Jiang Lian smiled: “If there was money, wouldn’t it be natural for me to go pick it up? Didn’t Master Gan say that when heaven sends you free money, you should take it, otherwise the God of Wealth will walk around you in the future and never bring you money again?”
It was like a chicken talking to a duck, clearly deliberately changing the topic. Wei Biao’s face darkened, and just as he was about to say something, Kuang Meiying called to him: “Wei Biao.”
Her tone was gentle: “If he doesn’t want to talk about it, let it go. Don’t always be at odds with Jiang Lian.”
Though her voice wasn’t loud and carried a hint of timidity and weakness, Wei Biao responded as if to a divine decree. Turning his head, he showed undisguised concern: “Meiying, why did you come down? Did I disturb your sleep?”
Kuang Meiying took two steps into the room: “It’s so late, why not go to bed?”
As if deliberately contradicting her, the sound of oil exploding in a wok came from downstairs. Old Ga was probably stir-frying preserved meat, with the aroma wafting up to the second floor—what was so late about it? Old Ga was still cooking and eating.
Wei Biao had always followed her instructions obediently. He instinctively stepped toward the door, then stopped after two steps: “Aren’t you coming?”
“I want to talk with Jiang Lian for a while.”
Wei Biao’s expression turned unpleasant, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay, so he slammed the door as he left. However, Jiang Lian suspected he hadn’t gone far.
Kuang Meiying walked to the table, first noticing the wound on Jiang Lian’s neck. Her brows knitted together: “Are you alright?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Was it really from a fall?”
Jiang Lian raised his eyelids slightly: “What else? Could someone have hit me?”
Kuang Meiying remained silent. When she spoke again, her eyes were reddened: “Actually, I think there’s no hope for this matter. Jiang Lian, maybe we should just forget it. I think I should also…”
Jiang Lian burst out laughing.
At his laughter, tears fell from Kuang Meiying’s eyes: “I’m being serious, and you’re laughing!”
Jiang Lian reached out, took a tissue, and handed it to her: “Wipe your tears. Even if you don’t have confidence in me, surely you have confidence in Master Gan? He’s one hundred and six years old and has traveled many roads and bridges. If he thinks something is possible—what, do you think he’s just playing with you?”
This direct hit to the target was more effective than countless reassurances. Kuang Meiying paused, her expression considerably calmer.
Jiang Lian urged her: “Don’t overthink. Your health isn’t good, go back and rest quickly. Also…”
His eyes gestured toward the door: “Don’t be alone with me unless necessary. You know what he’s like—petty and jealous. Since childhood, who knows how much spit he’s put in my food? Aren’t you embarrassed? You like someone but are too hesitant to make it clear. How many obstacles have you added to my life?”
Kuang Meiying couldn’t help but laugh, then her face flushed red: “Don’t talk nonsense.”
She turned to leave, but suddenly remembered something: “Then… tomorrow, should I still come to help you?”
Jiang Lian nodded.
After being interrupted by the two, Jiang Lian no longer felt like copying the patterns from the chain. He took the two pages he had already copied and went to the balcony, leaning against the railing post and straddling the creaking wooden railing. He initially wanted to whistle downward, but suddenly remembered that local villagers were superstitious about this, believing that whistling at night would summon evil spirits from the darkness.
So he coughed a few times instead.
Old Ga was serving food and looked up at the sound: “Young Master Lian, don’t fall.”
Jiang Lian waved the papers in his hand: “I have two drawings with patterns that look like talismans. Can you take a look?”
Old Ga was a Nuo mask craftsman.
Western Hunan had unique cultural deposits, believing that all things had spirits. Of course, people couldn’t speak with spirits directly; only by wearing shamanic Nuo masks could they communicate with these mysterious forces. Although people no longer believed in this today, Nuo drama, as a folk cultural heritage, was still being passed down.
A Nuo mask craftsman carved and polished various shamanic masks with knives and axes, and was quite familiar with talisman patterns and hand gestures.
