Rushing as fast as he could, using planes, minibuses, tractors, and motorcycles, Cao Yanhua finally arrived at the place with the fixed-line telephone by sunset on the second day.

This place couldn’t really be called a village, just a few households along the road, one of which ran a small grocery store.

Cao Yanhua entered the grocery store furtively to make his call, pulling his collar up to his chin, afraid of being recognized. This fear was completely unnecessary, since when he had left Cao Family Village, he had been a frail, delicate young man—the fullness bestowed upon him by the years had diluted everyone’s memory of him.

The shopkeeper was a man of about sixty, chatting with a neighbor who had come to sit idly.

“They’re holding a banquet over at Cao Family Village in a few days…”

“Are you going?”

“Yes, I heard they’ve already hired the chef, three days of grand feasts. When I went to the market yesterday, I couldn’t even buy pork. They said it was all pre-ordered by Old Cao’s family…”

Cao Yanhua had his back to them as he dialed Luo Ren’s number, keeping his voice very low, telling him his location and asking if there was any news from Wan Fenghuo.

Unfortunately, there was none yet.

After hanging up, Cao Yanhua paid reluctantly. The old shopkeeper looked at him curiously and asked, “Where are you headed?”

Cao Yanhua raised his head and pointed in the direction of Cao Family Village.

This somehow excited the shopkeeper: “Are you a relative of the Cao family? Are you here for the wedding? These days, many people working outside have been coming back.”

The more he said, the more mistakes he might make. Cao Yanhua didn’t want to engage in casual conversation and left with mumbles and hesitation.

The neighbor beside him watched Cao Yanhua’s retreating figure and concluded: “He must be a local too, listen to that accent. But his face isn’t familiar!”

Before the shopkeeper could agree, a sputtering noise erupted as a motorcycle belching black exhaust stopped at the store entrance, letting off a woman who had been sitting sidesaddle on the back.

The woman was tall and large, about twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, slightly plump, wearing a tight knockoff Chanel suit, walking in wedge heels, carrying a small clutch, with a pair of sunglasses branded “lu” perched on her nose.

Who was this? The shopkeeper frowned, squinting to recognize her.

Finally, she took off her sunglasses.

They say a beautiful woman’s three weapons are a mask, sunglasses, and her back view, but this wasn’t entirely true—once the sunglasses came off, a pair of phoenix eyes with slightly upturned corners were revealed, and her appearance was quite decent.

The shopkeeper suddenly realized: “You’re the Cao family’s eldest daughter… Cao Jinhua, right?”

Cao Jinhua’s smiling face immediately fell upon hearing this. She said, “Uncle, I’ve changed my name already. I’m called Jenny, Cao Jenny.”

At around eight in the evening, news finally came from Wan Fenghuo.

It was good news, relatively speaking.

In simple terms, Wan Fenghuo’s colleagues across various regions didn’t break any laws, but due to their need to gather all kinds of insider information, they occasionally “used dark channels,” neither blocking nor participating in various underground transactions, but fully aware of them.

They reported that in Kaiyuan and its surrounding areas, there were no reported cases of human trafficking. If there truly were any, they would certainly be isolated incidents, carried out by outsiders, and extremely rare.

Someone had gone to Cao Family Village to check and reported “a scene of harmony and celebration.” In this village, almost every family was related by blood or marriage, so the red wedding characters weren’t just displayed by the family hosting the wedding—every household was cleaning their facades, hanging colorful lanterns or flowers from their lintels. Since the courtyard wasn’t big enough, they were setting up wedding canopies in the village’s public threshing ground. Many people from Cao Family Village who worked outside had been returning successfully.

The implication was: Have you ever seen human traffickers celebrate a wedding so grandly?

They hadn’t been able to see the girl, but it was said that Cao Yanhua’s second cousin Qingshan and the girl were in a relationship of their choosing, and the couple had even gone to the county town recently to take wedding photos.

…

They couldn’t contact Cao Yanhua for the moment, but Luo Ren felt that this news actually made things more complicated.

If trafficking didn’t exist, and everything that happened was just to trick Cao Yanhua into returning home, why use this method of placing a shitpot on the villagers’ heads?

There could be many reasonable excuses—parents seriously ill, family suffering a disaster—who would have the peculiar thinking to use human trafficking as a reason?

Yi Wansan shared this view, and in his opinion, the truth of the matter was even more frightening.

Could the girl move freely? Perhaps besides being trafficked, she was forced, for some unavoidable reason, to put on a brave face, pretending to be happily in love both in public and private.

