Jiang Baichuan’s exact words were: “They will try every means to get Grasshopper back. I feel that whether we make the exchange or not, we can’t escape our fate. So we might as well not make the exchange.”

Yan Tuo understood the words but couldn’t quite grasp why Jiang Baichuan felt they “couldn’t escape either way.”

However, Nie Jiuluo immediately grasped the key point.

She said, “You mentioned that Lin Xiru was looking for her son, and when Uncle Jiang’s group walked the Green Soil, they only brought back Grasshopper. Looking at the timeline, they caught Grasshopper at the turn of ’91 to ’92, and Lin Xiru first appeared in September ’92—the timing is quite close. If we set aside the huge difference in appearance, there’s a strong possibility that Grasshopper is Lin Xiru’s son.”

“If he’s her son, he must be extremely important to her, but Grasshopper has been exposed to light for nearly thirty years, and his time is almost up. Put yourself in Lin Xiru’s position—would she be happy to see Grasshopper?”

Yan Tuo sighed internally.

Did that even need asking? To make an imperfect comparison, it was like a mother desperately searching for a child kidnapped by traffickers, only to finally find them on their deathbed—how could she not be filled with resentment?

When he first heard these words, he thought Jiang Baichuan was just being stubborn and fearless of death. Now he realized the man wasn’t fearless—he had just thought it through completely.

He glanced at the time. “It’s late. I’ll go wash up and get some rest.”

Though the topics of the past few hours had been heavy, he felt excited. It was like being a blind man groping in the dark for years, suddenly gaining sight and hearing.

As he stood up, he took the empty water glass with him.

Nie Jiuluo hadn’t noticed at first, but when she glimpsed her own nearly empty cup with red dates and wolfberries piled at the bottom, she suddenly felt pressure below her navel.

Everyone knows this kind of pressure can’t be relieved, and with each passing second, it only grows more intense.

…

Accompanied by the sound of running water from the bathroom, Nie Jiuluo gripped the blanket between her teeth, engaged in an intense internal struggle.

Should she try to hold it? Wait until the caretaker comes tomorrow? It’s just ten hours or so, right?

No, no, that would kill her. They were all mortal beings, weren’t they? Besides, in Yan Tuo’s eyes, she wasn’t some fairy anyway…

She couldn’t understand why a man needed to take such a long shower. Two minutes should be enough…

…

Yan Tuo had been soaked in that filthy mud pool the night before. Although he’d showered afterward and changed clothes when he went back to the villa with Chen Fu, he still felt uncomfortable and couldn’t help but wash thoroughly, even shampooing twice.

When he returned to the room in his sleepwear, Nie Jiuluo was curled up, barely able to hold it anymore.

Of course, she tried to sound casual: “Yan Tuo, I need to use the bathroom.”

Yan Tuo thought for a moment: “I just finished, and the window’s open for ventilation. Maybe wait a bit?”

Nie Jiuluo blurted out: “No need.”

She regretted it immediately—speaking too quickly had revealed her desperation.

Yan Tuo understood instantly and wanted to laugh but held back. He came over and asked, “So… what’s the procedure for going to the bathroom now? How should I… help?”

What procedure? Nie Jiuluo continued holding it: “The caretaker usually… just helps me walk there, then helps me back afterward, that’s all.”

Yan Tuo was surprised: “You can walk now?”

Why so many questions? Nie Jiuluo wanted to cry: “The caretaker says walking slowly… is fine, even women who’ve just given birth… can get up the same day…”

Yan Tuo: “Isn’t that because the caretaker simply can’t carry you?”

As he spoke, he bent down, pulled back her blanket, slipped his right arm under her knees and his left arm behind her waist, then lowered his head to make it easier for her to hold on.

Nie Jiuluo hesitated briefly before wrapping her arms around his neck. He’d just showered, and the hair at the nape of his neck was still damp, with cool drops of water touching her hands.

