Coming next week was fine – there was plenty of time to prepare.

The formal wedding tuxedo hidden at the bottom of the trunk was dug out. He asked Sister-in-law Mao to wash it and carefully iron it. Sister-in-law Mao was a domestic woman, so her focus inevitably shifted. She pinched the fabric and frowned, saying: “Bought online? This fabric quality is terrible – it lost its shape after washing.”

Shen Gun emphasized: “Quality is all superficial – the key is significance! Significance!”

After ironing, it was hung at the head of the bed, receiving a respectful gaze three times a day – morning, noon, and evening.

He also began drafting a book, tentatively titled “Mysterious Records: The Seven Star Mystery – Fierce Bamboo Slip Decryption.”

He solemnly notified Brother Mao that the content he was about to write was quite important and must be kept confidential. He hoped Brother Mao and others would exercise self-restraint, not peek at his manuscript, and especially not leak it to outsiders.

Brother Mao replied: “Ptui!”

Shen Gun’s last book was called “Twenty Years of Strange Tales and Curious Events,” an illegal publication without a book number, self-printed at the print shop around the corner. Sponsored by Yue Feng, the first printing was fifty copies. Then Yue Feng bought thirty copies, and the remaining twenty were “snapped up” by Brother Mao, still piled under the bed.

However, Brother Mao felt that this time, Shen Gun’s sales should improve, since he had made several more friends.

In his spare time, Shen Gun seized every opportunity to gush about those people to him. Though they hadn’t met yet, Brother Mao had already heard enough to be familiar with them.

“Little Pocket is very fun and respects me greatly. In my heart, she ranks… third, behind our Little Tang and Ah Hui. She’s very skilled in martial arts, from an authentic martial lineage. When she comes, I’ll have her climb the wall for you to see – whoosh, she’ll climb right up.”

“She’s busy with her master’s burial and will come in a few days.”

“Little Radish used to be a mercenary abroad. You know what mercenaries are like – very bloody. So don’t provoke him, be polite. People like this don’t lose their temper easily – I’ve never seen him angry – but if he really gets mad, it would be terrible. He might even burn down your inn.”

Brother Mao was speechless, wanting to ask: Then what exactly am I inviting such people to stay at the inn for?

“Hongsha – everyone calls her Second Fire. Her family has been treasure hunters for generations, very professional at going down treasure wells. Unfortunately, the lineage broke with her – she couldn’t develop the eyes to see treasure aura. She went to Four Villages, saying she wanted to extract a batch of raw stones.”

“Little Sansan is very good at socializing. You’ll definitely like him. He can mix drinks, and bars with him around always do well – he’s a living advertisement.”

“And there’s Cao Fatty, Cao Little Chubby. He used to hang around Liberation Monument, then became Little Pocket’s disciple. He raised a nice rooster named Liberation. Unfortunately, in the end, Liberation refused to come with us. I guess roosters still prefer playing with other roosters…”

Brother Mao asked: “Are they coming separately?”

“Together. Though they’ve each gone off to handle their own business now, they’ve agreed to meet up and come together…”

This morning, Shen Gun received a call from Luo Ren saying everyone was assembled and had already departed from Lijiang.

The ancient city wasn’t far from Lijiang – about two or three hours by car. Shen Gun was elated, running to the door to look out every little while. His reason: the ancient city’s inns were stacked upon inns, all looking similar, so having someone standing at the door made it conspicuous – a pure natural landmark.

Brother Mao found his running in and out annoying and said: “Then don’t come in.”

Shen Gun indeed didn’t come in anymore, constantly wandering around the main entrance. He struck up a conversation with some elementary school kids playing cards, bought a few cards for two yuan, and played with them enthusiastically.

Just as he was playing intensely, there was suddenly the sound of brakes behind him. Shen Gun was overjoyed and turned around shouting: “Little Radish, you’re here so fast!”

His eyes suddenly widened and his mouth wouldn’t close.

It was a somewhat new Land Cruiser, a Toyota 4500. Behind the windshield was a familiar figure, taking off sunglasses and raising his chin at him.

