Chapter 47: Director, I'm Afraid I Won't Be Able to Let Go

When she arrived in town, Donna was minding the store, leisurely cracking sunflower seeds and watching a drama on her phone. She looked quite relaxed.

“Hey, little brother, you’re here! Sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

Seeing Du Ruo, Donna was genuinely delighted.

“I brought you some beef, homemade. I won’t sit, though—I’m heading to the kindergarten now. What sort of activity is it anyway? You’re free, why not go yourself?” Du Ruo placed the bowl in front of Donna, curiosity coloring his question.

“It’s not really for me. Your brother-in-law isn’t available either. Oh, don’t ask so much—you just need to go to the kindergarten entrance and call the principal. She’ll explain everything. I’ll send you her number now. And here, take this—try to smoke less, it’s not good for your health.”

Donna glanced at the beef on the table, her smile unwavering. She put the meat in the fridge and, in passing, pulled out a pack of cigarettes to hand to Du Ruo. Though she told him to smoke less, knowing he smoked, she wanted him to have the good stuff.

“All right, I’m off then. No need to pick up this weekend—I’ll bring her back to you.” Du Ruo took the cigarettes, waved, turned on the navigation, and set out for the kindergarten.

The kindergarten wasn’t far from his sister’s shop—a short drive past a traffic light and a turn, and he was there.

At the gate, Du Ruo called the principal, registered, and entered the kindergarten.

The place was impressive: high, latticed walls, nearly three meters tall, with a clear view of various play facilities from outside. The entrance was secured by a heavy iron gate, with two smaller doors requiring card access. Since it wasn’t dismissal time, even these small doors were locked when Du Ruo arrived.

The main gate was adjacent to the security booth, and directly across was a small police office, barely ten meters from the kindergarten entrance.

Inside the security booth were two robust male guards who, surprisingly, were quite friendly. They carefully inquired about Du Ruo’s purpose and confirmed with the principal before letting him in.

“Mr. Du, right? Yaya’s uncle?”

Du Ruo was strolling through the kindergarten, sizing up the spacious playground and the passing teachers, when a woman emerged from the building, asking as she approached.

“Hello, Principal. I’m Huang Yamei’s uncle. Just call me Du Ruo.”

The principal seemed about forty, petite, with short hair cut at the ears, glasses perched on her nose, and a perpetual warm smile, exuding kindness.

Yet, Du Ruo couldn’t shake the feeling—perhaps he was being overly sensitive—that she was constantly sizing him up.

“All right, Mr. Du, let’s talk in the office.”

The principal led Du Ruo to her office, offering water and fruit, her hospitality almost overwhelming.

“Principal, I’m not sure what the activity is. My sister didn’t tell me. Is there anything I can help with?”

Du Ruo was a bit out of sorts with her enthusiasm and saw no sign of any kindergarten event, at least nothing that would warrant inviting a single parent.

“Hehe, here’s the situation: We’d like your help. Our kindergarten and the nearby police office are planning a safety drill. We posted in the parent group asking for a volunteer, and Yaya’s mother was the first to sign up.”

The principal looked at Du Ruo, who explained, and again she sized him up, evidently satisfied.

“Oh, that’s great! You need a parent volunteer? No problem. Honestly, Principal, I’m fond of boxing and such, and with the security guards and police officers, we’ll definitely keep the children safe.”

Du Ruo relaxed immediately—he’d worried they might ask him to perform for the children, but a safety drill was right up his alley. Not to boast, but give him a guard’s baton, and three or five criminals wouldn’t be a match for him.

“Hehe, Mr. Du, you misunderstand. The drill is meant to showcase the security guards’ skills and the police officers’ response to danger. Parent volunteers rotate as usual, so we’d like you to play the role of the 'criminal.'”

“What? The criminal? Me?”

Du Ruo was incredulous—so he was to be the villain?

“Yes, you can really let loose and play the criminal. Don’t worry, the guards and police know it’s a drill—they won’t harm you.”

“Let loose? Principal, I’m not sure I can—I’m afraid I might go too far…”

…

Fifteen minutes later, Du Ruo left the kindergarten and waited outside for a while.

As parents began to arrive at the school gate, swiping their cards to pick up their children, the two guards, two parent volunteers, and two police officers stood at the entrance—not because of the drill, but as a daily routine during dismissal.

Du Ruo joined the parents, then suddenly pulled a Grey Wolf mask from his clothes and donned it, drawing a “big knife” nearly a meter long from inside his jacket. The “big knife” looked fierce, adorned with dragon motifs, but it wasn’t metal or wood—it was an inflatable toy, thicker than a balloon, clearly meant for children under six.

“Ha ha ha ha—children—the villain uncle is here!”

Mask on, brandishing the “big knife,” Du Ruo was seized by an inexplicable thrill. At this moment, he couldn’t resist a dramatic opening line, his inner child awakened, raising the knife and booming his greeting.

Silence.

Everyone stared at Du Ruo—the air seemed frozen.

“Beep beep! Parents, step aside! Teachers, take the children back to the classroom!”

Suddenly, a shrill whistle pierced the quiet. The police officer on duty at the gate grabbed a riot shield, shouted, and charged toward Du Ruo.

“Principal, you told me to let loose—so I won’t hold back!”

Du Ruo abandoned his exaggerated pose. Before the police and guards could surround him, he swung the “big knife” at one of the parent volunteers near the gate.

“Bang!”

The balloon knife struck the parent’s neck with a hollow thud. Without waiting for a reaction, Du Ruo lunged forward—the card-controlled gate was no barrier—and as he entered, he swung the “big knife” at a female teacher standing guard.

“Ah ha ha ha ha!”

Inside the kindergarten, Du Ruo was like a wild horse, slashing at anyone with the “big knife,” then darting away, never lingering to tussle with the two guards and two police officers chasing him. All the while, he laughed uproariously.

Of course, though he was told to let loose, Du Ruo kept to ordinary human limits. He didn’t use the light footwork from his martial arts, nor the forceful techniques of his boxing.

“Ah!”

The kindergarten was full of female teachers, each leading children toward the classrooms. The children, oblivious, shrieked and ran along, but their faces showed no panic—after all, Du Ruo wore a cartoon wolf mask and wielded an inflatable knife; it was clear this wasn’t real danger.