Carrying her was fine, but he knew he’d have to be especially careful when lifting and setting her down. Yan Tuo said, “If it hurts, just say so.”

He stood up as steadily as he could.

The wound stretched slightly with only mild pain. Nie Jiuluo didn’t think it was serious, just furrowed her brow without making a sound.

In the bathroom, the window was half-open, and most of the steam from his shower had dissipated, leaving only a faint scent of shower gel.

At her request, Yan Tuo set her down by the sink. They’d forgotten to bring slippers, so he laid down a bath towel to step on. Liu Changxi’s room wasn’t large, and the bathroom was even smaller—everything was within arm’s reach for support, so there was no fear of falling.

Yan Tuo watched her steady herself against the sink: “I’ll be outside. Call me when you’re done or if you need anything.”

Nie Jiuluo nodded. She first turned on the hot water and used a moistened tissue to wipe her face. Only after the door closed did she let out a breath, using the sound of running water as cover as she shuffled step by step to the toilet.

Yan Tuo leaned against the wall outside, hearing the water running continuously. At first, he wondered why washing her face took so long, but then he realized what was happening and quickly walked away to the living room, wandering, sometimes picking up a cup to look at the doodles on it, sometimes examining the markings on the bottom of a vase.

After a while, the water stopped, and he heard her say, “Done.”

Yan Tuo opened the door and went in.

Perhaps because of what had just happened, he felt somewhat awkward seeing her this time. Nie Jiuluo felt the same, lowering her eyes and self-consciously adjusting her hair.

The pajamas were a bit too loose, and the pattern was rather cute, not quite suiting her. Yet this contrast made her seem delicate and girl-next-door-like. Yan Tuo remembered when he had entered her studio that night, how she had been wearing a pearl-silver silk robe, sitting with such grace…

It was hard to believe this was the same person.

Yan Tuo approached and asked, “Shall we… do it the same way as before, going back?”

Nie Jiuluo said, “You could just help me walk back, just go slowly.”

Yan Tuo smiled. “Let’s not practice walking in the middle of the night.”

He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist. Nie Jiuluo naturally nestled into his embrace, her body soft and cool.

For a moment, Yan Tuo felt like they were lovers amid romance.

The next second, he laughed at his imagination: he and she… weren’t even that close yet.

After settling Nie Jiuluo, Yan Tuo examined the single folding canvas bed. Nie Jiuluo watched him shake the bed frame repeatedly while muttering, “Will this work?”

Nie Jiuluo was lying comfortably, feeling relieved and relaxed enough for a casual chat: “It works for the caretaker.”

Yan Tuo carefully inspected the weight-bearing frame, trying to find a weight limit label: “How heavy is the caretaker? How heavy am I? It can’t be the same, and Uncle Changxi is frugal, always buying the cheapest things.”

His pride was too strong to accept charity, saying things like Live within your means, what I have works fine.

Nie Jiuluo played with the corner of her blanket: “You shouldn’t always think cheap means poor quality. Sometimes you can get good value for money.”

Yan Tuo didn’t respond, still looking until he found the weight limit: “Maximum 75kg…”

Nie Jiuluo: “How many Jin are you?”

Yan Tuo wasn’t short, probably around 183 or 184 centimeters.

“About 145 Jin.”

It depended on his condition, sometimes two Jin lighter, sometimes two Jin heavier.

Nie Jiuluo thought this could be dangerous. Even if you’re exactly 145 Jin, you have to add the blanket, and what winter blanket doesn’t weigh four or five Jin?

“It’s fine, it can hold 150 Jin, that’s enough. Just sleep politely—no dancing on it.”

Yan Tuo was half-convinced, but had no choice: there wasn’t a second bed anyway.

After turning off the lights, he lay down very politely.

Nie Jiuluo listened intently to the creaking and swaying sounds from the bed legs and frame, thinking this poor bed wasn’t just creaking—it was groaning in pain.

She figured it would collapse, just a question of when.

However, after waiting for quite a while with no collapse, Nie Jiuluo fell asleep slightly disappointed.

