Jiang Baichuan felt as if he was floating through clouds, his soul departing his body, as he was yanked back through the window and slammed heavily onto the floor.
The commotion below was chaotic, mixed with victorious whistles and strange laughter. Someone called out: “Where’s the old man? Did you catch him? Bring him down, bring him down!”
The two men responded, grabbing Jiang Baichuan by his collar, shouting “Yo-ho” like dock workers, dragging him down the stairs like livestock—with each step, Jiang Baichuan’s bottom hit the stairs repeatedly, waves of dull pain shooting up from his tailbone. His vision darkened, his teeth chattering, until finally, his body stopped moving as they reached their destination and released him.
Jiang Baichuan caught his breath and raised his eyes.
Many people moved about like blurred shadows. The lights were blinding, seeming a thousand times brighter than usual, forcing him to shield his eyes with his hand.
After a moment, he lowered his hand and finally saw clearly.
With Xing Shen gone, only eight of them remained, all accounted for. The other seven had been forced to kneel with their hands behind their heads, spaced half a meter apart. It was clear they’d been dragged from their beds: some wore pajamas, others just shorts, and those who preferred sleeping naked were completely bare.
In the dead of night, at the coldest hour, everyone’s lips were blue, shivering from the cold. Several had swollen faces and black eyes—the more alert ones who had resisted before being subdued, though none had succeeded.
Seeing Jiang Baichuan thrown in with them, they couldn’t help but look at him. Some gazes were bewildered and questioning, others turned away in despair knowing things had gone badly, and some held hatred, probably cursing him internally for his incompetence and poor planning that had dragged them into this mess.
When Jiang Baichuan saw the night raiders, he understood why his side had fallen so easily.
These men were not only tall and strong, but more importantly, they all had guns.
Jiang Baichuan had guns too, mostly homemade hunting rifles and some secretly kept handguns—the younger generation only knew that guns were banned in China, unaware that strictly enforced gun prohibition didn’t begin until 1996. The years following saw comprehensive confiscation, even producing the bizarre sight of people riding bicycles with submachine guns slung over their shoulders, eagerly heading to police stations to turn them in.
But in any forest, there are all kinds of birds, and some stubborn ones refuse to comply with the policy. Jiang Baichuan was one of them, reasoning that having what others didn’t would give him an advantage if trouble arose. Besides, when walking the green paths, having a few guns as backup was always good.
But the guns these men carried were smuggled through illegal channels—gleaming weapon bodies, seven or eight submachine guns alone, all fitted with silencers. Facing such weapons, what choice was there but to kneel? Who would dare challenge them with bare flesh?
Jiang Baichuan suddenly recalled Nie Jiuluo’s words—
“Yan Tuo’s father’s generation had already made their fortune…”
Indeed, when Yan Huanshan was building his wealth, it was a time when national laws weren’t fully established and local criminal forces hadn’t been completely eliminated. Mining and construction projects needed both legal and illegal connections, with far-reaching influence. If even a tenth of those networks had been preserved and maintained, obtaining contraband would be child’s play.
Moreover, they were Di Xiao—people who didn’t care about cannibalism, let alone laws.
Jiang Baichuan smiled bitterly. When Nie Er suggested “letting it go,” he should have been more ruthless and retreated immediately. Because of that one moment of mercy wanting to ransom back Queye and the others, now he would lose even more people—yes, more, perhaps not just those present.
He couldn’t help but shudder.
With a “bang,” a long bench was brought over and placed squarely in front. A bear-like man with a white bandage wrapped around his head sat down. The man was truly massive—standing like a tower, sitting like half a mountain.
***
This man was Xiong Hei.
Xiong Hei had been quite pleased with himself today.
All along, he’d been scolded by Lin Xiru for “having no brains” and “having a head full of meat despite his size.” Though internally dissatisfied and eager to prove himself with some brilliant strategy, reality had proved otherwise. Whether it was burning Madam Hua or overdosing Queye into a stupor, everything had confirmed he was “all brawn and no brains.”
