Precise loss of control

Chapter 30

Old Qunzhi looked at the crying and fussing child.

That brat, doesn't he know who he was dozens of years ago?

There was no time for confusion or emotion; a broom struck Lao Qunzhi hard on the head, making him see black.

"Where did you come from! You pervert!"

The young girl holding the broom looked like she had just been crying; her eyes were red and swollen, but she looked quite fierce: "Get out! Or I'll call the police!"

Old Qunzhi, in pain, scrambled out of the old barbershop from his childhood memories. He glanced at the counter and saw an outdated five-hundred-yuan note. He simply snatched it and rushed out the door.

"Thief!"

"They're robbers!"

"Don't chase after him, he's a pervert! Don't cry, don't cry..."

As if gazing at the retreating figure of this uninvited guest, the small television in the barbershop played news narration:

"The Chinese Professional Baseball League match-fixing case has seen new developments. This afternoon, the Taipei City Investigation Bureau summoned nine Times Hawks players—Wang Guangxi, Liao Minxiong, Zeng Guizhang, Chu Zhiyuan, Li Congfu, Chen Zhixin, Xie Qixun, Huang Junjie, and Qiu Qicheng—for questioning. After further questioning by prosecutors, they were released on bail of NT$50,000. Regarding the details of the gang leader's involvement in the games, prosecutors are collecting evidence of gang members bribing or intimidating players, as well as the middlemen who facilitated the bribery..."

11

He was carrying US dollars from the future, and of course, he hadn't prepared any banknotes that could be used in Taiwan at this time. Luckily, he had just had a sudden inspiration and grabbed a five-hundred-dollar bill, which allowed Old Qunzhi to have a hearty meal at the stinky tofu stall next to the stationery store at the end of the street.

I devoured two plates of stinky tofu with pickled cabbage, paired with pig's blood soup full of the aroma of pickled cabbage. As I ate, even my tongue, which is used to dry food, was so moved that I almost cried.

"Boss, another bowl of pig's blood soup, please. I was thinking it would be hard to find 500 yuan."

"Okay, okay, wait a minute!"

This stinky tofu stall that sells pig's blood soup was my favorite snack stall when I was a child. I would often pester my dad after school to let me eat there, and occasionally I would save up my pocket money to come and enjoy it. But it disappeared after I entered junior high school. Some people said that the vendor was sick, while others said that the vendor's son returned from his studies abroad and took the vendor to live a better life.

I never expected to be able to taste this nostalgic flavor here again.

With his stomach full and his emotions calming down, Lao Qunzhi finally had the energy to think about the situation. Just as he sat down, he deliberately asked the boss in a joking tone what year it was. The boss replied with a strange expression, "It's 1997."

If I calculate it this way, the person who just sat in the barbershop crying their eyes out after getting their ear cut was eight years old. Roughly second grade. Not attending school at this time obviously meant they were in the morning class. Sometimes in the afternoon, Mom would give them money to get a haircut and buy some toilet paper and fruit for the temple fair. This so-called allowance was accumulated little by little by keeping the change from the shopkeepers.

My eight-year-old self...

I thought it would be more difficult than the last time I set off, but I had no idea what could be considered "difficult" except for the slight pain from the broom I just got hit with.

"Everything that happens in life has its meaning."

Old Qunzhi repeated the sentence that the goddess kept thinking about, his brows furrowed.

What day is it today in 1997?

The destinations reached after "departure" are always unusually unpredictable. The only plausible correlation is between the amount of menstrual bleeding and the distance to the destination, but this isn't always the case; once, the journey took place in the nearby Mindanao River rainforest in the Philippines. However, the two most recent instances of significant time shifts, seemingly random, reveal a certain pattern emerging from the "unique breath of fate."

Every journey across time will inevitably lead to an arrival near another version of yourself.

The first time was across twenty-two years, meeting in the icy Arctic, on a massive, millennia-old ice sheet. I met my thirty-one-year-old self.

The second time was across fourteen years, when they met again in a school filled with anger, at a turning point in history.

The third time, this time.

Having traveled back nine years in reverse, I encountered myself again.

At eight years old, I sat in a small, dimly lit barbershop chair, crying and shouting that my ears hurt.

