At one o’clock in the morning, deep in the Qinba Mountains.
The dense forest canopy blocked out the sky, making the already night even darker. The phrase “unable to see your fingers in front of your face” would not be an exaggeration here.
Yet in this desolate place, which the ancients called “the den of foxes and wolves,” there was now a corner lit by scattered lights, accompanied by faint human voices.
The light came from various sources: camp lights, illumination sticks, and wolf-eye flashlights.
About a dozen men and women, aged between twenty and forty, were packing their bags and taking down tents in the light.
A short young man pulled out a crumpled orange windbreaker from his hiking bag, shook it out, and put it on, then donned a fancy neck gaiter. He grinned at a muscular man in a military green t-shirt across from him, “Lao Dao, look at me, don’t I look like a college student on a hiking adventure?”
He spun around 360 degrees as he spoke, allowing Lao Dao to admire him from all angles.
Lao Dao wasn’t old, not even thirty yet. He had dark skin and distinct features on his square face. He was wrapping a Type 56 military dagger in leather when he heard this and glanced sideways: “Sure, you look exactly like one. Like a bird, that is.”
As he spoke, he pulled out the dagger and made it as if to stab at him: “A pig putting a green onion up its nose – who are you trying to fool!”
The short man had anticipated this move and leaped away with a yelp, standing at a distance and cackling. A fair-skinned woman nearby couldn’t stand it anymore and shushed him, reprimanding him in a low voice: “What’s all this noise about? Uncle Jiang is on the phone.”
The short man stiffened and quickly fell silent, putting his hands together above his head and bowing randomly to signal “my bad” before sneaking back to his spot.
Lao Dao gave him a sideways glance full of schadenfreude.
The short man sulked for a while as he organized his backpack, then looked diagonally behind him.
There, dozens of meters away on a small hill, stood a man making a phone call. Due to the backlight, his features weren’t clear, but one could make out that he was of medium build with a very straight back.
The short man nudged Lao Dao with his elbow: “Hey, weren’t we supposed to stay in the mountains for two weeks? Why are we rushing back after just half that time?”
Lao Dao shut him up with one sentence: “What, you don’t want to go back? Have you fallen in love with this place?”
***
Jiang Baichuan was on the phone when he saw Xing Shen coming up from the bottom of the slope.
Xing Shen was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, tall with a scholarly air about him. Even in a place like this, he appeared refined and modest.
Despite it being the middle of the night, he wore sunglasses on his nose, though none of those nearby found it strange.
Because Xing Shen was blind.
Jiang Baichuan raised his hand in a “wait” gesture toward Xing Shen, indicating he’d speak with him after the call.
He knew the other could “see” it, as Xing Shen’s sense of smell was extremely keen, almost capable of helping him determine direction. Additionally, while he couldn’t see objects’ colors or details, he could vaguely see a kind of “light.” When explaining this to him, Xing Shen had once made an analogy: everything is a “light-emitting body,” just more or less visible—you might think something doesn’t emit light, but that’s only because your physical eyes can’t distinguish it, just like how some sound frequencies are inaudible to human ears, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
Sometimes Jiang Baichuan thought it was a pity that Xing Shen was blind, but other times he thought that losing physical sight but gaining another kind of “eye” wasn’t so bad—what he saw was simpler, purer.
After Xing Shen walked over, he stood silently to one side, not moving or speaking until Jiang Baichuan hung up the phone: “Uncle Jiang, if we hurry, we can reach the mountain exit by noon tomorrow at the earliest, and should be back in Banya by night.”
Jiang Baichuan chuckled in good spirits: “No need, everyone’s worked hard, let’s take it slow and rest as needed. As long as we reach the mountain exit before dark tomorrow, that’s fine.”
Xing Shen was startled: “Aren’t you in a hurry to… see that Yan Tuo?”
He unconsciously lowered his voice when mentioning the latter half of the sentence.
Just about an hour ago, Jiang Baichuan had woken everyone up from their rest, instructing them to break camp and pack immediately—saying they needed to leave the mountains as soon as possible.
“No rush, no rush, haste makes waste,”, he moved closer to Xing Shen and said quietly: “The person has already fallen into Nie Er’s hands.”
Xing Shen was shocked: “A Luo? How did they run into each other?”
Jiang Baichuan said: “Small place, narrow roads. Buddha meets Buddha, ghost meets a ghost.”
