“After your father’s incident,” she spoke with remarkable fluency, “we quickly brought you to live with Yunyun. Only after the funeral did we go to deal with your family’s belongings. Security wasn’t good back then. When we arrived, we found the locks had been pried open by thieves, and the house was ransacked.”
Nie Yun kept her head down, shoveling food into her mouth while Nie Dongyang shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Aunt continued her eloquent discourse: “You might think all your family’s money fell into your uncle’s hands, but that’s not true. Take your house for example—the property wasn’t worth much back then. It only sold for a hundred thousand yuan, which is less than what you earn in a month or two now.”
How creative, comparing money from back then to current prices.
“As for that money, after deducting funeral expenses, there wasn’t much left. You lived with us for over a year afterward, and there were expenses for food and clothing. Also, your father’s grave site needed maintenance over the years. Going back and forth, we put in quite a bit extra. We’re family, so we shouldn’t have to mention this. But I don’t want you to misunderstand us, so everything needs to be clearly explained to avoid any hard feelings.”
Nie Jiuluo said, “Oh, I see.”
Then she smiled. “Let’s forget about it. I was just asking.”
After the family dinner, Nie Jiuluo declined Nie Dongyang’s offer to drive her back to the hotel, saying she hadn’t been back for so long and wanted to take a walk.
She left the upscale residential complex where the Nie family lived and stepped onto the bustling sidewalk. Her pace quickened, the sound of her heels striking the ground like victorious drumbeats.
She took out the jade necklace she had acquired and put it on, unconcerned about onlookers as if crowning herself.
The pendant felt cool against her skin at first but quickly warmed like a distant kiss softly pressed against her heart.
…
After walking a bit further, she felt the surroundings looked familiar. Looking diagonally ahead, she saw the entrance to a residential complex with towering buildings.
Now she remembered why it felt familiar—she had been here just yesterday. That Zhan Jing who had followed her for two blocks lived here.
It was about the same time as yesterday. He should be getting off work from the foot massage parlor soon. If he saw her again, would his face turn pale with fright?
She slowed her pace almost mischievously. Her mood was good today, and she had nothing urgent to attend to.
Sure enough, before long, Zhan Jing came around the corner, hunched over, his entire demeanor screaming avoidance and timidity, carrying his packed dinner.
Nie Jiuluo cut diagonally across the street: “Hey!”
As she expected, upon seeing her, Zhan Jing probably thought she had come to make trouble. His legs went weak—too weak to run. He backed up against the compound wall, holding his takeout high to shield his face: “No, miss, I’m sorry, I’m not a pervert, I truly made a mistake, please don’t make a scene…”
Such a grown man, reduced to such cowardice—Nie Jiuluo almost felt sorry for him. “What are you afraid of? I’m just passing by.”
Judging by her tone, she wasn’t here to cause trouble.
Once bitten twice shy, Zhan Jing peered at Nie Jiuluo through the gaps in the plastic bag handles. She wore a smile tinged with pity, apparently not wanting to pressure him, and was backing away. The streetlight glazed her young, smooth face, and beneath her delicate collarbone swayed a flash of jade green.
It was jade—a piece of pure green jadeite carved into an auspicious persimmon shape, with a tiny platinum peanut charm beside it, symbolizing “good things (persimmon) will happen (peanut).”
To be frank, persimmon-shaped jade pieces were rare, and pure green glass-quality ones even rarer, not to mention the additional small peanut charm.
Zhan Jing’s mind went blank, and he blurted out: “Ah, ah!”
Nie Jiuluo was about to leave but stopped at his call: “What is it?”
Zhan Jing swallowed hard, not daring to point directly, keeping his finger close to his chest as he timidly gestured at her necklace: “Your jade… do you know someone surnamed… surnamed Pei?”
This was truly unexpected.
Nie Jiuluo stared at him for a good while: “You mean Pei Ke?”
The veins at Zhan Jing’s temples began to throb: “You know her? Are you her…”
“She’s my mother.”
Zhan Jing clutched the plastic bag tightly as if awakening from a dream: “No… no wonder, I thought you looked familiar… So you’re… you’re Xixi?”
Xixi—only someone from back then would call her that. Her original name was Nie Xi, but later she felt life should have a fresh start, so she gave herself a new name. She didn’t change it much, just incorporated her birthday: September 4th, Nie Jiuluo—this name was very friendly to friends, they’d never mix up her birthday, it was clear at a glance.
She asked: “Who are you?”
Zhan Jing answered irrelevantly: “Xixi, do you know… where your mother is?”
How strange. It seemed this person wasn’t just living in isolation; his thought process was also rather peculiar. Nie Jiuluo said: “She passed away long ago.”
She didn’t want to reminisce with an abnormal person and turned to leave.
But Zhan Jing hurriedly caught up: “No, Xixi, she was locked up by your father—you need to save her!”
This was… utterly absurd. Nie Jiuluo was both repulsed and bemused: “How would you know?”
Zhan Jing was stumped by her question. After a moment, he said: “I’ve dreamed several times of her crying in a dungeon…”
With such imagination, he should write screenplays. Nie Jiuluo was quite impolite: “Who are you anyway? If anyone should be getting dream messages, it should be me. Besides, my father has been dead for almost twenty years!”
Zhan Jing seemed to only now realize this point. His lips quivered before he made another shocking statement: “It was your father—your father killed your mother!”
