Jing Xiu’s days passed in a reversed cycle of day and night.
All three meals were delivered to her. Yi Xiao had also booked the adjacent guest room for her to use as a women’s washroom and bathroom, though Jing Xiu had to act like a thief every time she went there—first peeping through the peephole, and when necessary, covering her head and face completely.
Though it was troublesome, she felt at ease in her heart, believing the money was well-earned: easy money tends to disappear quickly, and what comes with the wind will eventually be blown away by the wind.
She had only three main tasks each day: watching over Zong Hang at night, helping Yi Xiao make the bed in the morning, and reading the news during her free time.
Looking after Zong Hang wasn’t too difficult, as they could chat, providing mutual comfort and support.
Bit by bit, Jing Xiu learned about how Zong Hang got into trouble: it was related to when he was inexplicably attacked before, involving a story about an old man going abroad to seek revenge for his daughter, and drug dealers.
It was truly an undeserved disaster.
Jing Xiu asked him, “Then what happened? After Dan Zai sank you in the lake, when you woke up, you were in this bathtub?”
Zong Hang avoided her gaze and gave a vague affirmative sound.
What happened after being sunk in the lake had extreme ups and downs. The first half was sweet—he had promised someone “not to tell anyone, absolutely not.” The second half was painful, perhaps because it involved Yi Xiao, who had made it clear: “Keep it buried in your heart, you don’t need to know why.”
But this vagueness gave Jing Xiu unlimited imagination. She rested her chin on her hand and said, “Zong Hang, Yi Xiao saved you, so essentially, this is like ‘the mermaid saving the prince’…”
Then she lowered her voice: “It’s just that she looks a bit, you know, and you’re not quite prince material. Otherwise, if you fell in love with her at first sight, it would be a fairy tale.”
Zong Hang was so annoyed he didn’t want to respond. He turned away, showing his back to Jing Xiu.
But his face was faintly reflected in the mucus-covered bathtub wall. Jing Xiu noticed that while he was angry at first, later, perhaps thinking of something, he suddenly smiled.
His smile made Jing Xiu’s heart skip a beat: she had heard that good-looking people often don’t care much about their loved ones’ appearances. Could it be that after being saved, Zong Hang had developed endless affection for Yi Xiao, caring only about the heart and not the face?
It would be better… if that didn’t happen.
After all, Yi Xiao made people very uncomfortable.
When Jing Xiu helped make her bed, she could always smell strange odors. Generally, people would have some scent after being wrapped in bedding all night—children smelled like milk, young people had a concentrated scent, and middle-aged people had a dispersing, floating scent.
The older people get, the slower their metabolism becomes. If they don’t pay attention to personal hygiene, the smell can become very unpleasant, commonly known as “old person smell.”
The strange smell from Yi Xiao’s bedding was even worse than the old person’s smell, like rotting wood in wet mud. Every time Jing Xiu lifted the blanket, words like decay, deterioration, and rot flashed through her mind.
Moreover, there was always hair loss on the pillow, without resilience or elasticity, breaking easily when stretched. Sometimes, skin flakes would fall off onto the bed sheets.
These weren’t the only things that made Jing Xiu suspicious.
There was a cardboard calendar on the bedside table, a simple twelve-month version. During the first couple of days when Jing Xiu was making the bed, the calendar was clean, with nothing on it.
These past few days, she noticed that Yi Xiao had circled “7.17” with a pen.
And not just once—the pen strokes must have been very heavy, as the ink marks overlapped, penetrating deep into the cardboard.
Roughly calculating, it was already early July, with less than half a month until July 17th.
What did this date mean? Was it Zong Hang’s deadline?
It didn’t seem like it though, as Zong Hang’s condition was improving. As Yi Xiao had said, he was gradually becoming “physically firm” and could already sit up with her help.
She had thought about it back and forth, even discussing it with Zong Hang: July 17th on the Gregorian calendar didn’t coincide with any festivals before or after—it was truly just an ordinary day.
But those many ink marks silently reminded her: that something would happen on that day.
Besides all this, during her free time, Jing Xiu mostly spent time reading the news: not out of concern for national affairs or leisure, but just to see if her disappearance had caused even the slightest ripple here.
After all, when Zong Hang’s incident happened, it truly caused an uproar—newspapers, magazines, and news, all had it as headlines. Zong Bisheng even gave a television interview, where the million-yuan reward was first announced, spreading to every street corner and ordinary household, creating waves that haven’t settled even now.
However, day after day, she didn’t see any mention of herself.
Jing Xiu felt quite lonely, but after the loneliness, she smiled and accepted it.
People simply can’t be compared.
Who would remember her?
Ding Xi?
