SES Chapter 195 Part 1

Chapter 195

Some things, when spoken aloud, may hurt—but they are still the truth.

Relatives grieve for a while, others soon begin to sing again. Depending on how close they are to you, what feels like the sky collapsing in your world becomes, in someone else’s life, a house partly falling, a leaky roof, a night of tossing and turning, or a single sigh in a quiet moment.

On the third day, Gather and Scatter as Fate Allows reopened for business. As Uncle Zhang put it, “The Earth keeps turning, and business goes on.”

On the fifth morning, Mu Dai pushed open her window and saw Cao Yanhua downstairs, grunting as he stretched his legs, bent his waist, and practiced running up walls in three steps. Cao Jiefang was drinking water leisurely from the basin, occasionally giving its wings a shake, feathers standing on end as if stretching after a nap. Wan Sanshi, a red-white-blue plastic bag slung over his shoulder and a folding cart in his left hand, headed toward the market in the sunlight. Down below, Uncle Zhang’s booming voice echoed endlessly:

“Chinese cabbage, pork ribs, potatoes—and salt! And if there’s good yellow wine, buy two bottles!”

Yan Hongsha was busy too—sweeping, wiping tables, and grabbing all the dirty and heavy work. When Uncle Zhang praised her with a beaming smile, she answered solemnly, “Uncle Zhang, I’m not working for free. Fair trade—you need to pay me wages. I’ve got debts to repay.”

Everyone had their own worries. She never forgot that she still had to help Old Yan and her uncle Yan Jiuxiao pay off the debt left behind.

The shaman left temporarily as well, going to stay with a good friend in a nearby ancient town. In his words, staying here to “research” had led nowhere, and he felt uncomfortable.

Before leaving, though, he finally persuaded Mu Dai and Yan Hongsha to go back to the small house where the murderous slips were kept and attempt another water-vision.

This time, even though Luo Ren was still absent, the images and information they obtained were far richer than before.

They saw streets and alleys, performances like those staged under overpasses—bronze gongs ringing, rough troupes setting up, all kinds of exotic and curious acts: monkeys doing arithmetic, mice carrying a bridal sedan chair. But the most eye-opening of all was a dog that could “read.”

Sheets of paper with large characters written on them were scattered across the ground. The dog lowered its head, pawed at them, sniffed, then picked out in order four characters: “Congratulations” and “Get Rich.”

Someone in the crowd heckled, “That doesn’t count! Dogs have sharp noses—who knows if there’s a scent on the paper!”

The troupe leader smiled placatingly. “Then what would you like, sir?”

“Let me write the characters. If the dog can still recognize them, then I’ll be convinced!”

Others objected at once. “No way! Who knows if you’re in on it with the troupe? What if you’re just a plant?”

In other words, what if you were a shill?

The troupe leader clasped his hands toward the crowd. “Then everyone, please suggest a fair solution.”

Someone called out, “Let Old Master Wei from our town’s private school write them—that’d be fair, wouldn’t it?”

A runner dashed off and soon returned, followed by a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old young woman. She wore a light green jacket with a pipa-style front, had big eyes, and her fair cheeks were flushed with girlish curiosity. In her hand, she held a sheet of paper covered in writing.

The crowd parted to let her through, then surged back in. Nothing could be seen anymore—only waves of applause rising higher and higher. The performance inside must have been a smashing success.

…

After hearing their account of the water-vision, the shaman frowned.

Acts like monkey arithmetic or dogs reading characters were no different from modern magic tricks—there were always hidden mechanics.

Take monkey arithmetic, for example. Several monkeys “raced” to answer. The troupe leader posed a question: one plus one equals what? That rascal monkey raised its hand and held up two fingers. Great—rewarded with a banana.

In reality, the monkey didn’t understand arithmetic at all. It had simply been trained to show “two.” When it glanced at the troupe leader, it saw that although the pointer was aimed at the audience, the leader’s fingers underneath were pointing at the monkey itself. Message received—it was its turn. If it didn’t respond, it’d get whipped.