This was really…
If he weren’t so old, Nie Jiuluo would have slapped him. She spat out “lunatic” and turned to leave.
Zhan Jing anxiously chased after her: “It’s true! Your mother said she wanted a divorce, your father refused and said he’d take her traveling, and after they left, she never…”
Thud! He slipped and fell hard. His round takeout container rolled far away, even reaching Nie Jiuluo’s feet. She coldly glanced at it and used her boot tip to nudge it in another direction.
Zhan Jing had fallen quite hard and couldn’t get up immediately. Watching her walk further away, he was beyond desperate: “Really, Xiaoke even said she’d be back soon. When I went to your father demanding to know where she was, he beat me…”
He grew more emotional as he spoke, finally wiping his eyes and sobbing.
But Nie Jiuluo had long since walked out of sight.
Back at the hotel, Nie Jiuluo still couldn’t shake off the stifling feeling in her heart.
It wasn’t because of Zhan Jing’s wild claims about “being locked up” or “killed”—such nonsense passed through her ears like wind, never entering her heart.
What bothered her was that the perfect love story of her parents—their devotion to life and death—suddenly had a crack torn in it.
That Zhan Jing, what was he anyway? Unsightly appearance, cowardly nature—how dare he claim any connection to her mother?
Truly vexing. She picked up her phone, intending to play a few rounds of Doomsday Siege to distract herself. Opening the app, she noticed a red notification badge for a new message in the self-destructing messages app.
When did that arrive? She’d been so caught up in trivial matters she hadn’t noticed.
Nie Jiuluo opened the message.
—Nie Two, before the 8th, South Ba Monkey Head.
This seemed like a mission assignment, but what was South Ba Monkey Head? Since it contained “South Ba,” was this another trip to Southern Shaanxi?
At least the timing was generous—the 8th was nearly a week away.
Something must have happened. Nie Jiuluo replied with two characters: “Call?”
…
Half an hour later, Jiang Baichuan responded: “I know what you want to ask. The video was sent to your email. You’ll understand after watching. I’ll call you in ten minutes.”
There was a video. Nie Jiuluo immediately logged into her email. The message was sent anonymously and had been sorted into the spam folder.
She clicked play.
The video was in two parts. It opened in Banya, with shaky footage as the cameraman ran breathlessly, clearly chasing something.
Soon, the person being chased came into the frame—it was Ma Hanzi, carrying a crutch and humming a song.
“I carry the pole, you ride the horse…”
The cameraman demanded harshly: “Ma Hanzi, isn’t this Lame Dad’s crutch? Where did you get it?”
Ma Hanzi: “They threw it from the car.”
The cameraman barked: “Let me see that!”
Ma Hanzi reluctantly handed over the crutch, clearly displeased.
Then came a close-up of the crutch—a well-used walnut wood single crutch, with an old sheepskin pad at the armpit, the handgrip worn smooth from constant use.
The second segment was filmed indoors, with Ma Hanzi sitting stiffly but honestly, hands placed properly on his knees, making a clean breast of things.
“So the invaders’ car came, I went to intercept, they opened the door and threw out the crutch. They also told me to inform the village…”
Cameraman: “Inform the village of what?”
“Said on the 8th, the Imperial Army wants to talk with the Eighth Route…”
Cameraman impatiently: “Stop being dramatic! What were the exact words? Don’t miss a single word!”
Ma Hanzi was quite dissatisfied, grumbling before finally speaking in a hoarse voice with a fierce tone: “Idiot! Take the crutch, and if anyone asks, say: on the 8th, come to South Ba Monkey Head for the lame one.”
Then playing himself again, looking bewildered: “What monkey head? Sun Wukong?”
Finally imitating the sound of the departing car: “Wooo wooo…”
He spread his hands at the end, meaning: That’s all, didn’t miss a word.
The video ended there.
Nie Jiuluo couldn’t help but smile. No wonder Ma Hanzi started by singing a modified Journey to the West song—it was triggered by the words “monkey head.”
Ma Hanzi was one of their own. His father died early, and his mother struggled to raise him. However, when he was seven, he got a high fever. His mother didn’t take it seriously, dug out some expired cold medicine for him to drink, and made him sweat it out under thick blankets. After several rounds of this, the illness was cured, but his mind was damaged.
With no way to make a living, his mother cried her heart out and then ran away.
Ma Hanzi became a village-raised child, eating from many homes, but he was grateful and devoted himself to protecting Banya, fighting various external battles for Banya year-round. His mind wasn’t too badly damaged—he could occasionally pass messages and handle simple matters quite properly.
When Xing Shen came to find her that day, he mentioned “Lame Dad is missing.” It seemed the other side couldn’t get anything from Lame Dad and wanted to leverage their hostage situation, setting up a meeting on the 8th at “South Ba Monkey Head.”
No wonder they wanted her there—this kind of situation needed a blade to keep order.
Would Yan Tuo be there? If they met again, could she beat him up?
Nie Jiuluo felt a bit excited.
She wasn’t addicted to fighting, but when it came to “meeting one’s match,” she always wanted to determine superiority. They say the best of three determines the winner—so far they’d had two rounds, ending in a tie. She took him down with a surprise attack and injection; he took her down with a surprise attack and drowned. Neither counted as pure skill-based confrontation.
Moreover, she lost the last time, so the desire for revenge burned even hotter.
She had already imagined the perfect victory for herself—