Jin Xiu showed neither extreme shock nor excitement.
She just stared blankly at Zong Hang.
Since the topic had been broached, there was no need to beat around the bush. Zong Hang said, “Jin Xiu, who you like is your business, but I just hope you’ll at least understand what kind of person he is before deciding whether to like him or not—I’m not lying, he has killed people, and it wasn’t out of self-defense. Those people didn’t deserve to die.”
Jin Xiu smiled, but her smile gradually faded until she finally mumbled, “I knew it… good things were never meant for me.”
Ding Xi never told her what he did for a living. She was “tactful” enough not to ask, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t tried to piece things together like a hunter following traces. Besides, when it came to matters of romance, women were natural hunters.
—Ding Xi certainly wasn’t someone who made an honest living, otherwise he would have been straightforward about it.
—They had met through a business transaction.
—He took orders from others and had people under his command. He had easily helped her recover her bag, even saying it was “nothing.”
…
In her speculation, he had various backgrounds, identities, and secrets. “Fugitive” and “murderer” were among the possibilities.
So when Zong Hang revealed it, she wasn’t shocked or angry. It felt more like a sword that had been hanging over her head had finally fallen, confirming her suspicions. Beyond a bitter smile, she could only mock herself.
Good things were never meant for me.
A massage girl who had fallen into that life, with no money or influence, not even strikingly beautiful—how could she expect to meet a reliable, decent man, fall in mutual love, and start a beautiful life?
Look at how it always turned out: before, no boat would carry her away; now that she finally found one, she discovered after a while that it was riddled with holes, and she’d have to swim back to where she started.
Jin Xiu suddenly lost all interest and even her initial joy at seeing Zong Hang faded away.
Yi Sa sat cross-legged on the bed, hugging a pillow vertically with her head seeming to sprout from it. “Then what happened?” she asked.
Zong Hang lay sprawled on the edge of the bed, looking dejected. “Then she just seemed disheartened, not engaged in any conversation… Yi Sa, was I too blunt?”
After seeing Jin Xiu off, he had come to find Yi Sa. Since Yi Sa had always suspected Jin Xiu of conspiring with Ding Xi, he felt he needed to clear Jin Xiu’s name.
Yi Sa gave him a look: “How else could you phrase something like murder? Don’t worry, it’s good you told her. Better than letting her remain in the dark.”
“Do you think she’ll leave Ding Xi?”
Yi Sa shot him a look: “Why are you so concerned about other people’s relationships? Besides, you’ve done your duty—said what needed to be said. Whatever decision she makes next is her business. Instead of worrying about other people’s love lives, why don’t you spend more time practicing your martial arts?”
Zong Hang protested: “Haven’t I been practicing? I practice every day.”
“Made any progress?”
“Yes!”
Yi Sa tossed aside her pillow: “Come on then, try to hit me. I’ll just sit here on the bed and only use my arms—if you can land a hit, I’ll admit defeat.”
This was too dismissive, Zong Hang thought as he stood up to warm up, rotating his wrists and swinging his arms. “Be careful,” he warned.
Yi Sa snorted in derision.
Though her martial arts skills were third-rate, Zong Hang was dreaming if he thought he could surpass her with just a few days of crash training.
Sure enough, she remained mostly still, either tilting her head, shifting her body, or simply extending a hand to gently deflect his fierce attacks. It was truly a demonstration of using four ounces to deflect a thousand pounds—she wasn’t even breathing hard. Meanwhile, Zong Hang was putting his full strength into every move and was already sweating.
Yi Sa started getting cocky: “Zong Hang, martial arts isn’t just about brute force, you need to use your brain.”
Before she could finish speaking, Zong Hang charged head-first toward her.
An iron head technique? Again?
Yi Sa’s quick hands pressed down on the crown of his head, successfully keeping his round head at arm’s length.
History does repeat itself—everything was exactly like last time.
Yi Sa almost burst out laughing: “When I said use your brain, I didn’t mean use your head as a battering ram!”
Zong Hang lowered his head sheepishly. Yi Sa withdrew her hand, her laughter not yet subsided when Zong Hang suddenly lifted his head and charged again.
This truly caught her off guard. Yi Sa’s mind went blank, and she instinctively braced herself with both hands, expecting to see stars.
Fortunately, Zong Hang stopped short of her face, looking extremely proud: “See, I…”
He suddenly fell silent.
This was the first time he had looked at Yi Sa from such proximity, close enough to see his reflection in her eyes.
Her long eyelashes fluttered just beneath his eyes.
Their breaths mingled, warm and gentle, indistinguishable from each other.
His lips felt somewhat dry.
Was the air conditioning on? It felt so stuffy. The windows seemed to have lost their soundproofing too—the cicadas’ calls were increasingly disturbing, making his heart race.
Zong Hang slowly withdrew, no longer sure what he was saying: “See, that’s what you call the element of surprise. You don’t necessarily need to be very skilled, you just need to catch your opponent off guard, and then… then surprise them…”
Yi Sa sat up straight, awkwardly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before clearing her throat.
Zong Hang was extremely embarrassed: “Well… Yi Sa, I should head back now, I have… water boiling in my room.”
Yi Sa made a sound of acknowledgment but didn’t speak or look up. She remained still, listening to Zong Hang leave and the sound of the door closing.
The room finally fell quiet, with only the air conditioner’s humming sound remaining.
All sensory responses seemed delayed. Only now did her face begin to feel warm, like rouge dissolving in water, spreading gradually. Yi Sa lowered her head, slowly scratching at the fabric pattern on the bedsheet with her fingernail. Her hair fell forward, some strands brushing against her cheeks, others tickling her neck.
