Bro | Chapter 45

Wei Qian got home at three-thirty in the morning.

Standing at the door, he pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath facing his own front door, then slowly let it out. During the long trip back, the anxiety that had accompanied him all the way had gradually subsided. In its place was a deep, heartfelt reluctance to push open the door and go inside.

Of course, not going in was out of the question.

He opened the door quietly. The soft reading lamp in the living room was still on, and Wei Qian froze for a moment. He leaned his head in and saw Wei Zhiyuan sitting on the sofa flipping through a book as thick as a modern Chinese dictionary, with two glaring dark circles hanging under his eyes. He looked up and smiled at Wei Qian.

Lowering his voice, Wei Qian asked, “Why are you still awake?”

“Waiting for you,” Wei Zhiyuan said as he stood up. “Have you eaten? There’s nothing else left, there’s really nothing else left at home. I’ll boil you a bowl of frozen dumplings.”

Wei Qian said, “What were you waiting for me for? If I want to eat, can’t I cook it myself?”

Without even turning his head, Wei Zhiyuan put water on to boil. “I was afraid you’d be anxious.”

Wei Qian had sat through more than four hours on a red-eye flight, then rushed home from the airport, another nearly hour-long drive. Every muscle in his body ached. By rights, he should have been exhausted to the extreme, but he was already used to this sort of thing. He almost never thought in terms of whether he was tired or not.

But in the dead of night, the fact that there was someone at home waiting for him seemed to yank the very backbone out of him all at once.

Wei Qian dropped down heavily onto the little stool in the dining area. His hunched back pressed against the cold wall, his shirt wrinkled into a mess, his open collar revealing a more and more sharply protruding collarbone and the tense cords in his neck.

Wei Zhiyuan dropped the frozen dumplings into the boiling water, then turned and poured a cup of water, pinched a small handful of lotus seed cores into it to steep, and handed it to Wei Qian. “For reducing internal heat.”

Wei Qian bonelessly slumped into the angle between the storage cabinet and the wall, his expression a little blank as he asked, “How is she?”

“She’s in the ICU. She just finished surgery today, and visitors still aren’t allowed for now.” Wei Zhiyuan pulled over a chair and sat down beside him. “I talked to the doctor today. He said that after a few days, when things are a little more stable, they can arrange half an hour of family visitation per day. Don’t panic. Panicking won’t help.”

Wei Qian understood what he meant at once. That was right, panic would not help. This was life and death, left to fate now.

He stopped speaking and drank the lotus-seed-core water. It was so bitter his tongue went numb.

He had always felt that Grandma Song was like a pack of explosives ready at any moment to blow up a bunker, but he had forgotten that this pack of explosives was already over seventy years old.

A few years ago, she had slipped and fallen once by accident, but other than giving a passerby a fright, nothing at all happened. She got up by herself again. After that, she had even smugly bragged that one fall was nothing. When she was younger, she had been able to fling a two-hundred-jin sack onto a truck by herself. No one knew whether that was true or just boasting.

To save those few yuan, every week she would walk ten li to the morning market and carry back all the vegetables they would eat for the week. Ten-plus jin, even twenty-plus jin, was normal. Even young men would find that weight taxing to carry in their hands, yet she would shoulder it and walk all the way home, absolutely refusing to take the bus.

Her famous saying was: Don’t even think about earning a single mao from my pocket.

…Even though by now they were no longer short of money.

Her coarse behavior had remained the same for decades. Even after moving into a somewhat more upscale neighborhood, she did not change in the slightest. There was no vicious old woman there to stand around cursing at her all day anymore, so she quickly found new ways to make the three brothers lose face, running red lights, spitting anywhere, blowing her nose by the roadside, then after blowing it, wiping her hand on a nearby streetlamp or utility pole.

For a while, the neighborhood committee was promoting a “civilized community” and cracking down on spitting. Getting caught once meant a five-yuan fine. Grandma Song would throw her weight around as an elder, make a scene, and act shamelessly without restraint, to the point that later, whenever those people in the red armbands promoting civility saw her, they would walk the other way.

