Nie Jiuluo closed the photo album and carried the soup bowl to the half-open window.
The rain was pouring heavily, and in the center of the courtyard, a massive black shadow swayed in the rain—an osmanthus tree about three meters tall.
Nie Jiuluo felt concerned. Just days ago, Sister Lu had talked about collecting the autumn osmanthus flowers to make osmanthus sugar and preserves, but with this wind and rain, she worried the entire tree of blossoms might be ruined.
Her phone vibrated on the workbench, indicating a new message.
Nie Jiuluo heard it but didn’t rush to check, leisurely finishing her tremella soup before going to look.
It was a message set to self-destruct, surprisingly from “that side.”
Hadn’t everything been settled? Why were they contacting her again? Nie Jiuluo frowned, hesitating for several seconds before opening the message.
—Urgent, call needed.
Nie Jiuluo was startled, realizing she had never seen the word “urgent” in messages from “that side” before.
She replied with a simple “okay.”
This was their agreed-upon rule: no matter how urgent, direct contact wasn’t allowed without the other party’s consent.
Jiang Baichuan made the call, his tone grave as he got straight to the point: “Nie Er, Yan Tuo has escaped.”
The name “Yan Tuo” had become almost unfamiliar to Nie Jiuluo.
But she quickly recalled who he was, understood the implications of this news, and immediately realized what tremendous trouble his escape would cause her.
Anger surged in her chest—she wanted to reach through the phone and across the line to smash the other party’s head in.
Useless teammates, incompetent fools—working with such people was truly her misfortune.
“When did it happen? How did he escape?”
Jiang Baichuan explained the situation briefly.
For over two weeks, there had been no progress except keeping the prisoners confined, which had made everyone somewhat anxious.
A few days ago, there was a new development—a missing person notice for Yan Tuo appeared on unofficial channels in An’kai City, offering a reward. The “cleaning staff” remaining in Ban Ya were tempted to make contact, hoping to discover something new.
Jiang Baichuan blamed himself: “It’s my fault for not thinking it through. Ban Ya doesn’t have capable people right now. Da Tou and the others lack experience—they probably aroused suspicion during contact, and the other party followed them back to Ban Ya.”
People come in different levels, as does intelligence—there was no point in blaming anyone for this: if someone was slow-witted and dull, what could you do about it?
“Was it just Yan Tuo who escaped, or are they all gone?”
Jiang Baichuan gave a bitter laugh: “Once they found their way to us, they weren’t going to save just one, were they?”
“Then what? Any casualties or losses?”
Jiang Baichuan hesitated: “The pig farm was burned down. It happened at midnight, during feeding time. Sister Hua was bringing food to Sun Zhou and ran into them—she suffered severe burns. She hasn’t passed yet, but… the outlook isn’t good.”
The pig farm was Ban Ya’s secret prison, also called the “Xiao’s Nest,” built underground with a pig farm above ground, right next to the slaughterhouse. This setup had two advantages: first, the pig pens were filthy, so ordinary people avoided the area; second, any unusual sounds could be attributed to pig slaughter, helping maintain secrecy.
As for “feeding time,” that was when the Di Xiao ate: twice a day, at noon and midnight.
“The others are fine—most were sleeping, living scattered and far from the pig farm, so they avoided trouble. Except for Ma Hanzi, who saw cars entering the village and went to question them. They grabbed his head and knocked him out—mild concussion.”
Nie Jiuluo had been listening silently until now: “His brain wasn’t good to begin with.”
Jiang Baichuan sighed: “Yes, and this knock made him even more foolish… Sister Hua is being cared for by her distant relatives now. I’ve ordered our people, especially those Yan Tuo has seen, to ‘disappear’ for at least half a year. This way, even if they investigate Ban Ya, the trail will end there.”
Nie Jiuluo remarked: “Of course, it’s easy for you all to disappear.”
Sister Hua, and Da Tou—none were real names, nor were they local to Ban Ya. In a sea of millions, they could vanish simply by not showing their faces.
Jiang Baichuan asked awkwardly: “Nie Er, do you think… should you go into hiding?”
Nie Jiuluo countered: “How can I hide? I’m a normal person with a real name and business. Where could I hide?”
Jiang Baichuan hurried to say: “Don’t worry about that, we can arrange everything.”
“Even if you perfectly arrange my hiding, for how long? Should I never show my face again?”
After a long silence, Jiang Baichuan suggested: “Or I could send some people to secretly protect you?”
Nie Jiuluo snorted contemptuously—she truly didn’t believe anyone Jiang Baichuan sent could protect her. If something happened, who would end up protecting who was unclear?
After repeatedly being rebuffed, Jiang Baichuan said helplessly: “You really shouldn’t have let him know your real identity back then.”