The car door opened, and Yue Feng got out from the driver’s seat.

Shen Gun was a bit dazed, not knowing how to react for a moment. Yue Feng said: “What are you looking at? It’s not like you’re seeing your master for the first time.”

Saying this, he walked around the front of the car to the other side and opened the rear door.

Shen Gun swallowed and, ignoring the kids pestering him to play his card, threw his hand away and scurried over.

“Little Feng Feng, how did you come?”

“You can come, but I can’t?”

Having said this, he frowned at the inside of the car: “What’s this – can’t get out of the car anymore? Are you Yue Xiao Feng or Yue Xiao Tang?”

Only then did Shen Gun notice that at the opened rear door, there was a little guy about two or three years old wearing split-crotch pants with half his little bottom exposed. His face was red from straining as he gripped the car door, struggling to climb down. His two short legs were kicking in mid-air with great effort, puffing and saying: “Aiyo, aiyo.”

This was Yue Feng and Ji Tangtang’s son.

It was said that initially, when the son was born, he was taken to a master for consultation. The master calculated for a while and spoke mysteriously, meaning that before the child turned three, he shouldn’t be given a name. If he must be called something, it should only use characters from the parents’ names – because logically, this child shouldn’t exist, and even if he did, he shouldn’t be a boy. If he were given a name and others called it too much, certain “things” might hear it, and the child couldn’t be protected.

If it were someone else, they probably would have hit the master with a brick, but both Yue Feng and his wife were very calm, saying: “Alright, let’s do it that way.”

Yue Feng’s child-rearing theory was: pamper daughters, but definitely raise sons tough. So although Yue Xiao Feng was only a little over two years old, he did everything himself. When he occasionally got lazy, Yue Feng would lecture him: “I’ll call you Yue Xiao Tang, and if you answer, I won’t force you to do it.”

Though Yue Xiao Feng was small, his little male chauvinism had already inflated. He always felt being called Yue Xiao Tang was super embarrassing. Several times Yue Feng made him cry, and he would say: “I’m called Yue Xiao Feng!”

The car door was a bit high, and he probably couldn’t get down. There was a cry of alarm from the steps, and Sister-in-law Mao rushed down like a wisp of smoke, scolding: “Feng Zi, you’re asking for trouble again! Little Mao Tou’s new clothes – can he still wear them after rubbing against this?”

She rushed over in a few steps and scooped up Yue Xiao Feng.

Yue Feng didn’t speak, smiling as he watched Yue Xiao Feng in Sister-in-law Mao’s arms. Yue Xiao Feng was very embarrassed, covering his face with his little hands, but his fingers were spread apart, peeking at Yue Feng through the gaps.

Then he lowered his head, buried it in Sister-in-law Mao’s embrace, and said in a baby voice: “I’m not called Yue Xiao Tang.”

Only then did Yue Feng look at Sister-in-law Mao: “Sister-in-law, help me watch the kid for two days.”

Sister-in-law Mao leaned in to look inside the car: “Where’s your wife? Didn’t she come with you?”

“She has something to do. I’m going to find her. It’s inconvenient to bring the little guy, so I’m dropping him off here.”

He looked at Yue Xiao Feng: “Do you remember everything I taught you? Who are you?”

Yue Xiao Feng lowered his head, rubbing his little hands together, saying: “A little little man.”

“Who are our own people?”

“Uncle Mao Mao, Auntie Mao Mao.”

Shen Gun protested: “How am I not one of our own people? What about me?”

“Can you let people bully you?”

“No.”

“Do you need to be fierce?”

“Yes!”

“What do you do if you miss Daddy and Mommy?”

“Call them.”

“What must you absolutely never do?”

“Cry.”

When he said the word “cry,” he rubbed under his nose with his hand and sniffled.

