The small guesthouse where Ding Yudie stayed was an unlicensed establishment. The owner’s home had a small courtyard with one room perpetually vacant, and if they tried, they could clear out another room. A thick cardboard sign painted with red characters reading “Lodging” made it a guesthouse when placed at the entrance; without it, it was just a rural courtyard—no trespassing.
So even with more money, there were only two rooms available, and not enough beds. The owner brought out a roll of bamboo sleeping mat.
Ding Yudie had already checked in and had a bed, so he didn’t need one.
Yi Sa was a woman, and these days, everyone knew ladies get priority, so she couldn’t be given the mat either.
So the owner handed the bamboo mat to Zong Hang: “Sort it out among yourselves.”
After receiving the mat, both Ding Yudie and Yi Sa had already gone to their rooms, predictably without acknowledging him.
Zong Hang stood there holding the mat, thinking.
Logically, the men should share a room.
He went to find Ding Yudie.
Ding Yudie opened the door halfway, his anger not yet subsided, maintaining a poker face: “I never share rooms with others. Go find her—didn’t you two share accommodations on the boat anyway? Why are you trying to squeeze in with me now?”
Then came a loud slam of the door.
Zong Hang dragged the mat over to Yi Sa’s room.
Her door was open, with water running in the bathroom—she was probably taking a shower. Zong Hang stood at the doorway, unsure whether to enter.
The stiff bamboo mat stood beside him like a fellow sufferer, their shadows forming a pair.
Yi Sa finished her shower quickly, as expected with her practical medium-short hair.
She walked around the room twisting her hair, still ignoring him.
Zong Hang hesitated before tentatively entering with the mat. It was wide and even rolled up, one end dragged on the floor, making a rustling sound.
As he walked, he stole glances at Yi Sa.
She must have noticed him enter, and since she hadn’t told him to leave, that meant… she was allowing it, right?
Zong Hang brought the mat in and found a space to lay it out, doing so very carefully, afraid she might suddenly yell: “Did I say you could come in and set up here?”
Yi Sa remained busy, rummaging through her bag before going out again. She returned shortly and tossed him some clothes and slippers: “Go shower!”
A weight lifted from Zong Hang’s heart. He picked up the clothes and wanted to thank her, but seeing the back of her head, swallowed his words.
He showered quickly too, as the unstable water pressure alternated between strong and weak, creating an urgent sense that it might stop working any second.
After finishing, he examined the clothes.
They must have been clean clothes from the owner—a brown floral old man’s shirt that even Zong Bisheng would find too dated, and striped loose shorts, the kind sold at street stalls for ten yuan, prioritizing ventilation to the point where they were see-through in sunlight, with each leg wide enough to fit three limbs.
Whatever, he put them on, looking completely mismatched.
He pushed open the door.
Yi Sa sat on the bed applying facial products, surrounded by small bottles and jars. Without looking up, she instructed: “There’s a medicine pack on the table, take what you need.”
He did need it—his face was scraped when pressed against the ground. The dirt had been washed away in the shower, and now the wound stung slightly.
Zong Hang went to the table and found a small bottle of alcohol and cotton swabs.
The alcohol bottle had a twist cap that he couldn’t open with one hand. Trying to grip it with his elbow didn’t work either, and he considered using his teeth but thought it unsanitary.
Yi Sa watched with growing irritation, finding his clumsiness annoying. She wanted to stride over and wrench it open with one twist.
But then she thought, why should she bother when she had better things to do?
She lowered her head and continued patting water on her face, catching glimpses of Zong Hang’s hesitant approach from the corner of her eye.
His words came out stammering: “Yi Sa, this… I can’t open it. Could you help?”
Yi Sa gave him a sidelong glance: “You’re so tall, yet can’t even open a bottle cap?”
Zong Hang showed her his injured hand, the bandages unrecognizable after days of being in dirt and water: “My hand is injured.”
Yi Sa responded irritably: “Give it here.”
She took the alcohol bottle, about to twist it open when she suddenly glared at the doorway: “What do you want now?”
Zong Hang turned around.
It was Ding Yudie.
Ding Yudie didn’t want to come either.
After all, in a battle of wills, whoever makes the first move loses.
But in this rural area, he couldn’t find anyone else to discuss with. He was the type who couldn’t keep things to himself—those little discoveries and secrets would make him uncomfortable if he couldn’t share them with others.
After Yi Sa’s sharp words, he felt more confident: “Why can’t I come? I just helped you out, can’t I even come sit for a while?”
Yi Sa snorted.
With that snort, everything passed—the previous unpleasantness was considered over.