Now it was her fault?
The angrier Nie Jiuluo became, the gentler her tone: “As I said, I’m a normal person with a normal name—what’s there to hide? Besides, how could I have known that after handing him over to you, he’d fly away?”
Jiang Baichuan felt ashamed, stammering: “Then… what are your thoughts? Yan Tuo suffered quite a bit this time. It seems he’s developed a hatred for you.”
Nie Jiuluo laughed coldly: “Of course he has. Did you expect him to fall in love with me after all this?”
On the other end, Jiang Baichuan fell silent again.
Outside, the rain grew heavier, the raindrops near the window being blown diagonally by the wind, gleaming in the light.
Things had already come to this point—there was no use in continuing to vent her anger at Jiang Baichuan. Nie Jiuluo said: “Let me think about it. I’ll contact you later.”
After hanging up, she stood by the window for a while, her mind tangled in knots, unable to sort through her thoughts.
Having nothing else to do, she decided to take the empty bowl and plate down to Sister Lu.
The kitchen was on the east side of the courtyard house. Being spacious, it retained the old-style cooking area. Sister Lu, coming from the countryside and having grown up tending fires and cleaning stoves, preferred the traditional kitchen with its large iron wok and wooden lid requiring regular feeding of firewood over the modern kitchen with its full set of appliances next door. She often told Nie Jiuluo: that rice steamed in an iron wok was more fragrant, producing crispy rice crust; corn roasted in the fire pit tasted a hundred times better than what came from an oven.
Nie Jiuluo didn’t mind—she only cared about eating, not cooking or cleaning, so Sister Lu could use whichever kitchen she preferred.
Sometimes she would sit in the old kitchen because the aged furnishings created a timeless atmosphere. Sitting on a small stool, one could feel disconnected from the present, as if time stood still.
When Sister Lu was cooking, it was even more pleasant—the aroma of fire-cooked food had always been soothing to the soul.
Sister Lu was cleaning the stove counter when she saw Nie Jiuluo enter with the tray and bowl, rushing over to take them: “Miss Nie, you shouldn’t have brought these down yourself. I could have gotten them later.”
Even though they had become quite familiar with each other, Sister Lu still insisted on calling her “Miss Nie”—it was proper etiquette given their employer-employee relationship.
With her hands now empty, Nie Jiuluo sat down on a small stool by the stove.
Sister Lu observed her expression: “Is work not going well?”
In her eyes, Nie Jiuluo was life’s winner: young, beautiful, talented, and successful. Any troubles she might have would surely just be work setbacks or creative blocks.
“No, that’s not it,” Nie Jiuluo said.
She ran her fingers through her hair haphazardly: “I have some relatives back home, distant ones. They’re involved in… questionable business. I barely have any contact with them.”
Sister Lu listened attentively—having an employer confide in her made her feel respected, especially when many employers looked down on household staff and treated them like servants.
“But I can’t completely cut ties. Due to the previous generation, we owe them quite a bit of money.”
Sister Lu couldn’t help asking: “How much money? You still… can’t pay it off?”
Nie Jiuluo didn’t answer directly: “With debt comes inevitable contact. I thought once the debt was cleared, we could go our separate ways. But now they’ve gotten into trouble…”
Sister Lu grew nervous—
“Then they all ran away, leaving me exposed,” Nie Jiuluo laughed. “Do you understand what I mean? Their enemies will come after me now. I’ve become the only target.”
Sister Lu understood: “Then… is it serious trouble? If necessary, you could go to the police, and explain everything. You shouldn’t have to take the blame for them.”
Nie Jiuluo looked at the large iron wok on the stove—it was huge, just a bit larger and it could “stew herself.”
She said: “It’s not something for the police… As for taking the blame, whether I want to or not, I’m stuck with it.”
Jiang Baichuan ended the call.
While on the phone, he had worn a smile, speaking in a gentle, placating tone, even slightly hunching his shoulders in a gesture of distant appeasement.
But as soon as he hung up, his expression, posture, and demeanor completely changed as if he were the same person but with an entirely different skeleton.
He carelessly tossed his phone aside and moved closer to the bathroom mirror, carefully examining his temples hair by hair.
During dinner, Da Tou had mentioned seeing gray hair at his temples. Was it true?
He found it!
There was one, just a single strand, but glaringly obvious among his dyed black hair.
Jiang Baichuan paused, reaching to pluck it out, but halfway through the motion, he sensed something and turned around—Que Cha was leaning against the bathroom doorframe.
The bathroom was lit, but the outer room’s light was brighter. She wore a bright red silk robe, the light behind her so bright it blurred her features, making her look like a dazzlingly red flower.
Jiang Baichuan frowned: “When did you come up?”
