Countdown 7 Hours: Victor Zhou
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I started sprinting.
My memory and judgment, strengthened by time-travel side effects, told me there were only about twenty minutes left. After that, Victor Zhou would leave through the front door of Jessica's apartment building and vanish.
I had to cut him off before he walked out.
Gun? Didn't have one. Knife? Left it at 2007 Jessica's place last time.
I had to go back and get it.
After calculating the building layout and the speed of an eighteen-year-old, I ducked into an intersection, took a shortcut through a dense hedge, and made it to Jessica's building entry.
Auntie Harris, the busybody neighbor, was sitting at the entrance and immediately started yelling at me.
"You shameless boy, sneaking around with Jessica behind her parents' backs!"
I pushed past her without a word and charged upstairs. Sure enough, the front door of the Zhou family home was wide open.
I rushed to the living room and found it empty.
Inside the bedroom, the knife from the earlier attack had been kicked into a corner—but it was still there.
But the living room told me Victor Zhou was home. A suitcase sat by the sofa, already packed.
I grabbed the knife and searched the apartment.
After a quick sweep, I didn't find Victor Zhou, but I found something even more important: an open map of the city spread out on his desk, with a hotel circled in red ink.
The ink was still wet.
So Victor Zhou was staying at a hotel tonight. The apartment's emptiness meant he'd probably gone out to buy travel supplies—he'd be back soon.
I then noticed a note on the desk addressed to Jessica.
It read:
"I'm sorry. I can't stay anymore. I have to go."
My understanding was this: After Victor Zhou finished calculating the Gate's parameters, he discovered the catastrophic consequences it would bring. He wanted to destroy his work, but the hidden organization was already after him.
He had no choice but to run and hide.
And because of this, tonight that organization would break into the Zhou home searching for Victor Zhou, torturing Jessica for information she didn't have.
That was why Jessica had been tied up—that was how everything started.
So if Victor Zhou died tonight, he couldn't run or hide out of guilt. If he died, he'd "stay" at the Zhou household. And if he was home, at least the organization might not kidnap Jessica to find him. Or if they did come, Victor Zhou could surrender himself and protect her.
Either way, she wouldn't be defenseless.
After absorbing all this, I slipped out of the apartment. Halfway down the stairs, I heard Auntie Harris at the entrance calling someone—looks like she was reporting me.
I didn't have time for her. I burst out of the building and ran toward the intersection.
Sure enough, fifty meters ahead, I spotted a man pulling a small suitcase, walking fast.
Victor Zhou. At last.
"Victor Zhou!"
I shouted and ran after him.
He stopped.
The moment he turned around, my blood ran cold. Because he looked... gentle. A man with a gentle face, holding his suitcase, like any ordinary father leaving home for a business trip.
A face like that, how could he be the one who brought this disaster down on his own daughter?
He studied me blankly. "Do I know you?"
He didn't recognize me—of course he didn't. I was just his daughter's high school classmate.
I raised the knife.
"Marcus, what are you doing?"
He knew my name. In Jessica's home, there was a group photo of me and her. Apparently, he'd seen it.
This man, who was about to become my victim, knew his daughter's boyfriend's name.
And his daughter said she didn't even know where he was.
His knife was pointed at me.
My knife was pointed at him.
But he was the one about to run.
"Whatever you've done," I said, "I won't let you run away."
"Kid, you have no idea what I've done."
He started backing away.
I lunged.
A passerby screamed.
Victor Zhou bolted.
I had one thought in my head. If I didn't kill him, Jessica would die.
I ran after him at full sprint, but when he turned a corner, there was a traffic light and a green walk signal. A mass of people crossed the road. By the time I pushed through, Victor Zhou was gone.
I stood on the sidewalk, screaming and cursing.
---
The alley was dark and narrow. I remembered there was an empty lot withDumpsters nearby—Victor Zhou had likely dumped his suitcase there.
I circled the area twice, then peeked behind a Dumpster.
There sat Victor Zhou, crouched, cigarette in mouth, but he wasn't smoking. He was just staring.
He didn't even look up. "Marcus, right? Go home. It's too late. Don't get yourself mixed up in this."
I hid the knife in my sleeve. "The hell's wrong with you?"
"Nothing you'd understand."
"Your daughter's going to die."
He froze. Then he pulled the cigarette from his lips and looked up.
His eyes were anything but gentle now—they were pure terror.
"What?"
"There are people coming for you tonight."
He didn't say anything. Just started trembling.
"It's the people you ran away from, isn't it?"
After a prolonged silence, he opened his mouth. "Are you... a cop?"
I hesitated, then nodded.
He pinched out the cigarette, grabbed the suitcase he'd hidden beside him, and stood up.
"Then let's talk. But this can't be the place."
Susan called him.
Susan was Victor Zhou's wife—Jessica's mother.
Victor Zhou had two phones. The second one rang, and he was startled.
He answered, and his wife's gentle voice came through.
"Honey, when are you coming back for dinner? I just got Jessica's favorite short ribs. She had a fight with a boy, she's crying."
Victor Zhou looked at the time on his phone. It was past five-thirty.
His gaze turned frantic.
"Ah, I'm... I'm in a meeting. You guys eat first."
"Another meeting? You're never home."
Susan sounded a little upset.
"Is Jessica okay?"
"She's fine. Just being a teenager. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Is Marcus home?"
On that last question, I saw Victor Zhou glance toward his home. He didn't notice the blood-red sunset behind him, painting half his face crimson. The other half was lost in shadow.
My goosebumps rose.
That sunset reminded me of Jessica ten years later, lying on the concrete, bathed in red.
"Marcus didn't come back to school today... Probably hung up on something."
"I see. Okay, let's eat first."
He hung up.
Then he looked at me, and though I couldn't see his face, I felt like he was... crying.
"What are you... crying about?" I thought, but his next words were far stranger.
"Let's go. I know somewhere we can talk."
---
He took me to an empty lot used by a squatter community—makeshift shacks and lean-tos dividing up the space.
This was one of those no-sign, no-license "settlements" on the edge of Southside District.