Old Ga didn’t look up: “Send them down.”
Jiang Lian felt around the railing post, untied a rope from a nail above, and slowly lowered it. A small bamboo basket dangled leisurely from the eaves, containing a few small stones for weight. Jiang Lian put the two papers in the basket, secured them with the stones, and lowered the basket to the ground.
The fire in the hearth was still burning. Old Ga took the papers from the basket and examined them carefully in the light from the bottom of the wok.
Jiang Lian looked down at him, his gaze inadvertently shifting to behind Old Ga—there stood a large wooden frame about half a meter tall, on which rested Old Ga’s coffin. Probably to protect it from rain, it was covered with layers of tattered straw mats, plastic sheets, and burlap sacks.
When he first arrived, Jiang Lian had noticed this coffin and asked about it. Old Ga had replied that it was a custom among mountain people: when they reached a certain age, they would prepare one in advance. He also said that everyone would eventually have their day and their coffin.
Every day, Jiang Lian watched Old Ga cook, prepare food, chop pig feed, and carve fierce-looking Nuo masks in front of this coffin. After seeing it so often, he felt that matters of life and death were quite ordinary.
After a while, Old Ga looked up and shook his head at him: “Too profound, I don’t recognize them.”
Then he asked: “Do you still want them?”
Jiang Lian shook his head. The actual object was on the table; taking a high-definition photo with a camera would be much more accurate than a hand-copied drawing.
So Old Ga stuffed the papers under the iron wok, watching as the edges gradually curled and yellowed. Just as they began to burn, he seemed to think of something and quickly pulled them out, extinguishing the flames with his hand.
When he looked up again, it was with the same lifeless tone: “Tomorrow, someone has invited me for a meal. There will be knowledgeable people there. Should I ask them for you?”
Liu Guanguo arrived early at Maoyuan Restaurant, the largest in the county, verifying everything from the check-in arrangements at the entrance, the service staff in the main hall, the setup of the private rooms, to the vegetables in the kitchen—nothing was overlooked.
After ten o’clock, Shen Wangu and others arrived at their posts. Liu Guanguo assigned tasks according to the areas marked by Meng Jinsong: Shen Wangu and Shen Bang at the reception desk, Qiu Dong in the main hall, and Liu Sheng responsible for the stairs, which led to the VIP private room, and no uninvited guests were allowed to enter.
With time to spare, they began to gossip. Shen Wangu grabbed Liu Guanguo, not letting him leave: “Did a mirage appear last night? Damn, you should have told me to go see it. Even my great-great-great-grandfather never saw such a rare sight.”
Liu Sheng also inquired of Liu Guanguo: “I heard the boss’s eyes were damaged by the light from the mountain mirage?”
Shen Bang lamented sorrowfully: “Indeed! You know what the light from a mountain mirage is like—whoosh whoosh, chua chua.”
Liu Sheng’s mouth fell half-open: he didn’t know, he’d never heard that the light from a mountain mirage came with sound effects.
Shen Bang continued: “That’s why I always say, don’t envy the boss’s luxurious life. As they say, ‘Those who wear the crown must bear its weight.’ The higher the treatment, the greater the danger. The reason we can live peacefully is that the boss shields us from the darkness we cannot see. She may appear glamorous, but she’s under enormous pressure…”
Shen Wangu found Shen Bang’s chattering annoying and tugged at Liu Guanguo: “Hey, Brother Liu, can you give us more details?”
Liu Guanguo kept his lips tightly sealed: “Only the boss saw it. Assistant Meng said there will be an official announcement soon. If you want to see it, wait for the official release.”
Shen Wangu looked disappointed.
Shen Bang clicked his tongue: “Brother Liu, you’ve been acting a bit haughty these past two days, putting on airs, talking about ‘official’… Can’t you be more down-to-earth? Look at me—I have explosive news, but am I getting cocky? Am I being arrogant? Am I losing my composure?”
