SES Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Ma Tuwen wandered casually into the residential complex. He was renting a place there, although calling it a “complex” was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a hangout for all sorts of people from out of town — fugitives, troublemakers, and the down-and-out — a high-risk area frequently patrolled by the nearby police station. Over the past few years, the authorities had gotten quite a bit done here, arresting four fugitives on the run, mediating more than a dozen disputes over relationships, and countless cases of theft and disorder — it was all par for the course.

At the entrance, two young punks were playing poker, their faces covered in small slips of paper from losing hands. One of them glanced up at Ma Tuwen. “Hey, Brother Ma, got a show tonight?”

Ma Tuwen nodded casually. “Yeah. Tonight I’m going for a classic — ‘Shanghai Bund.’”

The punk sighed and tossed a card. “This hand’s awful. Fold!”

The question hadn’t been meant to be serious, and Ma Tuwen didn’t take it to heart. Humming the melody — “Surging waves, flowing waters”— he walked further into the complex.

Ma Tuwen sang in a bar for a living. His income barely kept him fed. His motto was “chasing a dream with whatever I have”— without a permanent gig, he hopped from place to place. His girlfriend, Ba Mei, a beer salesperson, made about the same amount of money. But Ba Mei always acted as if she were a cut above him, nagging him about his lack of ambition and drive, insisting a man should do more with his life.

Dreams. Did she even know what those were? Ma Tuwen decided it was about time to break up with her.

As he walked past a nearby clearing, a black Hummer H2 came into view. The vehicle itself was already a showpiece, but it was made even more aggressive by a row of hunting lamps mounted across its rooftop — a huge, dangerous creature crouching in the dark.

Ma Tuwen felt a rush of envy and mumbled under his breath, “Who does this person think they are?”

But a moment later, a mischievous thought struck him. He took out his phone and started clicking selfies in front of the Hummer — tilting his head up, then downward, imitating a world-renowned male model, tugging back his vest to show a bit of his worn, blackening undershirt, as if it were something charming and seductive.

He posted the photos to his WeChat Moments with the caption: “A Hummer isn’t all that. It’s nothing special.”
He made sure to tag his girlfriend, Ba Mei.

Just as he was feeling smug, a set of keys fell in a dramatic arc in front of him — a keychain adorned with a miniature Vajra pestle. At the same moment, a voice came from nearby.

“If you want to know what it’s really like, you’d better take these and find out yourself.”

Ma Tuwen felt a rush of embarrassment. His moment of showing off had been cut short.

He turned to look at Luo Ren.

Luo Ren was in his late twenties, tall and good-looking, wearing a black leather jacket and army boots. His demeanor seemed lazy and nonchalant, with a hint of a mischievous smile — yet his rolled-up sleeves revealed strong forearms, and there was a piercing glimmer in his eyes. He was a hunter at rest, a dangerous creature ready to pounce at any moment — much like his Hummer.

Ma Tuwen sighed, a little bitter. “Don’t tease me. We grew up together. We were shoulder to shoulder at the starting line… Look at us now. It’s unfair.”

Luo Ren nodded. “When you’re filling up seats at the Bird’s Nest for your concerts, I’ll be the one buying a ticket just to get in.”

The compliment seemed to ease Ma Tuwen’s mood immediately.

Ma Tuwen’s place was a mess — record sleeves were strewn all over, beer cans were scattered across the floor, and when Ma Tuwen tried to move, his foot struck a can and it went bouncing and rolling across the room.

Luo Ren made himself comfortable on the sofa, opened a beer for himself, and cut straight to the point. “How was the meeting today?”

Ma Tuwen hopped up on a nearby stool and sighed. “Don’t get me started. The whole room was filled with weirdos.”

“One was a man from the Qing dynasty who called himself Wan Fenghuo. There was a droopy-faced woman — Cen Chunjiao, I think — and a weirdo called Li Tan.”

Ma Tuwen raised his voice in a falsetto, imitating Li Tan: “Fake, fake.”

“There was another woman, Mu Dai. Do you know what she was wearing on her wrist? A tiny fabric cat-head bracelet. So immature. Her mental age can’t be more than 18.”

Luo Ren remained unfazed. “Where are they staying?”

“With Wan Fenghuo — at Bashu Courtyard. That’s their designated hotel.”

Suddenly, Ma Tuwen remembered something. “The story was kind of creepy, though. Say, Luo Ren… that story isn’t true… is it?”

Luo Ren avoided a direct answer. “Start from the moment you walked in. Tell me everything — who said what, how they acted. The more detail you can remember, the better.”

Fortunately, it was all still fresh in his mind. Ma Tuwen recounted the meeting in detail from start to finish, then asked again, “Hey, Luo Ren… that story isn’t true… is it?”

“If it were fake, would I be paying you for it?”

“That means… it’s true?” Ma Tuwen felt a chill run down his spine. “How is that even possible? People’s feet disappearing… using fishing line to… That’s sick.”

Luo Ren handed him the car keys. “Still not going to drive it?”

Ma Tuwen fell silent for a moment. “Nah. Did you even hear a word I just said?”

“That’s it. I’m leaving.”