Back in his room, Zong Hang’s first action was to fill the electric kettle with water and turn it on, as if to prove to everyone: See, I wasn’t lying, I did have… water boiling in my room.
Amidst the loud boiling sounds, he threw himself onto the bed, burying his head in the mattress.
He didn’t think about anything, didn’t dare to think, just lay there until someone knocked on the door.
It was someone delivering luggage and notifying him about departing for Hukou at nine tomorrow morning. They also asked: “Do you want a wake-up call? If so, what time?”
Better safe than sorry, Zong Hang casually set it for eight AM.
Everything afterward felt halfhearted. He didn’t practice martial arts, Yi Sa didn’t look for him, and he didn’t go find Yi Sa either. It wasn’t until after ten at night that he realized his stomach was empty, remembering he hadn’t eaten. He called room service and ordered a bowl of noodles.
After eating, he went to bed with a heavy heart, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was causing this melancholy.
He didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning all night, though it ended with a sweet dream.
He dreamed of that moment from earlier in the day, of Yi Sa’s eyes, her eyelashes, and the warm softness of her breath.
In the dream, he was braver and didn’t pull away. His ears were filled with countless encouraging voices: “Kiss her, kiss her, it’s just a dream anyway.”
Right, it’s just a dream, Zong Hang thought as his heart pounded heavily, slowly moving to kiss her lips…
Then the phone rang.
It rang. His eyes flew open, and all the dream’s romance vanished. The bedside phone was vibrating incessantly. When he answered, a monotonous male voice spoke: “Good morning, sir. It’s eight AM, this is your requested wake-up call…”
Zong Hang nearly coughed up blood.
He hung up the phone, pulled the covers over his head, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to return to that dream, hoping to grasp at least some lingering sensations.
It was useless. All was black, the feeling was wrong, and the atmosphere was completely gone.
He kicked off the covers, rolling and pounding on the bed, even letting out two howls, clutching at the bedsheet, pulling and tossing it.
He had dug his own grave—why did he set the alarm for eight? What if it had been just five minutes later? Five minutes would have been enough for so much more!
All gone!
The feeling was like losing a hundred billion!
Quite a few people were going to Hukou this time, with seven vehicles in total. To maintain a low profile, they weren’t all SUVs. Apart from the leading Land Cruiser, the others were ordinary family cars of various models.
Jiang Taiyue was too old to participate in this bumpy journey. Ding Xi’s lead car only had Ding Panling and Ding Changsheng.
Yi Sa and Zong Hang sat in the second vehicle. Just before departure, Ding Xi came over from the front car and knocked on their window.
Yi Sa lowered the power window.
Ding Xi handed her a plastic document envelope containing several printed pages. The bruises on his face hadn’t faded, and the scab at the corner of his mouth had just formed, so he had to speak carefully to avoid reopening the wound, making his tone sound somewhat strange: “The ancestral hall sent this over this morning. They send whatever they compile immediately. Godfather wanted you to take a look.”
“What’s it about?”
“The Drifting Cave.”
Yi Sa took it.
Since the journey wouldn’t be short, it would be good for passing time—she opened it just as the car started moving.
The first two pages were photos of a family genealogy book’s cover and inner pages. The cover read “Jiang Family Genealogy,” apparently found in the Jiang family ancestral hall. The inner pages were written vertically in traditional Chinese characters, the paper brittle and yellowed, with large stains.
Yi Sa skipped directly to the explanatory section, reading and explaining to Zong Hang as she went.
“There was an elder in the Jiang family named Jiang Shehu, a water ghost from around the end of the Ming Dynasty. According to the genealogy, he opened three gold pools in his lifetime and became extremely wealthy. Influenced by the famous scholar Xu Xiake of that time, he also enjoyed visiting famous mountains and rivers in his leisure time. Once, while traveling near present-day Qinghai, he remembered the ‘Drifting Cave’ mentioned by the founding master and decided to look for it. This search lasted three years.”
Zong Hang thought to himself, now that’s what you call having money and free time—ordinary people couldn’t afford such adventures.
“He found it by chance. One night, while riding his horse, he lost his way. He stopped to relieve himself when suddenly he heard a loud boom. When he turned around, he saw his horse had been thrown into the air before crashing down, dying instantly.”
“He hurriedly went over, still holding his pants, and discovered that where his horse had been standing, a hole had appeared, about the size of a well mouth. There was a howling wind coming from inside, though it quickly stopped.”
This must be the “earth opens its door, wind strikes the stars” phenomenon. It seems the Drifting Cave’s appearance is accompanied by strong vertical winds. The horse was just unlucky, standing right at the wind’s eye, leading to its death.
In the dead of night, having your horse mysteriously fly up and die, only to find such an eerie hole appear in its place—fortunately, it was Jiang Shehu who witnessed this. If it had been ordinary local folks, they probably would have spread tales of demons and monsters.
“Jiang Shehu threw a torch down, but its light quickly disappeared. He then threw a stone but heard no sound. Suspecting this might be the Drifting Cave, he took out his grappling hook and climbing gear from his luggage and climbed down into the hole.”
“According to him, he descended at least several dozen zhang, when suddenly a white light appeared before his eyes, and he lost consciousness—when he was later awakened by the cold, he found himself lying on the ground with his dead horse beside him, and the hole had vanished.”
“But in the moment the white light appeared, he felt he saw something, so he drew a picture and noted it on the side…”
Yi Sa turned to the last page.
Zong Hang also leaned in to look.
How to describe it… Ancient Chinese paintings emphasized artistic conception over realism, and Jiang Shehu’s artistic skills were quite moving, but one could still vaguely make out that it depicted a person in profile.
However, the back half of this person’s brain was open, and what filled it was strange and not… a brain.