Although Wei Qian himself was reluctant to spend money on nice things for himself, he had never been reluctant to spend on her. He had bought her royal jelly, American ginseng, cordyceps, all of it. Unfortunately, the old thing did not appreciate it. Not only would she curse him to his face for having more money than sense, behind his back she would even resell the things, unappreciative from first to last, inside and out.

She believed those things were for officials’ wives and landlords’ women, not for someone like her. If she used them, it would cut short her lifespan.

As Wei Qian gradually became better off, he started giving her five thousand-yuan a month in cash for spending money. She was so delighted her grin showed no teeth, but after taking the money, all she ever did was clutch it in her hands, count it over and over more than a dozen times, then lock it away.

Every day she walked around with her chest out and her chin up, thinking she was now the old lady of a wealthy household. Yet this “old lady of a wealthy household” still got up early every single day to set up a roadside stall selling boiled corn and tea eggs.

What a hopeless, uneducated, uncultured old bastard of an old hag she was.

Every few days she had to find some way to make him unhappy, as if it could not count as living unless they bickered a few times. But after muddling along together for so many years, Wei Qian could almost not imagine how he was supposed to live the days ahead without her.

“Ge, eat while it’s hot.” Wei Zhiyuan’s words brought Wei Qian’s soul back.

Wei Qian looked at the steaming bowl of frozen dumplings and found he had no appetite at all. The bitterness of the lotus seed cores had ruined his appetite, yet he still forced himself to take the bowl and mechanically made himself eat.

“What about Xiao Bao?” Wei Qian asked.

Wei Zhiyuan said softly, “She cried herself out and fell asleep.”

Wei Qian involuntarily slowed the pace of his eating. It became harder and harder to swallow.

Wei Zhiyuan went on, “Of course the worst possibility is… no, I’d better tell you the best-case scenario. If Grandma can be pulled through, then ideally, she’d be able to walk on her own and barely take care of herself. Going back to how she was before is impossible. Even in that case, her brain cells will age and atrophy faster. Medication can delay it, but it can only maintain the current state or let it keep getting worse. It can’t restore anything.”

Wei Qian was not a formally trained medical student, but he came from a life sciences background, and there was some overlap in the fields. The moment he heard that, he understood.

If things continued like that, the final result would be nothing other than dementia.

He completely lost any desire to eat and set the bowl and chopsticks aside.

Wei Zhiyuan laid it out point by point. “If it comes to that, she may need someone by her side to care for her. I can do the other things, but some things are too intimate, and it wouldn’t really be convenient for me no matter what. We can’t count on Xiao Bao. When the time comes, we may need to hire a nanny. Ge, do you think that’ll work?”

After a long silence, Wei Qian nodded. “Don’t tell Xiao Bao any of this.”

Wei Zhiyuan said, “I know. She’s already scared out of her mind.”

That was how Wei Zhiyuan was. Bit by bit, he told Wei Qian about the current situation, analyzed and discussed how to deal with the different possibilities, and what they should do going forward. His steady tone and manner gradually let the confusion in Wei Qian’s heart settle down bit by bit as well.

Wei Qian finally moved from “I can’t imagine it” to accepting the reality, and found a clear line of thought. She was not going to die. No matter what she became afterward, he would take care of her in her old age. And if she was lucky enough to die without suffering, then he would send her off properly and honorably.

Wei Qian suddenly raised his head to look at Wei Zhiyuan and asked, “You said Xiao Bao’s scared out of her mind. If something really happens to Grandma, aren’t you afraid?”

Wei Zhiyuan picked up one of his hands and gently squeezed it. Before Wei Qian could register anything unusual, he quickly let go and stood up. “If I got scared too, what would you do?”

Wei Qian froze for a moment. With Wei Zhiyuan standing there, the shadow cast by the lamp made him look even taller, as if he had gathered Wei Qian’s whole person inside it. Wei Qian thought, since when had this kid’s words started hitting straight at people’s hearts more and more?

