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A fourth-grade classroom in a primary school in the HK district of Shanghai, September 1996.

"Su Ning, please answer this question in English." Li Ping, the English teacher wearing round-framed glasses, called on the boy in the last row who was always daydreaming.

A few snickers rang out in the classroom.

Everyone knows that this transfer student is from the north and speaks with a Tangshan accent.

In the previous few English classes, he couldn't even say the simplest "Hello" fluently.

Su Ning slowly stood up, scratching his messy hair: "The Industrial Revolution first began in England, not only because of the accumulation of capital, but more importantly, the emergence of new technologies like the steam engine..."

His fluent British English stunned the entire class; the clear syllables echoed crisply in the classroom.

Teacher Li adjusted her glasses, which had slipped down to the tip of her nose, and the lesson plan slipped from her hand.

"You...you've studied English before?"

Su Ning blinked in confusion: "No! I just felt that's how it should be said."

He paused, then suddenly switched to standard Mandarin, "Teacher, there's a grammatical error on page 35 of the textbook, in the passive voice section..."

"..."

After the bell rang, the students surrounded Su Ning, chattering away: "How come your English is so good all of a sudden?" "Did you get a tutor?" "Say a few more words for us!"

Su Ning was stunned by the question and didn't know how to answer when a blond boy suddenly squeezed through the crowd: "Excuse me, where is the restroom?"

“Turn right at the end of the road after you go out,” Su Ning blurted out.

Then I was stunned.

He could actually understand it and even answer questions.

On his way home from school, Su Ning kicked pebbles and pondered this strange phenomenon.

As I passed by Nanjing East Road, I saw several foreign tourists arguing about a map.

“Pardon me,” a bearded man in a cowboy hat stopped Su Ning, “Do you know how to get to the Bund?”

Suning's mouth seemed to have a mind of its own: "Go straight two blocks and turn left at the big clock."

"Thanks, kid!" The bearded man excitedly handed him a ten-yuan bill. "You're a lifesaver!"

Su Ning stared at the money in his hand, and a bold idea popped into his head.

Nowadays, Su Daqiang earns his living expenses by doing odd jobs, and the father and son live in a creaky attic.

Since I have such a talent for languages, I might as well make use of this skill.

……

The Bund was bustling with people on the weekend. Suning squatted on the steps in front of the Peace Hotel, with the words "Translation" written in chalk in front of him.

This was his third day "setting up his stall," and the money he earned the first two times was enough for him and Su Daqiang to eat meat for a week.

"Kid, you really speak a foreign language?" a man in a leather jacket squatted down and asked.

Suning nodded: "I know a little bit of English, Japanese, French, Russian and German."

"Okay! Help me negotiate a deal with that foreigner." The man pointed to the foreigner taking pictures not far away. "If it goes well, I'll give you twenty."

Half an hour later, Suning found two crumpled banknotes in his pocket.

As the man left, he patted the boy's head and said, "You've got some skills, kid. Will you come again tomorrow?"

"Your tip is too little! You made tens of thousands of dollars on this deal."

"Little rascal! I'll give you fifty for each translation, how about it?"

"Pleasant to work with."

When Su Daqiang returned home in the evening, if that attic of less than ten square meters could be called a home, he would definitely be eating porridge with pickled vegetables.

Upon seeing Su Ning enter, he immediately put on a stern face: "Where have you been running off to again?"

Su Ning mysteriously pulled a handful of loose change from his schoolbag: "Dad, look!"

Su Daqiang counted the money and found there were actually eighty-three yuan: "Where did this come from? Did you steal it?"

"No! I earned it by translating for people!" Su Ning excitedly recounted her experience today. "That French lady even said my pronunciation was more standard than her compatriots'!"

Su Daqiang narrowed his eyes.

This child's language talent is indeed very strange, just like his strange ability to learn combat skills.

But the money was real; he silently stuffed the banknotes into the tin biscuit box.

“I’ll go with you starting tomorrow,” Su Daqiang finally said.

"it is good."

The next day, a strange pair appeared on the Bund: a fierce-looking man with scars on his arms stood to one side, while a thin little boy fluently helped people bargain, give directions, and even mediate disputes in various languages.

