Momo's Gradual Change

C157. Song Yimo's Bold Rescue.

Chapter 157: Song Yimo’s Bold Rescue

As three forty approached, Song Yimo left the library, eager to catch the fountain’s musical display at the plaza. The sun was still high, and the plaza was nearly deserted in the sweltering heat. Only a few clusters of trees provided shelter along the edges, their leafy crowns thick with years of growth.

Song Yimo rubbed her face, feeling a bit perplexed. This place was supposed to be downtown, but it felt oddly deserted.

Maybe it was the huge, empty Fountain Square?

Or was it just too few people around?

Sitting under one of the trees, Song Yimo checked the time. She had ten minutes to spare. She realized she should have picked up a bottle of water at the library. Just then, a child’s wailing broke the quiet, calling for “Mommy” and “Daddy.”

Song Yimo leaned forward to get a glimpse and saw a couple with a child. Relieved, she relaxed, but the next words she overheard made her heart skip.

“He won’t stop crying; it’ll attract attention.”

“Which kid doesn’t cry?” the woman said nonchalantly. “Who’d think we’re not his real parents? And he can’t talk yet anyway.”

Song Yimo’s pulse quickened. Huddling close to the tree, she pressed herself flat to the ground, holding her breath. The small slope between them offered some cover, shielding her from view.

The man continued, “I’ll get some baijiu. Pouring that down his throat should keep him quiet.”

“Baijiu? That’s too strong! It’ll knock him out—or worse.”

“That’s fine. They don’t care as long as they get him. Serves him right for being born into the Fang family. Old Ghost and Smoke will be here soon. Keep a close eye on him.”

Song Yimo felt cold sweat dripping down her face. She didn’t dare move, hoping the man wouldn’t head her way. To her relief, his footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

Summoning her courage, Yimo peered up. She saw the tall man walking away and a woman sitting with her back to her, trying half-heartedly to soothe the child. The boy, who couldn’t be more than a toddler, continued crying, his face flushed.

Who knows how much Baijiu they will force him to drink?

If it's just one bottle...

Song Yimo clenched her fists. She had to do something. But calling the police could alert the woman. The direction the man was going was the same direction she had just come from. She knew there was a small supermarket four or five minutes ahead. And by the time officers arrived, the man would be back with the baijiu, and any delay could ruin the boy’s life.

The fountain music began, its melody echoing through the plaza as jets of water danced in sync. Song Yimo took a deep breath. She couldn’t think of watching that now. She needed a plan.

Turning around, she saw that the woman was also looking towards the square. The child was still crying, but she completely ignored him.

What to do?

Her fingers brushed against a small rock at her side—a palm-sized stone. If only it were larger, something solid enough to knock her out…

Wait! Bricks?

An idea sparked. She could try hitting the woman, just hard enough to stun her. It was risky, but it might buy her enough time to grab the child and run. Her eyes swept the ground, and she found a larger rock nearby, almost the size of a brick. She gulped. One good hit wouldn’t be lethal… just enough to give her a chance.

After looking at the time, Song Yimo knew that he could not hesitate any longer.

Setting her new books aside, she slung her bag over her shoulder, took a steadying breath, and quietly crept closer. Her hands gripped the rock, her heart racing so fast she could barely breathe. But then she looked at the child, his face red from crying, and steeled herself.

Without hesitating, she raised the stone and brought it down on the woman’s head. The woman let out a strangled scream as blood trickled down her forehead. She started to turn but slumped to the ground, dazed.

Dropping the rock, Song Yimo snatched up the pudgy child, his cries suddenly muffled by her shoulder. She had to reach the main road; somewhere crowded. Her thoughts flashed to her Miao Mama’s advice—the shopping mall was nearby. If she could get there, she could hide and find help.

'If only I knew where the police station nearby is!'

Clutching the child tightly, she dialed a number as she ran, her voice breaking with fear as her brother answered. “Dage, I… I took a child. They’re after him. They said they’d use baijiu on him, and they don’t care if he lives or dies. I’m running with him now. Dage, what should I do?”

Zhai Muyang’s voice was taut with alarming worry. “Where are you? Are you alone?”

Zheng Senlin, Zou Mo and Ma Bo in the room all stood up.

“I’m by the fountain plaza. I overheard that there are four of them.” Song Yimo calmed down a little and spoke more fluently. She struggled to hold the child up and continued to speak in a low voice: "Dage, I'll go hide in the mall next to Fountain Square."

“You’re doing great. Go to the mall—head to where there are people. Have you called the cops?"

"Not yet."

"Alright. Don’t trust anyone unless they say my name, okay? Only trust me for now. I’ll have someone come get you. I’ll explain everything later. Just do as I say."

“Yes. I’m listening to you. I’m hanging up now.”

"Be safe."

Song Yimo ended the call, trembling but determined. Holding the child close, she took a deep breath, then bolted for the shopping center as if her life depended on it.

"Lao Zhai, what are we going to do?"

Meanwhile, Zhai Muyang’s face was steely as he turned to his friends. “We need to find out which Fang family lost a child. Only then will we know how much danger Yimo is really in.”

The men nodded, making quick calls to their contacts. Zhai Muyang punched his chest as if to steady his heartbeat, then dialed a final number, Zhou Xin. His connection at the company branch in Mang City had the resources and local pull to help.

They couldn’t risk alerting the police just yet. The Fangs had deep, twisted connections, and a direct approach might only place Song Yimo in greater peril.

Back at the plaza, Song Yimo struggled to hold the boy. He was heavier than she expected, his weight shifting in her arms as she ran. The child’s cries had softened, as if he sensed her urgency, and she tried stuffing her phone into her pocket but ended up stowing it behind her.

Her heart leapt as she spotted two men approaching—one wiry and gaunt, the other with wild hair and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Old Ghost and Smoke, she thought, the names echoing in her head like warning bells. Hugging the child to her chest, Song Yimo ducked down and quickly diverted her path.

With a prayer on her lips, she tightened her grip on the boy and ran into the maze of the city, her eyes set on the looming walls of the shopping mall just up ahead.