Yue Feng was satisfied. He reached out to pat Yue Xiao Feng’s head, then turned to get in the car. Sister-in-law Mao was anxious: “Won’t you come in for some tea? Your Brother Mao, Brother Mao hasn’t even come out yet…”

“No need. I’ll be back in a few days to pick up the little guy anyway.” He started the car, then suddenly rolled down the window and beckoned to Shen Gun.

“Want to come with your master?”

Shen Gun’s eyes lit up, and he swallowed several times in excitement: “Is there… something fun?”

Yue Feng gave him an enigmatic look: “Right up your alley, quite thrilling.”

Having said this, he stepped on the gas. Shen Gun let out a howl and ran after the car. Under Sister-in-law Mao’s dumbfounded gaze, he frantically pulled open the car door and, like a close-range torpedo, practically leaped into the back seat.

The car door was tried several times before finally closing. At the intersection, it made a beautiful spinning turn and disappeared.

This… they just left like that?

Sister-in-law Mao stood in the suddenly quiet air. Not far beside her, several elementary school kids were playing cards.

She felt something was… not right.

The next moment, she suddenly realized – Shen Gun had been stationed at the main entrance all morning, saying he was going to “welcome” his friends, and he just… left like that?

Even without Shen Gun as the intermediary, the first meeting between Brother Mao and Luo Ren’s group was relatively successful.

Comparing them with Shen Gun’s previous introductions, Brother Mao matched each person before him with their description.

In his eyes, although Luo Ren was the most reliable in handling matters, polite and modest, wanting to become close friends with him or take things further was actually quite difficult. In other words, Luo Ren wasn’t someone who easily made friends with people.

Conversely, he hit it off immediately with Yi Wansan and Cao Yanhua. These two were most like the friends he already knew, with that carefree, go-with-the-flow wandering spirit. After chatting for just a few sentences, Yi Wansan generously offered that he could help at the bar in the evening and give some guidance to Brother Mao’s not-so-skilled bartender.

Yan Hongsha was naturally sociable, circling around him asking endless questions, with the attitude of someone who wouldn’t rest until she had thoroughly investigated all the tourism information about the ancient city.

The one Brother Mao noticed most was actually Mu Dai, because among the group, she was the least attention-grabbing.

She stood behind Luo Ren, didn’t talk much, and mostly listened to Luo Ren and the others speak. Occasionally when her gaze met Brother Mao’s, she would smile lightly.

How strange. People had auras, and among these people before him – Luo Ren, Yi Wansan, Cao Yanhua, and even Yan Hongsha – their auras were all outward-projecting. Only this Mu Dai’s was drawn inward.

Brother Mao pondered that over the many years, he had met many people, and truly… there were very few like Mu Dai.

Entering the backyard, Yan Hongsha, armed with information she had gathered from Brother Mao, assumed the posture of a seasoned tour guide and issued orders, saying everyone should go to their rooms to put down their luggage first, then gather in the courtyard. They would first go eat at such-and-such place, then go play at such-and-such place, and in the afternoon they could rent bicycles to tour around the ancient city.

She really was talented – eating, lodging, sightseeing – she had already arranged a half-day itinerary route.

Mu Dai’s luggage was handled by someone else – this was the benefit of having both a boyfriend and a disciple. While everyone went to their respective rooms, she waited alone in the backyard. Brother Mao’s backyard was arranged quite tastefully, with a glass-roofed sunny little study, swing flower racks, artificial hills, and small flower beds.

She walked and looked around, suddenly stopping outside the glass study.

Inside was a little guy about two or three years old, crying.

He was crying with restraint – not the kind of loud wailing, but very sadly, constantly wiping his tears with the back of his hand. After crying for a while, he would pull a tissue from the tissue box to blow his nose.

Mu Dai quietly pushed the glass door open a crack.

She heard his baby voice muttering.

“I’m so pitiful, I was picked up from somewhere.”

Children this age could mostly speak coherent sentences, but between the lines, there was that serious, word-by-word earnestness that sounded especially funny. Mu Dai couldn’t help herself and burst out laughing with a “pfft.”

The little guy immediately became alert, whipping around with a fierce expression and saying: “Who are you!”