how did your conversation go?”

“You little rascal, are you trying to sell me off so you can find yourself a new master?” Bai Yulan scolded, though she couldn’t truly be angry with Axian. She had rescued this girl from human traffickers, just as she had saved many girls over the years, even sponsoring a welfare home dedicated to sheltering them.

“Sister Lan, you didn’t invite Brother Sen to stay for dinner?” Axian asked softly.

“You...” Bai Yulan’s heart twinged suddenly. She realized she might have gone too far; it wasn’t his fault, and yet she had spoken so harshly. A sense of guilt welled up within her.

...

Situated on the bustling Central Avenue stood a Japanese-style building, its entrance crowded with cars and carriages—a thriving scene, especially on a frigid winter night. Few establishments in all of Ice City could boast such business, and this was none other than Musashino, the city’s premier Japanese restaurant.

It was the preferred dining spot for many Japanese expatriates and officers in the city, with ingredients shipped directly from Japan. It was said to be impossible to get a seat, and they didn’t serve Chinese patrons.

In a secluded private room, a Japanese man in a kimono, sporting a crew cut and glasses, knelt before a low table. Across from him sat a woman in a patterned kimono, but her features were unmistakably European.

“He went to the Taiping Bridge gambling house yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.” The woman knelt with her forehead to the floor, not daring to meet the Japanese man’s gaze.

“Why?”

“His subordinate, Ye San’er, was falsely accused of cheating and detained at the gambling house. He went to ransom him,” the woman replied.

“How could such a thing happen?” The man slammed his cup onto the wooden table.

“Please, sir, don’t be angry. It appears someone was envious of Zhou Sen’s promotion and wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“Baka! Find out who!” he barked.

“Yes!” The woman stood, bowed, and prepared to leave.

“Wait!” he commanded.

“What else do you require, sir?”

“How is that other matter progressing?”

“We’re still searching, but there’s been no progress yet...”

“Baka...” A chilling gleam flashed in the man’s eyes as he yanked the woman toward him.

...

In truth, as soon as Zhou Sen exited the back door of Ningxiang Pavilion, he regretted it. Why “again”? Because this wasn’t the first time.

He had to admit, Bai Yulan’s scent was truly comforting, soothing his heart—a scent he was reluctant to leave behind.

Night had already fallen. Though the streetlights shone, most people had long since returned home. The deserted streets, biting wind, and his empty stomach...

He hadn’t even managed a hot meal—a complete failure. Next time, he told himself, he wouldn’t visit so late. At least during the day, if he was chased out, he could still catch a cab.

With his head down, Zhou Sen hurried home from Huifang Lane—a walk that would take at least an hour. He resigned himself to treating it as a workout. He dared not take shortcuts or side alleys; even during the day, those could be unsafe, let alone at night.

At least the main street was well-lit, and now and then, he’d pass a few other pedestrians. Especially along the railway, there were patrol officers, which kept most criminals at bay—anyone caught would face jail time.

He passed a small night market, still busy at this hour, as workers unloaded goods at the station. Zhou Sen figured it was too late to trouble Irina to cook, so he might as well grab a quick bite here.

“Boss, a bowl of dumpling noodles, please.”

“Well, sir, you’re a distinguished man—what brings you to a humble place like this for a meal?” the owner asked, surprised to see a well-dressed Zhou Sen as he replaced the lid on his blackened pot.

“Even distinguished people need to eat,” Zhou Sen replied.

“That’s true. Would you care for some side dishes to go with your drink?” the owner offered warmly.

“You serve alcohol here?”

“In this cold, a little drink helps you get through the night. I’ve got real sweet potato spirits.”

“Alright, give me two taels, and bring whatever sides you think best.” Zhou Sen was in the mood for a drink and a hot meal.

“Coming right up—your wine and side dishes.” Soon after he sat down, the owner brought over the food: peanuts, pig’s ear, and braised pork intestines.

The wine was nothing special but strong enough to bring warmth with a single gulp. Zhou Sen found the experience novel, as his former self would never have frequented such places.

Soon, the wine was gone, the sides mostly finished, and a steaming bowl of dumpling noodles arrived. Topped with lard, chili paste, and a drizzle of fragrant sesame oil, the aroma was irresistible.

When it came to food, the Chinese truly knew their craft.

“Sir, was everything to your satisfaction?”

“Excellent, boss. Your dumpling noodles are first-rate.” Zhou Sen dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief in praise.

“That’s twenty cents for the noodles, ten for the wine, fifteen for the peanuts, and twenty each for the pig’s ear and intestines...”

Zhou Sen placed a silver dollar on the table. “Here’s one dollar—keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir!” The owner gratefully accepted, bowing as he escorted Zhou Sen from his little shop.

