They stayed in Yuncheng that night. It wasn’t too far from the location Ding Yudie had provided—with a few hours of hurried travel tomorrow morning, they should arrive by noon.
Yi Sa lay on the bed, talking to Ding Yudie on the phone. Just from his voice, she could imagine his animated expression: “When I paid attention, there was a car following me, acting all sneaky. So I led them on a wild goose chase… Sa Sa, what exactly are you up to?”
“Want to know?”
Ding Yudie hesitated: “Is it dangerous?”
He especially cherished life now.
“Dangerous, people might even die.”
Zong Hang was about to leave the room with a book when he suddenly stepped back: “Yi Sa, are you coming to watch me practice today?”
Yi Sa didn’t look up: “If I have time.”
Zong Hang made a sound of acknowledgment and left.
Ding Yudie sighed on the other end, clearly not wanting to get involved. That made sense—his life was comfortable now, without mortal danger, without opponents, without enemies. There was no need to dive into troubled waters just to satisfy curiosity.
Being able to control unnecessary curiosity was also a skill.
“Can you tell me about it later? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Why should I tell you?”
Ding Yudie complained indignantly: “I helped you investigate the kiln, handled logistics, didn’t ask for a penny—and I can’t even hear a little secret?”
That was reasonable. Yi Sa thought for a moment: “Continue tomorrow, do whatever theatrics you want. The more confused you make those people, the better.”
After hanging up, she watched TV listlessly for a while, feeling like she’d forgotten something—it took a while before she remembered she’d promised to watch Zong Hang practice.
Actually, at the foundational stage, persistence was key; there wasn’t much to coach. Yi Sa found the stairwell and sat on the stairs as usual, thinking she’d watch for a while and then leave.
Zong Hang’s movements were more standard than before, though his eyes showed an eagerness to progress quickly—but that was impossible. Unless some master descended from heaven to open his meridians and transfer a lifetime of skills to him—but that was just fiction.
Her mind wandered, and she happened to glance at the corner, suddenly noticing a burning mosquito coil leaning against the wall, its smoke so thin it was barely visible.
Her gaze rolled out like an unfurling cloth, then rolled back, her eyelids lowering as she pretended not to notice.
Mosquito coil…
No wonder he’d asked if she was coming to watch.
The clock struck four in the morning.
Ding Xi yawned.
The antique shop was quite interesting, a mishmash of dynasties and figures: a benevolent-looking Bodhisattva sat on the left, a bound terracotta warrior stood on a shelf, and a hemp monk’s robe from who-knows-which dynasty hung in mid-air.
He sat in the master’s chair, before him a carved openwork nanmu writing desk with an eerie red dressing mirror on top. The mirror surface was foggy, making reflections look ghostlike. He deliberately looked into it, even rubbing his bluish bald head, as if the shaved hair was coming back to life, ready for combing.
In front of the desk, the aging small-built shop owner trembled like a sieve, wearing a placating smile. Beside him were two young men, one burly, one lean, both with bruised faces.
Ding Xi brought over a torn shoulder bag: “It’s all here.”
Ding Xi took it. The bag was open, and he simply turned it upside down: a gold ingot fell out with a clatter, accompanied by a shower of bills of various denominations—quite a grand entrance.
He picked up the persimmon gold and examined it from all angles, then rubbed it in his hand: seven parts green, eight parts yellow, nine parts five red—this quality was good stuff.
The small shop owner laughed nervously: “Mr… Mr. Ding, look, we’ve returned the items…”
Ding Xi smiled: “When people come to sell things if you have the money you buy, if not you just look. Arranging people to rob them—isn’t that a bit shameless? At your age, you don’t seem like someone who doesn’t know better.”
The owner’s forehead was sweating: “Yes, yes.”
“What do you mean ‘yes’? You injured people too? Going to the hospital isn’t free, is it?”
The owner froze for a few seconds, then suddenly understood: “Right, right.”
In the antique business, shops always kept cash on hand. The owner hurriedly went to the next room and came out with two stacks of bills, probably around twenty thousand. He respectfully placed them on the table: “How about we consider this matter settled…”
Ding Xi turned to Ding Xi: “Street assault and malicious robbery—should we just let it go?”
The owner’s breath caught in his throat.
Ding Xi was good with words: “Brother Xi, fighting can lead to friendship. Let’s make a friend of him, let it go.”
The more you’re on your turf, the more careful you need to be.
