The night was deep and quiet.

Shen Gun stood in front of the fish tank, his bottom sticking out, clicking his tongue in admiration as he examined the Ferocious Slip in the water. Who knows where he had found a magnifying glass, which he occasionally brought close to his eyes, squinting like an old scholar oblivious to the outside world.

“Is this a male phoenix or a female phoenix? Look at these patterns, so intricate, so delicate. Even the finest craftsman couldn’t carve like this,” he said.

Luo Ren felt somewhat weary. The rain had diminished significantly, but still pattered incessantly, bringing an unexpected chill in the middle of the night.

Luo Ren didn’t take Shen Gun’s visit too seriously. This man was always boisterous—to say he was knowledgeable seemed wrong, as his mouth was always full of speculations, yet to say he was ignorant also seemed off, as he often spoke sensibly—just like his name, “Shen Gun” or “divine charlatan,” one couldn’t entirely believe him, yet couldn’t entirely disbelieve him either.

Luo Ren said, “You can stay here tonight. Uncle Zheng has prepared the guest room downstairs. Stay or not, it’s up to you. Stay as long as you want. If there’s nothing else, I’ll go to sleep first.”

He turned to leave when Shen Gun called from behind, “Luo Ren.”

For a moment, Luo Ren felt strange but couldn’t pinpoint why—until he realized.

Shen Gun was always irreverent, habitually calling him “Little Radish.” This seemed to be the first time he had addressed him by his full name.

His tone was also unusually solemn.

Luo Ren turned back.

Shen Gun dragged a chair over and sat down, pointing his index finger at the outer wall of the fish tank. “Fishing Line Puppet, Immortal Pointing the Way, Rouge Amber—that’s three now.”

Yes, three.

“Do you feel anything?”

Feel? Luo Ren frowned: What could he possibly feel?

Shen Gun said, “You can’t be like a donkey pulling a millstone, moving only when whipped. You need to think.”

His eyes rolled around, and he pressed his fingertips to his temples, assuming the posture of someone deep in thought.

Luo Ren felt both annoyed and amused.

“Haven’t you ever wondered where these Ferocious Slips came from? Why are there seven? Why did they appear in those places you found them? Why do they harm people? Is harming people their only purpose, or do they have some other aim? Why is it important to retrieve them?”

Why, why—Shen Gun had suddenly transformed into a barrage of questions.

Luo Ren asked, “Do you know?”

“I don’t know either, but at least I’m thinking about it.” Shen Gun shifted his bottom on the chair and turned back toward the fish tank.

Luo Ren heard him murmur, “It’s not like whack-a-mole, hitting each one as it appears. There must be some connection between them…”

Perhaps, but where was this connection?

When Luo Ren left, Shen Gun was still pondering deeply, sitting cross-legged, one hand supporting his chin, like a comical version of The Thinker.

That night, Luo Ren didn’t sleep well. Shen Gun’s words and Mu Dai’s situation made it difficult for him to rest easily, resulting in many chaotic dreams.

He dreamed of walking on the street when suddenly all passersby moved stiffly, their limbs pulled by invisible strings; he dreamed of the sea raising wild waves, the water revealing the seabed, where beast bones formed a gigantic, vivid painting; he dreamed of a weather doll hanging under the eaves, which eerily winked at him, as if saying: Guess where the connection lies?

Finally, he dreamed of Mu Dai.

She sat in darkness, surrounded by a hazy glow, lifting her face to smile at him.

Luo Ren went over and embraced her, feeling that the ancient description of girls as “warm fragrance and soft jade” was indeed accurate.

He lowered his head to kiss her cheek and asked, “Where did you go?”

She smiled at him mischievously and said, “You guess.”

…

The dream ended there. When he woke up, it was five in the morning.

Luo Ren smiled bitterly: Everyone wanted him to guess, but how could he guess all this?

No longer sleepy, he got up and first went to the room where the Ferocious Slips were kept.

The light inside was off, with no sound whatsoever. He thought Shen Gun had gone to sleep in the guest room downstairs, but when he turned on the light, he found a white paper conspicuously stuck to the outside of the fish tank with transparent tape.

On it was a scrawled message.

—I’ve gone to Hangu Pass.

Aunt Zheng Shuiyu and Uncle He Qiang were whispering in the corner, making Zheng Li feel very awkward.

She looked at Mu Dai somewhat anxiously.

She had brought Mu Dai here. On the bus, grateful for Mu Dai’s help, she had desperately wanted to repay her. Upon learning that Mu Dai was looking for someone, she quickly mentioned her aunt: “My aunt has been in Nantian County for many years. It’s a small place—whoever you’re looking for, she’s sure to know.”

She had also asked Mu Dai if she had a place to stay: “If you don’t mind, you can stay with me. My aunt’s restaurant is hiring anyway, so it’s no problem if you want to work there.”

She had spoken too confidently. Upon arrival, she discovered that Zheng Shuiyu’s restaurant was only a small business.

Seeing that Zheng Li had brought someone along, Zheng Shuiyu’s face immediately fell.

Mu Dai, however, seemed not to notice. She leaned against the restaurant door, looking outside: it was a very small, narrow street, thick with the atmosphere of daily life. At the head of the street was a grocery store, at the end were vegetable stalls, and there were bicycle repairmen and barbers—everything one could need, like a small world unto itself.

Diagonally across the street was a cotton candy vendor. Pedaling a machine, the vendor spun a small wooden stick in a round tray, and fine sugar threads wrapped around it, gradually forming a white, plump “baby.”

Mu Dai watched with interest, striding over to ask the price—two yuan each.

She bought one, instantly spending more than half of her entire fortune.

