Winter Time Rendering

Chapter 170: Chapter 72: The Heavy Snow of Four Years Ago

At this, Song grew animated:

"How about I take you guys out for a bit during winter break? We won’t go too far. Did you know they built a new highway a few years back? It takes less than three hours to get to the neighboring province. Development over there is pretty good—they’ve got an aquarium and an amusement park, all stuff you’d be interested in. So, what do you say? Want to go?"

Zhang Shutong was quite interested in the aquarium. After all, how could someone who loved fishing not love an aquarium? He said he definitely wanted to go and began counting on his fingers. It was early December now. The upcoming holidays were Christmas, New Year’s, and winter break, followed by the Spring Festival.

No one was more eager for the weekend to be over than Zhang Shutong.

He subconsciously began to daydream about the future. The wind blowing in from the driver’s side didn’t feel cold; in fact, it was invigorating. But it also pulled him back to reality. Zhang Shutong shook his head. ’Song’s ability to get sidetracked is truly top-notch,’ he thought.

The police station wasn’t far from the school, and they arrived in no time. In Song’s words, the engine hadn’t even warmed up yet. They parked on the side of the road and braved the snow to enter the lobby.

Small towns have their own unconventional but effective methods. Zhou Ziheng’s father had rushed over; when the school contacted him, they had only said that his son had gotten into a conflict with other students. The man was probably still wondering what sort of conflict could land them in a police station, but before he could say a word, he was led away. Father and son were questioned separately, and the dust settled quickly.

He also confessed to the arson plot, including the paper with the thumbprints.

In reality, even without the paper, Zhou Ziheng’s father, being the mastermind, already knew who was involved. Add to that the fact that naming his accomplices could reduce his sentence, and the man was naturally quite eager to cooperate.

He likely implicated countless others who had the intent but lacked the courage to act. It looked like it was going to be another sleepless night for the island’s police force.

The commercial street dispute had finally come to an end.

It had all gone more smoothly than Zhang Shutong could have imagined.

The only hiccup was that Song had frozen for a moment when he saw Zhou Ziheng’s father. Strangely enough, Song didn’t recognize him. He had been on the verge of calling out, ’Hey pal, what are you doing here? Run into some trouble?’

But then he just stared, dumbfounded, as the man was led away.

Song seemed heartbroken that his pork liver plans were ruined. As he and Zhang Shutong sat on a bench in the lobby waiting, Zhang Shutong asked curiously, "How come you don’t know Zhou Ziheng’s dad? What kind of homeroom teacher are you?"

Song replied helplessly, "It’s always his mom who comes to parent-teacher conferences. Besides, this isn’t the city, where you might run into parents picking up their kids. You all just get on your bikes and take off. I’m not a local and I barely know anyone here. How was I supposed to know that was his dad..."

But no sooner had the words left Song’s mouth than, in a classic case of speaking of the devil, a middle-aged police officer appeared before them:

"Teacher Song. Long time no see."

Song Nanshan stood, shook the officer’s hand, and they exchanged brief pleasantries.

"...I’m still so grateful for your help with that business back then."

"Not at all. You’re being too polite."

The two men continued talking as they pushed open the glass doors to smoke outside. Zhang Shutong was already bored, and now, his curiosity was thoroughly piqued by their conversation. ’What kind of connection could Song have with a police officer?’

’Did he get his car stolen?’

He crept over to the door and hid, tucking half his body out of sight. ’I’m really turning into a detective lately,’ he thought. Through the thick laminated glass, fragments of their conversation drifted in on the howling wind.

Song lit a cigarette for the officer. As snowflakes settled on the black police cap, the man pulled the brim down slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"...Four years ago, when you came for her funeral, I told you..."

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