Capturing My Demon King Costar - Chapter 184

Yao Shen’s tension grows as the familiar landscape speeds by through the bullet train’s windows.

Xin Hulei told them he could bring them here, but Yao Shen declined, saying the train ride would help him get his thoughts in order before he saw his father.

He hadn’t been back in his hometown in almost five years. Speaking honestly, he never expected to return.

But the train pulls into the dilapidated station and Yao Shen is officially back.

Only a thin trickle of people leave the train at this stop, and none of them spare Yao Shen and Xin Hulei a single glance.

They’re trying to be inconspicuous, with twin bucket hats shoved deep into their heads, and wearing the kind of clothes people usually associate with backpackers.

Yao Shen is almost dizzy with trepidation, as he makes his way through the familiar cobbled streets, the spaces between the ancient cut stones overgrown with weeds and wildflowers.

In no time at all, his muscle memory takes him to the wooden door of the squat, raw cement house he called home for the better part of his life.

Somehow, it doesn’t look as dismal as Yao Shen remembers it.

Then again, his misery never had much to do with the outside of the house.

Seeing the apprehension notched into the lines of his face, Xin Hulei raises his fist and knocks on the door himself — relieving Yao Shen of the task.

There’s some noise inside the house, like furniture dragging, and then the door wrenches open.

The familiar, lined face of Yao Shen’s father squints up at them, unused to the brightness of the day.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, after he recognises Yao Shen.

He goes back into the house but leaves the door open. It’s as much of an invitation as they’re ever going to get.

—

Yao Shen leads Xin Hulei through the kitchen, and then to the living room, where the old tube TV is playing some sports program. Yao Shen’s father sinks into the elderly couch in front of it without another word.

Yao Shen takes a seat on the armchair opposite, while Xin Hulei stands behind him.

“How have you been, dad?” Yao Shen asks, trying to keep his tone even.

Old Yao grumbles something under his breath, and then reaches across to get another beer. The inside of the house looks much worse than Yao Shen remembers — dirtier, now that Yao Shen isn’t around to clean.

He feels a pang of guilt at that. For a long time he barely had money for himself, but maybe he should have sent some back so his father could hire someone to clean — no. He cuts that thought short before it can take hold. His father is a healthy man, he can clean after himself. Always could.

And for long a time he looked after Yao Shen too — maybe not in the best way, maybe not in a way that a loving father should, but he did.

Maybe there will always be a conflict inside Yao Shen about how to feel regarding his father’s faults.

He clears his throat. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but…I just wrapped up shooting a drama.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then his father rubs the back of his wrist across his nose. “Yeah, I heard something about that.”

Yao Shen looks up at Xin Hulei, there’s a sour pool of anxiety building up inside his stomach, and he doesn’t know how to proceed.

The reassuring look in Xin Hulei’s steady eyes, and the hand he places on his shoulder give Yao Shen the strength he needs to go on.

“I just wanted you to know that,” he sucks in a loud, sobering breath, “I made it…I did what I said I would.”

His father nods, his glazed eyes fixed on the curved TV screen. “Good for you.”

Yao Shen’s shoulders slump. He doesn’t know what he expected. It’s not as if his father would have a change of earth once he realised he’d been wrong about Yao Shen and that none of his awful predictions ever materialised.

Maybe  this was a waste of time, but Yao Shen didn’t come here to hear an apology. He came for himself, because he’s the happiest he has ever been, and now that he knows first hand how hard happiness is to come by, he doesn’t want any old, lingering resentment to poison it.

“Anyway, things are about to get a lot more relaxed in terms of money, so if there’s anything you need…” he lets the words drift out into the air.

His father shakes his head. “I’m good,” he says, and then raises his beer bottle.

“You could do some improvements around the house,” Yao Shen says, looking around at the raw concrete walls and the exposed wiring.

His father shakes his head again. “It’s just me here, the place is fine as it is.”

Yao Shen sighs, his neck hanging between his shoulders. His father is the most stubborn person in the world, of course he would never accept anything Yao Shen gave him. It’s a point of pride to him.

Maybe when the people around the village ask around for Yao Shen, he tells them he’s dead.

In any case, Yao Shen is glad he came. The man of his nightmares isn’t the monster he remembers, just an old man with saggy skin and a beer gut. Yao Shen is taller than him, even for all he remembers his father towering over him in all his memories.

He gets up from the armchair after squeezing Xin Hulei’s fingers on his shoulder. There’s no point in staying any longer. At least the train ride was scenic.

He takes out a card with his phone number and email address and places it on the little rickety table below the TV.

“My number, if you want to get in touch,” Yao Shen says, tapping it once.

His father only grunts in acknowledgement.

“I’m off then,” Yao Shen says, looking back at his father.

“Close the door on your way out,” he says, barely looking at Yao Shen’s direction.

Yao Shen nods and leaves the house he grew up in, unsure when or if he’s going to return.

Back at the station, Xin Hulei kisses the top of his head, and tells him he’s brave, and that he’s proud of him.

Yao Shen closes his eyes and believes him.

—

Old Yao waits to hear the sound of the door closing before letting out a shuddering breath. The back of his throat and nose sting painfully, but he rubs at his eyes to keep the tears at bay.

His son looked good, taller than he remembers, or maybe he was just standing straighter.

Old Yao picks the card from the end table and brings it with him to the bedroom. There’s still a curtain up, separating his side of the room from Yao Shen’s, even though Old Yao has been on his own for years now.

He draws the curtain open and walks up to his son’s old wardrobe. The old wooden doors creak open, revealing insides covered in printed photos and clipped web articles.

Old Yao takes the business card and pins it over one of photos of his son in a white daoist robe, and closes the doors.

He wasn’t a good father, he wasn’t even a good husband to Yao Shen’s mother when she was alive, but he always hoped his son would find a way out of this sleepy village, lost between two mountains who will one day come down on top of it.

The idea of Yao Shen wasting away as he did, and does, always terrified him. Old Yao has nothing but his bottle, and the memories of a smiling woman who is now nothing but bones under the earth.

If she was still around she would have known how to talk with their son, she would have been able to explain how Old Yao didn’t want him to pin all his hopes on a pipe dream. Worse, he didn’t want him to end up in dangerous situations while chasing those dreams.

The worst thing that can happen to a person in a poor village is becoming part of the foliage, but he knows the kind of risks young boys and girls take in the big cities. He always wanted better for his son, but never at the risk of his safety.

Old Yao would be lying if he said he didn’t wish Yao Shen had found a passion for engineering instead of acting, but at least he looks well — healthy, strong.

He’s too old to regret all the bitterness and sadness, which led him to push his only son away. All he wants now is to not be a burden for Yao Shen.

Still, he’ll keep his phone number, maybe one day he’ll be strong enough to dial the digits. Maybe one day the ghosts of his past won’t weigh so heavily on his back and he’ll be strong enough to apologise.

Maybe then Yao Shen will want to tell him about the tall man who came with him, and stood by him like a shadow, his dark eyes boring into Old Yao, brimming with recriminations.

Old Yao smiles a little to himself, he thinks he would like to hear that story.