"Think quickly...think quickly...what should I do now? Or...?"

Holding a spoon, Old Qunzhi stared at the nearly empty bowl of pig's blood soup, deep in thought. He muttered, "Should I just not do anything? Impossible. Should I go find the goddess... no, I'm eight years old, and the goddess is only eight years old now. She hasn't even grasped the ability to set off yet..."

Years ago, when the goddess was chatting with him in a cheap hotel, she clearly told him that his teleportation ability was unconsciously activated when he was seventeen years old, in order to fight against the bastard who raped her.

If that's the case, why did fate bring him to this chaotic and unknown ancient era?

Could it be...?

Old Qunzhi felt a chill run down his spine.

"Could it be that this mission... requires me to endure nine years of torment, waiting until the goddess meets the conditions for her abilities before we can proceed to the next stage? Nine years? I have to wait nine years!"

etc.

Wait until the goddess meets the conditions for her abilities?

"The goddess did indeed gain teleportation abilities at the age of seventeen, but?"

Old Qunzhi suddenly gripped his spoon tightly, as if he had thought of a crucial detail: "Speaking of which, that was merely the point in time when the goddess possessed full teleportation abilities, but perhaps there was more than one condition that enabled the goddess to acquire such abilities? Is my being teleported to this era related to the conditions that enabled the goddess to possess time-travel abilities?"

We must understand the special significance of this era.

So it's better to find the goddess and talk to her than to just guess here. Even if she's only eight years old.

But which elementary school does this eight-year-old goddess attend?

It's not that I have no recollection of it, but rather that I simply don't know it.

"Which elementary school is it... Asking each one individually is too inefficient," Old Qunzhi lamented.

When the customers at the next table got up to pay, Lao Qunzhi noticed several newspapers under the green plastic plate.

He reached out and grabbed the newspaper, which was stained with soup, and began to study it carefully, trying to recall what had happened in Taiwan the day before. As he read and looked at it, he racked his brains, but apart from the lengthy article on the professional baseball match-fixing scandal, there seemed to be no earth-shattering events that could make him think of any special significance in this era that could be connected to his eight-year-old goddess.

My gaze swept across the news pages, eventually settling on the simplest date.

This date... this shocking date...

Simply add a 1 to the last number...

No mistake, that news report that was posted on the bulletin board for a year—I couldn't help but glance at it every time I went to the back of the classroom to throw away the trash. I took out the trash two or three times a day, so I must have looked at it over six hundred times. By the end, even the date was deeply etched into the memory storage slots behind my retina. Of course, I couldn't possibly memorize it, but the moment I saw the date on today's newspaper, which was only one day different, that intense sense of familiarity with the number immediately overwhelmed me.

"It's not that nothing earth-shattering has happened, it's just that it hasn't happened yet!"

Old Qunzhi suddenly stood up, but didn't know what to do next.

Today, tonight.

The goddess's father will become the most terrifying serial killer in Taiwan's history of crime.

"Haha...haha..." Old Qunzhi laughed, but the laughter sent chills down his spine.

If the goddess's father hadn't become a serial killer involved in car accidents, she wouldn't have been bullied and ostracized, those bastards wouldn't have dared to target her specifically, and of course, they wouldn't have been able to commit such a heinous act of rape. Without that kind of scumbag behavior, the goddess might not even have gone to that infamous, awful school, and she would never have encountered those perverted teachers and students. So many "ifs" and "hypotheses" are intertwined, all connected in a chain.

If there were no "ifs" in any of this, then in the end, there wouldn't be any "bad things of sufficient magnitude" to trigger the goddess's superpowers! So the most urgent task is—to stop the goddess's father!

12

It sounds simple, but doing it leaves you completely clueless.

Old Qunzhi paced back and forth on the street, racking his brains, constantly recalling the contents of that news clipping.

Thirty-six years have passed, how could one possibly remember so clearly? At most, seeing the same street name would allow one to quickly recall the event, but to retrieve the exact time and location of the car accident from the depths of memory thirty-six years ago is simply impossible.

Besides, even if I get to the location where the goddess's father committed the crime in time, what can I do?