Ding Xi laughed heartily. He stood up and walked to the owner, heavily patting his back. Each pat left the owner struggling to breathe: “Fine, let’s be friends. We’ll let it go this time.”
Leaving the antique shop, Ding Xi got into the Grand Cherokee’s back seat. Ding Xi started the car: “Brother Xi, where to now?”
At this hour, nowhere was suitable. Ding Xi said: “Drive around the city, look at the scenery.”
Pitch black, what damn scenery, but Ding Xi knew better than to question it.
Ding Xi dialed a number, quietly waiting for the other end to connect, while taking out the persimmon gold again, examining it carefully in the occasional light from outside the car.
After a while, he spoke.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“I remember, when the warehouse distributed items to the water ghosts, there should be records of who got what, right?”
“Help me check something—I remember there was a batch of gold ingots, yes, persimmon gold…” At this point, he slowly rotated the gold ingot’s edge until he found an inconspicuous engraving of “一” (one). “There are markings. Who were they distributed to?”
After hanging up, his expression blank, he pinched his brow and instructed Ding Xi: “Drive steadily.”
This meant he wanted to take a nap. Ding Xi acknowledged and turned the car toward the outskirts.
When the phone rang again, dawn was breaking. The car had somehow stopped near Mount Meng. Looking up, you could see the cliff-carved Great Buddha in the morning mist, eyes closed in meditation, compassionate and solemn, naturally imposing without anger.
Ding Xi felt uncomfortable—people like him didn’t like looking at deities and Buddhas.
He answered the phone.
The other end had checked the records and answered in detail: “That batch wasn’t large, twenty-seven pieces in total, with three types of engravings. Eleven pieces with an ‘S’-like mark went to Yi Yunqiao; seven pieces with a ‘一’ mark went to Yi Xiao; the remaining ones with a ‘文’-like mark went to Jiang Jun.”
Jing Xiu hadn’t slept well all night.
She woke up at dawn, sitting disheveled on the bed for a while before getting up to pack her bag: she couldn’t afford to extend her stay, and if worse came to worst, she’d have to move to Ding Xi’s place.
She wished she could have some dignity, but for most people, dignity needed money to support it.
As she was packing, the door suddenly opened, making Jing Xiu scream in fright.
After being robbed, she was like a startled bird, jumping at the slightest sound.
Ding Xi entered with furrowed brows: “What are you screaming about? Seen a ghost?”
Jing Xiu said: “Didn’t you say you were going out on business and wouldn’t be back for days? How…”
She suddenly stopped speaking, her eyes fixed on the bag in Ding Xi’s hand.
Half-old, bright yellow, with a broken chain—isn’t that…
Ding Xi tossed the bag over: “Here, found it back, no big deal.”
He went into the bathroom to wash his face.
Among the sound of running water, Jing Xiu checked the contents of the bag: her money was there, the persimmon gold was there, and there were two extra stacks of bills…
By the time Ding Xi came out, Jing Xiu had taken out the two stacks of money and set them aside: “This… isn’t mine.”
“It’s compensation for medical expenses. You didn’t get beaten for nothing, right? Consider it carefully—if necessary, go to the hospital for a check-up. Just sleeping won’t heal you… I’m leaving.”
Jing Xiu clutched the bag opening, not knowing what to say.
Ding Xi shook his hands and pulled open the door, but didn’t leave immediately. As if suddenly remembering something, he turned back and asked: “That persimmon gold, Yi Xiao gave it to you, right?”
Jing Xiu froze, unsure whether to answer or not.
Ding Xi said: “Nothing special, just that last time on the boat, she made such a fool of me, I want to have a word with her. Since you’re so close to her, could you help me pass along a message…”
Jing Xiu awkwardly replied: “I haven’t been in contact with her for a long time, haven’t seen her since the boat.”
Ding Xi made a sound of acknowledgment, paused, then said: “I’m leaving.”
Ding Xi walked toward the elevator, walking faster and faster. Seeing the floor display, he figured it would take a while to arrive, furrowed his brow, and went straight down the stairs instead.
Ding Xi was slouching carelessly in the driver’s seat when he suddenly saw Ding Xi approaching. He quickly sat up straight and lowered his head to fasten his seatbelt: “Brother Xi, are we going to the kiln?”
After repeatedly postponing, surely this trip would finally begin?
“Go to my godfather’s place, now.”
