The Remaining Third: Chapter Thirty - Cigarettes

Some people wish to hide their names and live in obscurity, while others long for fame and recognition. Yet a person's desires are never constant—after hiding one's name for long enough, the urge to reclaim it returns. Those who once sought to make their names known, standing atop the waves of public attention, may also yearn for anonymity.

After leaving the hospital, He Wei received a call from the task force members. Even through the phone, he could sense the exhilaration in the officer's voice. After forty-seven hours and twenty-nine minutes, the task force had finally found, in the surveillance footage outside the villa complex, the two bungling thieves described by Yellow Hair, along with that abandoned Xingfu 125 motorcycle, left by the roadside when it ran out of gas.

"Alert the entire city," He Wei said, licking his lips. "Have the legal news program at the city TV station assist in broadcasting the information, so these two imbeciles are recognized by everyone in the shortest time possible, with nowhere left to hide. Once we catch these two, the last third of the case will fall into place... Oh, and don't mention anything about a dismemberment case—that will only cause unnecessary panic. Just say these two idiots are itinerant criminals, becoming active again as the year draws to a close; they've already hit a villa neighborhood and stolen a lot of jewelry. Even if the jewelry is fake, we still need to remind everyone to be vigilant. We can release videos of them pushing the motorcycle and riding bicycles—make it a bit comedic; that way, people will remember..."

After assigning all the tasks, He Wei hung up, rubbed his hands together, clenched his right fist in a gesture of triumph, and uttered a quiet "Yes." He took a small slip of paper from his pocket, recalling Zhang Xiaoman's furtive expression when she handed it to him in the police station restroom. A sense of anticipation rose in him as he unfolded it carefully, but his expression soon turned odd. He memorized the contents of the note, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

A hand rummaged through the trash, and Yellow Hair pulled out a paper ball stuck to the inner wall with chewing gum. He uncurled it with a look of distaste, glanced at the content, then tossed it back with the gum into the bin. After a quick glance around, he hurried toward a narrow alley.

At the far end of the alley, he saw several men clustered around a trash can, smoking. Yellow Hair strode over and addressed an old man in a checked cap standing at the edge. "Hey, old man, got a lighter? Lend it to me..." He glanced around, lowering his voice on purpose. "You made it so complicated, like some spy movie—I almost couldn’t find that note. Next time, can't you pick a more obvious place? It's too dark here, I couldn't even see your hand signal..."

"Need me to fire a flare for you?" the old man retorted, handing over his lighter. "With your slow mind, I've already cut out most of the secret code steps, and you’re still complaining. Even a single-cell organism thinks faster than you..."

Yellow Hair shot a glance at the other men, standing a few paces away, their faces full of righteous sternness. Then he looked at the cigarette with its filter pinched off in the old man's hand. "I thought you smoked a pipe. Why are you smoking these, without filters? Doesn’t it choke you?"

"Tough guys never need filters. Want one?" The old man coughed, smoke billowing from his nose and mouth as he pulled out a pack. "This brand packs a punch..."

Yellow Hair puckered his lips, took a cigarette, lit it, and after a few puffs, stubbed it out in the trash can’s ashtray. After a moment’s thought, he cocked his head. "It’s not bad. Can I have another?"

The old man opened the pack again, handing one over. "Here. As the saying goes, 'A thousand cups of wine are too few among kindred spirits.' I never thought sharing cigarettes would feel the same. Good things should be shared... Just don’t overdo it—it's bad for your health, and it says so right on the pack. Not that it matters to me; I don’t have many days left. But you’re still young..."

Yellow Hair tucked the cigarette behind his ear, curled his lip, and spat on the ground. "You old folks talk too much—just like my late father, always nagging." With his hands in his pockets, he walked away without looking back. "I’m keeping your lighter, saves me buying one. Thanks!"

As two men in blue jackets by the trash can made to pursue him, the old man stopped them with a gesture. "Let it go. A lighter isn't worth much; let him have it."

One of the men, face stern, quickly typed a message on his phone. "You can tell that guy is trouble. Let Team One look into him. If they get the lighter back, good; if not, at least check him out. Right now, Professor Zhang, your safety is the priority. After all, someone has been secretly following you lately."

Zhang Xiaoman laughed heartily. "Honestly, it’s not necessary, Changping. Your concern is excessive. If anyone could just walk up and kill me, I would’ve died hundreds of times by now. And look at me—anyone who wanted me dead would lose all interest after seeing me in person."

"Better safe than sorry..." The blue-jacketed man glanced at his vibrating phone. "He really isn’t a good sort. Not here to kill you, but a habitual thief. Luckily, he didn’t make off with anything of yours. Better steer clear of these shifty types."

Zhang Xiaoman touched his nose and coughed. "See what I mean? You all make a mountain out of a molehill. Go back—there’s plenty of work waiting for you at the bureau. Don’t waste your time trailing an old man. It’s been nearly three hours since we left the holding center; you deserve a break."

But the men in blue just kept smoking by the trash can, eyes on the ground, ignoring Zhang Xiaoman’s words.

Zhang Xiaoman sighed, took out his pack, and scanned the filters of each cigarette before drawing one out and beckoning to a blue-jacketed man. "Let me use your lighter. I promise I’ll return it, unlike that impudent young man earlier."

A blue jacket handed him the lighter. "Keep it if you want..."

Yellow Hair swiftly snatched back the lighter, a wide grin on his face. "Sorry, old habits die hard. I’ll change, I swear. Who’d have thought even a lighter would catch your eye, officer? Truly, the law is inescapable—even lighters are not exempt!"

The blue-jacketed man shot him a cold look. "Even if it’s just a lighter, what you did counts as robbery. If the old man pressed charges, you could be locked up. Freedom is precious, especially for someone with a record—learn to value it."

"Got it, got it. Won’t happen again!" Yellow Hair saluted the officer’s retreating figure. "Don’t worry, sir... Take care, sir..." Once the man had left, Yellow Hair spat on the ground. "Bah, what a load of nonsense..."

He ducked into another alley, took the cigarette from behind his ear, broke off the filter, and with his fingers, pulled out a tightly rolled slip of paper. He unfolded it, took out Zhang Xiaoman’s lighter, flicked it on, and held the flame to the paper. Blue words soon appeared: “A57391.” Yellow Hair repeated the number to himself several times, committing it to memory, then set the paper alight and tossed it away, watching it turn to ash in the air.