Business at Phoenix Tower finally improved day by day, just as Cao Yanhua had hoped.

From initially having no customers, to now serving two or three tables, then four or five tables daily, although according to Yi Wansan, they still weren’t breaking even each day, Cao Yanhua felt that going from nothing to something was already a tremendous leap.

He had quit his job at Ju Xian Tower, helped at the bar in the evenings, and spent almost all his daytime hours at Phoenix Tower.

When there were no customers, he would find things to keep himself busy—washing dishes, mopping the floor, doing the accounts, and so on.

Yan Hongsha and Yi Wansan weren’t as dedicated as he was, but they showed up frequently and could be considered regulars. As for Luo Ren…

He never appeared.

Cao Yanhua thought this was reasonable: he was probably worried about his little sister, his little shifu.

In private, Cao Yanhua had discussed Mu Dai’s whereabouts with Yi Wansan and Yan Hongsha. Cao Yanhua and Yan Hongsha were both very concerned, while only Yi Wansan remained unconcerned. He even found their worries incomprehensible.

—”Do you think our country is that chaotic? She’s an adult, making her own decisions, and she knows martial arts. How could she easily get into trouble?”

Yan Hongsha said, “But what if she does?”

“What if” was truly a frightening phrase—it was precisely this “what if” that they feared.

Just as Cao Yanhua was lost in thought, someone appeared at the door. At first, he thought it was a customer and was about to greet them with a smile, but in the next second, he realized it was his Little Brother, Luo.

What a rare guest.

Cao Yanhua asked, “Do you need something?”

“Do you have any food?”

It turned out he had come for lunch. From behind the counter, Uncle Zheng looked up and emphasized, “Little Dao Luo, you still have to pay for your meal.”

Luo Ren smiled.

He chose a corner seat far from the counter, ordered Lanzhou fried rice, a portion of lamb ribs, and a bottle of cola.

Not rushing to eat, he gestured for Cao Yanhua to sit down.

He opened by asking, “Do you remember that painting from the seabed in Wuzhu Village?”

He remembered. Yi Wansan had later specifically redrawn it, and it was hanging in the room where the Ferocious Slips were kept for reference. It depicted a murder scene—drowning.

“Shen Gun called me last night and said he discovered the same painting in another place.”

As he spoke, he took out his phone, pulled up an image, and handed it to Cao Yanhua.

Cao Yanhua took it and examined it closely.

The photo showed what appeared to be a stone slab with blurred lines carved into it, with grass growing along the edges.

Swiping through, there were three photos in total.

The first showed someone crouching by a riverbank, bending down to drink water. Behind them stood another person, stealthily approaching, seemingly intending to push them.

The second showed the person who had been drinking water now being held under the water by the person behind them, their hands raised, apparently struggling desperately. In the distance, a third person came running, as if responding to a cry for help.

The third showed the corpse of the water-drinker submerged, while the person who had rushed to help was now pinning the murderer to the ground.

Cao Yanhua was surprised: “Three pictures?”

If he remembered correctly, the giant painting on the seabed of Wuzhu Village wasn’t even complete—Old Clam hadn’t had time to finish the third image.

Luo Ren pulled the tab from his cola, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp. The carbonation hit him afterward, making his nose and throat itch.

“They’re from a stone bridge in an ancient town in Zhejiang. What you’re seeing are images carved into the stepping stones, connected in sequence.”

That explained the blurred lines—thousands upon thousands of people had stepped on them.

“They say it’s a local custom to carve crimes on the bridge slabs for people to trample on, which supposedly prevents such evil deeds from happening again. Each bridge slab has a different image—you could say they’re unique. There’s even one depicting a man and woman having an illicit affair, which people especially like to step on, to the point where the lines are almost invisible.”

After thinking for a moment, he added, “Of course, the images are quite subtle, not explicit.”

Cao Yanhua clicked his tongue. Carving these images on stepping stones to be “trampled upon”—the imagination and ability to draw far-fetched connections of the working people were truly limitless.

He tapped his finger on the touchscreen, flipping through the three photos again and again.

