Western Zhejiang, Anta County.

Despite the government’s promotion of “common prosperity” in recent years, even the wealthiest provinces had their lagging counties and cities. Anta was one such place. It wasn’t particularly impoverished or backward, but the rapid changes sweeping through other regions made it seem like it was falling behind.

—

As soon as the intercity bus arrived at the station, waiting taxi drivers swarmed around it.

“Ta East, Ta East! Fifty yuan per person!”

“Anyone going to Ta North? Just need one more person. We’ll leave right away!”

“Meter rate! Running by the meter!”

…

Nie Jiuluo sat quietly on the bus, listening to the accented Mandarin. After being away for so long, she could no longer speak the local dialect, though she could still understand it.

She waited until most passengers and drivers had dispersed before getting off.

The station was small, and bustling only when buses arrived. Now it was quiet, with the setting sun casting a cold, fading light.

Nie Jiuluo dragged her suitcase toward the exit.

Nie Dongyang stood at the exit holding a rolled-up magazine, looking around. After seventeen or eighteen years apart, he hadn’t changed much—just grayer hair and saggier cheeks.

Seeing Nie Jiuluo emerge, he paused, quickly opened the magazine to compare her picture inside, then waved it excitedly: “Xixi, Xixi!”

Nie Jiuluo walked straight toward him, wearing the flawless smile she used for interviews: “Uncle.”

Nie Dongyang smiled: “I watched everyone leave and thought you weren’t on this bus.”

Nie Jiuluo smiled too, rotating her ankle to show him her stiletto boots: “High heels. Can’t walk fast.”

Nie Dongyang praised her: “Wow, you’ve made it—even in magazines now! Impressive, impressive. Come on, let’s get to the car.”

—

Nie Dongyang drove a brand-new Volvo.

Sitting in the back seat, Nie Jiuluo casually checked—this model cost around 300,000 yuan on the road—bought with about half the value of her family’s old house.

As they drove, Nie Dongyang made small talk: “Xixi, you haven’t been back for so long. When Yunyun showed me the magazine, I barely recognized you… Why did you change your name?”

Nie Yun was Nie Dongyang’s daughter, her cousin, less than a year older than her.

“Stage name,” Nie Jiuluo replied.

“Oh, stage name,” Nie Dongyang marveled. “Artists are something else, needing two names. Oh, right, the list.”

He handed over a paper filled with writing.

It listed various expenses for the death anniversary ceremony, totaling 26,000 yuan, including joss paper, offerings, live fish for the main sacrifice, fees for setting up the pavilion, and musicians. Nie Jiuluo glanced over it and said, “Thank you for your trouble. I’ll transfer the money to you.”

Nie Dongyang said: “No rush.”

He reached for his phone to show her his payment QR code, but Nie Jiuluo had already turned to look out the window, truly “not rushing.” He had to put his phone away, paused, then explained the upcoming arrangements: “Xixi, I won’t entertain you today—lots to do tomorrow, still need to give instructions to people. You’ll need to get up early tomorrow; I’ll pick you up from the hotel at seven-thirty. We’ll burn paper and make offerings at the site—just busy for one day. In the evening, we can relax. I’ll have your aunt find a good restaurant, and our whole family can have dinner together and catch up properly.”

Nie Jiuluo said: “Let’s skip the restaurant, it’s a waste of money. I’d like to eat Aunt’s cooking—just a simple meal at home would be fine.”

Nie Dongyang agreed this would be more economical but felt he should protest: “Wouldn’t home cooking be too informal? It doesn’t seem right.”

Nie Jiuluo smiled: “We’re family. No need to be formal.”

—

The hotel was in the city center, surrounded by restaurants. Nie Jiuluo had a simple dinner at one of them. She’d planned to return to the hotel to rest, even reached the lobby, but changed her mind.

She wanted to walk down the road by her old home, to see if those trees that dropped insects after being sprayed were still there, and to find the spot where, looking up, she could see the building where her father had last stood.

But what seemed easy in thought proved confusing in practice. After nearly twenty years, even though Anta developed slowly, it was unrecognizable—many old streets had been extended and widened, many non-streets had become streets, and landmarks like schools and hospitals had relocated…

She couldn’t recognize anything anymore.