That’s why street performers would never hand control over to hecklers who didn’t know the ropes. Do that, and the whole act would fall apart instantly.

Which meant the tricks in the water-vision weren’t random—they had deeper significance.

Counting it out, it would take seven water-visions to form a complete story. One was still missing.

Perhaps the seven keys held by Yin Erma, combined with the sect secrets known only to Mu Dai, were needed to unlock the next clue. But given Luo Ren’s current condition—even Zheng Mingshan had told Mu Dai not to rush back—how could they possibly bring it up now?

The shaman thought for a moment, unwilling to give up. “That silver-eyed bat—without you, could it even fly?”

He was thinking that even if Mu Dai couldn’t go, maybe he could try first.

Mu Dai glanced at him. “What do you think?”

Right—something as intricately designed as that, crafted with Luban-like ingenuity, wouldn’t just fly for anyone.

With no progress, they had no choice but to “lie low” for the time being. Before leaving, the shaman pulled Cao Yanhua aside and instructed him quietly:

“Use some tact. Nudge Little Pocket from time to time. Seven is a full cycle—if this kid doesn’t wake up for three or five years, are we just going to ignore the murderous slips?”

…

On the seventh day after Luo Ren fell unconscious, Phoenix House reopened.

After losing Luo Wenmiao so suddenly and enduring Pingtian’s long illness, Uncle Zheng saw things more clearly than most. Calmly curing the lamb leg for the day, he said to Mu Dai, who had come to help:

“Luo Xiaodao left quite a bit of money behind, but the savings get used up. Hospital costs are expensive. If he doesn’t wake up, expenses will become a serious issue. We need to think about a steady income.”

…

You see—even when someone’s life comes to a standstill, most people still have to go on living.

Mu Dai seemed to recover quickly. In the mornings, she taught Cao Yanhua kung fu—not vague gestures anymore, but an entire routine, practicing alongside him, breaking down every move for him step by step.

She helped out both at Phoenix House and the bar. When people spoke to her, she smiled faintly.

She just ate very little. Sitting down for meals, she’d often pour most of her rice back, explaining to Auntie Hong, “I can’t eat much. If I eat too much, it feels like the food gets stuck in my throat and I can’t breathe.”

She barely touched the dishes either. If someone commented, she’d bite her chopsticks and say, “It’s a bit greasy. Eating it makes my heart feel uncomfortable.”

The calmer she appeared, the more frightened Auntie Hong became. She pulled her aside one day and said, “Mu Dai, no matter what happens to Luo Ren, you mustn’t do anything reckless.”

Mu Dai smiled. “Auntie Hong, I won’t. I still haven’t finished what my master entrusted me to do. When something happened to me, Senior Brother and Hongsha risked their lives to save me. If I were to give up now, I’d be letting everyone down.”

After that, she patted Auntie Hong’s hand and went back to work. Auntie Hong stood there in a daze, thinking: When did this girl become so sensible, so articulate?

Unlike Wan Sanshi and the others, who visited Luo Ren every couple of days, Mu Dai went every day.

After just a few trips, the hospital felt as familiar as home.

If she arrived outside visiting hours, she’d stand at the observation window, breathe on the glass, and write all kinds of words with her finger.

Once, a young nurse joked, “If you keep writing like that, you’ll wear a hole through the glass eventually.”

As soon as she said it, she realized it was an unlucky joke—like cursing him never to wake up. She laughed awkwardly and left. The next time she saw Mu Dai, she instinctively avoided her.

Mu Dai didn’t take it to heart.

If she arrived during visiting hours, she’d sit by the bed the whole time. Whenever that happened, Aoki would watch from outside the observation window. He had no family or other obligations here, lived and ate at the hospital, and could practically stay by the bed 24/7.

Whenever Mu Dai came, he grew tense—perhaps still worried about her brainwashing-related “sleeper threat” suddenly erupting.

Before leaving, Mu Dai would gently hug Luo Ren, press her cheek to his, and murmur a few words into his ear.

These moments were both the most relaxing and the most exhausting part of her day.