Everyone around her couldn’t be trusted, which is why she took such a great risk to seek help from Qingshan’s cousin, someone she had never met but who was a “city person.”

She couldn’t care anymore if Cao Yanhua was also in collusion with the village, showing how desperate and helpless she was.

Yi Wansan, having analyzed thus far, sighed deeply.

Luo Ren smiled bitterly but couldn’t find words to refute him. Moreover, they had lost contact with Cao Yanhua and didn’t know what was happening there.

However, if Cao Yanhua couldn’t handle it alone, he would certainly find a way to contact them again.

So finally, Luo Ren said: “Let’s wait and see a bit longer.”

One day without news, two days without news, three days… still no news.

The first to become impatient was Mu Dai. Although Cao Yanhua hadn’t formally set up an incense altar, lit incense, and kowtowed to recognize her as his master, she had verbally acknowledged him. If something happened to him, theoretically, she could seek help from her senior martial brother Zheng Mingshan and her master. In her master’s words, because they were from the same school, even without blood relations, they should watch out for each other.

She called the small grocery store.

The shopkeeper asked: “Who is Cao Yanhua? Never heard of him.”

Mu Dai was so anxious she jumped up and down: “He’s the cousin of Qingshan, who’s getting married. Years ago, he didn’t want to marry Cao Jinhua and beat a gong on the roof.”

This scene must have been a “beautiful story” passed down for miles around. The shopkeeper was stunned speechless for a moment, then suddenly became inexplicably excited: “You mean Big Mound?”

Big Mound…

Such a resounding name—did it belong to someone she knew? This time, it was Mu Dai who was speechless.

The shopkeeper was extremely excited: “You mean Cao Tudun! That lad, good heavens, back then he beat a gong on the roof, and it took his father and four men to subdue him…”

It’s said that after this incident, when building houses around Cao Family Village, people tried to avoid flat roofs, preferring to build slippery, pointed eaves and ridges—this was a typical case of a small person changing local architectural customs through his efforts.

Mu Dai stuttered: “Has Cao… Tudun returned home?”

No, certainly not. If Cao Tudun, absent for more than eight years, had suddenly and openly returned to Cao Family Village, it would surely be more sensational news than Qingshan’s wedding.

Upon further inquiry, Cao Family Village was still immersed in the festive atmosphere of the approaching wedding.

Hanging up the phone, Mu Dai was deeply worried.

Since the festive atmosphere was continuing, it was unlikely that “the bride was rescued and fled with Cao Yanhua.” So, where had Cao Yanhua gone?

That night it rained heavily. There weren’t many people in the bar. Mu Dai occupied a table in the corner alone. Though she knew it was unlikely that Cao Yanhua would send a message, she kept refreshing her phone page over and over.

Yi Wansan was in a good mood, swaying as he carried a tray over, bringing her a latte with latte art.

On top, it read “Oppose arranged marriages, support freedom in love.”

Mu Dai was truly irritated. She lowered her head and sipped at the edge of the coffee, immediately sucking the word “freedom” into her mouth, with coffee foam bubbles on her lips.

Yi Wansan looked at her disapprovingly—some people, by nature, should never be discussed in terms of art, mood, conception, or refinement.

Mu Dai asked: “What do you think is happening with Fatty Cao now?”

Quite fittingly, just as she finished speaking, outside, a meandering flash of lightning tore open the sky, and amid the dense sound of rain came a rumbling thunder.

Yi Wansan said, “He might have been captured.”

“Locked in Cao Jinhua’s cellar, suffering severe torture, and finally having to endure humiliation to survive—don’t worry, Boss Lady, he’ll be back in a year, with a simple smile on his face, one baby in his arms, another on his back, and holding the hand of yet another…”

This angered Mu Dai so much that she swung a cushion from the chair at him.

The glass door of the bar was pushed open. Someone stopped at the entrance to close an umbrella, folding the ribs together as water streamed down from the umbrella’s surface like a creek.

It was Luo Ren.

Yi Wansan clicked his tongue: “Braving wind and rain, eh?”

He was quite perceptive, tucking the tray under his arm and returning to his base at the bar counter.

Compared to Mu Dai, Yi Wansan wasn’t as worried about Cao Yanhua for the moment: doing things always takes time—perhaps Brother Cao was currently planning, thinking, strategizing, waiting for the right moment. How could it be as simple as going today and achieving great success tomorrow?

