I glared at them and said, "What do you mean, 'how did it'? We relied on our strength."
Baozi curled his lip: "Bullshit. Hey, I also heard that the first place winner gets 500,000?"
I said, "Mm."
"If you guys win first place, will you get a share of the 500,000?"
I slammed my fist on the table and yelled, "Can you please stop asking me the fuck? It's so annoying!"
Baozi was unusually good-natured today, standing behind me and massaging my back, teasingly saying, "Oh, even my man is under pressure now."
I said irritably, "I've been under pressure all along."
Baozi slapped me on the back: "What kind of pressure do you have? When do you not sleep 12 hours a day?"
I:"……"
Baozi continued to knead my bun, saying, "You made it into the top 4, did our teacher Zhang praise you?"
I glanced back at her, then realized, "Yeah, it's been so long and Lao Zhang hasn't come to see us once, is that right?" Yu Cai was all his doing, and he was incredibly attentive before the competition. Before losing the first and final match, I felt it was essential to give Lao Zhang an explanation. I asked Baozi, "Has anything major happened in Lao Zhang's family lately, like a wedding or funeral?"
Baozi shook his head and said, "No, Teacher Zhang only has one daughter, and she's already married."
"Could it be that the old man took a concubine himself?" I said with a wicked grin as I took out my phone. I felt Baozi pinch my shoulder hard. Old Zhang was the person she respected the most.
The phone rang only a few times before it connected. I shouted, "Nothing is more beautiful than the sunset glow! Isn't the bride pretty?" My shoulder was aching even more.
"Hello, who is this?" The voice on the other end was that of a slightly tired middle-aged woman.
"Oh, excuse me, I'm looking for Principal Zhang. Tell him I'm Qiangzi."
"Oh...you must be Director Xiao? I've often heard my father mention you." The other person spoke politely, but their tone betrayed an unconcealable weariness and dejection.
"Is it convenient for Principal Zhang to talk?"
"I'm sorry, he probably can't answer your call."
I held the phone in my hand, stared wide-eyed at Baozi, and then nervously asked, "Is Lao Zhang alright?"
Old Zhang's daughter remained silent for a long time, perhaps thinking about how to phrase it, before finally saying, "He... isn't that great."
I asked warily, "Where are you?"
"Central Hospital".
"I'm coming right away!" I hung up the phone, told Baozi to "hurry up," and went straight to grab my coat.
"What's going on?" Baozi was completely bewildered.
I didn't say anything, I just glanced at her. Baozi looked into my eyes, as if she had a premonition of something, she didn't say anything more, and quickly walked towards the door.
I ran to the car while putting on my coat, Baozi following silently behind me. I drove the van to the hotel entrance to pick her up, and then headed straight for the hospital. I didn't know what to say the whole way, until I noticed Baozi turning her head to look at me on a brightly lit street, at which point I managed to say, "Old Zhang might be sick."
We found Old Zhang's daughter at the entrance of the observation room on the second floor of the hospital. She was a simple, middle-aged woman, and Baozi said she seemed to be a primary school teacher. Without saying a word, Baozi barged into the observation room, only to be scolded out by a kind-looking nurse. Baozi then had to put on a different face and plead desperately.
I walked up to Old Zhang's daughter and asked in a low voice, "Sister Zhang, what's going on?"
"...The surgery tomorrow." Sister Zhang held a crumpled tissue in her hand, wiping her red nose every few seconds. It was clear that she had cried a lot these days, and she had few tears left to shed, only sobs remaining. Although her expression was sad, she was still able to maintain a calm demeanor.
I asked cautiously, "The surgery tomorrow, what is it?"
Sister Zhang turned around, her shoulders twitched a few times, and finally she said two words: "Lung cancer."
Chapter Twenty-Five: To Win
Lung cancer.
These two words remind me of the saying, "Good people don't live long, but evil people live for a thousand years."
Old Zhang is definitely a good person. Although he often gives me difficult problems and scolds me with a stern face at the drop of a hat, I don't hate him at all. Old Zhang is like a mother hen; although she usually clucks and quacks, she never hesitates to protect her chicks under her wings at the slightest sign of trouble. He has been doing this all his life.
Now Lao Zhang has lung cancer, while I can still make the punching machine that the stadium provides for athletes rattle loudly, and blow so hard that the breathalyzer for measuring lung capacity is too heavy to hold on to—of course, this might have something to do with my past as a thug. Although I wouldn't call myself a bad person, I'm definitely good at causing trouble, so I feel a little sorry for Lao Zhang.
Baozi was still trying to coax the nurse, but the nurse said sternly, "The patient needs to rest for such a major surgery tomorrow, do you know that?"
At that moment, the attending physician poked his head out of the ward and asked, "Who is Xiaoqiang?" It was clear that the noise we had made had alerted the people inside.
I quickly said, "Me, me, me."
The doctor said, "The patient requests to see you, but not for too long."
Sister Zhang followed me inside, but the doctor stopped us: "The patient specifically requested that only Xiaoqiang be seen. You stay outside."
Baozi tried to sneak around by following me around like a clueless kid, but the sharp-eyed doctor shoved him away: "And you, get out!"
I said to Baozi, "Go and buy Sister Zhang some drinks."
Baozi's eyes reddened, and she called out into the ward, "Teacher Zhang, it's me, Xiao Xiang. Take good care of yourself."
The doctor waved her away and closed the door from the outside.
I saw Principal Zhang on the bed. I never imagined that someone could lose so much weight in just half a month. Old Zhang is now like a severely shrunken toy; give him a drill and a steel nail and he can't be contained—drill a hole and he'll run away.
The reason I still had the urge to joke was because Old Zhang seemed to be in a good mood. He was leaning back, his hair thinning like a lazy man's furrows, but he was still smiling at me. He patted the edge of the bed and said, "Sit."
I sat down next to him, and Old Zhang asked in his usual domineering tone, like a father talking to his son, "You made it into the top 8?"
I asked in surprise, "You still have time to watch TV?"