Chapter 106

Bob fell.

He was holding a fish in his arms.

He fainted in a murky puddle at the Farmers' Market, surrounded by onlookers.

The fish in his arms had bright eyes, its mouth opening and closing, its tail instinctively flapping, making its last struggle.

No one called an ambulance, not because of social norms or empathy, but because they were still in shock and hadn't reacted yet.

About ten minutes earlier, Bob argued with the fish vendor.

The vendor was watching short videos on his phone and had just seen a news report that started with, "Local time, December 22, 2024, at 3 PM."

Bob heard this and came over, saying it was 2012, so how could there be news from 2024?

Before the vendor could say anything, Bob suddenly started crying and asked the vendor, "Why do you keep the fish trapped in the tank?"

The vendor thought he was joking and said, "If I don't sell the fish, how will I make money? The fish stay fresh in the tank. Dead fish aren't worth as much. How many do you want?"

Bob went crazy, grabbed a fish, and ran outside, shouting that he was going to call the police and that someone was going to die.

He cried hysterically, telling every passerby that there was a den of child traffickers ahead, a hell on earth, and begged them not to go there.

The Farmers' Market was dirty and chaotic, with uneven ground and puddles everywhere, like a big pool.

He stopped in front of a murky puddle, ignoring the onlookers and the fish vendor chasing him. He closed his eyes and fell straight to the ground.

"If I want freedom, I must first have the courage to face death."

Saying this, he fell into the puddle, hit his head on the ground, and passed out.

Many people at the Farmers' Market knew him, not because he was excellent, but because he was flamboyant and high-profile, unlike most people. For example, when he heard a piece of music at the Farmers' Market, he would start dancing gracefully, ending with applause and bowing in a dirty environment filled with rotten eggs and vegetable leaves.

He would announce loudly in the crowd that he was the best dance artist in Shadow City, a dancer, a genius born to dance.

No one truly applauded him, thinking he was a desperate internet celebrity. His graceful dance was no longer the visual focus; people looked past him, constantly searching for hidden cameras, wondering who was directing this short drama.

He would see a child and chase after the parents, asking if their child needed to learn dance, claiming he was a genius and the best choice. The parents would avoid him like the plague.

No one truly applauded him. He was a madman, a fool, an idiot who didn't know the hardships of life.

"Are you an idiot? Young man, there are better things to learn. Attention-seeking behavior won't last. You're not young anymore; why not find a stable job?"

People were used to advising others, under the guise of being helpful, while engaging in despicable acts to satisfy their dirty vanity. Their sincere advice masked their true intentions, and when they encountered the weak, their first thought was to step on them.

No one truly applauded him. Older women who wanted to learn to dance invited him to be their coach. He gladly went, not charging a penny, and returned home with a basket of eggs, staring blankly in the kitchen.

This world never lacked embellishment and praise for kindness, but it had no interest in exploring the true meaning of the words themselves.

The hospital in Shadow City was not as good as the one in Silverlight City. As the locals said, if you caught a cold and went to the hospital in Shadow City, it's one thing; but if you have a serious illness, going to the hospital was no different from staying at home and counting your heartbeats.

This was obviously an exaggeration, but it was based on actual feedback.

In the dimly lit corner of the hospital corridor, Shirley was on the phone, arguing fiercely. From her stiff tone, it seemed she was arguing with her family. She wanted to discuss borrowing some money to take Bob to a better hospital in another city for treatment.

Suddenly, she threw her phone to the ground with great force, scattering the parts everywhere.

Shirley lit a cigarette and leaned weakly against the wall, and the smoke slowly rose and dissipated in the darkness. She stared blankly ahead.

"Mrs. Smith, my mom knows some overseas psychiatrists who might be able to help."

Zoey said softly at the end of the hallway.

I sighed and said quietly, "Let's see how things go after we handle this. Let's go back and let her be alone for a while."

Zoey didn't say anything else. She knew that Bob was likely directly involved in the Entertainment Club murder case. He might have less responsibility due to his schizophrenia, but the law would eventually catch up with him.

Bob had a bandage on his head from a minor injury he got in the afternoon. He had been awake for a while, sitting silently on the hospital bed.

Shirley, worried, had him undergo a series of CT scans. The doctor said there was no major issue, but mental illnesses couldn't be detected by CT scans. They needed to be diagnosed through the patient's medical history, clinical features, and psychological tests.

"Do you want to say something?"

I handed Bob a cup of water and sat in the chair by the bed.

His lips were dry, his eyes vacant. He blinked, opened his mouth, but said nothing.

The Bob I saw at noon was energetic and passionate, just like the confident and sunny person he was in college. Now, he looked like a withered rose past its prime, with a terrible complexion and lifeless eyes, like a middle-aged man who had seen better days.

Which one was the real him? I couldn't tell. I just suddenly felt that if he could stay in his happiest memories forever, it might not be a bad thing for people like him.

"Do you remember what happened at noon?"

I asked.

Bob nodded.

"Bob, I'm really happy to see you. You always have a special aura, sunny, confident, with a pure love for dance that many people can't have. You make me a bit envious, even jealous... Even if I later sensed something was off, I mean, if I had gone through the old steel mill incident, I wouldn't have handled it as well as you did."

If it were someone else, saying this might sound sarcastic. But if you knew Bob's past, you'd understand that being immersed in dreams forever might not be a bad thing. The past was too dark, and this wasn't about escaping. Ordinary people lived ordinary lives, and the lofty ideals of morality were just empty talk.

He glanced at me, showing a hint of surprise and fear. His instinctive reaction was to avoid eye contact, like a frightened child, shrinking back unconsciously.