With this speech, he successfully attracted everyone’s attention. Shen Bang looked smug, even curling his fingers and pretentiously flicking the front of his clothes.
Liu Guanguo was half skeptical: “You have news?”
Shen Bang gloated: “My sister studies at a university in Nanjing, as you well know.”
So what’s the connection between studying in Nanjing and “explosive news”?
Liu Guanguo was bewildered.
Liu Sheng couldn’t help but frown: “Hurry up, if you have news, share it. Yakking away for half the day, talking about Nanjing and Beijing without saying anything substantial.”
Shen Bang wasn’t angry: “Let me give you a hint. What’s near Nanjing? Anhui. What’s in Anhui? Mountain Osmanthus House. What question has been bothering us yesterday? Right, why did the boss come to Western Hunan?”
Among the group, Qiu Dong spoke the least but thought the fastest. He immediately pieced things together: Shen Bang’s sister studied in Nanjing, not far from Mountain Osmanthus House. Since the doors of Mountain Osmanthus House were open to all mountain folk, she probably visited frequently and had many opportunities to hear firsthand news…
Qiu Dong blurted out: “What did she hear?”
Shen Bang gave him a thumbs up: “Big Dong’s brain works like a charm. Let me tell you, last night I asked her. She doesn’t know why the boss came to Western Hunan either, but she heard something that might be related. Of course, it’s just speculation, not necessarily…”
Liu Sheng wanted to punch him: “Can you get to the point?”
Shen Bang glanced at him: “I was just about to.”
He looked around and lowered his voice: “They say that two months ago, the Water Ghosts went to Mountain Osmanthus House.”
At this statement, confusion rather than surprise first appeared on everyone’s faces.
Liu Sheng didn’t even react: “Water… Water Ghosts?”
Liu Guanguo was also a bit stunned.
He had heard of Water Ghosts. Since the world has mountains and water, and there are Mountain Ghosts, having Water Ghosts wasn’t particularly strange.
The Water Ghosts were reportedly a group of people living along major rivers. Like the Mountain Ghosts, a small proportion of them had extraordinary talents, sharing the pulse and breath of water, able to breathe underwater. Liu Guanguo had once suspected that Zhang Shun, “the White Streak in Waves” from “Water Margin” who could stay underwater for seven days and seven nights, was actually a Water Ghost leader using an alias to roam the jianghu.
Yes, an alias, because the Water Ghosts were extremely secretive. The Mountain Ghosts were already considered low-key, but compared to the Water Ghosts, they seemed flamboyant. Just look at today’s setup—eating meat heartily, drinking from large bowls, making friends widely—unlike the Water Ghosts, who kept to themselves behind closed doors.
As a result, there were almost no rumors about the Water Ghosts in the outside world. Even among the Mountain Ghosts, many didn’t believe that Water Ghosts existed.
Shen Wangu was the first to react, his eyes shining: “Water Ghosts, holy shit! I heard they all look very ugly, with swollen bodies and deathly pale skin.”
Liu Sheng asked oddly: “Really?”
Shen Wangu nodded with an air of authority: “Think about it—soaking in water all day, how could they not be swollen?”
Liu Sheng found this quite reasonable: “What do they live on?”
Shen Bang didn’t know either: “Catching fish, probably. They must be in the aquaculture business, quite poor.”
After saying this, his nostrils flared dramatically, as if the fishy smell of poverty was wafting toward him.
Liu Guanguo disagreed: “They can pan for gold in the water, right? I heard that in earlier years, the banks of the Jinsha River were full of gold panners.”
Shen Wangu snorted dismissively: “Gold sand, not even as big as a grain of rice, how much money could that be? Even if they had a gold mine, comparing seventy-seven to one, who wins?”
They looked at each other, all feeling an immense sense of pride, as if those seventy-seven mountain mines were tucked under their pillows.
Only Qiu Dong didn’t participate in the banter. With slightly furrowed brows, he murmured, “Why did they come? Isn’t it said that mountain and water never meet?”
