thefictionvixens Chapter 100 Wrench
Chapter 100 Wrench
The air was heavy.
Lin Xiaoxiao's fingers hovered over the edge of the plate, her gaze darting back and forth between herself and the paste-like substance in front of her, trying to dissect it to find the last glimmer of hope.
Beside her, Bao Ping huddled in the overly tall black chair back, looking awkward and out of place.
Bao Ping looked down at his hands, which were covered in calluses and whose fingertips were always stained with black engine oil.
These hands have held pipe wrenches, wielded sledgehammers, applied makeup to the dead, and offered cigarettes to the living, but they have never grasped fate itself.
Now fate is laid out on the plate in front of you.
Four of the seven dishes have already been served. Of the remaining three, Ye Jianguo's glass of water is most likely the only antidote.
So, of the remaining two dishes, one must be a highly poisonous dish, a 50% chance.
Lin Xiaoxiao is very smart. She is a screenwriter and a mental worker. She is calculating probabilities and playing games.
Lu Dan was a madman who dared to gamble with his life.
But Bao Ping couldn't calculate; he had never outsmarted fate in his entire life.
......
"Master Bao."
Lin Xiaoxiao's voice was a little hoarse; she was clearly not confident either, as this was a gamble that would cost her her life.
Bao Ping's gaze fell on Lin Xiaoxiao's face, which was slightly pale due to nervousness. How young she was, like a flower bud, just about to bloom.
Even in a cannibalistic place, they desperately disguised themselves as adults.
In a moment of daze, Bao Ping felt that she overlapped with the shadow deep in his memory—the shadow who always wore pigtails, leaned on the table biting the pen cap, and turned back to give him a sweet smile.
"Dad, do you think this line I wrote is good?"
The floodgates of memory were breached by the damned oppressive atmosphere, and he felt himself plummeting rapidly toward the past, a past he longed to return to in his dreams but dared not touch.
......
Bao Ping was born in a poor mountain village, so poor that even ghosts wouldn't want to go there.
But he was happy then. His parents were not capable; they were honest people who toiled in the fields for a living. But they cherished their only son like the apple of their eye. He always ate the eggs laid by the old hen in the fields, and most of the two pounds of meat they had for the New Year ended up in his bowl.
"Pingwa, you must study hard, go out into the world, and not spend your whole life rolling in the mud like your parents."
This is the sentence my dad says most often.
Bao Ping was obedient; he studied hard and was admitted to the county high school, becoming the hope of the entire village. Everyone was saying that smoke was rising from the Bao family's grave.
But fate loves to deliver a blow when you're feeling happy.
In my second year of high school, both my parents fell ill at the same time. It was from exhaustion, coupled with years of malnutrition and rheumatic lung disease.
Hospitals are money pits; stacks of bills fall like snowflakes, instantly burying a crumbling home.
When Bao Ping received the phone call at school, he was writing an essay titled "My Dream".
He didn't finish writing. He threw down his pen, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and ran out of the school gate. That day, his dream died.
Seventeen-year-old Bao Ping arrived in Anshi. He believed that as long as he was willing to work hard and had strength, he could save his parents' lives.
He worked as a construction worker carrying bricks, a restaurant dishwasher, and a plumber unclogging sewers. But the city wasn't as tolerant as he had imagined.
"Hey, where did this country bumpkin come from? You smell like pig manure. Get away from me, don't get my clothes dirty."
"You dare talk to me about wages? You'd better get lost, or I'll break your legs."
On a night of torrential rain, Bao Ping stood at the entrance of a KTV, soaked to the bone, clutching a broken bottle in his hand.
The foreman withheld three months' salary from him; this was his parents' life-saving money.
Young and impetuous Bao Ping had not yet learned to bend over; his spine was still straight.
He was furious. He roared and pounced on the foreman, who was spewing filth, pinning him to the ground and beating him.
He felt he was defending his dignity, but dignity was worthless.
The sirens blared, and he was arrested.
Although he was not sentenced because he was a minor and the other party did not lay a hand on him, he lost his job, his money, and had to pay a large sum of medical expenses.
When he got out of the police station and rushed back to the hospital, all he saw were two beds covered with white sheets.
The doctor said the person had been gone for two days and there was no money to continue the medication.
Bao Ping knelt in the hospital corridor for three days and three nights without eating or drinking.
Finally, an old man from the same village came to collect the body and dragged the half-dead man back with him.
The old man had no money either, so he used the money he had scraped together for his own funeral to pay Bao Ping's medical bills and bought him two steamed buns.
As he was leaving, the old man sighed, "Ganping, when a person dies, it's like a lamp going out. Your parents only wanted you to be well, to be well!"
Yes, take good care of yourself.