Sometime later, amid deep sleep, she suddenly heard a “creek”—probably because Yan Tuo had fallen asleep and forgotten about being polite, unconsciously turning over—followed by a muffled thud.

Did it collapse?

Nie Jiuluo’s eyes flew open, completely awake.

Sure enough, she heard Yan Tuo curse in a low voice: “Damn it!”

It collapsed?!

It was too funny—she held in her laughter, pretending to be asleep, suppressing her giggles until her stomach hurt and pulled at her wound.

Probably afraid of waking her, Yan Tuo didn’t turn on the lights after getting up, just used his phone’s flashlight to reassemble the bed frame piece by piece, muttering, “What a worthless bed…”

Halfway through reassembling it, worried about making too much noise, he looked back at her.

Well, well—she appeared to be sleeping soundly, but why were both she and the blanket slightly trembling? She must be laughing.

Yan Tuo was speechless.

After a while, he moved the light back.

After all, he still had to fix the bed.

The next morning, when Nie Jiuluo opened her eyes, her first reaction was to look for Yan Tuo.

He wasn’t in the room, having woken up earlier than her. The canvas bed was already folded up, leaning pitifully against the wall.

At that moment, it was hard to say who was more unfortunate—the person or the bed.

Nie Jiuluo wanted to laugh again.

…

Liu Changxi had left for his shop before dawn, leaving a note for Yan Tuo saying the caretaker would arrive around ten to take over, and if he wasn’t in a hurry, he could wait until she came.

With no rush for those few hours, Yan Tuo went outside the community to buy breakfast. When he returned, Nie Jiuluo had been awake for a while.

Yan Tuo asked her, “Want to wash up?”

Nie Jiuluo nodded and asked in return, “Did you sleep well last night?”

Yan Tuo refused to give her the satisfaction: “Slept very well, haven’t had such a peaceful sleep in ages—can’t sleep well at home, obviously more at ease staying elsewhere.”

Really?

Seeing his sincere expression, Nie Jiuluo began to doubt herself: was it possible she had just dreamed it all?

It had seemed so real.

…

After washing up, they set up a small table on the bed for breakfast. Nie Jiuluo didn’t have much appetite, only taking two sips of porridge and nibbling half a shumai.

Yan Tuo noticed: “Not to your taste? How about the caretaker’s cooking, are you getting used to it?”

Nie Jiuluo was silent for a moment before saying, “Yan Tuo, I want to go home to recover.”

Yan Tuo made a sound of acknowledgment, lowering his head to stuff the remaining half of his bun into his mouth.

He had been mentally prepared, just hadn’t expected it so soon.

Nie Jiuluo explained, “The caretaker is very nice, but for me, this is someone else’s home. I’m not comfortable staying here. At my place, I’ll feel more at ease. Sister Lu has been with me for so long, having her around makes everything convenient. Also, I know people who run private hospitals, so for check-ups or rehabilitation, we won’t need to be so secretive.”

After all, it was a gunshot wound.

Yan Tuo nodded: “That’s good, that’s good. So… how do you plan to get back? In your condition, you can’t walk by yourself, right?”

His tone suggested he had no intention of taking her.

Nie Jiuluo said, “I’ll hire a car. If that doesn’t work, I can ask Old Cai… my friend, to find a reliable driver to pick me up.”

When she first woke up, she thought the weather was quite nice, but now suddenly felt it was nothing special. The sun wasn’t particularly bright, its light was weak and listless.

Yan Tuo finished his porridge in a few gulps and wiped his mouth with a napkin: “One shouldn’t overstay their welcome. How about this—you rest for a couple more days until you can walk better, then I’ll come take you home.”

Nie Jiuluo thought for a moment and said indifferently, “That works too.”

After speaking, she turned to look out the window.

Outside was a large tree where a tit with a black head and yellow belly was hopping from branch to branch. Sunlight filtered through the tree crown, leaking through here and there.

The weather was still quite nice.