Excitement overcame everything else. Ding Yudie scurried over, dragged a small stool to sit by the bed, and proudly handed over his phone like showing off a treasure: “Sa-sa, our Uncle Jiang has a secret.”
Yi Sa’s interest was piqued. She set down the alcohol bottle and took the phone to look.
The impact of these photos was quite intense. Yi Sa frowned instinctively as she swiped backward: “What is this?”
The person’s appearance was strange and deformed, and the surrounding walls were smeared like a horror movie set.
Especially the last photo—it was blurry, with the person’s face stark white but with two extremely bright points of light staring directly at the camera, quite eerie.
Zong Hang also leaned in, craning his neck to peer at the phone screen.
Ding Yudie said: “I’m guessing either it’s some kind of monster Uncle Jiang fished out of the river, or he’s conducting some biochemical experiments. You wouldn’t expect it, right? On the surface, he seems like such an uninvolved old man.”
Yi Sa zoomed in on the photo.
The bloody writing covering the walls was barely legible, with “THEY” in various sizes, and “ARE COMING.” As for the person in the photo, though male, his physical condition somewhat resembled what Zong Hang had described about the old K.
Just as she was thinking this, someone tugged at the edge of her clothes.
It was Zong Hang standing beside her. Having been kidnapped onto the boat for so long, he must know something.
Yi Sa had an idea but kept her expression neutral. She returned the phone and tested Ding Yudie: “Curious?”
Ding Yudie stood up, patting his bottom, making his stance very clear: “No way, everyone has their little secrets. I just wanted to gossip with you. What’s it got to do with me? I won’t get myself involved. And you—don’t come to me with this stuff anymore. It’s too much pressure; I’m not cut out for fighting with people.”
He meant it.
Ding Yudie had always thought highly of himself, looking down on this and that, keeping his thoughts underwater. He truly wasn’t good at social niceties, typically minding his own business and being naturally disinclined to meddle in others’ affairs. As long as it didn’t affect him, he didn’t care if the world turned upside down. That’s why he’d rather go to great lengths to find sunken ships than care about what Jiang Xiaoguang was planning—at most, he’d just gossip about it.
After Ding Yudie left, Yi Sa glanced at Zong Hang: “You have something to say?”
Zong Hang nodded, about to speak, then suddenly stopped. He ran to the door, first peeping out to check, then closed it.
He’s becoming cautious, Yi Sa thought with amusement.
She unscrewed the alcohol cap, casually instructing: “Bring the medicine pack too.”
Zong Hang brought it over.
Yi Sa took a cotton swab and blocked the bottle opening, tilting it slightly to dampen the swab. She was about to hand it to Zong Hang when she noticed there was no large mirror around—he’d have to go to the bathroom to treat his wounds. Finding this troublesome, she said: “Alright, alright, sit down.”
Zong Hang quickly sat on the small stool.
“Face, turn sideways.”
Zong Hang turned his face, his eyes darting around, not knowing where to look, only aware of the cotton swab gently moving around his wound, sometimes cool, sometimes stinging slightly.
He lowered his eyes, his heart pounding, suddenly catching her scent.
The post-shower fragrance should have been very faint, but the perfect temperature elevated it slightly, making it not only detectable but carrying a soft, sweet warmth.
It smelled wonderful.
Zong Hang forgot what he wanted to say, his mind filled with just four words.
It smelled wonderful.
Yi Sa bent down to clean the scrapes on Zong Hang’s face, somehow finding her attention drawn to his ears.
They were slowly turning red.
Zong Hang’s complexion was fair, making the redness particularly noticeable, like crushed rouge dissolving in warm water, especially pronounced around the ear shell.
It would probably feel hot to touch.
Yi Sa glanced at Zong Hang, asking: “Did you suffer much?”
Zong Hang was caught off guard, taking a moment to realize what she meant: “No, no.”
His face was just slightly scraped, everything else was fine, probably hadn’t suffered too much.
Zong Hang suddenly remembered something: “Yi Sa, if someone’s hit on the head with a bowl, they won’t die, right? It won’t cause a concussion, will it?”
“Who got hit?”
“When we were escaping, I hit Jiang Xiaoguang.”
He felt somewhat regretful: “I was too nervous and used a lot of force… he’s even older than my father.”
Putting himself in their shoes, if someone hit his father like that, he’d be furious.
Yi Sa tossed the cotton swab away: “Don’t worry, Jiang Xiaoguang’s skull is harder than you think.”
She picked out medical scissors from the medicine pack and slowly cut away the bandages wrapped around his hand: “So, why did you tug at my clothes earlier?”