Li Tan and Mu Dai were staying in adjacent rooms. After their minor dispute in the morning, Li Tan seemed annoyed with Mu Dai and hadn’t gotten over it. Mu Dai ignored him, thinking the man in his fifties was unbelievably petty.

As evening fell, Mu Dai heard the door next to hers click. She looked through the peephole and saw Li Tan leave. After a few seconds’ pause, she opened her door and followed him outside. At the entrance of the courtyard, she nodded briefly at Wan Fenghuo.

Wan Fenghuo remained unsure for a moment — it took him a while to realize it was Mu Dai. He turned back toward the receptionist and asked quietly, “Was that the woman I came in with today?”

The receptionist hadn’t gotten a clear view. “Did she come from the first room on the right? Then it must be her. That’s where all your guests are staying.”

Wan Fenghuo drew in a sharp breath. He remembered Mu Dai from the morning — wearing a lively, youthful style — and now she was dressed in a black, slouchy shirt over a black camisole, black skinny jeans, black ankle boots… The only bit of color was a delicate silver chain around her neck, from which a small, gothic-looking pendant hung — a tiny silver skull.

How could someone’s style be this different in a single day?

Li Tan hadn’t gone far. He’d gotten a small table at a nearby food stall, ordered a couple of dishes and a bottle of alcohol, and was drinking quietly while keeping an eye on Mu Dai. Mu Dai walked in casually, acting as if she were there to eat as well, then “accidentally” crossed paths with him.

“Mr. Li… you’re dining here, too?”

Ignoring the fact that Li Tan was already rolling his eyes nearly into his forehead, Mu Dai shamelessly sat down across from him with a mischievous smile and struck up a conversation. “Mr. Li, what makes you interested in the Luoma Lake case?”

Li Tan countered, “You’re so young. Why would you be interested?”

“I’m not interested myself. My aunt asked me to come. She said the professors were her teachers and that Mr. Li was her teacher.”

Someone finished their meal behind them and walked past Li Tan, nearly losing their balance. Li Tan casually reached a hand to steady them. He was about to respond to Mu Dai when Mu Dai suddenly slammed her chopsticks down on the table and said in a firm voice, “Hand it over.”

Li Tan jumped in surprise. The person he’d just supported trembled and turned back to look at Mu Dai.

Suddenly understanding what was going on, Li Tan rushed a hand into his pocket — it was empty. His wallet was gone.

Mu Dai enunciated each word: “I’m talking to you. Give it back.”

The bustling food stall fell silent. The chef, nervous, pressed his lips together in uneasy silence. The person glared, a mixture of shame and rage creeping into their expression, and tried to bluff it away. “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”

Mu Dai stood up suddenly. The person faltered, unsure whether to back down or stay tough. At that moment, a chilly voice came from outside the stall: “Enough, enough. Give it back to her.”

It was the heavyset man from the cable car.

If their group was some kind of organization, the heavyset man seemed to be a person in charge. The thief hesitated briefly, then took a black wallet from his pocket and tossed it toward Mu Dai in a show of aggression, adding a bit of force, intending to make her miss it or at least bend down to retrieve it.

But Mu Dai casually snatched it from the air and asked, “Did you skim it?”

As she spoke, she opened the wallet and looked through it. An expert can tell at a glance. The thief’s face faltered when Mu Dai easily caught it, and when she used the insider term “skim”—referring to a trick where a thief secretly removes a few bills upon return—the heavyset man understood immediately why he’d said “give it back.” Embarrassed, the thief nodded briefly, turned, and walked away with a frustrated snort.

Skimming, in thief’s jargon, meant taking a few bills from a wallet before it was handed back — say it fell into their hands with $800, and when it came back, it only had $500. The theft was hard for the victim to discover in a short amount of time.

Mu Dai didn’t know exactly how much money Li Tan originally had in his wallet; her dramatic search was meant more for show.

Because of this incident, Li Tan’s view of Mu Dai shifted. His expression softened a little, and with a slight smile, he said, “There isn’t much in the wallet anyway. So it wouldn’t be a huge loss, even if… something were gone.”

Mu Dai remained silent. She closed the wallet and slid it back toward Li Tan. “Who’s this in the photo… your friend?”

Li Tan knew exactly which photo she meant — the slightly yellowed black-and-white photo in his wallet. Although the woman in it was young, by now she’d be nearly forty. Li Tan nodded quietly in acknowledgement.

“That woman’s name is Li Yaqing. She was the daughter of the professors in the Luoma Lake case — and… she was my fiancée.”

Mu Dai’s expression faltered in disbelief. A bitter feeling rose in Li Tan’s chest. “It’s been over twenty years… but I’m still chasing this, in part due to some personal attachment. Just like your aunt — it’s all because of a teacher-student bond.”

Mu Dai wanted to laugh, but somehow couldn’t.

A teacher-student bond? That’s what she’d thought, too, before seeing the photo. But now… she didn’t think so. The woman in the photo — Li Yaqing — looked exactly like… Aunt Hong when she was young.

Li Tan said something else, and Mu Dai came back to her senses. “What?”

“I said you and your aunt were deceived by Cen Chunjiao. I have solid evidence that woman… lied.”