Bao Ping ate his steamed bun while tears streamed down his face. From that night on, he grew up.
Later, he found a car repair shop and became an apprentice under a quirky master craftsman.
When the master chef called him stupid, he just laughed. When customers were difficult, he offered them cigarettes. When someone pointed a finger at him and called him a country bumpkin, he would just bow and say, "Yes, yes, please calm down."
He was like a rusty screw, finding the most inconspicuous and humble corner in the vast urban machine, and screwing himself in there tightly.
This twisting has been going on for over a decade.
The old mechanic left, leaving him with the dilapidated repair shop.
Bao Ping single-handedly took care of everything, from sending off the old master to erecting a tombstone.
It was only then that he realized he was already middle-aged. His hair was thinning, his belly was growing, and his back was starting to hunch.
But then he met her.
The girl's name is Xiuxiu, and she works as a helper at the breakfast shop next door.
She didn't mind the smell of engine oil on Bao Ping's hands, nor did she mind his stutter. When she smiled, her eyes curved like the moon.
"Brother Bao, you have a kind heart and are a practical person."
Just that one sentence made Bao Ping, a man who had spent half his life wallowing in the mud, cry like a child.
They got married, without a diamond ring or a wedding dress, just a simple banquet with two tables.
The following year, their daughter was born, and her nickname was Tuanzi.
This was the brightest period of Bao Ping's life.
But it seems that God can't bear to see the suffering people enjoy sweetness.
When Tuanzi was one year old, Xiuxiu was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer.
Bao Ping took on jobs like crazy, repairing cars during the day and driving for hire at night, practically risking his life.
But when Death takes people, it never considers how hard you try.
Xiuxiu passed away peacefully, simply holding his hand and saying, "Raise Tuanzi, don't let the child suffer."
Bao Ping silently handled the funeral arrangements, then carried his one-year-old daughter on his back, holding a baby bottle in one hand and a wrench in the other, continuing to repair cars, acting as both father and mother.
Tuanzi is very well-behaved since she was little, and she looks like her mother, especially when she smiles.
Unlike Bao Ping, who was a rough and uncultured man, this child loved reading and enjoyed drawing and writing. Bao Ping didn't understand literature, but he knew it was something for cultured people, and a good thing.
He buys his daughter the best books and enrolls her in the best tutoring classes. Even if he himself doesn't dress well, he wants his daughter to dress like a princess.
"Dad, I want to be a playwright."
When he was 12 years old, Tuanzi lay on the greasy counter, looking at him with bright eyes.
"Okay, I'll definitely do it!"
Bao Ping smiled, his face full of wrinkles. He wiped his oil-stained hands on his apron again and again before daring to touch his daughter's head.
"My daughter will definitely be a great writer in the future, writing the kind of dramas that can be broadcast on television."
"Dad, can you help me write it? Today is my birthday, let's write a story about a hero."
"I can't... Dad's a rough man."
"Okay, Dad, you're my hero!"
That evening, in the cramped and dimly lit rented room, the father and daughter sat head to head.
Bao Ping racked his brains to tell the stories he had heard in the village and the bizarre people and things he had seen in the city.
The daughter held a pen and scribbled on the paper.
This was the first and last script they completed together, titled "The Hero's Wrench".
In the story, the protagonist is a repairman with a wrench who fixes the broken world and protects the princess.
However, at the very last moment after the script was completed, the phone screen lit up.
Damn black and white interface, damn film set.
It barged into the father and daughter's world without any reason, dragging them from a warm birthday night into an endless nightmare.
In the first scene, Bao Ping was so frightened that his pants fell down, but he held his daughter tightly and covered her eyes, using his back to block the vengeful ghost's claws.
In the second scene, Bao Ping learned to smash zombie heads with a wrench. Covered in blood, he screamed like a madman, "Don't touch my daughter!"
However, in the face of this damn app, fatherly love is so powerless.
In the third scenario, to buy Bao Ping time to open the escape door, a 12-year-old girl who dreams of becoming a playwright, grabs a small wrench given to her by her father and charges at the butcher, who is 10 times her size.
"Dad, run! This time, I'll protect you!"
"No!"
Bao Ping watched helplessly as the enormous axe fell; his world completely collapsed.
Yes, he survived, living like a walking corpse with the wrench left by his daughter.
What bullshit points? What nonsense about life being long? He didn't care anymore.
He wanted to die, to go down to the underworld and join his wife and daughter.
But every time he closed his eyes, he could hear Tuanzi's voice: "Dad, you are a hero, you must live on, you must finish writing the story..."
......
"Master Bao, Master Bao?"
Lin Xiaoxiao's anxious calls pulled Bao Ping out of his memories.