She said, “Luo Xiaodao, it’s okay if you sleep for a while, but don’t sleep too long. I’m scared that one day I’ll get used to it, get lazy, and only come see you once every ten days or half a month. What would I do then?”

She lifted her head and saw Aoki outside, his face drawn tight with worry. Mu Dai thought it was nice that Luo Ren had a friend like that—and that teasing Aoki a little every day was oddly entertaining.

As she left, she said to Aoki, “Are you worried I’ll kill Luo Ren? If you are, don’t stand outside. I’m quick—if I stab him while hugging him, you won’t make it in time to save him.”

Aoki was left speechless with embarrassment.

Mu Dai laughed loudly and ignored him, hands in her pockets as she slowly went downstairs. She didn’t like elevators—the confined space felt stifling. She preferred the stairs, counting each step, listening to her own footsteps, wondering: How many steps do I have to walk before Luo Xiaodao wakes up?

On the first floor was a bulletin board called Patient Corner, updated every two days. Mu Dai had gotten into the habit of stopping to look at it whenever she passed.

The contents were ordinary—seasonal health tips, three things to watch out for to prevent spinal problems, and how bedridden patients could prevent muscle atrophy. Young people usually weren’t interested, because whenever Mu Dai finished reading and turned to leave, she’d find only elderly men and women standing beside her.

She walked slowly back to the bar, digesting what she’d read.

—So in summer, you should eat more bitter foods, like bitter melon with honey. In the future, when she ran the household, if Luo Xiaodao behaved, she’d give him honey with his bitter melon. If he didn’t, he’d just eat plain bitter melon.

—Bedridden patients who don’t move for long periods suffer muscle atrophy. Who knew how long Luo Ren would have to lie there? Next time she came, she’d bring a small hammer wrapped in cotton and gently tap his legs and arms. Tsk, Luo Xiaodao really knows how to enjoy life—this is how landlords lived in the old days…

On the scenic road crowded with tourists, Mu Dai let out a soft, giggling laugh.

Back at the bar, business wasn’t busy. She went back to her room, climbing the stairs one by one. At the turn, Auntie Hong and Yan Hongsha were coming down. Mu Dai smiled and lowered her head to make way.

Suddenly, Auntie Hong cried out, “Mu Dai!”

Mu Dai looked up, puzzled. “Yes?”

Auntie Hong clutched the stair railing tightly, her face turning pale, her lips trembling. After a long moment, she forced a smile.

“Nothing. You’re back from seeing Luo Xiaodao?”

“Mm.”

Auntie Hong watched her leave, listening to her footsteps recede upstairs, the faint creak of the wooden floor, then the sound of a door closing.

Her legs gave way, and she nearly collapsed onto the stairs. Yan Hongsha caught her just in time.

Clutching Yan Hongsha’s arm like a lifeline, Auntie Hong kept murmuring, “Hongsha, did you see it? Did you see?”

Her vision blurred.

Mu Dai had gray hair.

Just now, when Mu Dai lowered her head, among her loose hair, strands of white had shown at the roots.

Auntie Hong was over forty herself and still had no gray hair despite all her care—how old was Mu Dai, really?

That night, Auntie Hong couldn’t sleep. Worried about Mu Dai, she found the spare key, held her breath, and opened the door as quietly as she could.

The moment she pushed it open, what she saw nearly made her cry out.

Mu Dai wasn’t sleeping. She had moved a chair to the window and was sitting there, knees hugged to her chest, gazing outside. Moonlight streamed in, bathing her, the room, and everything around her in silver.

Hearing the sound, Mu Dai turned and said softly, “Auntie Hong.”

Calmly, gently, she explained, “Auntie Hong, it’s not that I don’t want to sleep. I know I need to take care of my body to have the strength to do things. But I can’t sleep. Every time I lie down, I think about Luo Xiaodao lying there too, and I panic—I can’t breathe. I have to sit up to feel better.”

She even reassured her. “Don’t worry. Sometimes I fall asleep sitting like this. As long as I sleep, I can recover my energy. It’s okay.”

Auntie Hong held back tears and looked out the window.