Chapter Twenty-Three: The Woman in the Cheongsam

By evening, after finishing his shift at the supermarket, Jin Yitiao returned carrying some vermicelli and pork belly. The two of us cooked hotpot in the shop, drank, smoked, and chatted idly.

I had asked Jin Yitiao whether Jin Zhenbang had confided anything to him about the errand I was running. He said not a word about it. The matter of the blood jade was first brought up by Jin Zhenbang because he'd found a counterfeit piece in Jin Yitiao's possession. The incident in Hezi Village, too, was triggered by the blood jade. Though these two incidents seemed coincidental, aren’t most things in life the result of odd coincidences?

Then there was the old man who left behind the “Ancient Manual of Concealed Treasures.” He was like a prophet who saved my life. In that situation, anyone would have used a lighter to illuminate the inside of the coffin, but fire damages jade. Had I not remembered the passage from the book, I shudder to think what consequences I might have faced.

But Jin Yitiao frowned deeply, telling me that before he left, he’d also asked the middle-aged man whether I’d returned. The man replied that it was none of his concern—“the more you know, the more mistakes you make”—and didn’t tell him a thing.

I sighed inwardly, thinking that if this matter ended with Professor Gu’s death and Tong Xiaomeng’s injury, it might become a case without a culprit—and I myself could be implicated. Especially in Tong Xiaomeng’s case, which I could have ignored. Now she lives next door; as the saying goes, “Full bellies stir desire.” I’d clearly been too idle lately, unable to curb my compulsion to play the good Samaritan.

As we drank on, Jin Yitiao became a little drunk, his speech slurring, but I still made out that he’d just received a new case of Wuliangye at the supermarket. He didn’t intend to sell it and told me to help him carry it back to the shop tomorrow so we could drink it ourselves.

I didn’t think much of it and agreed. Raising my head, I saw it was nearly midnight. Jin Yitiao mumbled a few words and fell asleep at the table. I got up, cooked two dishes in the kitchen, packed them with the leftover rice, and headed out to bring them to Tong Xiaomeng.

In the afternoon, she’d texted me not to worry about her dinner—she wanted to sleep a bit more. But she’d come all the way from Beijing to rely on me; I couldn’t just ignore her. If she was already asleep, I’d just treat it as taking a walk; if awake, perhaps I could ask her something about Professor Gu.

San Huitang was less than a hundred meters from the old dormitory, an inconspicuous two-story building without a signboard. The name—Three Regrets Hall—was chosen by the owner, Liu the Tall. He’d been a tomb raider in his youth, committing many misdeeds, so he named the shop after his three regrets: regret for the past, regret for the present, and regret in his heart, as if making amends.

As I walked down the street, the wind coming off the Hai River was biting. I buttoned my shirt tighter, wondering how it could be this chilly in early October. With heating still weeks away, a sudden cold snap would mean wasting money to fire up the coal stove in the shop.

Yet the further I walked, the colder it got. By the time I saw the sign for San Huitang, the cold was unbearable—like the dead of winter. The river wind sliced my skin like knives, and standing there, I couldn’t even tell which direction the wind was coming from. Bowing my head, I hurried forward, when suddenly I heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching.

Instinctively, I looked up. About ten meters ahead, a woman’s figure walked toward me. She moved unhurriedly, and the dim streetlight obscured her features. Still, her silhouette suggested a graceful form, swaying with each step. As she drew closer, I saw she was a classical beauty, dressed in a cheongsam.

Her features were distinctly Eastern, with finely drawn brows and hair softly coiled at the back of her head. The form-fitting, pale lavender cheongsam accentuated her curves, exuding a mature allure from head to toe. She glanced at me with a subtle flick of her eyes, then passed by without a word or backward glance.

I stood there, stunned. Who would have their elegant lady strolling around Yu Dongmen at this hour? Just as I turned to look, a squelching sound—like shoes soaked in water—echoed on the empty street, unnervingly loud.

My neck stiffened. A flash of realization killed any desire to look back. Only when the footsteps faded and disappeared did I lower my head, dumbly staring at a long trail of wet footprints beside me.

Thinking of the direction the woman came from, my heart skipped a beat. I dropped the food and dishes and dashed straight toward the shopfront ahead.

Like a madman, I hammered on the shop door, eyes fixed on the wet footprints leading inside. My whole body felt frozen.

“Who is it?” A light flicked on inside. Liu the Tall, apparently roused from sleep, sounded irritable.

“It’s me! Open up, quick!” I shouted anxiously.

“How am I supposed to know who you are?” he grumbled in his Sichuan accent, which he’d never lost despite a life on the road. Cursing, he opened the door. Seeing it was me, he asked, “What’s wrong, brother? Is your house on fire?”

I had no time for explanations. I pushed past him and rushed up to the second floor, hearing him call after me, “Don’t do anything crazy! The girl upstairs seems nice—be gentle, okay? I’ve got medicine if you need it!”

Following the trail of wet footprints, I ran to the room at the end of the hall. Staring at the puddle outside the door, my heart pounded in my throat. Without hesitation, I kicked the door open.

The room was dark. I flicked on the light and immediately saw Tong Xiaomeng lying on the bed, her face ashen, water pouring from her mouth and nose, soaking both her and the quilt. Her hands clutched her throat, the classic sign of drowning.

Hearing footsteps behind me, I quickly shut the door and hurried to the bed. Pulling her hands away from her neck, I hesitated a moment, then climbed on top of her, interlocking my hands to press down on her chest, forcing the water from her lungs.

Having grown up by the river, I’d often rescued people from drowning. If this were a simple case, I might still be in time. What worried me most was whether that female corpse had done something else to her. I could save the living, but exorcising corpses? That was the work of Daoist priests—I’d never learned how.

After a few compressions, inky-black river water began to seep from the corners of her mouth, reeking of rotted fish and shrimp, stinging my eyes with its foulness. But I dared not stop, wiping away tears with my sleeve as I kept pressing.

“Hey, man, don’t do anything stupid! There are plenty of women out front. If it’s money you need, I could lend you some, but don’t do this in my shop!” Liu the Tall called nervously from the hall.

I ignored him. Most of the water was out, but Tong Xiaomeng’s face was still livid, her hands clawing weakly at the air; she was exhaling more than she inhaled—a dangerous sign. Fear stabbed my heart. “Get me some vinegar, now!” I shouted.

“You’ve got strange tastes,” he muttered. “What’s this—using vinegar instead of lube?”

“Cut the crap! If she dies here, you won’t get away with it either!”

I released her chest, checked her pupils—they were starting to dilate. Her arms flopped weakly. Her breath was nearly gone. Desperate, I pried open her mouth, took a deep breath, and pressed my lips to hers.

The instant our lips met, tears streamed down my face. My first kiss—good lord, the stench was unbearable.

I gave her mouth-to-mouth several times until her suffocating expression eased slightly. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I leapt from the bed and cracked it open to take the bottle offered outside. But as I turned, I froze, cold sweat pouring down my face.

Reaching through the door was a woman’s hand.