He shuddered suddenly, his gaze gradually focusing.
The banquet hall in front of us looked magnificent, but it was as cold as a morgue.
Bao Ping looked at Lin Xiaoxiao, at her eyes filled with worry and fear.
This child really looks like a dumpling.
If Tuanzi were still alive, she would probably be as smart and brave as her in the future. Maybe she would even become a great screenwriter.
He then turned to look at Lu Dan.
Is he the hero from the story of Tuanzi?
Although he seemed a bit crazy and unconventional, he possessed something I've never had in my life—the courage to rebel.
He dares to challenge the rules and even dares to give the middle finger to the gods.
Bao Ping suddenly laughed.
He's always been a supporting actor his whole life.
In his parents' story, he was an incompetent son; in his wife's story, he was a useless husband; in society's story, he was a piece of junk that could be found anywhere.
Only in his daughter's story is he a hero wielding a wrench.
"A hero..."
Bao Ping muttered to himself, "Since he's a hero, he should have a way to exit the stage, right?"
"Xiaoxiao," Bao Ping suddenly spoke up.
"Huh?" Lin Xiaoxiao was taken aback, as if she sensed something was wrong. "Master Bao, what are you trying to say? Let's wait a little longer, there must be a way."
"No need." Bao Ping shook his head, propped himself up on the table, and stood up. His hunched back straightened up at that moment, and his oil-stained clothes looked as if he were wearing a layer of golden armor under the light of the crystal chandelier.
"I'm not very smart, I haven't read many books, and I can't handle your high-IQ tricks."
"I've survived this long entirely thanks to a bunch of bullshit social skills, by being subservient, and by just enduring things."
As Bao Ping spoke, he reached out and grabbed the wriggling, pasty substance in front of him before anyone could react.
Immediately afterwards, a large hand reached across the table and snatched the brain from in front of Lin Xiaoxiao.
"Bao Ping, what are you doing?" Lu Dan suddenly stood up, his pupils wide with shock.
"Hey, Master Bao, no!" Lin Xiaoxiao screamed and reached out to grab it, but grabbed nothing.
Without the slightest hesitation, Bao Ping held the paste-like substance in his left hand and grabbed the foul-smelling brains in his right.
"Gulp."
He tilted his head back, poured the paste down his throat, then stuffed the bobbing brains into his mouth and swallowed them down.
After both dishes were eaten, at that moment, probability no longer existed.
All the risks and all the curses were swallowed up by the most unassuming middle-aged man.
"vomit--"
A violent reaction ensued, and Bao Ping's body was torn apart by two completely different forces.
His left side began to rot rapidly, his skin melting away to reveal his bare bones, while his right side began to proliferate wildly, growing countless black fleshy buds and hard scales.
Fresh blood gushed from his seven orifices, staining the pristine white tablecloth in front of him.
"Bao Ping!" Lu Dan rushed over, trying to get close to him, but was pushed back by the shockwave emanating from Bao Ping.
"Don't come any closer!" Bao Ping knelt down in agony, his hands gripping the carpet tightly, his small eyes, which were covered in blood, gleaming with an unprecedented light.
He looked at Lu Dan, then at Lin Xiaoxiao who was crying her eyes out, and said, "I can't take it anymore... This thing is really strong."
Bao Ping grinned, revealing bloody teeth, and was still laughing: "Xiao Xiao, don't cry. Brother Lu, don't make that deadpan face. I was given this life by chance. I've lived through several more scripts. It's worth it."
"I only ask one thing of you." His voice grew weaker and weaker, "You are smart, you are capable, you... you must reach the finish line, you must... survive."
Bao Ping shakily pulled out a small, rusty wrench that he had been keeping close to his body.
With his last ounce of strength, he pushed the wrench toward Lu Dan:
"Help me ask...help me ask those damn designers, help me ask this lousy film set..."
"Why should I?!"
The roar, which exhausted all his strength, exploded throughout the banquet hall:
"Why did you steal my dumplings? Why do you make us honest people suffer like this? Why do you treat our lives like a game!"
"If you can... please... destroy it... smash it to pieces!"
His eyes began to glaze over, and in the last moment before his consciousness faded, he seemed to see the rented room again, the rain outside the window, the dim light, and the little girl writing a script on the table.
"Dad, what will happen to this hero in the end?"
"Heroes, heroes will eventually become stars to protect everyone."
Bao Ping closed his eyes. At the end of his life, in a script filled with malice, he suddenly remembered a sentence.
His daughter read it to him from a book. At the time, he didn't understand it and just thought it was awkward.
But now he understands—
"Unexpressed emotions never die."
"They were buried alive, and later... they will appear in an even uglier way..."
"Bang!"
Bao Ping's body fell heavily to the ground.