One’s bed is always the most comfortable. Nie Jiuluo had a wonderful sleep, and when she opened her eyes, she still felt it wasn’t quite long enough.

As she was washing up and wiping her face, she heard movement outside—Sister Lu coming up to collect last night’s dishes.

Nie Jiuluo poked her head out the door: “Sister Lu, what’s for breakfast? How about making some small wontons so Yan Tuo can try your cooking?”

She usually had rice porridge and small dishes for breakfast, but Yan Tuo might need more—Sister Lu’s chicken soup and shrimp wontons were exceptional, far better than those from street shops. Since they’d had wontons last night, a comparison would show the difference.

Sister Lu carried the bowls and plates downstairs, dropping a casual comment: “Try my cooking? He left early this morning.”

Who left early?

Nie Jiuluo froze.

Yan Tuo?

How dare he leave without even saying goodbye!

He dared!

The guest room was silent, showing almost no trace of having been occupied. The blanket was folded with military precision, like a block of tofu—this wasn’t Sister Lu’s work; she made beds in the Western style.

A note lay on the table, reading: “I put the suitcase in the closet.”

Put your head in there! Nie Jiuluo gripped the note’s edge fiercely, making the paper crackle.

Sister Lu came in with the vacuum cleaner, keeping it as quiet as possible: “He folded that blanket well, so neat and crisp. I asked him about it—he said he learned it during military training. He was the best in his department, even chosen as a demonstration model.”

Is that so? Nie Jiuluo felt even more unhappy: Sister Lu knew all this, while she didn’t.

She muttered: “How rude.”

Sister Lu smiled: “He got up early and waited for you for quite a while, but you wouldn’t wake up. How can you blame anyone? I was going to wake you, but he said not to—said an injured person needed rest, especially after yesterday’s tiring journey. Said letting you sleep more meant more healing time. He also mentioned leaving early to avoid traffic.”

Nie Jiuluo made a sound of acknowledgment, crumpling the note then smoothing it out, then crumpling it again, finally rolling it into a tight cylinder as she left the room on her crutch.

Rehabilitation was now on her schedule. She planned to go downstairs three times a day, walking around the courtyard three times each trip, aiming to discard the crutch within two weeks. As for her arm, that wasn’t something she could force—she’d have to visit private hospitals for medical rehabilitation.

The small courtyard was peaceful amid the bustle, decorated with flowers and plants, adding serenity to the quiet. Old Tang had planned the courtyard for four-season views, with different flowers blooming each season. Now in winter, the narcissus, iron-chopstick roses, and tulips were blooming well, and… the white plum.

Nie Jiuluo walked to the white plum tree.

She loved both extremely tall and miniature plants—the miniatures were sprites of tiny places, while the tall ones seemed to have human spirits, souls equal to people. Both were vibrant forms of life commanding respect.

Nie Jiuluo listlessly touched a blossom at the tip of a branch, feeling thoroughly dissatisfied at this moment.

Yet she was home, where everything should be to her liking.

Sister Lu came out after cleaning and, seeing this scene, suddenly remembered something: “Oh, right, when Mr. Yan was leaving, he mentioned how nicely the plum tree had grown and asked if he could take a branch. I didn’t let him.”

Nie Jiuluo started, then grew anxious: “Why didn’t you let him?”

Sister Lu asked in surprise: “Wasn’t that your instruction? You said only you or Old Tang could cut your flowers for arranging, and you disliked people breaking or pulling at them randomly.”

Nie Jiuluo remembered now. Once when a TV station came to film an interview, with various people coming through, a cameraman had plucked a flower and tucked it behind his ear, thinking it stylish. She had found it very offensive and afterward instructed Sister Lu to firmly stop any visitors from picking flowers.

She said: “Well, it depends on who it is. Wasn’t he the one who saved me when I fell from the grotto? After helping so much, what’s one branch?”

Even if he’d wanted the whole tree, she’d have let him dig it up and carry it away.

Hearing this, Sister Lu finally realized: “Oh, you’re right.”

Then she tried to smooth things over: “Well, I don’t think it matters much. Mr. Yan seemed very good-natured, he probably didn’t mind.”

Nie Jiuluo couldn’t say more. She slowly moved along on her crutch, continuing her rehabilitation. When she reached the main gate, driven by some impulse, she went over to slide back the bolt and opened the gate halfway.

The sunlight was beautiful, filling the alley.

Outside was empty.

Her phone weighed down her pocket.

Leaving without a word, not even sending her a message.

Nie Jiuluo snorted and closed the door.

Well, unless there was an emergency, she wouldn’t message him either.

Who wasn’t a busy person these days?

Around noon, Yan Tuo’s car pulled into a service area.

He had planned to have a proper meal, but the food at the service area looked too basic to be appetizing. Yan Tuo just bought some cookies and drinks to have in the car.

The noon sun was warm. Yan Tuo left the car door half-open, taking a sip of drink with every two cookies. The service area was lively, with large buses regularly pulling in, releasing dozens of people to find food, then drivers shouting “Back on the bus!” gathering them back like scattered water returning to the sea.

