It was said that a cold wave struck the entire nation.

Even the always-warm ancient city was caught squarely by the cold wave’s tail. The sky was overcast and gloomy, with light rain drifting down. As that sharp-tongued little girl nearby put it: everyone had become like turtles, shrinking their necks and hands, wishing they could wrap themselves in blankets while walking the streets.

At such a time, sitting in possession of a warm bar filled with music and occasionally wafting with the aroma of grinding coffee was nothing short of being life’s winner.

Brother Mao was feeling triumphant. He stepped on a stool to climb up high, took the nail from his mouth, and hammered it bang-bang-bang into the wall. Then he took down the painting hanging from his neck and solemnly hung it up.

It was an enlarged photograph. In the background were snow-capped mountains, in the foreground was a Land Cruiser SUV on snowy ground. Standing beside the front of the vehicle were two people: one was a woman in a thick black down jacket with long hair, some strands braided with colorful threads; the other was a middle-aged man in red robes, smiling with serene eyes, the corners of his robes gently lifted by the wind.

A customer behind him spoke: “Hey, this is also Yunnan? Where? Jade Dragon doesn’t have such heavy snow, right?”

Brother Mao said: “Good eye. Look at this blanket of snow covering everything – this is northern Tibet.”

The customer came over with his hands behind his back to look, gesturing at the lama-like figure: “This one isn’t an ordinary lama, is he?”

“You bet he’s not. He’s a living Buddha, managing a huge monastery.”

Brother Mao’s tone was filled with pride: “They’re all my friends!”

Actually, he was exaggerating. The one who took the photo with the living Buddha and the one who took this picture were indeed his friends, but this Sangzhu Living Buddha in the photo – he had never laid eyes on him even once.

He carefully stepped down from the stool.

In the corner, a student-like little girl also looked up at this wall of photographs: “One moment northern Tibet, the next moment southern Gansu, and there’s even the Yadan Devil City. Brother Mao just loves the northern frontier. He never mentions hanging up our Suzhou gardens or Nanjing’s Thirteen Tombs.”

Brother Mao stiffened his neck: “Paper-thin Jiangnan, iron-built northern frontier – ever heard that saying? Iron-built – hit it and it goes bang! It can withstand snow and endure wind. That’s what I love!”

Though quite old, he still loved to argue. The bar erupted in laughter, and someone heckled: “Then go open a shop in northern Tibet.”

Brother Mao just smiled and said nothing.

After tidying up his tools and going to the backyard, it was already getting dark. The back kitchen was starting work, with the sizzling sounds of oil and smoke that made one’s heart feel at ease.

—Then go open a shop in northern Tibet?

No way, he thought. He had the will but not the strength anymore. Not to mention that nowadays he was burdened with family responsibilities – even if he were all alone, his old bones couldn’t withstand the torment of fierce winds, heavy snow, great joy, and great sorrow.

He sat down on the steps, lit a cigarette, and as the smoke drifted up, he hummed a Tibetan folk tune from southern Gansu.

Just as he began humming, Mao Wa came running over tap-tap-tap, saying: “Dad, it’s time to eat.”

Brother Mao got up and patted the dirt off his buttocks: “Did you call your Uncle Shen Gun?”

“I did. He said he’s on a hunger strike.”

Another hunger strike?

Let him strike then. It wasn’t the first or second time. Brother Mao walked two steps toward the “culture room” where Shen Gun lived, stretched his neck and shouted: “Keep it up! Those who chicken out halfway through a hunger strike and sneak over the wall to buy cookies are all… grand… sons!”

Entering the kitchen, the food was already served and on the table. While eating, Sister-in-law Mao said: “Shen Gun hasn’t eaten for two days.”

“Let him be,” Brother Mao said. “He won’t starve to death anyway. It’s good to save some grain for the country.”

“Why don’t we just agree to it? It’s just losing a few nights’ room fees.”

Brother Mao glared: “No way. There’s no such principle, and no such thing.”

Shen Gun had come some days ago. Every year, he would come many times, comparing himself to a free-spirited migratory bird that had flown over to roost again.

Brother Mao looked down on his literary affectations, saying: “You’re a migratory bird with endocrine disorders, right? Normal migratory birds only fly back and forth once or twice a year. How many times have you come?”