“So, Shen Gun’s meaning is that the new Ferocious Slip is in this… ancient town in Zhejiang?”

As soon as he said it, he realized he had misunderstood.

Each Ferocious Slip had an oracle bone script character, also called a Simple Word. Theoretically, they should all be different. The character on the second slip was “water,” and the images on the stone bridge were identical to the second slip…

Cao Yanhua was startled by his realization: “Is it the second slip? The same… second slip?”

Luo Ren nodded.

From an ancient town in Zhejiang to Hepu in Guangxi—Cao Yanhua mapped it mentally: this spanned nearly half of China.

“Also, the stone bridge is very old, built at least before Liberation.”

Cao Yanhua felt overwhelmed by the information. Many threads in his mind began to tangle.

Luo Ren noticed and said, “Paper, pen.”

Cao Yanhua hurriedly ran to the counter, got paper and pen, and came back.

Luo Ren outlined China’s map on the paper, marked a triangle at the location of Zhejiang in the east, another triangle at Hepu in Guangxi in the south, connected them with an arc, and wrote “>60 years” beside it.

Cao Yanhua cautiously guessed: “It took sixty years to go from Zhejiang to Hepu?”

Judging by Luo Ren’s expression, his guess was incorrect. Cao Yanhua felt a bit embarrassed; he knew his logical reasoning wasn’t great—he grew more in flesh than in intelligence.

Luo Ren said, “This is just what Shen Gun discovered through his inquiries. But in reality, China is vast, with too many hidden places. How do you know this painting hasn’t appeared elsewhere?”

Cao Yanhua finally understood: “It… the Ferocious Slip has been moving all along?”

Then he felt his question was redundant. The first slip, the Fishing Line Puppet, had changed its crime location repeatedly—of course, the Ferocious Slip was moving.

Luo Ren posed a question: “Do you think it’s moving randomly, or does it have its pattern? If there’s a pattern, what route is it following?”

Cao Yanhua’s brain completely froze: “How about we call Brother Sansan and Sister Hongsha to research this together?”

He didn’t want to be the only one feeling stupid.

Luo Ren said, “Let’s eat first. I encountered you first, so I told you first. When you see them, you can pass it on.”

After lunch, Mu Dai asked for a half-day off and requested half a month’s salary advance from Zheng Shuiyu.

Zheng Shuiyu didn’t believe she had any money: “You must have it hidden in your underwear or some secret place, right?”

Mu Dai’s face showed complete openness: “I don’t.”

Zheng Shuiyu counted out the money for her, chiding her: “This is no way to live. A person, especially a girl, should plan for herself.”

Mu Dai smiled, pocketed the money, and left.

The sunshine was pleasant. She slowly walked to the old place from her memory.

The city had changed, the old building had been demolished and rebuilt, but some things remained unchanged, making her certain this was the place.

The new building combined commercial and residential use, with many shops on the ground floor and offices above. The street was filled with cars competing for space.

Mu Dai went from shop to shop making inquiries.

There were no results. Most shop owners were from elsewhere. The few locals she encountered were not old enough—twenty years ago, they would have been only about ten years old and had no impression of many things.

The last place she inquired at was a small supermarket. Still unsuccessful, Mu Dai sighed and bought some daily necessities for herself.

Once she became a customer, the shop owner became much more cordial than before, actively engaging in conversation: “You seem in such a hurry to find someone.”

Mu Dai smiled.

The shop owner suddenly remembered something: “Oh, there is someone who might…”

She told Mu Dai that on this street, in the evening around eight o’clock, a seventy-something-year-old woman would set up a stall selling homemade spicy meat and vegetable skewers. Whether she sold everything or not, she would pack up as soon as it was past ten.

In her description, the old woman was sharp-tongued, stingy, miserly, and loved to take advantage. Once, she had set up her stall in front of a shop, and when the shop owner complained that she was occupying space and hindering business, she jumped three feet high, saying, “I’ve lived here since I was little, I’ve stepped on every inch of this place left and right, what dog fart place is yours…”

The shop owner told Mu Dai that since this person was elderly, if she wanted to inquire about events from twenty years ago, this woman might have some leads.

