"Are you little Aning?"
No wonder he always felt the young man in front of him was somewhat familiar. But that couldn’t be; little Aning was such a fair-skinned child. When they were young, the neighbors would always joke that little Aning was born into the wrong body; such a delicate, fair child should have been a girl.
The young man in front had dark skin, a pea-sized mole at the corner of his mouth, and flamboyant yellow hair, looking every bit like a delinquent, a world apart from the little Aning in memory.
The young man lowered his eyes and smiled, "Uncle Qian, I am Aning."
Qian Zhuang was first surprised, then delighted, "Aning, it really is you. I haven’t heard from you in so many years. I heard you were severely injured in that fire. Back then, your aunt was hurt badly, and she couldn’t be left alone. By the time I got the news and went to see you, you’d already gone back to Yunzhou with your parents."
Qian Zhuang looked at him with heartache and cautiously asked, "How have you been all these years?"
"Pretty good."
Three plain words, but only Qian Zhuang knew how much hardship was contained within them.
Those who survived the fire years ago, though they escaped great peril, all carried large and small shadows, living ghost-like lives, much like his family’s.
Aning was the last one rescued back then; it was said he was badly injured too. He was not even five years old at the time. One could only wonder how he managed to pull through.
"Who knows what sins we committed in our past lives that in this life the heavens punish us like this."
The compensation money from the government was long spent on his wife. All their family savings had been used up too, still not enough to make ends meet. He could only return to his old trade, earning whatever extra he could.
There’s nothing else to wish for this life, just being able to breathe is enough.
Rong Xianning glanced at the dilapidated building, "Didn’t they say this place was going to be demolished? Why are you still living here?"
Qian Zhuang sighed, "They said it would be demolished, but for some unknown reason, there’s been no news. I guess living here another day is a blessing."
After the fire years ago, the building was so severely damaged it wasn’t worth repairing. The government initially said they would contract it to a builder to rebuild the place, but for some reason, there was no further news. He, along with some other homeless survivors from back then, gathered together and hired a construction team to patch up the place. It was worth living in, much more cost-effective than buying a new house. Later, the building became a dangerous construction, and those survivors gradually moved away. Only he stayed, watching over it day by day, year by year.
Those who left, remaining in a familiar place, would trigger those terrifying memories. Only by going to a new place could they muster the courage to start afresh.
Rong Xianning shook his head, "This place is not livable anymore, you should move out as soon as possible."
"The neighborhood council has urged me many times too. Once I find a place, I’ll move out as soon as I can."
Qian Zhuang was just in his early forties, but he looked weathered as though he were fifty or sixty-ish. At the moment, traces of embarrassment showed on his weather-beaten face.
What wouldn’t Rong Xianning understand now? He took out his phone, "Uncle Qian, what’s your phone number?"
Qian Zhuang subconsciously reported his number, "Aning, what are you going to do?"
After saving the number, Rong Xianning said, "I’ll get in touch with you later."
"Oh, alright."
Rong Xianning put away his phone and stepped towards the depths of the corridor.
Qian Zhuang hurried to grab him, "Aning, what are you doing? You can’t go there."
He was afraid Aning might recall some unpleasant memories.
Rong Xianning spoke calmly, "Uncle Qian, I’m not that fragile."
With that, he walked into the darkness without looking back.
Room 207 was the most severely damaged by the explosion years ago, with no need for repair. Therefore, it still retained some traces of the fire from those years.
Rong Xianning held up his phone, the flashlight illuminating a small area.
Broken walls, harrowing to see.
This was where his grandmother had collapsed.
He walked to the balcony, where the anti-theft bars still bore the small opening he used for escaping back then.
It was right here, where a firefighter uncle sent him out, saving him, while sacrificing himself in the fire.
He could never forget the look in the firefighter uncle’s eyes in those last moments.
The sadness almost made it impossible to breathe.
He bent down.
The surrounding was overly quiet, making that string of footsteps all the clearer, approaching slowly, from a distance.