Nominal: My senior brothers are all big shots

The sanatorium is located at the foot of a small hill on the outskirts of the city, in a quiet and secluded environment with towering ancient trees.

Zhou Tianming parked his car at the entrance, got out, and walked to the guardhouse. The old man guarding the door recognized him, glanced at him, and without saying a word, simply pointed inside. Zhou Tianming nodded and went inside.

The sanatorium was small, with several low-rise buildings nestled behind sycamore trees, as quiet as a park. Old Zhou lived on the first floor of the last building, in a simple, somewhat shabby room with two rooms: a living room and a bedroom. Zhou Tianming walked to the door, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

The door opened, and there was my cousin. She saw Zhou Tianming, paused for a moment, and then frowned. "Why are you here?" Her voice was cold, as cold as the winter wind.

Zhou Tianming said, "Sister, I've come to see Uncle."

My cousin stood in the doorway, refusing to move. "Dad doesn't want to see you. Go away."

Zhou Tianming lowered his head, his voice a little hoarse. "Sister, I have something urgent. Please let me in so I can say a few words to Uncle."

His cousin looked at him, paused for a moment, and then said, "You wait here." She closed the door and went inside.

Zhou Tianming stood at the door, waiting. The corridor was quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. He heard low voices coming from inside, but couldn't make out what they were saying. After a long while, the door opened again. This time, it wasn't his cousin who came out, but Zhou's secretary, a man in his fifties wearing black-rimmed glasses and with a serious expression.

"General Zhou, the old commander says he won't see him."

Zhou Tianming's heart sank. He looked at his secretary, his eyes pleading. "Secretary Lin, please tell my uncle that I have something important to discuss and ask him to see me."

The secretary shook her head, her voice soft but firm. "The old leader said, 'For matters concerning the organization, talk to the organization.' He's not involved anymore."

Zhou Tianming stood there, speechless.

The secretary glanced at him, turned and went inside, closing the door behind her. Zhou Tianming stood at the door, staring at the closed door, feeling as if a stone was lodged in his heart.

He remembered his uncle's appearance on the battlefield when he was young, the scene of his uncle bringing him from the countryside to the city to study, and the pat on the shoulder as his uncle sent him off to join the army, saying, "Do a good job, don't bring shame to the family." He remembered his uncle's expectations for him over the years, and the lies he had told his uncle. He had let his uncle down. He had not only let his uncle down, but he had also utterly disgraced his uncle.

He slowly knelt down.

The corridor floor tiles were hard, and his knees thudded against them. He didn't get up; he remained kneeling, head bowed, motionless. Occasionally, someone would pass by, see him, pause for a moment, and then hurry on their way.

Her cousin opened the door and saw him kneeling there, her eyes reddening. She wanted to say something, but swallowed it back and closed the door.

Inside, Old Zhou lay on the bed, his eyes closed. Tears streamed down his face, down his wrinkles, and onto the pillow. His hands trembled, his lips quivered, but he couldn't speak. His cousin went over, took his hand, and whispered, "Dad, he's still kneeling outside."

Old Zhou didn't speak. His tears flowed even more fiercely.

After a long while, Old Zhou opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and said in a hoarse voice, like sandpaper rubbing against wood, "He's ended up like this because of me."

His voice was very soft, so soft it was as if he were talking to himself, "When he was little, I spoiled him. When he made mistakes, I covered for him. When he got into trouble, I cleaned it up for him. I thought I was being fair to his father, but I never imagined that I was the one who ruined him."

My cousin's tears also streamed down her face. "Dad, it's not your fault. He's the one who went down the wrong path."

Old Zhou shook his head and didn't say anything.

Outside the door, Zhou Tianming was still kneeling. His knees were numb, but he didn't get up. He knew his uncle wouldn't see him. But he couldn't leave. If he left, he would have nothing left.

Time passed second by second. The sun rose from the east to its zenith, and then set from its zenith to the west.

Zhou Tianming knelt there, motionless. His shadow grew longer and shorter, then longer again. Staff at the sanatorium came to persuade him to leave, but he wouldn't budge. His cousin came out to see him several times, each time returning with red eyes.

As evening fell, clouds gathered on the horizon, and the wind grew cool. His secretary came out, stood before him, and sighed. "Mr. Zhou, the old commander said you should go back. He said he can't help you. If you have any problems, go to the organization. The organization will give you justice."

Zhou Tianming looked up at his secretary. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips were chapped, and his face was as white as paper. He seemed to want to say something, but his lips moved without making a sound. The secretary bent down and helped him up. His knees were giving way, and he had to stand up several times before he could regain his balance.

He stood at the door, looked at the tightly closed door, and bowed deeply. Then he turned and walked out of the sanatorium step by step.

His hands were trembling as he got into the car. He gripped the steering wheel, not starting the car for a long time. The sky outside the car window gradually darkened, and the lights in the sanatorium came on one by one. He looked through the car window at the window of his uncle's room; the curtains were drawn tightly, and he couldn't see inside.

He started the car and drove out of the sanatorium.

The road back to Pingjiang was long. It was completely dark, and there were very few cars on the highway. Zhou Tianming drove alone, staring at the dark road ahead, feeling utterly empty. His uncle wouldn't see him; his uncle couldn't help him. He'd have to talk to the organization about it. He knew the organization wouldn't give him justice; they'd only give him handcuffs.

The phone rang; it was Zhong Zhihao calling. "Mr. Zhou, where are you?"

Zhou Tianming said, "On the way. Back to Pingjiang."

Zhong Zhihao paused for a moment, then said, "President Zhou, there's news about Liu Zhi. He's confessed to the Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection. He confessed to a lot of things."

Zhou Tianming didn't speak. He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat. The car continued driving. The night was dark, and the road ahead stretched out in the distance.

Liu Zhi sat on the cold chair in the interrogation room, head down, not looking at anyone. The water in front of him was changed again and again, but he didn't drink a drop.

His face was ashen, his eyes sunken, and his beard unkempt; he looked like a soulless shell. No one knew what he was thinking.

Perhaps he was thinking about the money in those overseas accounts, perhaps he was thinking about the terrified look in his wife's eyes the morning he was taken away, perhaps he was thinking about Zhou Tianming's text message, "It's time to prepare Plan B." But whatever he was thinking, he remained silent.

He Bing wasn't in a hurry. He had interrogated cadres of higher rank than Liu Zhi and knew that these kinds of people needed time. It wasn't that they wouldn't talk; it was that they hadn't figured things out yet. They needed to figure out—how much evidence the organization already had, how long they could hold out, and what the point of continuing was.