In theory, mountains connect to water, and water adjoins mountains; “mountain and water meet” would be the most natural thing. But whenever the Mountain Ghosts spoke of the Water Ghosts, they would inevitably mention “mountain and water never meet.” The reason was unclear, but it seemed both families believed it was best to have no contact whatsoever. Once there was contact, nothing good would come of it.
Shen Bang couldn’t explain clearly, speaking vaguely while embellishing greatly: “How would I know? My sister only heard some fragments. She said two people came from the Water Ghosts—an old woman and someone with small braids who was neither male nor female. Both had swollen bodies and deathly pale faces. When they entered Mountain Osmanthus House, water was still dripping from their bodies…”
Damn, that was vivid imagery, sounding like corpses that had climbed out of a pond. Liu Sheng stroked the goosebumps rising on his arms: “Then what?”
There was no “then.” Shen Bang said: “Then… you’ll have to ask the boss. But according to my speculation, they probably came to borrow money.”
Because they were poor, of course.
After eleven o’clock, guests began to arrive—men and women, young and old, tall and short, fat and thin, poor and rich, beautiful and ugly—the diversity was enormous. Even the restaurant manager came over to whisper to the two Shens at the reception desk: “Your relatives come in all varieties.”
Before Shen Wangu could respond, a group message appeared on his phone screen from Liu Sheng, with an urgency that seemed to leap through the screen: “Quick, quick, quick! To see the boss, back door!”
Shen Wangu ran immediately. Shen Bang was a step too late and didn’t dare leave the reception desk empty, so he could only watch Shen Wangu’s retreating figure with desperate anticipation.
Fortunately, as Shen Wangu turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of Meng Qianzi just as she stepped through the door.
Perhaps sensing someone nearby, she even turned her head slightly in Shen Wangu’s direction.
Shen Wangu saw that she was dressed all in black—tight-fitting clothes inside, a coat outside, mid-calf boots, and long hair cascading in waves. Of course, he didn’t know that Xin Ci had curled her hair that morning with a curling iron, saying it would enhance her presence. If he had known, he would certainly have commented that being bald would have the most presence, because no technique beats technique-less, and no hair beats hair. When she turned her head, perhaps due to the contrast with the black eye patch, her face was a combination of delicacy and fierceness. Around her neck was an extremely thin twisted-thread choker, upon which perched a large, old silver spider. The spider was incredibly lifelike, with a fine piece of old south red agate as its abdomen, its legs splayed out as if sucking blood from her neck.
Back at the reception desk, Shen Bang was impatient: “How was it? Did you see her?”
Shen Wangu gripped Shen Bang’s hand, squeezing it excitedly: “Just as I imagined, she hasn’t let me down!”
Though his appearance was ordinary, with hair thinning noticeably despite being just over thirty, he had high standards for Meng Qianzi, feeling that even a single imperfection would be unforgivable.
Shen Bang shared in his glory, gripping back firmly: “I told you, if the boss wasn’t up to par, our ancestral grandmother wouldn’t allow it.”
As the two were caught up in their excitement, a cough sounded from nearby.
Holy crap, a guest had arrived! The two Shens instantly composed themselves. Shen Wangu coughed and took the check-in book from the side, while Shen Bang cleared his throat and picked up the iPad.
Looking up, they saw two people in line. At the front was a man about sixty years old, wearing a clean, pressed blue cloth jacket and a faded green military bag slung diagonally across his back. He extended his invitation: “Ba Hang Village, Ma Er’ga.”
Shen Wangu verified the invitation and, out of politeness, stood up to return it with both hands, his face full of smiles as he directed him: “Go straight, turn right, enter the main hall, and take your seat according to your number.”
Then he turned to the next person.
This man was about forty or fifty years old, with a mess of curly hair and black-framed glasses, beaming as he handed over his invitation: “From Chen Prefecture, Li Changnian.”