***
The injection was indeed potent. Yan Tuo didn’t wake up hazily until noon the next day, and even then “hazy” is appropriate because he wasn’t truly conscious—he only barely gained some awareness before the giant hand of unconsciousness dragged him back under.
At that time, he only felt the chaotic sounds of vehicles around him, his body out of control, tumbling about. When he managed to force his eyes open, he recognized this as his cargo area, with two familiar large items beside him: the canvas bag containing Sun Zhou and the suitcase containing the dog teeth.
How the tables had turned—now it was his turn to be confined in the cargo area, though he wasn’t bagged up, just his hands, feet, and mouth bound tightly with tape. He guessed that Nie Jiuluo must be driving and that they were passing through a busy area, as there were mixed sounds from all directions: vehicle noise, horns, exhaust, and merchants advertising promotional activities, shouting about “special offers, today only” and such.
As he listened to the advertisements, he fell back into the endless darkness. This time, though, he knew he had passed out, falling unconscious with intense anxiety. He felt like he was running endlessly in the blackness, panting and sweating profusely. After running for who knows how long, suddenly an icy wind cut through his flesh and bones, shocking his entire body with cold.
Yan Tuo opened his eyes.
It wasn’t an illusion—it was cold.
Night had fallen, and his field of vision was filled with an even blacker mountain mass with crude contours, with a few scattered star points twinkling high above like needle tips.
Autumn in the north gets quite chilly as soon as night falls, and the mountains are several degrees colder still. The cargo door was open, with mountain winds whooshing into the car, and he was lying right in the path of the draft—this was a “chest-piercing wind,” penetrating his chest, heart, liver, lungs, and intestines.
Yan Tuo curled up to keep warm, and gradually, he heard voices—two people talking, their words carried by the wind.
He shifted his stiff neck to look toward the source of the sound.
It was too dark, but by the faint light of the car’s instruments, he could vaguely make out two people: one was Nie Jiuluo, whose silhouette he knew all too well—the kind of familiarity that made him grind his teeth and chew his bleeding gums; the other he hadn’t seen before, a man of medium build, with a smooth line from forehead to back of head, suggesting he had a slicked-back hairstyle. From his voice, this man seemed to be somewhat older.
He concentrated on trying to catch the words floating on the wind.
Nie Jiuluo: “…what about Sun Zhou, can he still be saved?”
The older man hesitated: “Hard to say, we’ll try our best if only it had been earlier… it’s already taken root and sprouted.”
Nie Jiuluo: “By the way, when Sun Zhou went missing, I filed a police report, at the time I didn’t think…”
The voice dropped here, and Yan Tuo couldn’t hear.
“…find a way to close the case, arrange for him to make an appearance or make a phone call home, either will do.”
Older man: “Don’t worry about that, we’ll handle everything properly.”
Nie Jiuluo: “Also…”
Yan Tuo saw her take something from her back pocket and hand it to the older man: “Yan Tuo’s phone, I’ve tried it, his right index finger can unlock it. There’s one question…”
At this point, her voice softened again. Yan Tuo knew it concerned him and strained his neck, trying to get closer to hear better. Fortunately, after a few seconds, her voice became clear again.
“His mother’s name is Lin Xirong, but I checked, she’s been in a vegetative state for over twenty years, how could she have so many phone conversations with him?”
Sweat beaded on Yan Tuo’s forehead, but was instantly blown away by the mountain wind.
Older man: “Could it be his mother’s caregiver?”
Nie Jiuluo: “That I don’t know. Anyway, what happens next is your business, not mine. If you want to tell me what you find out, tell me; if you don’t want me to know, don’t tell me.”
The older man laughed twice: “Nie Er, we’re all our people.”
Nie Er, wasn’t it Nie “Jiu” Luo?
Nie Jiuluo: “No, different paths, different ways, I’m not one of your people. Let’s talk business, give me an estimate, how much are the three items in the car worth?”
The older man smiled wryly: “Why talk about money, Nie Er, our families have two generations of friendship…”
Nie Jiuluo cut him off: “Let’s not talk about friendship. Three items, all different, I’ll count it as one million for you, not expensive, right?”
Yan Tuo was confused. At first, he thought Nie Jiuluo and this older man were working together, but now they were discussing prices as if she was delivering packages for payment.
The older man sighed: “Not expensive.”
Nie Jiuluo: “Then that’s the deal, clear one million from what I owe you.”