For that first stretch of time, Wei Qian ran to the hospital every day to check on Grandma Song’s condition. This time Lao Xiong and the others were away on an unusually long inspection trip, which meant Wei Qian also had to keep the company work going at the same time.

Fortunately, Wei Zhiyuan had completely moved back from school to live at home, so Wei Qian felt things were not quite as impossible as he had imagined.

Wei Zhiyuan was like an extra brain he had grown, helping him think through more than half the matters every day, and helping him do more than half of them too.

He was like a sapling gradually growing taller and bigger, holding up half of a roof that was on the verge of collapse for him.

And luckily, Grandma Song did not die after all. She was pulled back, and after ten-odd days, she left intensive care.

Her speech was no longer clear, but she had not gone stupid.

Once she moved into a regular ward, the family had to start bustling around. Xiao Bao was still in high school, and for her to squeeze out time every day to bring over a meal already required her to run the whole way in a rush… and somehow that kind of level of activity seemed to stimulate her growth. Two months later, at seventeen or eighteen, her pants had somehow become a full section too short, as though the length of her puberty had challenged the limits of humanity for once.

Wei Zhiyuan had a heavy course load, not only schoolwork. He might also have been studying other things. Every time Wei Qian saw him, there were at least one or two brick-thick books beside him.

Wei Zhiyuan ran back and forth between both sides, and his time got squeezed down by a huge margin. More than once, Wei Qian saw him at two or three in the morning, yawning in front of the computer while making up homework. Sometimes he simply fell asleep in the middle of doing it.

After that, Wei Qian stopped letting him come over to do the night shift. He set up a folding camp bed in Grandma Song’s hospital room, and on the company side he could only take an extended leave. A full two months later, Grandma Song was discharged.

There was no helping it. Ever since Grandma Song had recovered her awareness, she had flatly refused to accept a care worker.

And when Wei Qian tried to talk to her about “finding a nanny to look after her,” he met with fierce protest from Grandma Song. With a piece of tofu in her mouth, she made muffled sounds while gesturing and yelling until Wei Qian finally understood what she meant. She was saying: “I’m an old peasant, not one of those people who orders others around.”

Wei Qian said, “Oh, my dear ancestor, what, are you still living in the feudal old society?”

Grandma Song glared, then launched into another burst of incoherent yelling.

She would not think about how much of the family’s time she was holding up, how much it delayed their work and studies, or how the money they lost that way might amount to even more. She had not gone stupid, but her mind could no longer turn that many corners. She had become even more stubborn than before she got sick.

Wei Qian gave a bitter laugh. “You really are taking advantage of the fact that I’d be embarrassed to curse you out, huh? Now you’ve started throwing your age around with me too?”

Grandma Song had rarely ever gotten the upper hand over him, and she was delighted beyond measure.

Carefully trimming her severely deformed nails, Wei Zhiyuan asked her softly, “If we don’t hire a nanny, then in the future are you going to let Xiao Bao serve you, wipe you down, bathe you, and help you use the toilet?”

That one sentence hit the bull’s-eye. Grandma Song went silent.

Xiao Bao happened to come in from outside just then, panting and carrying two insulated food pails. She had only vaguely heard a bit of it and had not understood the context before or after, yet she blundered right in and said, “I can. I know how. Grandma, it’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”

Grandma Song did not respond, but neither did she relent about hiring a nanny.

As her body broke down, she became somewhat at a loss, and could only cling even more tightly to the old ways. In her view, this was a matter of principle.

But then again, how could she bear to let Xiao Bao look after her?

Xiao Bao had grown up pampered. For a young girl, the heaviest labor she had ever done was no more than washing a bowl or mopping the floor.

Taking care of a patient was one of the hardest things in the world. Grandma Song had taken care of her parents-in-law, her husband, and the rest of them in their old age and at their deaths. She knew it better than anyone.

In the end, relying sheerly on the perseverance that had once let her “fling a two-hundred-jin sack onto a truck,” she exercised every day whenever she could catch a moment. Miraculously, she became able to prop herself on a cane, brace herself against the wall, and slowly inch along.