By the weekend, their "business" had expanded to Yu Garden and the City God Temple.

“Dad, that Englishman said their company needs a long-term translator.” One evening at dinner, Su Ning said, biting her chopsticks, “Three times a week, fifty yuan each time.”

Su Daqiang paused, his hand still holding the food in his chopsticks. "No! You still have to go to school."

“I can skip class this afternoon,” Su Ning said nonchalantly. “Anyway, I already know everything the teacher teaches, and staying at school is just too boring.”

"No!" Su Daqiang slammed his hand on the table, then lowered his voice, "At least... we can't all escape."

"..." Su Ning was speechless at her father's behavior; it seemed that she always managed to cross his bottom line.

And so, ten-year-old Suning began his life of "working and studying".

In the morning, I listened to lectures absentmindedly at school, and in the afternoon, I shuttled between various international hotels and office buildings.

His "clients" have grown from tourists to resident foreign businessmen, and his fees have increased from a few yuan to tens of yuan per visit.

Soon, Suning became a minor celebrity on the street, mainly because of his excellent translation skills. Many foreigners who felt unfamiliar with the place liked Suning.

Therefore, Suning's business was very stable, and Su Daqiang no longer did odd jobs. Instead, he secretly protected Suning.

Watching his "son" change every day, Su Daqiang's heart was undoubtedly filled with complex emotions. He wondered if his own son was as smart as he was.

Before the Spring Festival in 1997, Suning and Su Daqiang moved out of the dark and damp attic and into a proper one-bedroom apartment in the HK district.

Although it's still an old house, at least it has running water and a flush toilet.

"Dad, look at this!" Su Ning excitedly rolled around on the wooden floor. "There are no more mice!"

Su Daqiang was counting his savings from the past six months—a total of more than six thousand yuan.

He glanced at the overjoyed child, and a corner of his heart softened slightly.

He initially adopted the son of his enemy only to seek revenge, but unexpectedly it became a turning point in his impoverished life.

"Let's go buy new clothes tomorrow," Su Daqiang said generously, "It's almost Chinese New Year."

"Let's save up to buy a house?"

"What? Buy a house?"

"Yes! Renting a house always makes me feel insecure. It's more comfortable to live in my own house. I would rather sleep in the dilapidated house by the reservoir in my hometown now."

"..."

The next day at the Nanjing Road Department Store, Suning showed no interest in the children's clothing section and dragged Su Daqiang straight to the home appliance section.

"Dad, buy this!" He pointed to a used IBM computer. "Mr. Smith said that many jobs can be done with computers in the future, and translation fees can double!"

"So expensive! It'll take up half of our savings." Su Daqiang looked at the price tag of over three thousand yuan with a pain in his eye.

“I’ve calculated it, and we can break even in three months,” Su Ning analyzed like a little adult. “Besides, learning computers will allow me to get more jobs.”

"Fine! You're the one who earns all the money! You're the one who calls the shots."

"Thank you dad."

In the end, the computer was moved back to the new home along with other New Year's goods.

On New Year's Eve, Su Ning was hunched over his computer studying the DOS system, while Su Daqiang was clumsily making dumplings in the kitchen. In previous years, he would just buy some ready-made food to tide him over.

"Su Ning, tell me! How did you learn all this?"

"I don't know! I just felt like I was born with it, and after only a few days here, I already speak Shanghainese, didn't I?"

"You brat, are you really a genius?"

"Perhaps! But even if he's a genius, he's still your son."

"..." Upon hearing this, Su Daqiang's expression became complicated once again.

"Dad, come quick!" Su Ning suddenly shouted.

Su Daqiang wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron and walked to the computer.

The screen displays an English real estate advertisement: Newly built residential properties in Pudong New Area, selling for only 1500 yuan per square meter.

“I want to buy this,” Suning said earnestly.

"What?" Su Daqiang thought he had misheard. "Dad, Mr. Smith said that Shanghai house prices will skyrocket in the future." Su Ning pulled up a self-made spreadsheet. "I've calculated it. We have enough money for the down payment, and we can use our translation income to pay off the loan..."