So this time, he felt he had finally redeemed himself.
Last night, he had been searching for Yan Tuo in the east, combing through every side street and corner, but to no avail.
Dejected, clinging to a last hope, he decided to try his luck at the scene: even if Yan Tuo wasn’t there, maybe the blind man still was. Capturing him would at least mean not returning empty-handed—though he knew in his heart that they must have fled long ago, only a fool would have stayed.
As his car approached the reed marsh, he got a shock: the place was bustling with voices and chaotic lights, ambulance warning lights flashing continuously.
The authorities had been alerted.
According to Lin Xiru’s rules, they should stay far away from any incident that had “gone public.” Xiong Hei didn’t dare stop, stepping on the gas to drive straight past, appearing just like any other night vehicle.
He drove on, forcing himself to “think”—he had to, with Yan Tuo missing, he needed to consider remedial measures.
Then suddenly, inspiration struck: in that glance, he had noticed there seemed to be quite a few people and vehicles in the reed marsh.
Even with an ambulance, there shouldn’t have been such a commotion. Could family members have arrived? And the victim’s family must have countless connections with Ban Ya, right?
Following them wasn’t impossible, but they would be extremely vigilant after what had happened. Xiong Hei called A-Peng: A-Peng’s base was in the city, convenient to all locations.
He instructed A-Peng to send some sharp subordinates to stake out all major county hospitals: whenever an ambulance arrived with a head injury patient, they should pay close attention—how many relatives came, what vehicles they drove, record all license plate numbers, the more information the better. He specifically emphasized they should try to get information indirectly from nurses and orderlies, without alerting the other side.
After giving instructions, he turned his car around and went to Lü Xian for decorative bandaging. Before the bandaging was even complete, good news arrived: the injured man’s condition was too severe for the county hospital to handle, so they were rushing him to Xi’an overnight, with two relatives following in a car.
Xi’an! Heaven itself was helping: Xi’an was his territory. Tracking cars and intercepting people would be much easier there than in Shihe—after all, Shihe was away territory, but Xi’an was home ground.
So Xiong Hei had left “excitedly,” putting thoughts of Yan Tuo aside: all along, the other side had hidden like moles, leaving them with pent-up energy and nowhere to use it. Now suddenly the path had cleared, and it was all thanks to him, Xiong Hei!
When he reported to Lin Xiru, he only got a few mild rebukes. Lin Xiru, being more meticulous, instructed him: don’t move against those two people too early, wait until they’ve settled at the hospital and report to Ban Ya—if they acted too soon and Ban Ya couldn’t contact Lao Dao about his condition, they might grow suspicious.
***
With the raid complete, it was time to count their spoils. Xiong Hei scanned left and right; though he couldn’t remember exactly how many there should be, he knew who was missing: “Wasn’t there also that… useless blind dog?”
Someone replied: “Seems he jumped out the window, our people are chasing him.”
A blind man jumping out windows—quite desperate. Xiong Hei wasn’t concerned; catching a blind man would be child’s play.
He dialed Lin Xiru’s number while putting on an earpiece so she could hear everything in real time.
Then he looked at the circle of kneeling people: “Among you, isn’t there a leader named Jiang?”
No one spoke.
Actually, based on what those two had told him, Xiong Hei had a rough idea of Jiang Baichuan’s age and appearance, but seeing everyone playing mute irritated him. His eyes narrowed as he randomly pointed at two people: “You, and you—drag them out and blindfold one of them.”
People immediately moved forward, yanking the two out with guns pressed to their chests, while someone brought over a pair of jeans to cover one person’s head.
Xiong Hei pointed to the one without the blindfold: “You go first. Point him out—if you’re the one named Jiang, point to yourself. Then he’ll point. If you point to different people, you both die, and we’ll try another pair.”
The man trembled at hearing this.
