SES Chapter 103 Part 1

Chapter 103

It was late at night, quiet as could be.

Shengun stood in front of the fish tank, butt sticking out, clicking his tongue in admiration as he stared at the fierce bamboo slip floating inside. No one knew where he had gotten a magnifying glass, but he kept squinting through it, leaning in close like some old pedant who cared for nothing beyond his study.

He muttered, “Is this a phoenix or a fenghuang? Look at these lines—so fine, so intricate. Not even the best craftsman could carve this.”

Luo Ren was tired. The rain had eased, but it still fell in a soft, endless drizzle. Past midnight, the air had grown chilly.

He didn’t take Shengun’s visit too seriously. The man was always loud and excitable. If you said he knew something, he was full of guesses. If you said he didn’t, he could still explain things as if they made perfect sense. Just like his name—“Shengun,” a trickster. Hard to trust, but harder to ignore.

Luo Ren said, “Stay here tonight. Uncle Zheng has already readied the guest room downstairs. Stay or don’t, stay as long as you like. If that’s all, I’m going to bed.”

He turned to leave, but Shengun called after him: “Luo Ren.”

For a moment, Luo Ren felt something odd but couldn’t quite place it—until he realized.

Shengun always called him “Little Radish,” never by his full name. This was the first time.

And his tone carried rare seriousness.

Luo Ren turned back.

Shengun dragged over a chair and sat, tapping the side of the fish tank with one finger. “Fishing line puppet, Immortal’s Guidance, Rouge Amber. That’s three.”

Yes, three now.

“Do you feel anything?”

“Feel?” Luo Ren frowned. “What’s there to feel?”

“You can’t just be like a mule on a millstone—only moving when someone whips you. You need to think.”

His eyes spun with energy. He pressed his fingertips to his temples like he was about to solve a great riddle.

Luo Ren didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.

“Have you never thought about where these bamboo slips came from? Why seven? Why were they found in those particular places? Why hurt people? Just for the sake of harm? Or is there a purpose? Why is it so important to collect them?”

Why, why, why—Shengun had turned into a one-man encyclopedia of questions.

Luo Ren asked, “You know the answers?”

“I don’t,” Shengun admitted cheerfully. “But at least I’m thinking about it.” He shuffled his chair closer to the tank and muttered to himself, “This isn’t a game of whack-a-mole. One pops up, you smack it down. There has to be some kind of connection, right?”

Maybe so. But where was the connection?

When Luo Ren finally left, Shengun was still deep in thought, legs crossed, chin propped on one hand like some clownish version of Rodin’s Thinker.

That night, Luo Ren didn’t sleep well. Shengun’s words, Mu Dai’s troubles—they twisted through his mind, leaving him restless. His dreams were chaotic.

He dreamt he walked the streets, and suddenly, passersby moved stiffly, limbs tugged by invisible strings. He dreamt of the sea rearing up in towering waves, the seabed exposed, ancient bones arranged into a vast mural. He dreamt of a doll hung under the eaves to pray for clear skies—only for it to wink at him slyly, as if to say: Guess. Guess where the connection is.

And at last, he dreamt of Mu Dai.

She sat cloaked in darkness, a faint light haloing her. She lifted her face, smiling up at him.

Luo Ren went to her, pulling her into his arms. Yes—those old poets had it right. A girl could indeed feel like a warm fragrance, soft jade.

He bent to kiss her cheek, whispering, “Where did you go?”

She only smiled playfully, replying, “Guess.”

…

The dream broke there. He woke at five in the morning.

Luo Ren gave a bitter laugh. Everyone is telling him to guess, but how could he possibly guess it all?

With no hope of sleep, he got up and went first to the room where the bamboo slip was stored.

The light inside was off, the place silent. He thought Shengun must have gone downstairs to the guest room. But when he flicked on the light, he saw a sheet of white paper taped to the outside of the fish tank with clear tape.

Scrawled across it, in crooked handwriting:

—I’ve gone to Hangu Pass.

In the corner, Aunt Zheng Shuiyu and Uncle He Qiang whispered to each other, leaving Zheng Li feeling deeply embarrassed.

She looked at Mu Dai a little nervously.

It was she who had brought Mu Dai along. On the bus, grateful for Mu Dai’s help, she’d racked her brains for a way to repay her. When she learned Mu Dai was searching for someone, she hurried to bring up her aunt: “My aunt’s lived in Nantian County for years. It’s a small place—whoever you’re looking for, she’s bound to know.”

Then she’d asked if Mu Dai had a place to stay: “If you don’t mind, come live with me. My aunt’s restaurant is always looking for help. If you want a job there, it won’t be a problem.”

She had talked too big. Once they arrived, she realized her aunt Zheng Shuiyu’s restaurant was barely scraping by.

And the sight of her dragging someone else along made Zheng Shuiyu’s face instantly darken.

But Mu Dai seemed not to notice. She leaned against the restaurant door, looking out. It was a small, narrow street, full of life. At the head of the street was a grocery, at the end a vegetable stall. There were bicycle repairmen, barbers—everything you needed, like a little self-contained world.

Across the way, a vendor was making cotton candy. His foot pumped the machine while a thin wooden stick spun in the metal bowl, gathering wisps of sugar until it became a plump, white puff.

Mu Dai’s eyes lit up. She strode over. “How much?”

“Two yuan.”

She bought one. Just like that, more than half her money was gone.

But it didn’t matter. She tore off a piece and popped it into her mouth. The sugar melted on her tongue, spreading sweetness that felt almost unreal.

Zheng Li hurried over, speaking low.