"..." This was the first time Su Daqiang had seriously looked at his son.

A ten-year-old child is talking about investment plans that even adults might not understand, yet his eyes are as innocent as if he's discussing which toy to buy.

He suddenly realized how many unknown possibilities were hidden within this amnesiac child.
"We'll see!" Su Daqiang finally uttered these three words, then turned and went back to the kitchen to continue cooking dumplings.

But that night, for the first time, he dreamed of not revenge, but a bright house that belonged to him and Su Ning.

……

By the time spring arrived, Suning's "translation business" had already gained some fame.

Some foreign companies began to contact this "amazing Chinese boy," and even the Japanese consulate asked him to help proofread documents.

“Mr. Su, your son is truly a genius,” British businessman Smith said to Su Daqiang after a meeting. “His language talent is the most astonishing I’ve ever seen. How did you raise him?”

Su Daqiang could only give a vague answer: "He likes to learn."

On the bus home, Suning leaned against the window and dozed off.

Lately, he keeps having the same dream: a girl with a ponytail teaches him to sing English nursery rhymes, but when he wakes up, he can't remember the girl's face.

"Dad," Su Ning suddenly asked, "Does my mom speak foreign languages?"

Su Daqiang froze: "Why are you asking this?"

“I’m just curious.” Su Ning yawned. “I seem to remember someone teaching me to sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’…”

The bus braked suddenly, and Su Daqiang's expression was inscrutable in the shadows.

He recalled that the information mentioned that Zhao Sanjin's stepmother was fluent in English and had participated in various competitions since childhood.

“Your mother… doesn’t speak foreign languages,” Su Daqiang replied curtly. “Your talent comes from me.”

Su Ning was so sleepy that she didn't notice Su Daqiang's unusual behavior and fell asleep on his shoulder.

Su Daqiang gently shifted his shoulder to make the child more comfortable, and looked out the window at the Pudong construction site that was rushing past with complicated emotions.

Among those towering buildings, there was one apartment for which they had paid a deposit, but in the end, they listened to Suning's advice.

And so, Su Daqiang and Su Ning officially bought a house and settled down in Shanghai, no longer needing to wander around like "vagrants".

"Next stop, Dongchang Road." The bus announcement startled him from his thoughts.

Su Daqiang quickly changed the subject, "Suning, a German company wants you to translate tomorrow, go to bed early."

"it is good."

In the dead of night, Su Daqiang stood on the balcony smoking.

The sound of Suning singing English nursery rhymes drifted from downstairs; the tune was "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

The cigarette butt flickered in the darkness, like his wavering heart: should he raise this child as a tool for revenge, or... truly raise him as a son?

The sound of ship horns echoed from afar on the Huangpu River, but there was no answer.

……

Spring Festival of 1997, Zhao Family Town, Tangshan.

Ten black Audis lined up and drove into this small village in Hebei, kicking up clouds of dust.

Inside the lead car, Zhao Xin stroked the gold watch strap, looking with satisfaction at the villagers gathered on both sides of the road.

"Chairman, everything is arranged." The secretary in the co-pilot's seat turned around and reported, "Fifty tables of banquet have been set up in the village committee square, and sufficient cash has been prepared."

Zhao Xin nodded.

On this trip back to his hometown, he specially brought along twenty bodyguards and the company's public relations team.

Not only do they want to return home in glory, but they also want to get rid of the scourge that has plagued Zhao Family Town for many years: the village bully Hu Dabiao.

The convoy stopped in front of the village committee, and Zhao Xin straightened his Armani suit and got out of the car.

The villagers timidly gathered around, looking at this fellow townsman who had been away from home for more than ten years and was now a well-known entrepreneur in Tangshan with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

"Fellow villagers!" Zhao Xin stood on the makeshift platform, his voice booming, "I, Zhao Sanjin, have returned today to do three things!"

He held up three fingers: "First, give each household a 5,000 yuan red envelope!"

There was an uproar in the audience.

"Secondly, let me show you what it means for evil to be punished!"

With a wave of his hand, Zhao Xin's bodyguards brought in a burly man with a bruised and swollen face, who was none other than Hu Dabiao, who had been terrorizing the village for many years.