Jiang Baichuan sighed internally—what was the point of pointing?
“No need for pointing,” he said. “I’m the one. Jiang Baichuan—Jiang as in ‘hundred,’ Bai as in ‘million,’ Chuan as in ‘mountain and river.’ Whatever you need to discuss, talk to me. Don’t trouble the youngsters.”
As he spoke, he got up from the ground. The earlier escape attempt had left him in quite a state: barefoot, with one pant leg pushed up above his knee.
Jiang Baichuan pulled down his pant leg, adjusted his collar, and smoothed his disheveled hair.
He added: “Ask me what you need to know. They’re just workers doing errands for money—there are things they won’t know about.”
Well, quite spirited, thought Xiong Hei. He was about to speak when Lin Xiru instructed through the earpiece: “Don’t improvise. Don’t use force. Ask what needs to be asked.”
Xiong Hei cleared his throat: “In ’91, did you go down below?”
Jiang Baichuan felt ice water filled with shards flood his chest: indeed, this wasn’t about revenge for Yan Tuo’s capture. There was a deeper cause.
He just hadn’t expected it to trace back so far, all the way to the beginning of his life’s work.
“Yes, I did go down,” he said.
Xiong Hei gestured toward the others: “Anyone else?”
Jiang Baichuan gradually steadied himself: “From ’91 until now, it’s been almost thirty years. Look at their ages—they were either children then or not even born. How could they have gone down? Queye went down, but he’s already in your hands.”
Xiong Hei grunted and waved to the side.
Soon, his men herded Ban Ya’s people into other rooms, leaving only Xiong Hei, Jiang Baichuan, and one armed guard in the great hall, which now felt especially quiet in its emptiness.
Jiang Baichuan pointed to a nearby chair: “May I sit? I’m getting old, my legs aren’t good. And could I have something to wear? It’s snowing outside, too cold.”
Before Xiong Hei could respond, Lin Xiru’s voice came through the earpiece: “Give it to him.”
He had no choice but to nod.
Jiang Baichuan pulled over a chair and sat down. The guard went to the next room and threw him a down jacket.
With the jacket wrapped around his upper body, he felt warmer, but his lower half felt especially cold in contrast. Jiang Baichuan didn’t ask for pants, fearing it might irritate them.
Xiong Hei: “Do you know how Queye lost that leg?”
Jiang Baichuan: “I do.”
“Then tell us. Be specific.”
Jiang Baichuan wasn’t sure how much they knew, but hearing the certainty in his tone, he dared not lie. After a moment’s hesitation, he told the truth: “In ’91, we went down to hunt Xiao. We chose a clear, sunny day, but after going down, it rained constantly. The mountain forest was dense—even in broad daylight, it was like darkness.”
Xiong Hei remained silent. In the earpiece, Lin Xiru’s breathing was unnaturally steady.
“We had been searching for over ten days, going very deep, almost to the edge of Black-White Rapids, finding nothing. We were about to give up, but couldn’t bring ourselves to. Queye especially… well, he was different from us. He wanted to make big money to get married.”
“So even when we were resting, he kept searching around with his gear.”
Lin Xiru: “Ask him what gear.”
Xiong Hei: “What gear did he carry?”
Jiang Baichuan thought for a moment: “A hunting rifle on his back, and at his waist… not a knife, but an awl. Back then, hunting sometimes required working with hides, and an awl was convenient.”
Lin Xiru fell silent—apparently, he had answered correctly.
Xiong Hei: “Continue.”
Jiang Baichuan: “I remember that day, we’d searched a new area without success. We were tired—some played cards, others ate rations, but Queye went deeper in again. Because we’d had no activity for over ten days, everyone had gotten a bit careless. We let him go, even telling him if he found anything, he’d get the larger share.”