When it came to inner strength, truly, no one could compare to this old thing who had lived past three quarters of a century.

On the day Grandma Song was discharged, Wei Qian had originally planned to go pick her up. But that very evening, he suddenly received a call from the company’s administrative office saying that an important project was being pushed forward and now had to pass through the “three meetings and one level” procedure, and that he was asked to be sure to attend.

This rule that major decisions had to pass through the “three meetings and one level” was content newly added to the company charter. It had been in effect for less than half a year. It had originally been proposed by a professional manager Lao Xiong had poached from his father’s side. As their company had finally gained a bit of momentum and scale, it had at last reached the stage of standardization and rapid development.

Wei Qian stepped out of the hospital room and stood in the corridor, frowning as he asked, “Which important project are they pushing?”

The person on the other end told him, “That health recuperation seaside resort project in C City, the one from last time.”

Wei Qian asked bluntly, “Who’s pushing it? Is there a hole in their brain?”

Hearing the displeasure in his tone, the person hesitated, then said tremblingly, “Chairman Xiong.”

Wei Qian said, “Then transfer me to him right now.”

Administration replied, “He’s already gone home…”

Wei Qian said, “What about Tan Yu?”

Administration said, “He may still be on the plane. He said he’d make it back before tomorrow’s meeting.”

Wei Qian cursed under his breath. Usually San Pang handled administration, and Wei Qian did not have much contact with them. He came and went in a rush every day and did not talk much, so most of the newer hires were a little afraid of him.

The girl in administration became even less sure of herself and asked carefully, “Then… may I ask whether you can definitely make it tomorrow?”

Wei Qian sighed. “Something’s come up at home, this…”

“Ge, if you’ve got something to do, go do it.” Wei Zhiyuan had appeared behind him at some point, one hand braced on the hospital room door. It looked almost as if he were half-hugging him. “I’m here. Don’t worry.”

Wei Qian glanced at him, then fell silent for two seconds. In the end, he said to the person on the other end of the phone, “Fine. I’ll go tomorrow.”

He was not putting on an act. He truly did feel at ease with Wei Zhiyuan there.

The next morning, Wei Zhiyuan happened to have no classes. He stayed at the hospital overnight, and Wei Qian called Lao Xiong twice, but the man did not answer. Left with no other choice, Wei Qian told Wei Zhiyuan what was going on and went out himself to haul Lao Xiong over the coals.

Lao Xiong was actually home, just playing dead and not answering the phone.

The door was not even locked, only loosely shut. One push and it opened. Wei Qian stepped inside and nearly choked himself into stumbling over. Several thick sticks of incense were burning in Lao Xiong’s house, making the place hazy and cloud-wreathed all around, practically on the verge of turning into the Jade Pool of the immortals.

For some reason, that fathead had put a sofa cushion on the floor as a prayer mat and was sitting cross-legged on it, holding a string of wooden prayer beads in his hand and facing the wall. Hanging on the wall was a copy of the entire Heart Sutra written out in large calligraphy. The script was large and the lines sparse, and it took up quite a lot of space.

Wei Qian could not make heads or tails of this scene. One glance told him that Xiong-saozi was not home.

The living room floor was either incense ash or tattered sofa cushions, leaving almost nowhere to set a foot. Picking his way in like he was wading through a minefield, Wei Qian asked with his scalp tingling, “What’s this supposed to mean? Are you about to take refuge in the Buddha? Where’s my saozi?”

Lao Xiong seemed to have expected him. Hearing the movement, he did not even turn his head. “She went traveling out of town. If she were home, I wouldn’t dare do this either. Sit.”

Wei Qian looked at the other sofa cushion on the floor that Lao Xiong was pointing at, decisively ignored it, and sat down on the sofa instead. He had originally thought Lao Xiong had gone crazy, but hearing the familiar fear he had felt toward Xiong-saozi for ten years running, Wei Qian reluctantly admitted that he had probably not gone completely insane.

“What exactly are you trying to…”

Lao Xiong raised a hand to cut him off. “Wait a second. Nine times returns to one. I’ve still got the final round of sutra recitation left. Give me two minutes.”