At last, there was a glimmer of hope.

Mu Dai found a public telephone and called Zheng Li to say she had something to do and might not make it back for the dinner service.

After the call, she found a nearby café, ordered coffee and ice cream. Despite Nantian County being a small place, the consumption level wasn’t low—these two items cost her nearly a hundred yuan.

Mu Dai recalled Zheng Shuiyu’s words and felt she indeed hadn’t planned much for herself. Presently, she seemed to be living “in the moment” with 120% enthusiasm, but without considering the future.

Why? Perhaps because she had no expectations or confidence in the future.

She sat in a position facing the street, slowly sipping her coffee as the day passed, her mind empty, her eyes like a screen reflecting passing cars and people.

A quarter past six, she finally saw an old woman pushing a glass cart across the street.

Mu Dai hurried out, carefully avoiding vehicles, and stood in front of the cart.

She didn’t ask immediately, but first selected many skewers of various kinds. When paying, seeing that the old woman was in a good mood, she finally said, “Grandma, I’d like to ask you something. This area… was there a square old building here before?”

The old woman was helping her package the skewers, the plastic bag rustling between her dry, withered fingers: “Mm-hmm.”

Mu Dai felt inexplicably nervous but tried to continue calmly.

“Do you remember the people who lived in that building?”

The old woman, her voice hoarse, handed the packaged plastic bag to her: “That’s hard to say. Eighteen yuan.”

Mu Dai handed her a hundred-yuan note. The old woman took it and held it up to the electric light hanging in the glass cabinet, examining it repeatedly.

Mu Dai said, “No need for change. I want to ask you about a person.”

The old woman gave her a strange look, seemingly not believing such good fortune had fallen from the sky, or perhaps doubting the authenticity of the bill. She examined it even more carefully, even moistening her index finger with saliva and rubbing the edge of the note.

“There was a woman, at that time, in her twenties, not yet thirty. She dressed nicely, wore makeup, high heels, often red high heels…”

The old woman made a hacking sound in her throat, like a dry laugh, or as if clearing phlegm, saying, “Her.”

Mu Dai’s heart nearly jumped to her throat: “You know her?”

The old woman muttered indistinctly: “She slept with someone else’s husband, and the wife came to cause trouble. Her head was cracked open.”

Then she pointed at the building behind her, as if the brightly lit commercial building was still that dark, gloomy old building: “Back then, nobody in the entire building dressed like that. And makeup too! Decent women don’t wear makeup!”

She had found information.

Mu Dai was overwhelmed with emotions and suddenly didn’t know what to say. The surroundings were noisy, but it felt as if she were the only one standing in the long street. A cold wind swept by, chilling her to the bone.

She felt a twinge in her nose.

“Do you know where she… went afterward?”

The old woman lifted her face, her expression revealing a venomous quality: “Dead! That woman, she had an evil heart!”

She said through gritted teeth: “I heard she got AIDS. That disease, no one survives it.”

AIDS? Mu Dai’s heart shuddered violently.

The old woman said, “This woman had an evil heart. People said that with AIDS, even the blood is dirty. She drew her blood with a syringe and dripped it into the cooking pots of others living in the building…”

Mu Dai’s mind was buzzing.

She vaguely remembered that in the old building, the stoves were all in the corridor. At lunchtime, the entire hallway would be filled with delicious aromas. Sometimes, neighbors walking by would lift the lids of others’ pots to take a peek and ask, “What are you cooking?”

“She was discovered and beaten nearly to death. People said that her disease could lie dormant for many years, perhaps over ten years. Frightening! I remember she had a little girl, her daughter. The disease root must have been passed down to her, but that little girl disappeared…”

She spoke mysteriously, her yellowed teeth gleaming in the light, her voice lowered: “People said that after she found out she had the disease, she strangled her daughter and threw her into the river…”

Mu Dai opened her mouth but didn’t speak. There was a sudden chaos in her ears. After a moment, she abruptly turned and walked away quickly.