Oh right, he almost forgot the main point.
Zong Hang said: “The person in the photo, I think it might be Jiang Jun.”
Jiang Jun?
Yi Sa almost cut wrong.
She looked up at Zong Hang, who nodded firmly at her.
Yi Sa’s mind was a bit chaotic, gesturing for him to wait before speaking.
She needed to sort things out.
Jiang Jun…
It was possible. After discovering Little Brother Jiang’s body, although Jiang Xiaoguang appeared very shocked, thinking about it now, that grief seemed somewhat superficial. Plus, he wasn’t urgent about calling the police or dealing with the body. Instead of properly handling Jiang Jun’s funeral arrangements, he showed up first at Duck Head Mountain and then on the work boat at Laiye Temple.
Only “the dead Jiang Jun being fake” could explain all this.
Yi Sa’s heart pounded: Over these dozen years, she had met Jiang Jun several times and was certain it was the same person from youth to middle age. If it was fake, how many years of deception was that? When did it start?
She asked Zong Hang: “What else do you know?”
Zong Hang had so much to tell this time.
He started with the Three Clans’ Ancestor’s prophecy about “overturning the pot,” then moved on to the 1996 “Drifting Cave” expedition, the Yi family convoy accident, Jiang Jun being taken away by Jiang Xiaoguang, the “infected” being detained for research, Yi Xiao’s escape, and her conspiracy with Jiang Xiaoguang to capture him…
Finally, he carefully added: “Yi Sa, she should be your sister.”
Throughout the entire story, Yi Sa hadn’t interrupted once, rarely even looking up at him, just continuing to rebandage his hand—but he knew she was listening because sometimes her breathing would suddenly quicken, sometimes she would pause, and once, after finishing wrapping one finger, she realized she’d forgotten to add a “splint” and unwrapped it all to start over.
Yi Sa made a sound of acknowledgment: “Did she mention me?”
Zong Hang remained silent.
“So you asked about me?”
“I asked if she had a younger sister named Yi Sa, said you wanted to see her, and mentioned the tape recorder and the song on the cassette.”
“What was her reaction?”
“She was quiet at first, then suddenly got angry, said I was talking nonsense… and then stormed out.”
Yi Sa made an “oh” sound: “Quite the temper.”
After a pause, she smiled: “Let’s sleep.”
The lights were out.
Rural nights were truly dark.
It was very late, with the sounds of frogs and insects unique to rural nights coming from outside.
Yi Sa couldn’t sleep.
She lay in bed, looking at the ceiling. The houses here still used traditional beam construction, with double-sloped roofs, triangular structures, and horizontal main beams.
Moonlight shone in, revealing silvery cobwebs on one side of the main beam.
She kept thinking about Zong Hang’s words, analyzing them piece by piece, word by word.
Logically, if she were Jiang Xiaoguang, having made a deal with Ding Changsheng, she would be terrified of the secret getting out and would want to dig a cellar and hide Jiang Jun away, not letting anyone see him.
Why would Jiang Xiaoguang take the risk of bringing Jiang Jun out? Especially to Poyang Lake.
What did he want to do? Could Aunt Yun Qiao’s words be true—that even though Jiang Jun was neither human nor ghost anymore, they still wanted him to open the golden soup?
She couldn’t figure it out, but what was certain was that in the next day or two, something would happen in the Laiye Temple waters. After all, Jiang Xiaoguang was there, Jiang Jun was there, Yi Xiao was there, Ding Changsheng was coming, and there was also Ding Yudie who had stumbled into all this, insisting on going down to the lake to find some sunken ship at this time…
Yi Sa closed her eyes.
Half-asleep, she kept feeling like there was something important left unsaid…
She suddenly sat up, calling out sharply: “Zong Hang!”
Zong Hang hadn’t slept well for several days and was extremely drowsy, almost falling into deep sleep as soon as he lay down. Hearing her call, he jerked awake, momentarily disoriented, not knowing where he was.
Looking up, he saw Yi Sa sitting on the bed, moonlight slanting in, covering half her body—the lit half stern, the dark half cold.
She spoke deliberately, word by word.
“Have you, told anyone, about my situation?”
Her situation?
Zong Hang instantly remembered.
That scene in the cave on Duck Head Mountain, that face in the moonlight, suddenly became vivid, as if right before his eyes.
In his excitement after escaping, he had forgotten about this.
Why did Yi Sa’s blood vessels burst too?
Had she, like him, died and come back to life?
Yi Xiao’s reaction had been so strange as if she never knew this sister was still alive—was it Ding Changsheng’s long-term misdirection, or had she personally witnessed this sister’s death?