Ding Changsheng lived in a high-end residential complex in the city center.
Actually, if he had a choice, he’d prefer living in the countryside, with ancestral halls, great rivers, old opera stages, and leather crafts—everything exuding the familiarity of yellow earth.
Although buying property in big cities was trendy nowadays, he always felt it was neither one thing nor the other. The only advantage was that neighbor relationships were cold, everyone keeping to themselves behind closed doors, no one prying into or being curious about others, giving him much peace and quiet.
At this hour, he had just finished his morning run and was having breakfast.
His wife had gone back to her parents’ home for a while, and the housekeeper’s cooking didn’t suit his taste. Too lazy to cook, he had bought breakfast on his way back from his morning run—spicy soup, fried dough sticks, and chive egg pancakes. The dining table at home had a marble top, grand and imposing, able to seat more than ten people around it. Placing these few-yuan meals on it seemed somewhat inappropriate.
He had just taken a few bites when someone rang the doorbell.
Ding Changsheng didn’t move, continuing to chew slowly while the housekeeper who was vacuuming went to open the door.
Ding Xi changed into indoor shoes and came over.
Ding Changsheng frowned: “You haven’t left yet?”
Too slow, too slow in handling matters, but since he was eating, for the sake of his health, it wasn’t worth getting angry about this.
So he asked: “How’s things with Ding Yudie?”
Ding Xi said: “Who knows what he’s up to? Today he went out with bags big and small, looking like he was going on a long journey, but…”
He opened a recently received video to show Ding Changsheng.
It showed a group of square-dancing middle-aged women, giggling and crowding together, holding up their phones to film Ding Yudie in the center of the square from various angles.
Ding Yudie appeared to be street dancing, his body movements exaggerated and unrestrained, sometimes doing somersaults, sometimes spinning in place, completely hyped up. Someone even complimented him: “Handsome guy, your hairstyle is so trendy, where did you buy that butterfly hair tie?”
Where did he buy it? Ding Changsheng sneered—that was a unique protective item created by the three families, one of a kind, and no amount of money could buy it.
He pushed away the phone: “I’ve always felt that this water ghost of the Ding family is like a lunatic, not quite right in the head… Do you have something to discuss?”
Ding Xi hesitated: “There’s something I haven’t told you because I didn’t have evidence…”
The tone seemed off. Ding Changsheng put the plastic lid back on his spicy soup and wiped his mouth with a napkin: “Go on.”
Ding Xi reluctantly related the matters concerning Yi Xiao and Zong Hang.
Ding Changsheng’s face alternated between pale and flushed as he listened, several times nearly unable to contain himself, but ultimately suppressed it and patiently listened to the end.
Finally, his mind felt like it was filled with paste: “Such an important matter, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Ding Xi had to explain again: “Because there was no evidence, and I hadn’t seen Yi Xiao in person, so I wanted to confirm before mentioning it to you… Godfather, Yi Xiao was also at Lake Poyang. After Jiang Xiaoguang and Jiang Jun went into the water, she disappeared. Could she have done it?”
Ding Changsheng was already on a different wavelength: “Dead… then alive, did you kill them properly? Could they have not been completely dead when they sank into the lake?”
Ding Xi was silent for a moment: “Godfather, I wouldn’t make such a basic mistake.”
That’s true, Ding Changsheng realized he was getting confused by his anxiety.
He sat in his chair, his right-hand fingers tapping the marble table surface as if in spasm, muttering continuously: “Dead then alive, how can dead people come back to life, they’re coming, corpses are ferrying boats, dead people opening their eyes underwater… dead then alive…”
The first part of what he said was normal, but the latter part sounded increasingly deranged. Ding Xi was bewildered and was about to ask when Ding Changsheng’s hand movement suddenly froze, his fingers still poised in mid-tap.
The room was eerily quiet, with only the muffled sound of vacuuming from the inner room seeming to go on endlessly.
Ding Xi tentatively called out: “Godfather?”
Only then did Ding Changsheng come to his senses. When he spoke again, his face was ashen: “The kiln… back then, those people who went mad, I had people record what they said. It was all nonsense, incomprehensible, so I didn’t take it seriously… No, there’s a notebook, you need to bring it back, black colored, you go get it, no, I’ll go with you!”
He supported himself on the table with both hands, trying to stand up, but his legs gave way and he fell back into the chair.
Death and resurrection.
The one who came back to life wasn’t Yi Xiao.