He had specifically come to the third floor to find a quiet place for the phone call—this villa was his private property, four floors including the basement. This floor’s bedroom and bathroom were for guests and rarely used except by the cleaning staff.
Not knowing how long she had been standing there or what she might have heard, Jiang Baichuan turned back to the mirror, carefully pinching the white hair: “And always wearing red—doesn’t it give you the creeps? Female ghosts in red are always the most vicious.”
As he spoke, he pulled—
The hair came out, leaving his temple uniformly black again, making him feel better.
Que Cha asked: “This Nie Er, are they male or female? Is Nie their real surname? Probably fake, right?”
Jiang Baichuan’s face darkened: “That’s none of your business. Don’t ask about things that don’t concern you.”
Que Cha continued as if she hadn’t heard: “If she finds out you’re setting her up, won’t that cause trouble for you too?”
Jiang Baichuan said angrily: “What nonsense are you talking about!”
Que Cha snorted, showing no fear: “That night at the hotel, I heard everything, about your plan to turn the situation to your advantage, to go with the flow… Without you deliberately leaving openings, how could Yan Tuo’s associates have found Ban Ya so easily…”
Jiang Baichuan shouted: “Enough!”
Que Cha jumped, then spoke with hurt in her voice, tears welling in her eyes: “So it’s my fault? Why didn’t you warn Sister Hua about your secret plans? She even played mahjong with me at the same table, and now she’s just… gone…”
Knowing he was in the wrong, Jiang Baichuan adopted a gentler tone: “She’s not dead yet… Some things are better kept from too many people. It must have been her fate to meet this calamity. Whether earlier or later wouldn’t have mattered—who knew it would happen right when she was delivering food?”
As he spoke, he moved forward to embrace Que Cha’s waist. Despite her struggles and attempts to avoid him, she couldn’t escape his grasp. Still, unwilling to end their days-long cold war so easily, she kept her face stern and avoided his gaze.
Jiang Baichuan coaxed her: “Still angry after all these days? Are you a bicycle pump? The air just keeps coming out endlessly.”
Que Cha couldn’t maintain her composure and burst out laughing: “You’re the bicycle pump!”
Now that they had reconciled, Jiang Baichuan spoke meaningfully: “Que Cha, some things shouldn’t be spoken about carelessly.”
Que Cha gave him a sidelong glance: “Don’t worry, I’m not stupid. I only talk about these things with you. I won’t mention anything in front of others. Now that Yan Tuo has escaped, that Nie Er must be furious, right?”
Que Cha’s understanding of Nie Er was like viewing flowers through the fog—she knew just a little.
According to Jiang Baichuan, he and Nie Er were similar in lineage, their ancestors having been in the same trade—an ancient one that could be traced back to human origins. It wasn’t exactly honorable, but neither was it purely evil. It wasn’t among the traditional three hundred and sixty trades but rather belonged to the “outer eight gates,” specifically the “hunting” category.
After the founding of the People’s Republic, many old trades disappeared. Jiang Baichuan’s line was no exception, with their numbers dwindling. Worse still, most of those remaining were unwilling to continue the trade.
Nie Er was one of them.
This was understandable—must a blacksmith’s son forge iron, or a farmer’s daughter till the soil? In this vast world of endless possibilities, if someone wished to fly freely, how could you clip their wings?
But crucially, Nie Er possessed innate abilities, rarely needed but irreplaceable in specific situations—like police officers who might not fire their guns for years, but when faced with armed criminals, needed to fight fire with fire.
Fortunately, due to some complex historical reasons, Nie Er owed Jiang Baichuan a significant debt. They had agreed that instead of money, the debt would be repaid with service—meaning when Jiang Baichuan needed help, Nie Er had to assist. She couldn’t completely leave; one leg remained caught in these murky waters.
Nie Er demanded secrecy, wanting to avoid any trouble and live as an ordinary person.
Jiang Baichuan readily agreed.
Thus, only two or three people knew Nie Er’s true identity. Communication was conducted through separate phones and accounts unlinked to her real identity. They left no traceable written records, and even urgent matters required consent before direct contact. To Que Cha, this person existed distantly, gender and age unknown, simply someone who would help when needed.
Much like the deities who assisted Tang Sanzang on his journey west: uninvolved in daily travel but available when truly needed.
This time, when Jiang Baichuan led people through Qing Rang, he had asked Nie Er to maintain a fifteen-day rear guard: observing from afar if all was peaceful, ready to step in immediately if anything went wrong.
In Jiang Baichuan’s words, Nie Er’s presence had proved fortunate: through a coincidental turn of events, she had single-handedly captured Yan Tuo and his group.
But now, Yan Tuo had escaped.
That Nie Er must be furious, right?