38. Protecting Kindness, Urging Growth

What do Chinese people love most? Watching a commotion.

Whenever there’s a car accident on the street, every passing driver slows down to snap a picture or two, eager to show off on social media later. So even in the dead of night, with few cars on the road, a crowd will still gather to spectate. In the height of summer in Rongdu, people sometimes sleep on the sidewalks to cool off. The moment someone notices a drunk driver being caught, a swarm of neighbors—yawning and waving palm-leaf fans—descends on the scene. Even motorcycles and electric scooters passing by stop to join in, including one rather enthusiastic middle-aged man wearing a construction helmet, who props a leg on the ground to watch.

It’s one thing to watch, but this slightly disheveled uncle even piped up, “What happened? Someone get killed? Where’s the body? Did he do it?”

What kind of eyesight is that!

Bai Haonan, still squatting on the ground, shot him an exasperated look, while the police turned around in confusion. They’d seen people come to watch before, but rarely someone so clueless about what’s happening. “Go on, move—no one’s been killed, we’re checking for drunk driving—wait, why do you smell like alcohol?”

The man in the safety helmet, instantly flustered, tried to start his motorcycle and flee, as if his panic was a confession in itself.

Even in this situation, Bai Haonan nearly burst out laughing.

The police, acting on instinct and perhaps well-rehearsed, pounced at once. The lead officer grabbed for him, and the other four, without a word, intercepted from four directions: grabbing his hands, pushing the handlebars, yanking out the key—every move seamless. The uncle was clearly less composed than Bai Haonan; despite being caught, he struggled fiercely, probably more than a little drunk. Controlling a motorcycle isn't as easy as a car; the engine roared, and the five officers and the bike were dragged along. But the sheer weight quickly took its toll, and the motorcycle’s front wheel lifted and the whole thing toppled over…

So, six grown men ended up in a heap on the ground.

That was one incident.

In football, there’s a notorious flaw called “playing with your head down”—not just running blindly, but lacking vision, failing to keep track of the whole field. Only by staying aware of everything—eyes alert, ears open—does one meet the baseline for a professional athlete. Those who don’t master this never rise above amateur leagues.

As a defensive midfielder, Bai Haonan placed particular emphasis on cultivating this skill—what the IT world would call multitasking. While intercepting, he’d keep track of teammates’ positions, prepare to pass the moment he regained possession, anticipate what to do if he failed, estimate opponents’ movements, assess which teammate was best placed—all in a split second, as the situation constantly evolved.

So, while he stared in disbelief at the man who’d stumbled into trouble by drunkenly riding his motorcycle, Bai Haonan couldn’t help but wonder: could this guy be a fugitive with a criminal record?

Then he heard someone behind him cursing: “Who the hell parked their car in front of mine…”

Bai Haonan remembered that the nurse’s car had been moved to the back by the older officer. Parking was allowed here on the roadside. Glancing back, he saw that most of the dozen or so spectators, now riled up by the sudden drama with the drunk motorcyclist, had retreated to the curb among the shrubs, craning their necks to watch from a safe distance, wary of getting caught in the chaos. The voice, so unconcerned with the commotion, surprised Bai Haonan. Out of habit, he stole a look. What he saw was a tall, thin young man, who seemed dazed as he opened the door and got into his car. The awkward, wooden movements didn’t fit the earlier outburst. That was all Bai Haonan noticed—until, in the blink of an eye, the blue sedan parked behind the nurse’s hatchback started up. As it did, an eerie blue light flickered inside, and the car erupted in a blast of thumping, electrifying music.

The spectacle!

The sudden blare snapped everyone’s attention back to the street. Perhaps only Bai Haonan saw clearly: the young man, bathed in blue light, began to thrash wildly to the music, utterly transformed from the sluggish figure moments before. He jerked and flailed in perfect sync with the beat, shaking so violently one might fear his neck would snap.

Without hesitation, the blue sedan’s engine revved with a deafening roar. In a situation where a few turns of the wheel would have sufficed to get out, the driver instead rammed straight into the nurse’s car, scraping its rear to force his way out of the parking spot, the whole car bouncing as it lurched forward.

Brother Nan, as he was known on the street, had a fleeting thought: “This little bastard is high…” Even as the realization dawned that something bad was about to happen, the screech of tires and the engine’s wail filled the night, the car barreling onto the road without slowing for a second.

No one had time to shout a warning. The five officers, still wrestling the motorcyclist to the ground, were directly in the path of the oncoming blue sedan.

Everyone watching froze in shock as a thunderous crash, sharp enough to make one’s teeth ache, rang out. Perhaps the officers were blinded by the headlights and realized too late that a car was hurtling toward them. Then—just like that—several figures were sent flying.

In that instant, Bai Haonan thought: so this is what a well-tuned car feels like at impact, and how fragile the human body is by comparison. One of the officers even flipped several times in midair before crashing back down.

The blue sedan, with its lowered chassis—just like the sports car Bai Haonan had lost to fire—then smashed into the overturned motorcycle with another scraping crunch, dragging it along and sparking memories of that night of blazing flames. Only now, in the chaos, did Bai Haonan feel that fierce will to survive flare up again.

He realized that, lost in lust these past days, he had forgotten the one thing he’d once yearned for most: life itself.

The blue sedan showed no sign of stopping, oblivious to having hit people and vehicles alike. Not even the motorcycle in its path could halt its crazed dash. It tore away, shedding blue shards and its bumper, trailing sparks into the night.

The dozen or so bystanders stood there, dumbstruck, before finally bursting into startled cries. Shock gave way to excitement at having witnessed such a rare, thrilling scene. A chorus of laments followed: “What a tragedy, what a tragedy…” And, naturally, out came the phones to snap pictures.

Perhaps the only one unnoticed was Bai Haonan. At the first sound of the crash, he’d acted on instinct, yanking up a metal barrier embedded in the tree roots beside him—he’d noted its presence when he was handcuffed there, knowing that once the cuffs were off, he’d be free. He walked over, quietly picked up the fake ID and driver’s license from the back of the police car, and could have vanished into the night.

With the ID in his back pocket and the chill of half a handcuff still on his wrist, he was confident he could pick the old-style lock with a paperclip and ditch it—he’d practiced with these back at sports school. But as he started to walk away, he looked back at the two or three officers writhing in pain on the ground, and the others lying deathly still, and hesitated.

What caught his eye even more were the spectators, standing on tiptoe and using flash photography, not one of them reaching out to help. He didn’t know why society was like this now; on the football pitch, whenever someone went down, both sides would check on the fallen player before anything else, not whip out their phones. Some people were fumbling to call for help, but this was the time to save lives.

So Bai Haonan gritted his teeth, stepped back, and knelt beside the older officer to help. The man was lying on his back, frothing at the mouth—what was happening inside, Bai Haonan had no idea, but on the field, first aid demanded that if someone’s mouth was blocked while unconscious, you cleared it immediately. Otherwise, the tongue or blood or foam could obstruct the airway, and the person would suffocate.

Nothing is more terrifying on the field than a collision that leaves someone unconscious.

This gray-haired officer, who looked a bit like Bai Lianjun, could die silently right there.

Even if the man hadn’t acted like a father to him, at a moment when no one was watching, Bai Haonan’s heart fluttered with something like fear.