The night wind was cool, constantly lifting the hem of her trench coat. She hugged her arms, shivering: Home wasn’t simply a geographical location, but rather a composite of place, specific years, specific people, and specific memories—change any part and it lost its essence. Those who left home for many years never truly returned to their “hometown,” but merely to a place where others now lived.

So why pretend to be sentimental here? There was nothing left to be nostalgic about.

She pulled up her phone’s navigation to plan the shortest route back to the hotel. She’d barely walked a short distance when her sixth sense suddenly rang alarm bells.

Someone was watching her, or rather, following her.

Nie Jiuluo worried she might be paranoid, so she deliberately walked a bit further to confirm.

Indeed, someone was following her, though their tracking skills were amateur at best. Twice, she pretended to fix her hair in store windows, using the glass reflection to get a good look at the person’s appearance.

It was a thin old man, perhaps in his fifties or sixties, looking rather refined but somewhat dull, wearing a faded casual jacket and worn sneakers with cracking sides. He moved rather stiffly, almost tripping once when his foot slipped.

How strange—why did she keep encountering mysterious figures targeting her lately? Usually, she’d assume it was some stalker, but given the current circumstances, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was connected to Yan Tuo’s associates.

She continued striding forward, her high heels striking the ground with authority.

After about ten steps, she suddenly stopped, then turned around and walked straight toward the old man.

The old man’s steps weren’t as long as hers—he’d been almost jogging to keep up. Seeing her approach directly, he panicked, hurriedly crouching down to tie his shoelaces—though they weren’t untied—then frantically searching the ground as if he’d just dropped something.

After a few seconds of searching, a pair of suede square-toed boots appeared before his eyes.

The old man had to look up, then hesitantly stood.

“Why are you following me?” Nie Jiuluo demanded, her gaze and tone aggressive.

The old man tried to appear calm: “No, I’m not…”

Passersby was starting to stare, and the old man wasn’t used to such attention. His pale face suddenly flushed red, and he couldn’t even look at Nie Jiuluo anymore.

“I saw you. You’ve been following me for two streets, since First Food Store.”

The old man was unskilled at lying and confrontation, crumbling in the first round: “I mistook you for someone… I just thought you looked beautiful, like someone I know… I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

His voice trembled. At his age, he resembled a grade-schooler caught cheating on an exam, nearly crying: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

He raised his hands above his head, seemingly begging for mercy or hiding his shame, backing away repeatedly before turning to hurry off: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

If he’d been a shameless old pervert, Nie Jiuluo would have just scolded him and let it go, but he didn’t seem like one. His “performance” seemed excessive. Suspicious, she found herself following him.

The old man was already flustered, and hearing the heel strikes following him like a shadow, he looked back to see her pursuing him, becoming even more panic-stricken. In the end, he fled in complete disarray.

Nie Jiuluo found it almost amusing—now she looked like the stalker, chasing after an innocent old man.

The old man darted through the entrance of a residential complex ahead, filled with high-rise buildings.

Nie Jiuluo stopped, ready to give up when she heard the security guard call out: “Old Zhan, you’re back… Hey, why are you running?”

…

Sweet-talking was Nie Jiuluo’s specialty, especially with a bored security guard who would chat with even stray dogs. Within ten minutes, she had learned everything about this “Old Zhan.”

His name was Zhan Jing, a lifelong bachelor. He’d reportedly been a middle school teacher but was fired for inappropriate conduct. Since then, his employment has been unstable, working here for six months, and there for half a year. Recently, he’d been doing odd jobs at a foot massage parlor, returning around this time every night.

Over a decade ago, someone had tried to set him up with a woman. She’d been quite proactive, helping with cooking, laundry, and haircuts, dedicating herself for a month. When he showed no response, she became angry and humiliated, accusing him publicly of harassment and threatening legal action.

The incident had caused quite a stir before fading away, but since then, Zhan Jing had avoided women like the plague, fearing further accusations and gossip.

…

Well, he seemed just a pitiful and tragic old man, unlikely to be Yan Tuo’s associate. Nie Jiuluo touched her face: perhaps she did resemble someone he knew.

…

For her, this was just another note to be folded and tossed in the box, forgotten.

—

As Nie Dongyang had said, the next day was busy.

Nie Jiuluo hadn’t stopped since early morning, serving as a utility player—lighting firecrackers when told, kowtowing when required. Only when asked to cry did she falter, but she’d come prepared. She’d gripped a bottle of eye drops, spraying them forcefully while bowing her head, then looking up with streaming tears—very effective.