Yan Tuo was increasingly bewildered, though he memorized every sentence. Even the most incomprehensible information was still information—every puzzle had its solution someday.
At this point, the conversation was wrapping up. The older man: “How are you leaving? Should I leave a car for you?”
Nie Jiuluo: “No need, just give me the flashlight, I have my arrangements.”
After that, both walked toward this end of the car, the older man going straight to the driver’s seat, while Nie Jiuluo walked to the back to help close the cargo door.
Just as she was about to pull down the door, Nie Jiuluo suddenly saw Yan Tuo’s eyes. The cargo area was very dark, but his eyes were bright, deeply bright, staring right at her.
Nie Jiuluo smiled and leaned down toward Yan Tuo: “Don’t blame me, you brought this on yourself. Why become a ghost’s accomplice when you could have lived as a proper person?”
She straightened up after speaking.
The older man had turned on the interior light, and Yan Tuo could see Nie Jiuluo’s face. Her smile had vanished, and her gaze swept downward, looking at him with great contempt, as if he were a pile of dog excrement that everyone avoided.
Then, with a bang, the cargo door slammed shut.
***
Nie Jiuluo watched the car drive away. Although this was the mountain exit, it wasn’t much different from being in the mountains—the car’s lights and engine sound were quickly absorbed by the massive mountain and dense forest.
She stood there for a while before turning on the wolf-eye flashlight Jiang Baichuan had left her, adjusting the brightness before walking out along another path.
This was the foot of the mountain, still some distance from the road.
As she walked, she sensed something and looked up to see Xing Shen waiting by the roadside.
Xing Shen faced the direction she was coming from, a smile appearing on his lips: “A Luo, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, about six or seven years, right?”
Indeed, it had been a long time, six years and seven months. They’d spoken once or twice during that time, always strictly business, neither of them, both sides, never part of the matters at hand.
Nie Jiuluo made a sound of agreement and looked at him.
He was still the same as ever, just more mature than before. Since childhood, people had said he “could be a celebrity when he grows up,” and they were right—he could have been one, with his figure, looks, and temperament, none of which fell short, except for those eyes.
She didn’t stop walking: “I have an appointment, I’m in a hurry.”
Xing Shen reached out his hand, initially wanting to stop her, but withdrew it midway. He stood in place, listening as the surroundings grew quiet again, that unique mountain forest quietness filled with countless noises, so quiet it was as if neither of them had ever been there.
***
Nie Jiuluo did indeed have an “appointment.”
This was a mountain road, winding and curving, its beginning and end both swallowed by the quiet darkness. Nie Jiuluo sat down on a road marker, patiently waiting.
The temperature had dropped further, and her thin shirt offered no protection at all. She regretted not asking Jiang Baichuan for a coat, and could only keep rubbing her arms for warmth, strategically arranging her hair in front and behind to block the wind.
After about half an hour, two car lights gradually approached from the distance. It was Old Qian’s car. Nie Jiuluo stood up and waved to signal him. Before the car had fully stopped, she had already yanked open the door and jumped in.
This season didn’t require the heater to be on, but the temperature was much more comfortable inside.
Old Qian looked around, shocked and indignant: “Miss Nie, in the middle of the night, he… he just left you here?”
Nie Jiuluo smiled: “It was fine at first, but then something went wrong, and things fell apart.”
Old Qian started the car: “What kind of man is that not acting like a man at all.”
Of course, in his heart, he felt that Nie Jiuluo had brought this on herself, being too casual—self-inflicted suffering—but she was a customer, he couldn’t let these thoughts show.
Nie Jiuluo pulled out the car’s small blanket: “Driver Qian, drive slowly, keep it steady, I’m going to sleep for a while.”
She lay down in the back seat. For the past two days, her back hadn’t touched anything flat—she was too tired. Now lying down, she felt incredibly comfortable, every limb and joint at ease.
In her hazy state, she heard Old Qian ask: “So, Miss Nie, are we continuing with the rest of the itinerary?”
In his opinion, most people wouldn’t be in the mood to continue after something like this, usually choosing to end things early or stop midway. He needed to remind her that if the itinerary was canceled due to the client’s reasons—they could refund the second half of the travel fees, but she would also need to pay a 20% breach of contract fee.
Nie Jiuluo said: “Of course, we’re continuing, why wouldn’t we?”
You can’t let a small matter interfere with your plans.