This thought suddenly flashing through her mind made her gnash her teeth: Pah! That bastard!
July 10th.
Yi Sa woke up early.
During these days, she hadn’t left Siem Reap, holding onto her determination to find that masseuse called Jing Xiu: she had visited Jing Xiu’s residence several times, watching helplessly as the doorknob went from shiny to dusty, and also went to the hotel where Jing Xiu had last registered. The lobby manager explained apologetically, “She did register, but she never went to 218, maybe she just showed her face as a front and then left through the back door.”
What kind of lousy hotel has three back doors? There was no way to know where to look.
Yi Sa gave up, feeling perhaps she was just destined to be unlucky, and also suspecting that Ding Xi had used some means to make this woman disappear from the world.
But it didn’t matter. If she couldn’t approach it indirectly, she’d face it head-on.
She rolled over to lie on her bed, looking at the phone on the bedside table, and then at the calendar on the wall.
She had marked “7.17” with a red triangle.
Less than seven days left, and that phone call should be coming.
No matter, she had patience. She would wait, and wait unhurriedly, with an elegant demeanor.
Yi Sa propped herself up on her elbow, resting her chin on her hand, while glancing sideways at the dressing mirror to check if her posture was truly “elegant.” Just as she was feeling composed, her phone suddenly rang.
The table surface was slightly tilted, and with the phone’s vibration on, it kept sliding down while ringing. Yi Sa rushed to grab it, lost her balance, and nearly fell head-first, but thanks to her agility, she managed to support herself with one hand while grabbing the phone with the other, her legs swaying in the air like an unstable handstand.
She looked at the caller ID.
Jiang Xiaoguang.
It had come.
Yi Sa flipped back onto the bed, grabbed the blanket, and pulled it over her head, waited for a second or two, then pressed answer, her voice languid: “Hello?”
With the blanket’s echo, her voice sounded even more exhausted, the tone listless.
Jiang Xiaoguang was the number one figure in the Jiang family, and among the three water ghost families, he was a rare case of “one family, two water ghosts”: both he and his son Jiang Jun were water ghosts.
He had a good relationship with Yi Jiuge. After the Three Rivers incident, when Ding Changsheng was complaining about her and suggesting to “lock her up,” if it weren’t for Jiang Xiaoguang speaking up, she might not have been able to move about freely.
So she was willing to listen to Jiang Xiaoguang, addressing him properly as “Uncle,” and obediently following his instructions to get regular health check-ups.
Jiang Xiaoguang chuckled on the other end: “Sa Sa, not awake yet?”
Yi Sa mumbled: “Had too much to drink…”
Jiang Xiaoguang scolded her: “Playing hard again, huh? Nobody to keep you in check when you’re abroad!”
Yi Sa threw off the blanket, and slowly sat up, fully committed to the act even though the other side couldn’t see her.
“Oh, it’s Uncle Jiang, what’s the matter?”
Jiang Xiaoguang said exasperatedly: “What do you mean what’s the matter? What date is it today?”
Yi Sa looked at the calendar, continuing to play dumb: “July 10th…”
“What’s seven days from now?”
Yi Sa spoke vaguely: “Seven days from now…”
She suddenly “came to her senses,” becoming more alert: “I remember now, ‘Seven-One-Seven, Open Golden Soup,’ it’s your big day, Uncle Jiang, congratulations.”
Jiang Xiaoguang was very unhappy: “As a water ghost, shouldn’t you have memorized the Golden Soup Manual by heart? How could you forget! The opening of the Golden Soup is such an important day, water ghosts from all three families must attend, yet you haven’t shown any signs of preparation, making me have to invite you personally!”
Yi Sa giggled: “I didn’t forget, I remember it, I just didn’t want to see Ding Changsheng and the others…”
Jiang Xiaoguang said: “You’re not that old, why hold such grudges? I heard that when Ding Xi went to Cambodia, you played tricks and made him crash…”
Damn!
Yi Sa’s empty hand grabbed the blanket, the veins on the back of her hand bulging.
That Ding fellow was covered in blood and filth himself, yet he dared to speak ill of her to others.
After a while, she said through gritted teeth with a smile: “He brought it upon himself.”
Jiang Xiaoguang had no way with her: “Alright, do it for my sake, hurry up and prepare to come back. If you miss the date, I won’t be so nice.”
Yi Sa made an agreeing sound, thought for a moment, and asked one more question: “Is Little Brother Jiang leading this Golden Soup opening?”
Jiang Xiaoguang said: “Yes…”
His tone suddenly became heavy: “Don’t know if we can successfully open it, you know…”
He didn’t continue, but Yi Sa knew what he wanted to say.