Then he really did lower his head and begin chanting scripture written in Sanskrit. At first listen, it sounded like some kind of strange birdcall.

Only after Lao Xiong finished did Wei Qian, on the principle of respecting other people’s religious beliefs, patiently ask, “So you’ve started believing in Buddhism?”

Lao Xiong said, “No.”

Wei Qian pulled out a tissue and blocked his nose. “No? Then why have you turned your house into an opium den? Are you sick? You’re smoking me to death.”

In a tone slow and floaty like a spirit-medium putting on a ritual, Lao Xiong said, “I’m looking for something to pin my hopes on.”

Wei Qian waved a hand. “Pin them on whatever you want. I’m not here to bullshit with you about that. Someone just called me about that C City project. What exactly is going on?”

Lao Xiong got up from the floor somewhat clumsily. “Oh, that. Wait a sec, I’ll get you the project proposal. China’s first ecological recuperation villa cluster, extremely attractive.”

“Don’t feed me that Zhang guy’s sales pitch. You’re not trying to sell it to me,” Wei Qian said, leaning heavily back into the sofa. “Did you take the wrong medicine, Comrade Xiong Yingjun? Tell me, what exactly is the core value of this so-called recuperation villa thing, this cancer detection and suppression center?”

“I already told you, as wealthy people start pursuing quality of life, health is…”

“To hell with your health. Do you even know what health means?” Wei Qian cut him off. “The health they’re chasing is exercise that looks classy, organic food that works like a psychological placebo, and rustic countryside farm stays that bring back childhood memories and let them feel, by mistake, that they’re still young. Among people who are superstitious about health supplements, how many aren’t the kind who avoid doctors and hide from illness? They’d rather practice qigong than hear a doctor tell them they’ve got cancer and need such-and-such chemotherapy. Are you planning to turn this project into a club for the terminally ill waiting to die?”

Lao Xiong was struck speechless for a moment, but he quickly steadied himself. “A place with clear waters, green mountains, and no pollution, a place like that, the theme is only a gimmick. The mountain hot springs and the feeling of seclusion are what people truly need. The villas won’t be hard to sell.”

Wei Qian said, “That’s complete bullshit. Villa projects already carry much greater risk than other developments. Even if you really wanted to do it, couldn’t you build a row in the suburbs? Why insist on running all the way out to that godforsaken backwater, where even local farmers are rarely seen? Who exactly are you planning to sell it to?”

Lao Xiong said, “To people who want to escape the city, escape all pressure and all worry, and spend a stretch of time in a place of green mountains and clear waters, cut off from the world.”

Wei Qian said with cold mockery, “Terminal patients hoping to wait for death in isolation?”

Lao Xiong did not laugh, nor did he refute it. He only looked at Wei Qian quietly and answered, “The families of terminal patients.”

At first, Wei Qian only felt that talking to Lao Xiong today was simply impossible. He had just been about to let himself go and vent his temper at this usually tolerant, easygoing elder-brother figure for once. But immediately after that, he sensed that something was wrong.

“Wait. Xiong-ge, what do you mean?”

“She followed you and suffered countless hardships. Just when you finally wanted to treat her a little better, she ran out of time.” Lao Xiong’s eyes reddened without warning. His gaze shifted, turning toward that wall covered in sutras. His expression gradually calmed down again, returning to a kind of numb indifference. Staring at the scriptures and the Buddha shrine, he said to Wei Qian as if he were speaking lightly, “Tell me, how do you think the family would want to make up for it? There’s no way to make it up. So then tell me, at a time like that, if you let a person empty his fortune to build an artificial paradise for his family member, while also providing the necessary medical services and all kinds of commercial services, letting them escape reality while still enjoying life in comfort, would he do it?”

Wei Qian looked at him in near shock.

Lao Xiong said, “If it were me, I would.”

Author’s Note:

[Note] “Three meetings and one level” refers to the shareholders’ meeting, board of directors, board of supervisors, and senior management.