Yi Wansan spoke at length in one breath. When he stopped, the car became especially quiet. Night had fallen, and the scenery outside the window turned unfamiliar. They were passing through a county town with low, simple buildings. Perhaps for the convenience of passing drivers, there were many repair and car wash shops, with restaurants interspersed every few stores.

Luo Ren stopped the car: “Let’s eat.”

The two men chose a Sichuan restaurant and ordered a few dishes. Luo Ren ate very little, while Yi Wansan feasted heartily. As they were finishing, Luo Ren got up to make a phone call, taking the opportunity to pay the bill.

Not having to pay himself, nor split the check, though he’d expected this, Yi Wansan still felt reassured when it was confirmed. With his mind at ease, he ate even more.

Satisfied with food and drink, he pushed open the dirty glass door and went out. Luo Ren stood in the shadows to the side. A gust of wind brought a fragment of conversation: “…what about Mindanao Island then?”

Yi Wansan’s heart skipped a beat.

Years of living by his wits, scamming and then moving on, had cultivated a nature that trusted no one. Not just Luo Ren—he didn’t trust Mu Dai, Zhang Shu, or Fatty Cao either. It was as if he had an extremely sensitive antenna on top of his head, doing its utmost to probe for information, ready to react at the slightest hint of trouble.

Weren’t they going to Five Pearl Village? Why mention Mindanao Island? Was it near the village? And islands were just islands—how old did it have to be to be called an “old island”?

He pretended not to hear.

Back in the car, Yi Wansan secretly took out his phone to look it up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even an island in China.

The webpage said that Mindanao Island was the fourteenth largest island in the world and the second largest in the Philippines after Luzon. It was beautiful, but its reputation extended beyond just scenery: Mindanao was also known as the “homeland of terror” and the “kidnapping capital.” The largest anti-government armed forces in the southern Philippines were entrenched there, with constant conflicts. Multiple armed groups had been designated as terrorist organizations internationally.

What the hell was the Philippines? Yi Wansan didn’t care about geography or politics. He had only two perceptions of the Philippines.

First, the Philippines was a country.

Second, Filipino maids seemed quite popular—in Hong Kong TV dramas he’d watched years ago, people were always hiring Filipino maids.

Was the Philippines at war? Yi Wansan had always thought only Iraq had wars—those stirred up by the Americans.

Yi Wansan looked at Luo Ren in the driver’s seat and suddenly felt it was better to keep his distance: yes, he was a con man, but at least he was a simple con man.

Perhaps the car was too quiet, so Luo Ren continued the previous topic: “What happened after that? Just because of the old clan leader, you climbed onto the roof, knocked down the final beast, and then were driven out of the village? It feels like there’s a missing part to the story.”

Luo Ren’s instinct was quite accurate. There was indeed a missing part—a part that, even now, when he thought about it, still gave him satisfaction and relief.

He hadn’t caused trouble immediately. A teenager of his age began to calculate something: he couldn’t let them off so easily.

He returned to his empty home, curled up on the bed, and slept. Early the next morning, a tractor carried his mother’s body to the township crematorium.

Yi Wansan went with them. The old clan leader and several others also sat on the edge of the tractor. The township road was bumpy, and the white cloth covering the corpse kept shifting after a short while, exposing either his mother’s face or her feet. Yi Wansan spent the entire journey pulling the cloth back for his mother, as if as long as she was fully covered, she could maintain some dignity.

The old clan leader and his group smoked, their chatter suggesting they were quite happy.

They were discussing the previous night’s “old clams basking in the moonlight.”

—”Haven’t seen that in many years.”

—”This year’s going to be a good one.”

Good my ass! If two people in your family died, would you think it was a good year? Yi Wansan raised his head and glared fiercely at the old clan leader.

No one noticed him. The old clan leader’s expression was solemn, and he spoke gravely.

—”Old clams coming out of the water is no ordinary thing. In my opinion, there might be more than just those dozen or so. The most crucial thing is to see this year’s Mid-Autumn Festival. Clams have their spirit—basking in the Mid-Autumn moon, that’s true basking.”

Yi Wansan said nothing, but he didn’t miss a word.

Mid-Autumn? Everyone knew Mid-Autumn was also the Reunion Festival. This Mid-Autumn talk seemed to be mocking him.

Yi Wansan had buried the things he wanted to take and the money he’d gathered over the past few days outside the village.

Some of the money was given by villagers, some he had stolen. He stole without guilt, so brazenly that even those who pointed fingers couldn’t definitively say it was him: what thief would walk around with his head held high, without even blushing?

Then, the Mid-Autumn Festival arrived.

According to custom, every family steamed sweet cakes and vegetable-meat cakes, and some bought mooncakes from outside the village. Yi Wansan went from house to house, eating. As night fell and the villagers crowded toward the seaside, he still leaned indifferently against his door, his cheeks bulging as he chewed.

After he finished eating and the village grew quiet, he spat on the ground twice and took a large can of diesel from behind the door.

Carrying the can, he staggered toward the seaside.

It was the full moon of Mid-Autumn. “You want it round? I’ll burn you so you’ll never reincarnate.”