The nineteenth death anniversary of Nie Xihong was successfully concluded.

Of course, the schedule wasn’t over; next was the family dinner.

Nie Dongyang had long since moved to a new house—a large flat in an upscale complex, with three bedrooms, two living rooms, and two bathrooms. Nie Jiuluo had never been there and entered with enthusiasm: “Uncle, mind if I look around?”

Nie Dongyang was eager to show off: “No need for formalities, look all you want.”

From the kitchen came her aunt’s raised voice: “Is that Xixi? Has Xixi arrived?”

Local customs varied; for death anniversaries here, relations like sisters-in-law and nieces weren’t required to attend.

So Nie Jiuluo started her tour with the kitchen, greeting those busy inside: “Hello, Aunt, Sister Yun’s busy.”

The kitchen was steamy, with chicken stew bubbling in the clay pot, releasing fragrant vapors. Her aunt had grown considerably rounder, her face glowing as she seasoned with one hand and stirred with the other: “Xixi, I can’t leave the stove. Have a seat first, food will be ready soon.”

Nie Yun was washing vegetables nearby. She’d grown taller, perhaps too tall, appearing thin and slightly hunched. She smiled at Nie Jiuluo politely but shyly, her smile tinged with self-consciousness.

As Nie Jiuluo left the kitchen, amid the sounds of cooking utensils, she could hear her aunt scolding Nie Yun: “Are you afraid of people? You have no presence at all. Someone might think you’re the one without parents…”

Nie Jiuluo smiled slightly, taking that as a compliment to herself.

After looking around, she had a good sense of the place: though the house was large, it had no security cameras. Her uncle and aunt were old-fashioned—the master bedroom furniture was solid wood, with a locked dressing table and wardrobe. Any valuables would likely be there.

Some time before dinner, Nie Dongyang watched TV with Nie Jiuluo in the living room—a local version of citizen challenges, where ordinary people participated in games, failing in various amusing ways that made Nie Dongyang laugh heartily.

“Uncle, I need to use the bathroom,” Nie Jiuluo said.

Nie Dongyang acknowledged without taking his eyes off the screen.

The bathroom was next to the master bedroom. Nie Jiuluo deliberately closed the door loudly, then slipped into the master bedroom. She put on silk gloves from her pocket and removed the pearl from her ring—she could pick handcuffs, let alone household drawer locks.

She picked and examined each lock, experiencing one close call: her aunt came to use the bathroom, saw the door closed, and asked if someone was inside.

Nie Jiuluo quickly crouched by the bed, hearing Nie Dongyang call out that Xixi was using it, suggesting her aunt use the other one.

Her aunt acknowledged and shuffled back to the kitchen.

Nie Jiuluo sighed in relief, stood up, and resumed her search. Everything went smoothly. In the wardrobe’s third drawer from the bottom, she found what she was looking for.

Pei Ke’s jade and platinum necklace.

She stared at it for two seconds, slipped it into her pocket, and replaced it with the counterfeit she’d brought, then locked the drawer.

—

The family dinner proceeded pleasantly, with a polite conversation about everyday matters. Her aunt asked if making clay figures was profitable, and Nie Yun, embarrassed, quietly corrected her mother “it’s called sculpture.”

Nie Jiuluo smiled: “It’s similar to clay figures. The income… varies, around several hundred thousand.”

Her aunt exclaimed: “Several hundred thousand!”

Then immediately criticized her daughter: “Look at you, not even making a fraction of that.”

Nie Yun’s head drooped lower.

…

After several rounds of drinks, Nie Jiuluo put down her chopsticks: “Uncle, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you about this visit.”

Nie Dongyang looked confused: “Oh?”

Her aunt’s expression changed slightly as she kicked Nie Dongyang under the table. She’d warned him—just do the death anniversary, don’t bring this girl back. She’s grown up now, has money and her ideas. What if she demands her parents’ inheritance back?

Nie Jiuluo said: “When my parents passed away, you handled the house and everything. Do you remember my mother’s necklace, the one with the jade pendant and platinum chain? Since my mother wore it personally, it has sentimental value. Could I take it back with me?”

Nie Yun remembered and let out a soft “Ah,” about to say something when her mother’s foot caught her leg.

Her aunt said: “Xixi, are you sure you’re not misremembering?”