How can I stop him? Should I drive into him head-on? Or should I try to persuade him?

"In short, we must get to the scene early and do whatever we can..."

On the streets of Taipei at midday, the sturdy old man carrying heavy equipment stood out conspicuously. Even though he didn't know where he was going, his steps quickened and became more hurried, as if inefficiently exhausting his energy could give his body the illusion that "I'm trying to find a solution."

I finally asked a passerby for the time; it was 1:27 PM.

There's still some time before the night of the incident. But how much time is left is impossible to calculate; the only reliable thing is the "crime scene." At least they need to recall the location... Old Qunzhi lamented that he didn't know the goddess well enough.

If the "Lenovo" trick works, why not go to the city government and get a detailed map of Taipei's streets?

No, why go to all that trouble? You should be able to buy it at a convenience store!

"Hahaha!"

Although the mission was still a long way off, at least it had a start. Excited, Old Qunzhi ran to the nearest convenience store and bought a map of Taipei.

As soon as he stepped out of the store, Lao Qunzhi couldn't wait to tear off the plastic film on the map, spread it out, and let the densely packed street names come into view, diving into his memory bank to find the moment of "Bingo!"

Jianguo North Road, Minsheng East Road, Dunhua North Road, Fuxing South Road, Bade Road, Ren'ai Road, Xinyi Road, Jiankang Road, Nanjing East Road, Yongji Road, Diding Avenue, Zhongxiao East Road, Songjiang Road, Shimin Avenue, Chang'an East Road, Chang'an West Road, Nanjing West Road, Chongqing South Road, Dihua Street, Xining North Road, Xining South Road, Kunming Street, Bo'ai Road, Yanping South Road, Zhongxiao Bridge, Kangding Road, Zhonghua Road, Wanda Road, Jinshan South Road, Aiguo East Road, Heping East Road, Shuiyuan Expressway, Zhongzheng Bridge, Xinsheng South Road, Xinhai Road...

Hurry, hurry, hurry! I need to quickly make a striking connection with one or two intersections of streets! Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry! Make me remember... Just as Old Qunzhi was walking on the zebra crossing, completely engrossed in his battle with the map, he inadvertently ran a red light.

"careful!"

"ah?"

Old Qunzhi put the map down slightly.

Screech – the sharp sound of tires screeching.

A motorcycle turning right at a green light was going too fast and almost collided with Lao Qunzhi, who was crossing the road against the red light while looking at a map. "Fortunately," the motorcyclist braked in time, only slightly grazing Lao Qunzhi's right shoulder before coming to a screeching halt on the side of the road. Lao Qunzhi was in so much pain that he couldn't even scream.

No, it's not "fortunately".

The old man, who was about to fall, looked at the jetpack on his right shoulder in subtle slow motion.

Bang!

The automatic release mechanism of the miniature jet parachute was activated, and a burst of high-pressure nitrogen gas was instantly ejected. A red canopy shot out from the end of the backpack, and the enormous pulling force of hundreds of kilograms instantly pulled Lao Qunzhi backward, lifting him into the air.

"..." Old Qunzhi stared blankly at the spinning world.

He lost consciousness the next second.

13

When he finally woke up, Lao Qunzhi was already lying in a hospital ward.

The pale ceiling felt a bit cold.

His whole body ached, and his head was filled with a jumble of street names, gnawing at his nerve endings like worms.

My neck was stiff as if it were filled with cement. I managed to turn it slightly to look left and right, but there was no one watching over me. Was I in the intensive care unit or the emergency room? What kind of injury had I sustained to be sent to the hospital?

It stung a little; it turned out I had a needle inserted into my left hand. The transparent tube at the bottom of the needle was connected to an IV drip on a metal stand, probably containing nutrients or saline solution.

My forehead felt tight and itchy, as if it were wrapped in bandages. My multi-functional mountaineering suit had been replaced with a green hospital gown. All my heavy gear was gone; I didn't know where the nurses had taken it—maybe to the police station.

Outside the pale green curtain, two figures, who appeared to be doctors, were talking.

How is the patient?

"He was only hit and there is no danger to his life, but we need to continue to monitor him."

"Is your head alright?"