Yan Tuo watched as he ate, treating himself as an audience member and the passengers as actors: so many people, so many destinations and origins, there must be countless stories.

His eye caught a glimpse of a plastic bag corner showing under the passenger seat.

What was that?

Yan Tuo leaned down and pulled the bag out by its handles.

He recognized it—the “takeout” Nie Jiuluo had bought during their journey. He remembered asking her about it, and she’d said it was “professional.”

How careless—she’d been so excited to get home, she’d forgotten her belongings. Yan Tuo sighed; he’d have to courier it back to her later.

He put the tied plastic bag on the passenger seat and continued eating. As he ate, curiosity got the better of him, and he glanced at the bag again.

Her home was a studio with everything she needed—what could have been so urgent she had to buy it on the road?

He put down his drink and cookies and picked up the bag curiously.

It had some weight but wasn’t too heavy.

Yan Tuo untied the bag.

Inside was…

First, he pulled out a car hanging ornament.

Not the kind you could buy in shops—it was handmade, with four clay figurines clinging to a string. They were meant to be him, capturing his manner perfectly: black T-shirt, black pants, sand-colored boots, but in a cute chibi style. The topmost figure held the string with one hand, the other hand shading his eyes as if looking ahead, like a scout monkey, with two white characters on its back reading “Clear.”  The second figure hugged the string with both hands, looking miserable, with two white characters on its back reading “Stuck.”

Seeing the second figure, Yan Tuo couldn’t help but laugh.

The third figure had hair standing on end in anger, mouth open wider than a ladle, clearly cursing, with its back reading “Make Way.”

The last one seemed to be studying Buddhism, sitting cross-legged, with “Don’t Rush” on its chest and “Stay Calm” on its back.

At the bottom hung a small plate with ruyi pattern borders, reading “Smooth Journey” on the front and “Safe Travels” on the back.

This was… incredible.

Yan Tuo carefully placed the ornament on the dashboard.

There was more in the bag.

More clay sculptures, each with a round base—meant to be desktop ornaments, still depicting him but as a child, with a little topknot sticking straight up.

The first one held a duck in its arms.

A duck…

Yan Tuo held it, feeling quite dazed.

The second had a red face with puffed cheeks, carrying a duffel bag on its back and pulling a suitcase.

She must be making fun of him with the suitcase, Yan Tuo thought, torn between laughter and tears.

The third wore a black mask, tiptoeing like a thief.

This must be referencing when he followed her that night.

The last one…

The last one made Yan Tuo laugh out loud—it captured the moment the bed collapsed, with him on it in panic, arms and legs flailing, looking ridiculous.

After laughing, he looked in the bag again. There was a bottle of adhesive—she’d thought of everything, even how to attach them. And a note covered densely in writing.

Yan Tuo picked up the items to examine them. The note read: “Ornaments are 200 each, car hanging is 800. If unsatisfied, please return; if satisfied, please pay. If particularly appreciative, additional tips are welcome. Art is priceless, and it’s not easy being a one-handed artist.”

A payment account number was appended at the bottom.

So this was what she had been waiting for.

Yan Tuo took out his phone and transferred money to Nie Jiuluo one transaction at a time, noting each item clearly – a fair exchange of goods and money.

A tip was certainly necessary, given his “particular appreciation.” Yan Tuo initially typed “666,” but as he was about to complete the payment, his heart suddenly softened.

A one-handed artist.

Last night, when she was writing notes, she needed his help to hold down the paper. With just one hand, crafting so many pieces – even with expertise and professional skill – was no small feat.

So he added another “6,” letting the one-handed artist earn a bit more.

…

Meanwhile, Nie Jiuluo had completed her second round of walking downstairs three times that day. She was now nestled in a large canvas chair, basking in the sunshine while watching Sister Lu peel winter bamboo shoots.

Sister Lu had mentioned she would be cooking stir-fried shredded bamboo shoots with pork tonight.

As she watched, her phone started receiving messages – not just one, but a series of them, with crisp notification sounds coming one after another.

Nie Jiuluo picked up her phone to look, and gradually, an uncontainable smile spread across her face.

Sister Lu asked curiously, “What is it?”

Nie Jiuluo raised an elegant eyebrow, her expression brilliant: “I made some money.”

Sister Lu replied, “Don’t you make money regularly?”

After a pause, she reminded her: “It’s fine to be happy about making money at home, but don’t smile like this outside. People will say you’re too excited over a bit of money – it’s not very artistic.”

After completing the transfers, Yan Tuo first hung up the car ornament and then used adhesive to stick each decoration to the dashboard. It was the same car, but instantly it was no longer “plain.”

He was about to take a photo to show the artist his satisfaction as a buyer when his phone rang.

Lin Xirou.

Yan Tuo answered casually, his tone even: “Aunt Lin.”

Lin Xirou’s voice maintained its usual gentleness: “Xiao Tuo, how are the visits going?”

Yan Tuo smiled: “I’ve visited one place in Zhengzhou, planning to visit another tonight. For the rest, I’ll have the company’s senior management represent me, or just send some New Year’s gifts as a gesture.”

Lin Xirou also smiled: “As long as you’ve shown face, visiting two places is enough. Come back early when you’re done. You’re the boss – you need to learn to make things easier for yourself and let others handle matters.”