But it didn’t matter. Tearing off a wisp and putting it in her mouth, pressing it with her tongue, then gently licking it, the sweetness spread throughout her mouth.

A happiness that felt almost unreal.

Zheng Li hurried over, lowering her voice.

“Sister Mu Mu, if my aunt doesn’t want to… don’t be angry. I can think of something else.”

What could a seventeen-year-old girl possibly think of? Mu Dai said, “They will hire me.”

She spoke with certainty.

At the same time, Zheng Shuiyu made up her mind.

This girl was pretty and could help attract customers: the regular patrons were mostly young men, and who didn’t like looking at a beautiful girl?

Moreover, Little Li said she could fight: this was perfect, as the restaurant often had troublemakers, and fights inevitably affected innocent bystanders—last time, when a group of drunk hooligans caused trouble, her husband, He Qiang, went to break it up and took a brick to the face.

Having someone who could fight would be reassuring.

The room was an attic on the second floor—low, cramped, and damp. Zheng Li insisted on giving the bed to Mu Dai, while she slept on a single spring folding wire bed.

On the first day, they didn’t have to work. Mu Dai said, “I’ll go out for a walk.”

She didn’t say where she was going, just went downstairs alone. Zheng Li leaned out the window and, after a while, saw Mu Dai emerge.

With her hands in her coat pockets, she slowly walked past one street stall after another, then turned a corner and disappeared from view.

Zheng Shuiyu came upstairs with a kettle in her right hand and stacked water basins in her left, asking, “This Mu Dai, how does she not even have luggage?”

Zheng Li said, “Maybe she lost it on the way.”

Suddenly remembering something, she asked, “Aunt, do you have new toothbrushes, towels, and slippers? Sister Mu Mu might need them.”

Zheng Shuiyu frowned, “No!”

Then she gestured to the opposite side: “There’s a small supermarket downstairs. Can’t she buy them herself?”

Zheng Li was displeased, feeling that her aunt was being too stingy even in small matters.

She took out her small wallet, clutched it in her hand, and left with her head held high, her footsteps thudding down the stairs.

Nantian County was very small. Walking straight in one direction for just over half an hour brought one to the urban-rural fringe.

True to its name, corn and tomatoes grew in the yellow soil. After walking a few steps along the ridge between fields, Mu Dai unexpectedly encountered a large white goose.

She returned by the same route.

The dust was heavy, there were many vehicles, and plenty of motorcycles and bicycles. At the head of the bridge, food stalls were brazenly set up, with vendors in dirty aprons frying radish cakes.

No one came out to reprimand them for affecting the city’s appearance. In a small town, that’s how it was—dirty and messy, but exuding warmth and freedom.

There were children skipping school, squatting by the roadside, playing cards with their schoolbags behind them.

Radish cakes cost one yuan each.

Mu Dai waited by the oil wok, watching the batter-covered radish cakes bobbing in the hot oil.

She struck up a conversation with the vendor.

“I remember, in the past, standing at the head of the bridge and looking over there, there was a block of buildings, square and black.”

The vendor, holding a ladle, looked blankly in the direction she pointed. There now stood new buildings topped with huge advertisements featuring Kim Soo-hyun, the Korean star who had been extremely popular recently. He was giving a thumbs-up next to the slogan.

—English training at Blue Sky! A bright future tomorrow!

Kim Soo-hyun probably would never know that he had endorsed such an advertisement.

The vendor frowned, flipped some radish cakes with the ladle, and muttered, “How long ago was that? I don’t remember.”

Mu Dai said, “When I was a child.”

The vendor glanced at her: “When you were a child? So, fifteen years ago? Twenty years ago?”

She looked again at where Mu Dai was pointing, seeming to recall something: “Oh, yes, I remember there was something there. It was demolished.”

“Where did all the people from that building go?”

The vendor skillfully scooped up the radish cakes and placed them on a rack to drain: “They scattered, I suppose, moving wherever they could.”

That night, Mu Dai couldn’t sleep.

The small attic was stuffy, and mosquitoes had already launched their early offensive, buzzing incessantly, irritating everyone. Zheng Li was exasperated in her bed, the sound of slapping hands never ceasing.

She talked to Mu Dai while swatting mosquitoes.

“Sister Mu Mu, I asked my aunt. She said that block of buildings was demolished over ten years ago. They were old buildings that had become dangerous, with poor facilities and equipment.”

Indeed, they were poor.

In Mu Dai’s mind appeared those cramped stairs, the moss-covered water tank, and the faucet that, when turned on, made the entire plastic water pipe vibrate as if groundwater was about to gush forth.

“Sister Mu Mu, you only remember that the person you’re looking for liked to wear high heels? Don’t you remember the name?”

She didn’t remember. A child’s memory is strange.

She remembered looking from the bridge and seeing the old building where her home was, a square.

She remembered the day she was sent to the orphanage, sitting at the head of the bridge waiting for the long-distance bus, with the driver shouting, “Nantian, departing from Nantian!”

She remembered the worn-out sink at home, the cookie box with crumbs left inside.

But she couldn’t recall the person she called “mother.”

She didn’t remember her name or her face, because her face was always blurred, covered with coarse rice powder foundation.

What left the deepest impression were her shoes. Was it because she was short then, with a low line of sight?

Her mother loved wearing high heels, stubbornly stuffing her bony feet into ill-fitting shoes, the tops of her feet rubbed red, ignoring even when blisters formed on her heels.

Mu Dai said, “She liked to wear high heels, especially red ones. Back then, hardly anyone in the entire building dressed like that.”

With a slap, Zheng Li killed another mosquito.

She said, “That makes it easier. When we have time, we can ask around. In this county, many old residents have lived here for ten or twenty years. Someone is bound to remember.”