With his hunger satisfied and the cold no longer biting, Zhou Sen’s steps grew lighter and swifter.

Hmm...

Was it the wine, or was he seeing things? He had the distinct feeling someone was following him.

He stopped intentionally and glanced back—no one in sight. Yet, he was sure he’d glimpsed a shadow, tall enough to be a person, not a stray animal.

Perhaps it was just his imagination. He continued on, but another backward glance revealed a shadow flickering past. He wasn’t mistaken—it was definitely a person.

Was someone tailing him? Ever since he’d caught Lin Dakuan trailing his subordinate Sun Erhu, he hadn’t expected anyone else would be after him.

Well, let them follow if they want. As long as they didn’t mean him harm, there was no need to overreact and invite trouble.

Not bothering to check further, Zhou Sen made his way home.

At last, he arrived, unlocked the door, but didn’t go inside immediately. Instead, he leaned against the iron gate and waited.

Tap, tap...

A soft footstep passed his gate. He lifted the peephole cover and peered outside.

Sure enough, a figure in a black trench coat and wool hat walked by, head lowered, hands buried in her pockets. Small and slender, the figure’s build and gait suggested a woman.

Who was she? Where did she come from? Why was she following him?

He took note of her scent—strange and unfamiliar. His sense of smell was growing sharper, though he couldn’t say whether it was a blessing or a curse.

Puzzled, Zhou Sen entered the house without turning on the lights—no sense letting the stalker know he was home. He felt his way upstairs in the dark, closed all the curtains in his study, and only then switched on the desk lamp, collapsing into his chair.

So much had happened in just one day.

Leaning back, Zhou Sen felt drained, wanting neither to think nor to act. As for Wu En’s matter, as long as nothing happened in the next two days, it was unlikely to become a major issue.

Bai Yulan’s troubles, on the other hand, were significant. She, a lone woman, had drawn the attention of both the city’s underworld and business magnates—each wanting to devour her whole. Yet, in the end, the one who’d gained the most was himself, an unremarkable nobody.

By his old standards, he’d have kept as far from Bai Yulan as possible. But now, even if he wanted to avoid her, escape seemed unlikely.

If Su Wenqing and Old Qin learned that he’d snatched Bai Yulan out from under them, they’d probably tear him apart.

He dared not assume the matter would remain hidden; after all, walls have ears, and Ningxiang Pavilion was no fortress.

What should he do?

He sat in silence for nearly two hours. Suddenly, glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was already eleven.

At once, his mind replayed the fable he’d heard on the radio the previous night.

Would it play again tonight...?

Once curiosity was piqued, it was impossible to resist. Zhou Sen’s palms grew sweaty as he uncovered the radio, plugged it in, and gradually turned up the volume.

Hiss... crackle...

After fine-tuning the frequency, a woman’s voice came through—the same young voice as yesterday, he recognized it at once.

“In the cold forests of Siberia lived a pack of wild wolves. One day, the wolf queen gave birth to a cub, but this little wolf was different from the rest: its fur was snow-white, and its eyes were jet black...”

The same story again. Zhou Sen listened with little fear now, finding the content rather trite.

It was the tale of an abandoned wolf cub adopted by a hunter, who, while hunting with the man, encountered its own kind. To protect the hunter, the wolf ultimately perished along with its pack.

Such a story could fit any wild beast—tamed by humans, only to meet a tragic end.

After hearing it twice, just as he reached to turn off the radio, Zhou Sen frowned, struck by a thought.

He fetched pen and paper, listened a third time, and wrote down the entire story.

When it finished, the radio returned to its steady static.

After reviewing the story repeatedly, Zhou Sen had it memorized—so much so that he even dreamed of becoming the snow wolf himself.

And the face of the hunter who tamed the snow wolf had become that of Old Anthony.

Perhaps it was true that what haunts your thoughts by day, you dream of by night. Zhou Sen woke to find himself drenched in sweat.

The sky outside was still dark, and the temperature in the room had fallen noticeably. He rose to feed the stove more wood, building the fire higher.

As the room warmed, he poured himself a glass of water and placed it by the bed. Sleep eluded him.

He donned a thick coat, leaned against the headboard, and picked up a novel—“Boule de Suif” by the French writer Maupassant. He’d read it in school, and so had his former self, but now it resonated more deeply.

In a way, his current role was not unlike Boule de Suif’s. Many of his choices were not his own, yet he had no choice but to face them.

A group of French nobles, deputies, and self-styled elites, who shouted patriotism while behaving selfishly and shamelessly in private—none of them compared to the prostitute’s noble, pure soul. Wasn’t that the reality of Manchukuo as well?

He must not allow himself to become like those people.