Chapter Nine: Hezi Village

The short man noticed I was somewhat distracted and sneered, “If you don’t pay up today, my brother and I aren’t leaving.”
I walked behind the counter, picked up the hot teapot, poured a cup of green tea, and sat down, saying, “There’s hardly any business in my shop anyway. If you want to stay, I won’t stop you.” With that, I sipped my tea slowly as I leafed through the account book.
The two were taken aback. They’d expected me to appraise their item, haggle over the price, and then send them off with three or five hundred yuan. They hadn’t anticipated my indifference. The short man lifted his chin, pointed at me, and said, “You damaged my item in your hands just now. Don’t think you can get away without paying—no way!”
“No money,” I replied, head lowered.
The fat man was stunned, then rolled up his sleeves and strode into the shop. “Didn’t expect to find such a clueless kid at East Gate. If we don’t teach you a lesson today, you won’t even know which way to go tomorrow!”
I looked up, rubbing my teacup with my hand. The woman dressed in black was already standing at the door, arms crossed, clearly here for the spectacle.
Seeing she had no intention of intervening, I knew things wouldn’t end peacefully today. I reached into the drawer behind the counter, pulled out five crisp hundred-yuan bills, and handed them to the fat man. “Take the money and leave. I need to get going.”
Seeing me give in so quickly, the fat man looked at me with disdain, whistled flippantly, counted the money with his fingers, and said, “You won’t last in East Gate business without some brains.”
The short man snickered, “Thought you were some big shot. What a waste of our time, making us come out for nothing.”
“How should I address you two?” I asked.
“Ha, you don’t need to know. Just run your shop honestly. Don’t take what you shouldn’t. If you do, return it to the owner at once. Make a living, but don’t bite off more than you can swallow—or you might choke on it!”
Without another word, the fat man left with the short man, pausing at the door to glance at the woman in black. I guessed it was because she was attractive, and he couldn’t help but linger a moment.
The more I watched them, the more suspicious they seemed. The fat man led, the short one followed; each time the short one provoked, the fat man held him back, only to test me later. It was an obvious double act, especially their parting words—someone was probing me.
Who could it be?
Was it someone from Second Cannon’s gang, or the thief who stole from my shop—or maybe the same person altogether?
As I pondered this, the woman at the door stepped inside and said, “It’s time to go.”

I studied the woman before me. She looked about my age, dressed in a fitted black uniform with a simple silk scarf at her neck, holding a box wrapped in coarse black cloth. Her ponytail and stern expression made her seem unapproachable.
“Do you know those two?” I asked.
She replied coolly, “No.”
“If you don’t know them, why let them bully me? If there’s a fight and I get injured, how am I supposed to deliver your goods?” I said irritably.
This wasn’t the first time I’d met her. Last night, as I left Willow Lane, she’d called Jin Zhenbang out for a meeting, barging straight into the private room—her tone lacking the deference shown by the others. Clearly, she was Jin Zhenbang’s secretary or bodyguard. Anyone in Jin’s circle had skill, yet she’d watched the scene unfold from the doorway.
Noticing I’d seen through her role, she didn’t flinch. “Can you drive?”
I nodded, “Yes.”
She placed a car key on the counter. “Third Master said you must drive yourself. Leave the village before dark. If anything happens, neither Third Master nor the Thieves’ Guild will clean up after you.”
“Clean up after me?” I was surprised. I realized this trip to Hezi Village wasn’t as simple as Jin Zhenbang claimed, but surely not deadly?
She said, “Remember what Third Master told you: Lead the sheep, don’t rob the tomb. When the rooster crows, keep your head down. Tomorrow morning, Third Master will wait for you at Willow Lane.”
My greatest regret now was using my “Sight Beyond Dust” technique to expose that “Dog Oil.” Had I known today’s trouble would follow, I’d have bought Jin Yi outright from Jin Zhenbang. Money’s a tool—spend some, earn some, then live quietly. Now I’d stirred up a hornet’s nest. I prided myself on caution, but failed to see through my own greed.
I repeated Third Master’s words to myself to commit them to memory. When the woman left, I tidied the shop, packed a few tools for self-defense, locked up, and headed out.
The car Third Master prepared was waiting outside—a brand-new Jeep, without plates. I unlocked it, checked the fuel tank; a full tank would cover the three-hundred-kilometer round trip from East Gate to Hezi.
The day was warm. The Jeep kicked up dust as I drove, sipping a soda. I planned to reach my destination in one go, hoping to leave before nightfall and return to the city.
Hezi Village sat in the river lowlands near Tianjin, under Ninghai County. Watching the plains and hills slip past the window, I searched for scenery, but the area was battered every year by floodwaters from the Hai River, the land severely weathered. Once the river washed away the topsoil, vegetation couldn’t grow, leading to a vicious cycle—year after year, only sparse, dry trunks and black-gray riverbeds remained. The landscape was bleak.
Along for the ride were two professors and a student from Beijing. I’d picked them up on the road leaving Ninghai County; they were from the National University, researching folk customs for a school project, collecting materials at Hezi.

I’d never attended college, so I had a certain respect for educated people. Their dress and demeanor were nothing like the regulars at East Gate, evoking a kind of inexplicable affinity.
Upon learning I dealt in jade, both were quite interested, peppering me with questions about jade and antiques, jotting notes as they listened. It gave my vanity a boost and made me feel more at ease about the journey ahead.
After two hours of bumping along mountain roads, the car finally stopped by the Hai River. Infrastructure was lacking in those days, so where roads didn’t reach, you had to take the river. The woman in black had told me there’d be a ferryman, so I wasn’t worried.
I helped the two unload their luggage, parked the car farther from the river to avoid any sudden flooding, and joined them at the ferry landing, where we could faintly hear dogs barking across the river.
The old professor explained that Hezi Village was an ancient settlement dating back to the Jiajing era of the Ming Dynasty, with barely three hundred residents, still maintaining many old traditions. Their purpose was to record these traditions, lost to the outside world, and revise them into the curriculum, so more people could appreciate the depth and richness of Chinese culture.
His words stirred something in me; compared to them, I felt like the most ordinary, mundane person. We chatted a bit more, and soon a small boat wobbled across the river toward us.
The boat was tiny, only able to carry two at a time. I let the professor and student cross first, waiting on the bank. After two cigarettes’ time, the ferryman returned.
He was an old man past fifty, his hands and face creased with wrinkles, silent as he rowed. I handed him a cigarette and asked, “When do you finish work?”
“Five o’clock,” he replied.
“Pretty early, huh?”
I smiled, lit a cigarette, and watched the village across the river draw nearer, asking, “Is there a middle-aged man named Ji in the village?”
The old man glanced at me. “No.”
“No?”
I was perplexed, but as the boat neared the shore, I stood at the bow, gazing at the increasingly distinct village, my brow furrowed. “Is someone getting married in the village?”