Chapter 1
Edward Quan ·
Author: Yi Mei Xiao Xue Zha
Source: Zhihu
I'm a fucking killer.
After a year on the run, I'm tired.
Scared.
I'm ready to turn myself in and put an end to it.
Even if I have to die, I want one peaceful night's sleep.
Then I get on a bus and meet a little brat from hell.
His parents sit right there like corpses.
All they've got to say is: “He's only a child.”
Fine.
If they won't keep him in line—
I fucking will.
I'm from the countryside.
A year ago, I killed a married couple in my village.
Then I fled.
I knew nobody in the place I ran to. Nothing went right.
I couldn't get enough to eat. I had nowhere permanent to stay.
Worse than any of that were the police sirens that sometimes sounded in the streets.
Every time, I was afraid they were coming for me.
I barely had a decent night's sleep all year.
So I decided to surrender.
The night before I did, I slept soundly for the first time.
I bought a ticket into town.
Then I boarded the bus.
It wasn't a big one, and it was almost full.
Only four seats were empty.
Most of the passengers were elderly.
Just as I was closing my eyes for a rest, a noisy child's voice disturbed me.
I opened them.
A couple had boarded with a child behind them.
They looked to be in their thirties.
The kid was about ten.
The woman headed toward the back, behind me.
As she walked, she bellowed like a loudspeaker.
“Sit here, darling!”
The brat ran straight to the seat behind mine.
His parents took the two empty seats diagonally behind me.
The moment the man sat down, he opened a newspaper. He never looked up.
The woman was much the same, absorbed in a magazine with a sexy woman on the cover.
It was a long-distance trip with only one stop along the way.
Most people had brought something to pass the time.
The rest, like me, closed their eyes to sleep.
But—
The brat wouldn't settle down.
From the moment he boarded, he kept babbling behind me.
I couldn't make out much of it.
He sounded like a woman whose husband had run off: a complaint about everything.
“Dad, I'm bored.”
“Mom, I want to go somewhere fun.”
His parents mumbled a reply now and then, then went back to what they were doing.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I stuffed cotton wool into my ears.
Then I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes.
Bang.
Bang.
I could hear some sort of tapping.
I ignored it.
It grew louder, until it cut through the cotton in my ears.
Worse, my head was vibrating.
I opened my eyes.
The window I was leaning against was shaking.
Someone was hitting it hard.
I turned.
The brat was impatiently pounding the glass.
Over and over.
I pulled out the cotton, ready to have a word with him.
Someone beat me to it.
“Hey, could you stop banging on the window?”
A young man in glasses. Polite-looking, well-mannered.
From his clothes and appearance, he seemed educated.
The brat acted as if he hadn't heard and kept pounding.
The young man tried again.
“Could you please stop?”
He put an arm around the woman beside him.
“My girlfriend didn't sleep last night. She's trying to get some rest, so—”
“Not my fucking problem!”
The kid cut him off.
Then he went back to it.
Louder this time, like a drum.
The young man's girlfriend woke up.
She clicked her tongue, opened her eyes, and said:
“Could you keep it down?”
She sounded impatient, but was still trying to hold back her temper.
The brat answered with a snort.
Then kept banging.
She couldn't take it anymore and shouted at his parents.
“Could you control your child?”
His mother raised her eyebrows, her face fierce.
“What did you say?”
The girlfriend took a deep breath at the woman's indifference.
“I said, could you control your child? He's keeping the whole bus from resting.”
The mother nudged her husband.
He lowered the newspaper and looked at the woman.
“Control what?”
His voice was aggressive.
She seemed intimidated. Her voice dropped.
“Your child. He's too loud.”
He raised the newspaper again and said offhandedly:
“An An. Keep it down.”
The brat stopped.
Apparently he did listen to his father.
I thought that would be the end of it.
But just as I closed my eyes and began to drift off, a violent shaking jolted me awake.
My seat was moving.
I turned around.
The little bastard had both hands on the back and was rocking it.
“Hey!”
My shout startled him.
“Leave it alone!”
I wasn't as polite as the young man in glasses.
I had two lives on my hands. There was always something murderous in my voice.
The boy shrank back. Fear flickered in his eyes.
Mostly, though, I saw resentment and hatred.
I gave a cold little laugh and tried to sleep again.
Suddenly, something slammed into my back.
I lurched forward, nearly striking my head on the rail.
I forced down my anger.
Time to speak to his parents.
“Hey! You two!”
I was loud enough that they finally looked up.
“Don't you know how much noise your kid's making?”
His mother nudged her husband again.
“Do something about him.”
He passed it back.
“You're the one who usually looks after him.”
Back and forth. Neither would take responsibility.
I shouted again.
“Will you keep him under control?”
His mother looked at me with contempt.
“He's only a child. Don't be so petty.”
A child?
That was the first time I'd heard anyone use being a child as an excuse.
Before I could answer, his father cut in.
“All right, all right. He's little. Give him a break.”
“You—”
The ticket attendant came over.
“That's enough, sir.”
She gently pushed me back.
I couldn't carry on in front of her, so I sat down.
Just my rotten luck.
Then the brat yelled at his parents again.
“I'm so bored!”
He shouted and thrashed around.
His mother coaxed him sweetly.
“Be good, darling. We're nearly there.”
He wouldn't stop.
He screamed louder and kept kicking my seat.
“Fuck!”
I sprang up, grabbed his collar, and swore at him.
“Don't fucking push me. Got it?”
He burst into shrieks.
His parents jumped up and grabbed my arms.
His father glared.
“Let go!”
His mother clawed at my hand with her sharp nails, screeching like a fishwife.
“What are you doing? Let my son go!”
The attendant rushed over and pulled at my arm too.
With so many people stopping me, I let him go, still seething.
“A whole family of fucking idiots!”
His mother wouldn't have that. She seized my shirt and refused to let go.
“What do you mean? How dare you swear at my child?”
His father joined in.
“Yeah! Why are you swearing at a kid?”
The mother went further, bellowing at the top of her lungs.
“Everyone, look! This man is swearing at a child! What does a child know?”
With the two of them ranting, the attendant had to soothe everyone in turn.
Then she spoke to me.
“I'm sorry, sir. Would you mind taking that empty seat?”
She pointed to the seat in front of the parents.
“Fine.”
I sat there and shot the brat a sideways look.
His little face was bright red.
He looked furious.