SES Chapter 20

Chapter 20 

Mu Dai couldn’t sleep either. She’d heard too many stories that afternoon, and too many hazy, fragmented faces were swirling through her mind. Everyone seemed to be hiding secrets.

It wasn’t that late yet. She slipped out from under the covers and dialed Wan Fenghuo.

Wan answered with a quick “Hello?” and Mu Dai responded extra politely, “Uncle Wan.”

After a couple of dry chuckles, Wan Fenghuo said, “Mu Dai, no matter how many times you call me Uncle, no matter how polite you are, asking me for information still costs money.”

One line and her intentions were exposed—how humiliating. Mu Dai kicked off her blanket and sat up cross-legged. “Wan Fenghuo.”

“Tsk, just like that, I’m no longer ‘Uncle Wan.’ You young girls these days—so transactional.”

Mu Dai replied, “Just give me a price.”

“Can you afford it?”

“I can’t afford it, but can’t I at least listen?”

Wan laughed dryly. “It’s the middle of the night. You think I’m running a talk radio station, handing out quotes left and right for fun?”

With her right hand pressed against the hollow in the wall, she shifted her body diagonally like clockwork, fully multitasking. “Uncle Wan, don’t be so fixated on money. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll need a favor from me. You help me now, I help you later—mutual benefit, and we’re friends. Isn’t that great?”

Wan let out a noncommittal grunt.

Mu Dai sensed an opening and quickly asked, “Uncle Wan, do you think ghosts are real?”

“You should be calling into a late-night horror show, or maybe a dating hotline. Don’t waste time chatting with an old man like me.”

“No, I mean the kind of thing where someone’s originally a good person, but then they get possessed and start doing evil things—and then the ghost moves on to someone else, and that person starts doing evil things too.”

Wan Fenghuo sighed. “Mu Dai, you know why our business is running smoothly and has no trouble?”

She angled her body 30 degrees up, pivoting like a clock hand. “Why?”

“Because we do things legally. We help people find other people—emphasis on people. Not ghosts. In the old days, society turned people into ghosts. In today’s world, society turns ghosts into people. There are no ghosts—only people!”

Fine, no ghosts, whatever. Was it necessary to sound so righteous and passionate about it?

Mu Dai muttered, “Okay, then I’ve got nothing else.”

But Wan’s tone suddenly changed. “However…”

He lowered his voice. “If you’re interested, I could introduce you to a friend.”

Mu Dai rolled her eyes, still pressed against the wall. “Didn’t you just say you don’t believe in this stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s like saying ‘Happy New Year’ or telling someone ‘safe travels’ instead of ‘have a good trip.’ Just a habit. Do you want to talk to my friend or not?”

“Is it free?”

“Free.”

Mu Dai smiled. She jumped onto the bed and bounced a couple of times. “Go on, I’m listening.”

Wan’s friend was known only as “the Mystic.”

Wan had mentioned him before—he loved studying the supernatural and adamantly refused to use a cellphone. Eventually, he reluctantly got one, but he still avoided it like the plague.

Mu Dai didn’t like calling someone “the Mystic.” It sounded like calling someone a con artist. But no matter how hard she tried, Wan refused to tell her his real name.

Frustrated, she asked, “Then what does he call you?”

There was a pause—a pause that lasted long enough to span eternity. Then Wan muttered, “Little Wan-Wan.”

Mu Dai let out a sound of pure disgust: “Eww…”

Two middle-aged men calling each other cutesy names like they were flirting? Gross. Goosebumps broke out all over her arm.

Wan said, “I know what you’re thinking. But that’s just how he is. He’ll probably call you something like that too.”

Mu Dai snorted. “Not happening. I’m just Mu Dai.”

Wan replied with even more disdain, “Talk to him first. Then we’ll see what you think.”

After they hung up, Wan indulged in a little nostalgic memory.

The Mystic hadn’t always called him Little Wan-Wan. At first, he was Little Feng-Feng.