The villagers were afraid of disturbing the old clams, so they weren’t standing on the beach watching. They were all sitting scattered on distant rocks, overjoyed to see the twinkling light on the beach in the moonlight.

He intended to burn right in front of them, to burn their harvest hopes for the entire year, to make them jump with anger, to make them vomit blood, to make them cry to heaven and earth!

As he approached, there was already movement from the rocks. Someone stood up and shouted: “Whose child is that? Why aren’t the adults watching him?”

It was too dark to see clearly, only that the figure was small—a child.

Huh, whose child? He wanted to know too. His parents’ souls were probably floating on the cold sea, perhaps startled by this voice, opening their eyes to look at him.

His father’s urn lay at the bottom of the sea, who knew where the underwater currents had carried it. Even now, it hadn’t been found.

Yi Wansan poured diesel haphazardly over the clams, covering a patch of sea. The old clams were very sensitive; they closed their shells at the slightest disturbance. He didn’t care—he’d burn them anyway. The fragrance might spread, making a nice seafood dish.

He stood at a distance, lit the cloth torch that had been tucked at his waist, and saw several people already running toward him. He deliberately waited for them to get closer, then vengefully threw the torch onto that patch of sea.

The fire rose—so beautiful, like flowers blooming on the water, expansive and unrestrained. That scene, he would never forget in this lifetime.

Someone shouted angrily: “It’s Jiang Zhao’s son, that dog’s spawn!”

He ran. According to his plan, the villagers would be busy putting out the fire, and he would escape during the chaos, dig up his hidden luggage outside the village, and then set out into the world.

Yes, the calf fears no tiger. He was too young; he wasn’t afraid at all. Instead, he was full of yearning for the outside world.

But he had miscalculated. Not everyone went to put out the fire; almost half came to chase this “dog’s spawn.” And he miscalculated something else: adults ran faster than children.

The ancestral hall’s door was closed, so he couldn’t get in. He picked up a hammer from the pile of broken wood by the wall for self-defense, then climbed the wall using the woodpile and made his way to the roof. Thinking about it now, it was quite a suicidal escape method—he had sent himself into the encirclement.

He lifted tiles from the roof, throwing them down with a clatter. More and more people gathered around, with continuous screams from below.

The old clan leader called up to him: “Jiang Zhao, you’ve been possessed by demons! Come down!”

He tore off tiles more fiercely, throwing and cursing: “You all killed my father! You saw him in the water, but your black hearts didn’t go to save him!”

The old clan leader was like a self-taught negotiation expert: “Jiang Zhao, it’s not that we didn’t save him. No one saw him fall in at the time. We understand you have grievances… come down now. You can’t just tear up the ancestral hall roof…”

Before he could finish, a shout came from behind. A villager who had climbed onto the roof pounced like a tiger, grabbing his ankle and dragging him backward, forcibly pulling him down!

What was this—a feint? That hypocritical old man distracted him with talk while others climbed the wall?

As he was dragged down, Yi Wansan cursed incessantly, his hands desperately groping around. Suddenly, he felt the hammer he had brought up. Without thinking, he flung it violently toward the crowd below.

There was a clang.

The beast on the corner ridge, the one he liked best, the one that looked like Sun Wukong, broke on impact and fell toward the screaming, dodging crowd along with the hammer.

He didn’t know if anyone was hit.

Night had deepened. The headlights illuminated a small patch of road ahead, always just that small patch, no matter how long they drove.

This road seemed to have no end.

Luo Ren said, “Yi Wansan, you were pretty ruthless.”

Yi Wansan chuckled: “I thought the old clan leader would skin me alive, but he didn’t. Maybe because of what happened to my father, he felt guilty. Or maybe because both my parents were gone, and the eyes of the dead were watching from heaven, he didn’t dare do anything to me.”

Anyway, he remembered the day he was driven out of the village. It was a morning, a bit chilly. The villagers had gathered at the village entrance. He had been walking among them when someone suddenly pushed him, shoving him out of the large circle, making him stand opposite them.

One person against many, many people.

A battered child facing many, many angry adults.

The old clan leader said, “Jiang Zhao, from now on, you are no longer a member of our Five Pearl Village. If you dare to step into the village again, don’t blame the villagers for being unkind.”

Unkind indeed. A year’s income, a year’s hope! He looked into pair after pair of eyes—all red with hatred, like wolves and tigers.

He spat on the ground: “If I don’t come back, I don’t come back. I don’t even want to come back.”

That autumn morning, he swayed away, wearing tattered clothes, head held high, walking out of the villagers’ sight.

He never went back. Some people who suffer outside might think of home, but he never did. He never missed it. Occasionally, when he thought of it, the only thought that came to mind was: that godforsaken place.

He patted Luo Ren’s seat: “Luo Ren, remember, guarantee my absolute safety. I burned their old clams, cut off their source of income, tore off the ancestral hall tiles—equivalent to skinning the Jiang ancestors. Those old bastards—their threats aren’t empty.”

Luo Ren smiled: “How old were you then? More than ten years have passed. Even if you stood in front of them now, they might not recognize you.”

Was that so?

Yi Wansan felt a bit apprehensive about returning home, muttering to himself: “Maybe I should disguise myself. Where’s a convenient place to buy a wig or something…”