“After some time, suddenly we heard his screams from far away. Everyone panicked, grabbing guns and knives, and rushing toward the sound. From quite far off, we saw him on the ground, desperately kicking at something, his awl stabbing down like raindrops. Some of the hot-headed ones immediately fired warning shots, and we saw a dark shadow dash away—probably scared off by the gunfire.”
“When we got close, we saw a di xiao beside him, about the size of a monkey, just like in the manual illustrations, knocked unconscious by stones. Queye’s leg was mangled, torn so badly you could almost see bone.”
“Someone asked if it was a di xiao, saying we were in trouble—it was overcast with no sun, and we were deep in the mountains, more than a day’s journey out.”
“Queye, desperate to survive, suggested that while the wound was fresh, we should… should cut off that part of his leg.”
Finished speaking, his back was covered in sweat. Even after so many years, that brutal scene remained vivid—cutting off someone’s leg.
Xiong Hei: “That di xiao—after thirty years, is it alive or… dead?”
Jiang Baichuan had a rough idea now. It seemed he still had cards to play.
He trusted Xing Shen could escape.
“Alive, and quite well, in a very secure place.”
What kind of attitude was this? Xiong Hei was about to explode when Lin Xiru said: “Keep asking.”
Xiong Hei suppressed his anger: “I hear you have some capable people—Mad Blade Nie Er, Mad Dog Xing Shen, Ghost Hand Yu Rong.”
Jiang Baichuan remained silent, feeling extremely grateful: Xing Shen had escaped, Yu Rong had been warned and joined Da Tou’s group, and as for Nie Er—well, she was hidden where no one could find her.
“Forget about that useless dog. Yu Rong, I hear she’s an animal trainer, even performed in Thailand putting her head in alligators’ mouths—someone like that isn’t hard to find. What I want to know is, who is Nie Er? Sounds more like a code name than a real one.”
Jiang Baichuan nodded: “Correct. Her identity is secret—it’s tradition for the Bandaged Army line. After all, Mad Blade can kill Xiao. To prevent Yangxiang from interfering, Mad Blade’s identity is never revealed.”
Xiong Hei smiled coldly: “Enough nonsense. I’m asking who Mad Blade is. Things have come to this, and you’re still hiding it?”
Jiang Baichuan remained silent.
Xiong Hei asked Lin Xiru: “Sister Lin, should we loosen him up a bit?”
Lin Xiru: “Do it.”
Xiong Hei raised his hand and fired.
The silencer greatly reduced the noise. Jiang Baichuan hadn’t even processed what happened—he just heard a “pop” like a beer cap coming off. He thought Xiong Hei was just trying to scare him, but when he looked down, he suddenly saw blood gushing from his right foot. Three toes, including the big toe, had been blown off.
Jiang Baichuan let out a heart-rending scream, toppling from the chair, clutching his convulsing leg as he rolled around. His rolling left a circle of blood around him.
Xiong Hei: “Won’t talk?”
Then, raising his voice: “Bring one out!”
Before he finished speaking, a nearby door burst open. Someone was dragged out like a chicken in an eagle’s claws, wearing only shorts. Having heard the screams from inside, he was already terrified, and seeing Jiang Baichuan rolling in a pool of blood nearly broke him. He tried to crawl back into the room on all fours.
Xiong Hei strode over, kicked the man onto his back, and pressed the gun to his throat.
Jiang Baichuan screamed hoarsely: “I’ll talk, I’ll talk! No need for this!”
Very good. Xiong Hei withdrew his gun and walked back to Jiang Baichuan: “What do you have to say?”
Jiang Baichuan was covered in blood, his face a mess of tears and mucus from the pain. He didn’t even see Xiong Hei’s approach, just kept mumbling: “I’ll talk, I’ll talk.”
Xiong Hei prodded his face with the gun barrel: “Then talk.”
Jiang Baichuan was breathing irregularly, his voice breaking: “Mad Blade… Nie Er… you’ve forgotten… the one you… beat unconscious… sent to… sent to Xi’an.”