09

In 2001, at the beginning of the new century, my father and I began new lives in the same city.

My university major was biological engineering, and after graduation, I worked at a research institute for many years, staring at a microscope and dealing with various microorganisms.

My father, using the identity of a deceased co-worker, got a job at a metallurgy factory, where he would come into contact with strong acids, and he took advantage of his position to habitually corrode his fingerprints.

We exchanged letters under false names, reading them and then burning them.

Considering that Officer Luke would still occasionally look for me, we quickly abandoned conventional correspondence and switched to less noticeable ways of exchanging information.

For example, we designated a fixed seat at a noodle shop; my father would go there for noodles in the morning and hide letters under the seat; I would go in the afternoon to collect the letters.

We occasionally arranged to go hiking together; when we reached the destination, we would exchange a distant glance and then ascend the mountain together.

I could no longer hold my father’s hand as I did when I was a child; I could only maintain the distance of strangers.

Life continued like this for several years.

In 2007, an unexpected event occurred.

While hiking, I once again felt that quiet yet terrifying gaze.

The gaze of a sheep.

I suppressed my inner fear and turned to look.

There was a crowd of people, but I did not see a sheep; instead, I saw Officer Luke in plain clothes, following me.

After realizing this, I continued walking without raising any suspicion, gradually deviating from the original path and further increasing the distance from my father.

Officer Luke did not notice anything unusual; it was a close call.

However, we could not remain this cautious forever.

My father had undergone plastic surgery, but upon closer inspection, one could still discern his past appearance; he had corroded his fingerprints, but they would grow back; even if fingerprints could be erased, DNA is an eternal marker.

Long before my father went missing in 1997, my DNA was already in the hands of the police.

If the case was not closed, the past would never truly pass.

10

2009, I married Nora.

Not long after the wedding, I took Nora hiking so that my father could see.

Of course, Nora was unaware of the truth.

In subsequent letters, my father said that although he could only watch from a distance, he could tell that Nora was as gentle as my mother.

He told me he was very satisfied with his daughter-in-law and was happy enough to eat an extra bowl of noodles.

I looked at that letter and laughed until tears streamed down my face, then I lit a lighter and burned it.

Please continue to wait patiently, Dad.

It will be soon.

11

In 2011, the old matters finally came to an end, and Officer Luke no longer looked for me.

Those who love mystery and reasoning do not only have the paths of good and evil; there is also a third path in between.

I changed my career and became a mystery writer.

Once again, we agreed to hike together; we gazed at each other from a distance in the crowd, and then I walked straight towards my father.

My father pretended to look elsewhere, occasionally focusing on me.

When I got close enough, no longer at the distance of strangers, my father panicked, frowned, and signaled to leave.

I stepped forward, grabbed my father, and said, “Dad, the case is too old; the police told me they are no longer investigating.”

“What?”

“It’s all in the past; we can be like we used to.”

In 2001, my father and I parted ways at the plastic surgery clinic.

Ten whole years passed before we could meet again at such a close distance.

My father was 54 years old, with half of his hair turned white and deep wrinkles.

Because of his habit of corroding his fingerprints, his hands were mottled and rough, making him appear even older.

Those ten years felt so long, yet at this moment, it seemed like I had pressed the fast-forward button.

The father in my memory was clearly middle-aged, but in an instant, he appeared aged.

I embraced my father, holding back tears, and said, “It’s all over, Dad.

You no longer need to worry; we can meet openly.”

That day, I supported my father and climbed the mountain together.

It had been a long time since we had walked side by side like this.

12

My father and I met openly as hiking friends; in public, we would not refer to each other as father and son, nor did we plan to live together.

After so many years, we had our own lives.

My father changed to a job at a bookstore, where he met Aunt Wang, who loved reading.

They became companions, though they did not marry.

Aunt Wang had a 25-year-old daughter whom my father treated well, and she was also filial to him.

Thus, another ten years passed.

In the summer of 2021, my father suddenly suffered a heart attack and passed away at the age of 64.