…

After hanging up, Lin Xirou clicked her mouse, and the paused video on the computer screen resumed playing.

It was surveillance footage, showing Yan Tuo standing at the cultivation room’s entrance from an oblique angle above, almost completely motionless.

After a moment, Lin Xirou paused the video again, studying Yan Tuo on the screen.

Beside her, Xiong Hei cleared his throat: “Based on the timing, this was shortly after Gou Ya woke up, while we were inside talking to him.”

Lin Xirou remained silent.

Xiong Hei: “I called to check – he is out visiting business partners. The boss in Zhengzhou even told me Yan Tuo got drunk that day and called for a designated driver.”

Lin Xirou made a sound of acknowledgment: “What exactly is Xiao Tuo trying to do?”

Xiong Hei pondered: “Could he just be too curious about us?”

Lin Xirou shook her head: “Curiosity has its limits. This isn’t mere curiosity.”

Xiong Hei grew impatient: “Sister Lin, instead of all this guessing, why don’t we just call him in and ask?”

Lin Xirou said: “No.”

She closed the video, her expression neutral: “Let’s pretend we don’t know anything for now.”

After a pause, she asked: “How’s the situation at the mechanical well?”

Xiong Hei took out his phone to show her photos sent from the site.

The tripod was set up, and the rented equipment was in place. Now they just needed to see if there was anything down in the well.

August 28, 1997 / Friday / Heavy Rain

This morning, I woke up from another nightmare. I dreamed Li Shuangxiu clawed her way up from underground, her eyes bloodshot, strangling me until I nearly died.

When I finally opened my eyes, it was pouring outside. The sky was dark, and thunder kept crashing on the roof – each crack made me shudder.

Xiao Tuo, too young to understand, was pestering me about raising ducklings. How could I possibly think about buying ducklings right now? I yelled at him a couple of times, and he started crying, calling out for Auntie Shuangxiu, and asking where she had gone.

I lost control then, grabbed him like a chicken, and gave him a severe beating. Xiao Tuo cried until his voice went hoarse, keeping his distance from me, shrinking into the corner of the sofa, sobbing. Xinxin crawled over to him and, just like how I would comfort her at bedtime, gently patted his back, babbling: “Brother, don’t cry.”

Looking at my two children breaks my heart.

I killed someone.

Ten days ago, I killed Li Shuangxiu.

I hadn’t meant to kill her. I’d been living this way for several months – “neither divorcing nor reconciling, sharing a roof but ignoring each other.” Minjuan said I was doing the right thing, “being a thorn in their side, not letting that pair of dogs have their way.”

I was so naive. Anyone could have seen this kind of relationship would lead to problems.

That day…

The trigger was probably when I heard Li Shuangxiu telling Xiao Tuo to call her “mom.” After that, I wasn’t myself anymore, consumed by an urge to kill.

That afternoon, Li Shuangxiu was running water for a bath. I saw her open the wall cabinet and take my clothes – this shameless woman, using other people’s things so naturally, who did she think she was?

So I followed her into the bathroom.

I don’t remember what I said to her, only that we started arguing almost immediately. The argument got more and more heated, and then, I pushed her.

I only pushed her once, but she slipped and fell into the bathtub. I never expected she would drag the electrical cord into the water.

It was terrifying, too terrifying. There was water on the floor, and I was afraid… afraid I would get electrocuted too, so I ran. I heard her scream and even smelled something burning, but I did nothing.

Later, I turned off the power, put on cotton gloves, and opened the door to look. What I saw made my legs give out, and I collapsed to the floor, unable to get up for a long time.

I saw her floating in the water, half of her face burned black. Does electrocution do that? How could someone in the water catch fire?

I killed someone.

Lin Xirou, you’re finished. You’re a murderer now.

I called Da Shan. No matter how much I hated him, he was still the first person I thought of when trouble came.

When Da Shan came back, he was stunned too. He sat on the sofa, smoking cigarette after cigarette. My eyes were swollen from crying, and my head aching. I said: “Da Shan, I should turn myself in.”

Da Shan wouldn’t let me.

He put out his cigarette and sent me to put Xiao Tuo and Xinxin to bed, saying, “Don’t worry about it.”

Like a lost soul, I kept the children in the bedroom, listening to Da Shan busy himself outside, hearing him drain water, drag things, drive away, and return.

When he came back with the car, it was already midnight. The children were long asleep. I was shaking so badly I couldn’t even open the door for Da Shan. He used his key to enter and told me he had buried Li Shuangxiu.

Buried her far away.

He told me to forget about it.

I should have turned myself in, right?

Wake up, Lin Xirou. Heaven’s net casts wide, and though its meshes are large, nothing slips through. You can’t escape this. If you turn yourself in, you might get leniency. It was manslaughter, not premeditated.

Today’s heavy rain and thunder are meant to wake you up.

Note: Da Shan called, saying he’ll be home late tonight. He said with the rain being so heavy, he needed to check the burial site. If the body gets washed up, we’ll be in trouble.

— [Excerpt from Lin Xirou’s Diary]