But this time was different from before. Shen Gun was being coy and evasive, always sidling up to Brother Mao, wanting to speak but hesitating.

Brother Mao was straightforward: “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Shen Gun said: “Little Mao Mao, it’s like this. I have some good friends with whom I have good relationships. Among them, there’s a young couple. I want to let them get married here, stay in our ‘Peak Hall Room,’ absorb the room’s joyful energy, and also bring some joy to the room.”

Brother Mao said: “Then let them book a room.”

Shen Gun said: “Oh my, Little Mao Mao, booking a room is so formal and distant.”

He smiled with extra enthusiasm. In this smile, Brother Mao gradually understood: “So you’re here to pull sponsorship?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“How many people?”

“Still… not quite certain. Five or six… seven or eight people.”

“How many nights?”

Seeing Brother Mao’s pleasant demeanor, Shen Gun felt there was hope: “Getting married, then playing for a couple days, touring the surroundings – it would have to be… four or five nights at least.”

Brother Mao continued being pleasant: “Is this your shop?”

Shen Gun hung his head and stopped talking.

Brother Mao glanced at him sideways: “I really don’t want to criticize you, but you’ve dealt with ghosts so much that you don’t know how to handle human affairs anymore, right? My shop, and you want to use it to do favors for people – on what basis? Do you think I’m in love with you or something?”

Shen Gun spoke humbly: “That’s why I’m discussing it with you.”

“Nothing to discuss. It’s a matter of principle.”

Shen Gun said mournfully: “Little Mao Mao, we’re good friends.”

“Precisely because we’re friends, I need to teach you to understand thoroughly: don’t make rash promises about things you’re not sure of, and especially don’t make promises using other people’s things.”

“Just this once…”

“Once is still breaking the rule. I won’t break it.”

“But I already promised them. How embarrassing…”

“No problem. The harder you fall, the better you remember.”

“Little Mao Mao, they’re all good people…”

Brother Mao pointed to a celebrity picture posted on the side of the bar: “Is she pretty?”

It was a movie poster with a blonde, blue-eyed woman in an alluring pose. Shen Gun couldn’t guess Brother Mao’s intention: “Pretty.”

“She’s pretty, she’s a sun, she illuminates the people around her – what’s that got to do with me? Your friends are good people, so you go absorb their light and warmth. I’m not interested. There are plenty of good people in the world. If they were all related to me, wouldn’t I be exhausted?”

…

And then Shen Gun went on a hunger strike.

Sister-in-law Mao was a woman with a soft heart who couldn’t help being frightened. Seeing Shen Gun really not eating, she inevitably felt uneasy. Brother Mao said they absolutely couldn’t waver – this wasn’t about money, they couldn’t encourage such crooked practices. The little rascal thought his hunger strike was so impressive? If everything went his way just because he went on hunger strikes, why didn’t he go on a hunger strike to recover the Diaoyu Islands?

After dinner, he gave Mao Wa a hundred yuan.

“Tomorrow… or maybe tonight, go buy a KFC family bucket and put it under his window. If necessary, take a hair dryer and blow the aroma into his room…”

Lijiang – gathering and parting as fate would have it.

The usual bustle, with voices clamoring. Yi Wansan accidentally broke a cup, and the glass shards blocked the drain. He didn’t care at all and grabbed them with his bare hands while cleaning up.

After cleaning, he looked at his hands – cut in three or four places, but very quickly, the blood traces withdrew inward and the wounds rapidly healed.

Yi Wansan murmured: “Awesome!”

Then he looked up and was startled, shivering with fright.

Yan Hongsha had appeared at some point, holding an empty tray and staring at him.

She said: “What are you showing off for? Are you afraid people won’t know? Do you understand what keeping a low profile means?”

Yi Wansan felt sheepish, knowing he was in the wrong.

With the seven fierce bamboo slips taking possession of their bodies, each person had gained a phoenix tattoo. Everyone unanimously felt it couldn’t just be a stamp-like certification.

The silk book said: The power of the seven stars, attached to the body, changes the human heart, devours good and amplifies evil, strengthens the physique, makes one agile in movement, even achieving resurrection – remembering how Ya Feng, who had been so frail and delicate, became extremely fierce after the fierce slips possessed her. Now with each person getting an average of 1.4 slips, and with the evil nature of the fierce slips sealed away, wouldn’t they be like superhumans?