—You know, in the past hundred years, it has already failed four times.
July 11th.
The room service waiter watched Yi Xiao sign the bill and suddenly asked curiously: “That’s a lot, can you finish it all?”
They had been discussing this guest privately: generous with money, staying alone in the hotel but booking two rooms, ordering double portions of meals; often asking service staff to buy this and that, including many male items, making people suspect she was keeping a lover in the room—with her appearance, that man must have unusual tastes; today was even stranger, ordering so much food—chicken, fish, meat, eggs, vegetables, rice, noodles—the tray couldn’t hold it all, requiring a multi-level food cart to wheel it over…
Yi Xiao threw the menu back at him, expressionless: “I’ll taste a bit of everything, doesn’t mean I have to finish it all.”
She pushed the food cart inside.
After closing the door, Jing Xiu quickly came over to take over, pushing the cart to the coffee table and arranging everything on the surface.
Zong Hang sat on the sofa, feeling a bit nervous.
Since last night, he had stopped falling unconscious, and Jing Xiu hadn’t filled the tub with water. Instead, she had given him water to drink.
After so many days of being submerged in water, suddenly drinking it into his stomach brought mixed feelings.
Yi Xiao watched him finish drinking and said: “Starting tomorrow, you’ll eat food.”
Zong Hang had already learned from Jing Xiu about the series of trials that were like passing through tribulations—”flesh becoming firm, able to walk, able to eat”—hearing Yi Xiao say this, he suddenly became excited: “Does this mean once I eat, I’ll be better?”
He felt like he was enduring a serious illness, just hoping to hear someone tell him, you’re already better.
Unexpectedly, Yi Xiao glanced at him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes: “Do you think eating is such a simple thing?”
Having eaten tens of thousands of meals throughout his life, this was the first time he felt so nervous. Just looking at the bowls of soup made his back break out in sweat.
Yi Xiao pulled over a stool, sat directly opposite him, and gestured toward the porridge bowl: “Start with porridge.”
Zong Hang picked up the porridge bowl and took two sets of chopsticks, separating them for public and private use—public chopsticks for serving, and private ones for tasting. This way, if Jing Xiu and Yi Xiao wanted to eat anything later, they could, and it wouldn’t be his leftovers with his saliva.
The porridge was made Hong Kong style, with poached egg and beef.
He took a spoonful and drank it, this spoonful contained egg drops and bits of beef.
After drinking, he sat still, not moving until Yi Xiao nodded.
Jing Xiu, standing beside them, quickly looked at the paper in her hands: it was already densely filled with various foods, and she ticked off beef, chicken eggs, rice, green onion, and ginger, her hands trembling slightly.
After the porridge was removed, next came noodles with bean sprouts, vegetables, and black fungus.
Zong Hang tasted each one, and more ticks appeared on Jing Xiu’s paper.
After the noodles were taken away, chicken, braised pork, and lamb soup followed.
He tasted one or two bites of everything, not missing any side dishes. It was a bit like Empress Dowager Cixi tasting the Manchu Han Imperial Feast, or like taking a student exam—after multiple choice questions comes fill-in-the-blanks, after fill-in-the-blanks comes reading comprehension, and you never know where you might stumble.
Fortunately, everything had gone smoothly so far.
Not only smooth, but his appetite was also opening up. After all, it had been a while since he had tasted food seasoned with oil, salt, sauce, and vinegar, and the hotel chef’s skills were quite good, with every dish above average—as he ate, Zong Hang would even comment a bit, saying things like “this is quite fresh” or “this meat is a bit tough.”
The next dish was steamed fish.
Zong Hang picked up a piece from the fish belly with his chopsticks, slowly chewed it, then nodded: “This is good too, though there are quite a few bones, when you eat it you should…”
Halfway through his sentence, he suddenly retched, dropping his chopsticks, his neck and face turning bright red like a shrimp.
He desperately clutched at his throat, rolling on the ground, constantly struggling.
Jing Xiu was so frightened her lips turned bloodless. She wanted to go help him up, but Yi Xiao shouted harshly: “Don’t touch him!”
She stared at Zong Hang.
He struggled to get up, with veins protruding on his face and hands, their color turning murky and dark.
Yi Xiao muttered: “Another defective product.”
…
After who knows how long, Zong Hang finally stood up holding the table leg, head lowered, staring blankly as those terrifying blood vessels gradually disappeared from his hands.
When he looked up at Yi Xiao, she gestured toward the coffee table: “Let’s continue with the next dish.”
After a pause, she added: “Remember, from now on you can’t eat seafood, and river fish is also off-limits. If anyone asks, just say you’re allergic to seafood, eating it… can be fatal.”