Aunt Wang’s daughter held a funeral for him, and I attended as my father’s hiking friend.

My father’s ashes were scattered on the mountaintop, as per his wishes.

Sometimes I think about it; the most difficult times have passed, and my father should have enjoyed a few more good years.

But that day, when my father and I climbed to the top of the mountain, he said, “I have been living a meager existence for many years; I should have died in the summer of 1997.”

That day, I told my father that the case was too old, and the police had given up.

He believed me.

What he did not know was that the fugitive who had already been wanted would never be given up by the police.

The police were no longer investigating because the case had been closed.

As I reached this point, I stared blankly at a corner of the reptile room, unable to continue.

Nora looked at me, silent.

I asked her, “What are your thoughts?”

Nora’s gaze flickered, “I feel like this is true.”

“Don’t get caught up in what’s real or not.”

“I don’t know; I never knew any of this.”

Nora closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “You said this is just a story, that it’s fake.

But not long after we got married, you really took me hiking, and I didn’t know that day I met your father.

For a while, you did often go to a noodle shop, and you would regularly go hiking alone…

all these details match up, and I believe everything is true.”

Nora covered her face, her shoulders trembling.

“This is a novel,” I stepped forward to embrace her, softly comforting her, “I just filled in some dramatic elements of my life; this is to enhance your reading experience.

Since you care so much, I won’t tell it anymore, to avoid making you anxious…”

“No, you must continue.”

She wiped her tears, pushed me away, and her gaze turned cold, “There are still many things in the main plot that haven’t been resolved in the subplots. You tell me, why was the case closed? What about the bones the police found? Was it that sheep? How could the police not distinguish between a human skeleton and a sheep? What ‘scapegoat’—that’s just a religious myth. You tell me, what exactly happened?”

I looked at her pale face, hesitating, “Do you really want to hear it? I’m afraid you won’t be able to handle it.”

“You must tell me.”

-The Truth-

In the story I just told, there are some details I only touched upon.

And now, he is the main character.

I previously mentioned that I have an older brother, five years my senior, born in 1975, while I was born in 1980.

So initially, our family consisted of four people: my parents, my brother, and me.

I am afraid of the eyes of sheep because they have horizontal pupils, calm yet eerie, revealing no emotions and being inscrutable.

I also mentioned earlier that I have been deeply tormented by the terror of being watched by sheep’s eyes since childhood.

However, my family did not raise sheep.

What I feared was my brother.

My brother has a visual impairment, a congenital iris defect that causes his pupils to be horizontal like a sheep’s, which terrifies me deeply.

I was healthy as a child, well-formed, and bright, and my parents gave me almost all their love.

In contrast, my brother looked strange, had a slow temperament, spoke little, and was not very bright.

My parents treated him well at first, but over time, my mother began to fear him.

He would quietly stare at people with those eyes, and when asked, he would not respond, just continue to look quietly, which no one could endure.

The villagers avoided him and even avoided mentioning him.

There was a grandfather in the village who believed in Christianity; he said that in the West, goats are considered ominous, embodiments of demons that lead people to do bad things.

My brother was the demon.

The whole village ostracized my brother, and my parents were affected as well.

My father later told me that deep down, he had exonerated himself, believing that he killed someone in 1985 because of that ominous child leading him to do so.

After the grandfather said that, my father seemed to grasp a straw to cling to and began to treat my brother poorly.

My brother, knowing he was not welcomed, dropped out of school early and left home to work.

Soon, the villagers forgot about him; rather, they did not want to remember anything bad.

My brother left and never returned, disappearing without a trace.

The police came to inquire but were unaware of my brother’s existence.

It wasn’t until after my mother passed away in 2001 that he returned once.

During the days of my mother’s funeral, many people came to mourn, including Officer Luke.

So my father had to stay in the cellar.

Every day, I would sneak down to bring him food.

After the funeral, just to be safe, my father still wanted to stay in the cellar for a few more days.

That day, I was still going down to the cellar to bring food.

The light was dim, and it was silent.

Suddenly, I felt that quiet yet terrifying gaze again.