The villagers gasped in shock.

This thug, who had once broken three people's legs, was dragged onto the stage like a dead dog, his crotch soaked.

"Third," Zhao Xin raised his voice, "I want to rebuild the Zhao Family Ancestral Hall and build another Hope Primary School."

Amidst thunderous applause, Zhao Xin basked in the long-awaited admiring gazes.

He glanced at his elderly father standing in the corner. The old man still had a stern face, but his lips twitched slightly, clearly also shocked by the scene.

The banquet lasted until evening.

While the villagers lined up to receive red envelopes after a hearty meal, Zhao Xin walked alone towards the old house at the east end of the village.

He hadn't returned for fifteen years, and the mottled wooden door still bore the number "three" from his childhood.

Pushing open the door, a musty smell hit me.

Old Master Zhao was sitting in the main room, smoking his pipe, without even lifting his eyelids.

"Dad, I'm back," Zhao Xin said softly, suddenly transforming back into the boy he was before leaving home.

The tobacco pipe slammed heavily on the blue brick floor.

The next second, Old Master Zhao grabbed a carrying pole from behind the door and started hitting him all over.

"You beast! You still know how to come back!" The old man swung his carrying pole with each curse. "Where's my grandson? Huh? Where's my precious grandson, Ba Liang?"

Zhao Xin dared not dodge and took several blows head-on, causing his expensive suit to tear in several places.

"Father, I've been searching..."

"Bullshit!" The old man swung his carrying pole. "If you hadn't caused trouble outside, would Ba Liang have been kidnapped? It's been almost two years, and he's nowhere to be found, dead or alive!"

The carrying pole snapped in two with a "crack".

The old man, panting heavily, tears streaming down his face, shouted: "Get out! If you don't find Eight Ounces, never set foot in the Zhao family again!"

Zhao Xin knelt on the ground, blood streaming down his forehead from a cut.

In a daze, he heard cheers from the villagers outside the courtyard. They were lining up to receive the donations distributed by Chairman Zhao.

However, these cheers sounded particularly ironic to Zhao Xin, as if they were mocking his incompetence as a father.

……

As night deepened, Zhao Family Town gradually quieted down.

Zhao Xin sat alone on the threshold of the old house, pressing a silk handkerchief against the wound on his forehead.

Over the years, he secretly offered a million-dollar reward for finding his son, but only attracted countless scammers, while his son seemed to have vanished into thin air.

"San'er." The old man's voice suddenly came from behind.

Zhao Xin hurriedly stood up: "Dad."

The old man tossed over a yellowed cloth bag: "Open it."

Inside the cloth bag was a worn-out thread-bound book, with the title "Zhao Family Genealogy" written in calligraphy on the cover.

Turning to the last few pages, Zhao Xin saw a record circled in red:
"In the twenty-sixth year of the Guangxu Emperor's reign, the seven sons of the Zhao family encountered bandits. Their eyes turned bloodshot, and they killed more than ten of them before throwing themselves into a well and committing suicide. The villagers called it the 'Asura Eyes,' a strange phenomenon in their ancestral bloodline..."

“In our Zhao family,” the old man said in a hoarse voice, “every few generations a child with ‘red eyes’ will appear. On the day of Ba Liang’s full moon, I saw his eyes turn red for a moment.”

The old man gripped his son's wrist tightly, saying, "If that child were still alive, he would be eleven years old now..."

Zhao Xin suddenly remembered his son's unusual behavior before he disappeared: at the age of four, he could lift a large rock that even an adult could not move, and at the age of five, he bent an iron railing with his bare hands.

At the time, I just thought it was because the child was strong, but now that I think about it...

"Find him." The old man turned and went inside, leaving behind his final ultimatum. "Find him before that child causes any more trouble."

Under the moonlight, Zhao Xin opened the family photo in his wallet.

In the photo, Zhao Ba is genuinely smiling, showing no signs of anything amiss.

The sound of firecrackers could be heard in the distance; the villagers were still celebrating the execution of the village bully.

Zhao Xin felt a chill run down his spine...

If the son really inherited the so-called "Asura Eye," where would he be now? And what would he look like?
...(End of chapter)