After finishing breakfast and clearing the dishes, Yan Tuo brought Nie Jiuluo the two items she cared about most.

The knife and her phone.

Amusingly, both items were in evidence bags, like court exhibits. The knife, in particular, still showed obvious bloodstains.

Yan Tuo said, “I’m returning them exactly as I got them. The knife looks like an antique, so I didn’t clean it.”

He worried that if the knife was valuable, it might react badly with cleaning solvents and get damaged—he couldn’t take that responsibility.

As for the phone, the body had many new scratches and a crack in the screen, silently testifying to how dangerous the fight in the pump house had been.

Nie Jiuluo didn’t rush to charge and turn it on. After so long, even urgent matters would have passed; waiting another hour or two wouldn’t matter.

She gestured toward the door: “You’re keeping Chen Fu, saying you want to question him about something—is it about your sister? Are you sure he knows?”

Yan Tuo trusted his instincts: “Ninety percent sure he knows. These Di Xiao probably treat what happened to my family as some kind of joke. But this guy is stubborn, he’d rather die than talk.”

He couldn’t help but smile bitterly: “Dog Tooth died too early. If we were questioning him instead, we might have had a chance.”

Nie Jiuluo remained neutral: “So what are you planning to do with Chen Fu? Keep him for now?”

“For now, yes. Check him thoroughly sooner or later, make sure he’s not playing dead. If nothing else works, when he’s about to wake up, we can kill him again.”

Nie Jiuluo burst out laughing.

This cycle of living and dying, dying and living, seemed endless.

She said, “How about leaving him with me these few days? I’m just sitting around anyway. If he wakes up, I can help you question him.”

Yan Tuo was startled: “Leave him with you? That won’t work, you’re injured…”

Nie Jiuluo gave him a sidelong glance: “What about being injured? As long as you tie him up well and gag him properly, even if he wakes up, he’ll still be stuck in the box, right? Besides, my questioning will be more effective than yours—you’re too emotionally involved, and I’m different. Also, with you carrying him in and out, even if Lin Xiru’s people don’t notice, aren’t you worried about running into police checks?”

Everything was arranged, with half an hour left until ten.

Yan Tuo played three rounds of Flight Chess with Nie Jiuluo, as she had been curious about the game that had been lying by her pillow for several days.

The game was called “Hero’s Escape from the Devil’s Cave,” with simple rules—roll the dice to determine how many steps to escape, with various traps along the escape route. Step into one, and you’re done for.

Yan Tuo lost all three rounds.

In the first round, he died from drinking poisoned wine, bleeding from seven orifices.

In the second round, he choked to death on noodles.

In the third round, he entered a snake beauty’s poison den and was devoured.

Yan Tuo was exasperated: “Why is it always me? Even by probability, it should have been your turn by now, right?”

Nie Jiuluo said, “You just have bad luck.”

When the caretaker came in, they had just started the fourth round.

Not long into this round, Yan Tuo finally discovered the secret behind Nie Jiuluo’s winning streak.

For instance, when she rolled a “5,” she was supposed to move five steps, and the fifth step would have landed on the trap “Death by falling rocks crushing skull.”

She picked up her piece, saying, “Moving five steps.”

Then as she moved the piece, she counted: “One, two, three, four, five.”

Though she counted five times and made elaborate hand movements, she only moved four spaces, stopping just short of the trap, then acted smug: “That was close, almost died.”

The fourth round ended with Yan Tuo losing again. This time, his cause of death was meeting the village beauty—she smiled at him, and he died of a heart attack from excitement.

The caretaker was preparing meals in the kitchen, cutting and chopping, boiling and draining, with the rhythmic sound of knives and bubbling water creating a warm, lively atmosphere.

Outside the window, the little tit suddenly took flight from the big tree, making the branches sway and casting scattered golden light through the leaves.

Yan Tuo tossed his piece aside and stood up to leave: “I’m done playing. In this world, honest people always get the short end of the stick.”