Yi Wansan kept looking for opportunities to test this.

Yan Hongsha said angrily: “Luo Ren has warned us how many times? Don’t be ostentatious, or we’ll have trouble if word gets out. Everyone else is so low-key, can’t you just behave?”

Just then, Cao Yanhua passed by behind her, talking on his phone.

These days, Cao Yanhua was busy trying to repair his relationship with his family through phone calls, though this repair effort had yet to succeed.

“I can’t explain to you what I’m doing now. I can only say that I’m not an ordinary person anymore. I’m very different, okay? My whole temperament has changed. Don’t judge me by worldly standards, okay?”

…

Yi Wansan gave Yan Hongsha a sideways glance, meaning: You call this keeping a low profile?

In the corner, Huo Zihong and Luo Ren sat across from each other at a table. Unusually, there was no alcohol on the table – instead, there were teacups.

Luo Ren poured tea for Huo Zihong.

Huo Zihong looked down at the tea rippling in her cup and spoke unhurriedly: “No matchmaker? You’re coming to propose directly?”

“Yes, this shows sincerity.”

“What about your parents? They’re not coming forward either?”

“Hong Yi knows my family situation. Apart from myself, no one can represent me.”

Huo Zihong said “Mm” and didn’t speak for a long while.

She didn’t know what to say either, but asking her to nod readily and say “yes” – she was unwilling.

Usually when she looked at Luo Ren, she felt everything about him was good, and she was comfortable entrusting Mu Dai to him. But when it really came to this moment, her heart suddenly felt awkward.

Yes, Mu Dai wasn’t born to me, but after all these years, I’ve raised her as my own daughter. You suddenly appear, discuss some bride price, and then lead her away – on what basis?

Huo Zihong didn’t drink her tea: “I need to think about it.”

She pushed her teacup outward and got up to leave.

Luo Ren smiled bitterly.

Unexpected, yet also within expectations. Before he came, Uncle Zheng had warned him: “Taking away someone’s daughter isn’t that easy. They’ll put you through at least a couple of tests.”

Looking up, at the bar, Yan Hongsha, Cao Yanhua, and Yi Wansan stood in a row, each face written with bold sympathy.

How strange – what are you sympathizing with? Luo Ren was so annoyed his teeth itched: No matter how hopeless I am, no matter how rejected in marriage, I’m still far ahead of you three, right?

His phone rang. Shen Gun was calling, asking: “How’s the progress on your end?”

Earlier, when they returned from Hangu Pass and parted ways, Shen Gun had reminded him: “Don’t forget, we agreed to hold a wedding at my friend’s inn. When will that be?”

Luo Ren had replied: “This isn’t a small matter. Even if we hold it privately, we still need Mu Dai’s family to approve, right? Let me go propose marriage first.”

Now Shen Gun was calling to ask.

—How’s the progress on your end?

Luo Ren said calmly: “It’s going well, no problems. What about your friend’s place – is it convenient? After all, we’re not familiar with your friend…”

Shen Gun was nonchalant: “My friends are your friends. Besides, who am I? It’s a matter of one word!”

That’s right. Thinking of Wan Fenghuo, who never charged money for helping Shen Gun, and his WeChat nickname – “Stick Bathing in Friends’ Care” – those two words “care” said everything.

Before hanging up, Luo Ren asked: “What’s that sound on your end? Renovation?”

Shen Gun said calmly: “Yes, renovation.”

After hanging up, Shen Gun stormed out angrily, slamming the door with a bang.

Mao Wa, who was using a hair dryer to blow the aroma from a KFC family bucket, was startled. He stumbled and accidentally unplugged the power cord – fortunately, since there was no outlet outside the room, they had dragged a very long extension cord over.

The hair dryer’s sound suddenly stopped.

Not far away, Brother Mao spoke coolly: “Oh, Stick, you’re out. What’s this – not on hunger strike anymore? Can’t hold out? Come on, eat. Don’t be shy.”

Mao Wa very cooperatively brought the family bucket to Shen Gun.

Shen Gun solemnly pushed the family bucket away and delivered a resounding declaration.

“I won’t eat. Chickens are humanity’s eternal friends.”