The old woman called after her: “Miss, your skewers…”

Mu Dai seemed not to hear, walking faster and faster, choosing places with dim lighting. In the end, she was practically running.

Finally, she stopped, not knowing where she was. There were still people, lights, and sounds around her. She looked down at her hands, at the faint blue veins on the back and the suddenly bloodless skin.

—She got AIDS, that disease, no one survives it…

—With AIDS, even the blood is dirty…

—Her disease could lie dormant for many years, and she had a little girl…

—The little girl was her daughter…

The little girl was her daughter.

Mu Dai’s vision blurred. She spotted a telephone booth and stumbled toward it, took out some coins, inserted several of them, and with trembling fingers dialed a number.

There were some numbers she still remembered.

Nighttime was always when the bar was at its liveliest.

Huo Zihong had been reading upstairs for a while. She came down wanting a drink and, approaching the bar, saw Pin Ting leaning on the counter, chin in hand, watching Yi Wansan mix drinks.

Huo Zihong went over, intending to ask Yi Wansan to make her something, but before she could speak, Pin Ting grabbed her arm and pushed her away: “Shh, shh, Brother Xiaodao is working!”

Acting as if Yi Wansan were engaged in some extraordinary task.

Huo Zihong teased her: “He’s your Brother Xiaodao?”

Pin Ting responded righteously: “He is!”

Then suddenly she became shy, pointing directly at someone not far away: “He looks like him, too.”

Following her direction, Huo Zihong was somewhat surprised.

Luo Ren was there as well, probably waiting to take Pin Ting home at the appointed time.

She thought of going over to say hello and had just started walking when her phone rang.

It was an unfamiliar number.

Huo Zihong answered: “Hello?”

The other end was silent for a long time, with rapid breathing.

“Hong Yi?”

Huo Zihong’s heart nearly skipped a beat as she blurted out, “Is that Mu Dai?”

Her voice was somewhat loud, causing Luo Ren to look over.

Huo Zihong retreated to a quiet corner behind the stairs.

She didn’t understand what Mu Dai’s question was about, but felt waves of inexplicable panic. She tried to answer Mu Dai’s questions calmly: “At Dr. He’s, they did arrange for you to have a physical examination. Everything was normal, including routine blood tests… but what you’re asking about, routine tests can’t detect that… Mu Dai?”

The call ended.

Huo Zihong’s mind went blank. She mechanically walked forward, took a few steps, and then realized she was going in the wrong direction—there was a wall ahead.

Huo Zihong steadied herself against the wall, her arm trembling slightly.

From behind, Luo Ren’s voice suddenly came.

“That was Mu Dai calling, wasn’t it?”

Huo Zihong turned around, staring at Luo Ren’s face. She tried to walk toward him, but suddenly her legs gave way.

Luo Ren came over to support her. Huo Zihong said, “I feel a bit unsteady. Let me sit down.”

Luo Ren half-knelt and helped her sit on the floor.

Huo Zihong murmured, “She asked me if she has AIDS, if her previous medical examinations had…”

Her mind was in chaos as she recalled the recent phone call. Mu Dai had been in disarray too, asking tearfully, “Hong Yi, do I have AIDS…”

Huo Zihong supported herself with both hands on the ground, finding it difficult even to breathe.

Luo Ren left and quickly returned, offering her a glass of water.

He said, “Mu Dai might have gone back home.”

Huo Zihong looked at him.

Luo Ren said, “She isn’t sure, which is why she called back to ask you. It’s unlikely to be a recent infection through blood transfusion or sexual transmission. The most likely possibility is that it was passed from her mother. She’s inquiring about her mother… Where was the call from? Was there an area code?”

Huo Zihong instinctively handed him the phone.

Luo Ren called back, but the number was no longer in service. He thought for a moment, took out his own phone, and entered the number. After inputting the first few digits, the system automatically suggested a similar number.

Had he called this number before? Or had this number called him? Luo Ren had no recollection. He checked the call time.

Then, he remembered that call.