Luo Ren came over. Mu Dai moved a bit deeper into her chair. As usual, Luo Ren generally didn’t sit opposite her but preferred to sit beside her.

His body still carried the dampness of the heavy rain and wind.

He said, “If there’s still no definite news from Cao Yanhua in the next day or two, we might have to go over and check.”

Mu Dai nodded. Indeed, whether commissioning Wan Fenghuo or calling the police, it didn’t feel as reassuring as going there themselves—moreover, in the current situation, which was almost like peace and prosperity, calling the police wouldn’t work at all.

They chatted about some usual topics.

The business at Phoenix Building, whether Uncle Zheng should innovate with some home-style dishes, Pin Ting’s recovery situation, the progress with Shen Gun, and hints from the Phoenix-Luan Clasp.

The hints from the Phoenix-Luan Clasp always appeared randomly, and except for the “immortal pointing the way” incident, later signs weren’t seen by everyone—regarding this point, Luo Ren’s view was: the purpose of the hints was to let one person know, and that person would inform the others, which was sufficient.

When would the hint appear this time?

Mu Dai asked Luo Ren: “Should I learn from Fatty Cao and stare at every piece of wood I find, staring and staring until I see hallucinations?”

She widened her eyes, assuming a posture of unwavering focus, staring intently at the wall opposite.

That was the bar’s “creative wall,” with many messages and graffiti. Some customers, drunk and heartbroken, would borrow a pen from the bar and go write on it. Once, a customer went up crying and wrote “The Song of Everlasting Regret,” long passage after long passage, reciting without a single mistake. Everyone in the shop gathered around to watch. When that customer wrote the final line, “This regret is endless without respite,” a burst of warm applause erupted behind him.

She suddenly seemed like an old monk in deep meditation. Luo Ren couldn’t help smiling. As his gaze inadvertently swept across the wall, his body suddenly stiffened.

Then, he quickly stood up and walked to the wall, half-kneeling to look.

It was a cheetah, drawn with extremely simple red lines, yet capturing powerful muscles, four limbs suspended in air, flipping as if about to fly, the cheetah’s head turned outward, one eye squinting, with red blood dripping from the eye socket.

Luo Ren’s hanging hand clenched, veins bulging on the back of his hand, his Adam’s apple imperceptibly rolling slightly.

Mu Dai had come over without him noticing and asked: “What’s wrong?”

“Who drew this cheetah?”

Mu Dai had no impression: “Probably a customer.”

Luo Ren had a voice inside saying, Definitely not a customer.

“When was it drawn?”

“Don’t remember, probably drawn before.”

No, it must have been recent, yesterday, or even today—if this drawing had been there before, he definitely wouldn’t have missed it.

Mu Dai looked at him with concern: “What’s wrong?”

Luo Ren was silent for a long time, then said: “It’s well-drawn.”

Before sleeping, Mu Dai kept thinking about Luo Ren’s strange reaction and that drawing.

She fell into a drowsy sleep, then suddenly woke with a start, her back cold upon waking, not knowing where she was. Before her was complete darkness, with only the sound of intense breathing.

The breathing gradually calmed, and finally she realized she was in a cold, damp cave, her position strange, as if high on the cave wall.

Her whole being was in a daze, surrounded by humidity, mustiness, and an atmosphere of despair.

Small grains of sand fell softly before her eyes.

Then, suddenly, someone flipped straight down from the cave ceiling, passing rapidly before her eyes, followed by a muffled sound as they fell heavily to the bottom of the cave.

The cave brightened. She looked down to see the person lying in a pool of blood. She recognized the attire and the dagger tucked into the lower back where the shirt had lifted.

She began to cry, tears flowing more and more, calling out to him with a hoarse voice: “Luo Ren?”

…

As she cried, she woke up.

Opening her eyes, the room was pitch black. She reached for her phone to check the time—not much time had passed since she had gone to bed. She had merely had a nightmare in a very short period.

The dream was so vivid that it made her fear the bed. She reached out to touch her cheek—it was indeed wet.

Mu Dai turned and got out of bed. Her feet searched for a while on the floor, but couldn’t find her shoes. She simply went barefoot, the soles of her feet touching the cold floor, the coolness slowly rising from the Yongquan acupoint.

She walked to the window and pushed it open with her hand.

From here, she could see Luo Ren’s room, in that direction, embraced by darkness, with a light still on.

He wasn’t asleep either.

Instinctively, Mu Dai brought her hands together, lowered her head, and touched her forehead with her joined fingertips.

In her heart, she silently recited: It’s just a nightmare, just a dream.