Then one day, the Mystic solemnly informed him he couldn’t call him that anymore—he had a new best friend now, someone way more important than Wan. That person deserved the name “Little Feng-Feng.”

Wan shrugged at the time. Whatever. It’s not like he liked the name anyway. But later, he thought about it and got bitter: Why can’t I be Little Feng-Feng?

Mu Dai’s first conversation with the Mystic ended in complete chaos.

The Mystic said, “Listen, Little Pocket—if you want to ask me something, you need to bring real details. Time, place, people involved, and anything out of the ordinary. That’s how real research works. You can’t just open with vague stuff like ‘Can someone possessed by a ghost do bad things?’ What kind of question is that?”

“I’m Mu Dai!” she protested.

“I don’t care what kind of pocket you are. The point is, don’t ask nonsense. Base your questions on facts. Once you’re ready, come back. I’m busy—I’m writing a book.”

Writing a book?! Suddenly, Mu Dai was full of respect. So learned, so eccentric, so wild and untamed…

All that confidence she had when talking to Wan evaporated. Sycophantic thoughts flooded her mind: “Little Pocket” actually sounds kind of cute…

—

The next morning at breakfast, Yiwansan asked Huo Zihong for a half-day off.

“My buddy Cao got a job at a restaurant across the street. It’s his first day. I need to go show some support.”

Turns out bumming around isn’t a sustainable lifestyle. After being out and about for so long, one still has to consider making a living. In Lijiang, restaurants and bars always need staff, and turnover is constant.

Huo Zihong nodded. “That’s a good idea. See if there’s anything you can help with.”

Yiwansan bobbed his head like a chicken pecking grain, gulped down his porridge, and bolted out the door.

Mu Dai grumbled, “It’s just a restaurant job, not an emperor’s coronation. How busy could it possibly be? Yiwansan’s just slacking off.”

Huo Zihong smiled. “That Cao guy’s your friend, right? Go have lunch at his place today. Show some support.”

That was just like her, Red Aunt—gentle, composed, and generous to a fault. She gave money to a freeloader like Yiwansan, and she was thoughtful even to a blowhard like Cao Yanhua.

How could someone like her be a bad person?

Mu Dai gnawed on the end of her chopsticks. “Red Aunt, that guy Li Tan I mentioned to you…”

Huo Zihong picked up a boiled egg, gently cracked it on the corner of the table, then rolled it to crush the shell. “Hmm?”

“He’s still hung up on Li Yaqing! He keeps her photo in his wallet. Did you know he never got married? He kept taking time off work to investigate her case until they fired him. Now he runs a tiny shop, business is terrible, he’s got white hair already, and he’s all hunched over…”

Huo Zihong’s hand trembled ever so slightly, then she said, “Oh.”

Mu Dai didn’t miss that detail. She clenched her heart and decided to push further. “It was heartbreaking. He’s already old, hasn’t accomplished anything in life, and all he cares about is solving a twenty-year-old murder. That’s how deep his love runs. He even told me…”

With dramatic flair, she said, “He told me that if he doesn’t find the killer, he won’t even have the face to see Li Yaqing in the afterlife. He said, ‘If I can only do one thing in this life, it’ll be this case.’”

Huo Zihong gently placed her chopsticks on the table. “I’ve got a bit of a headache. I’m going to lie down. Uncle Zhang, help clean up.”

Mu Dai kept chewing on her chopsticks, her eyes darting. After Huo Zihong left, Uncle Zhang said, “Young boss lady, you’re acting really strange today.”

—

Near lunchtime, Mu Dai headed to the restaurant where Cao Yanhua was working—Juxian Restaurant.

It was an old Lijiang building, renovated in a traditional style. Staff wore short uniforms and felt hats, with white towels draped over their arms. They greeted guests with a bow: “Welcome, honored guest.”

It was Cao’s first day, and he was full of enthusiasm—his voice a whole octave louder than anyone else’s. He brought out dishes with theatrical flair, his “Here you gooo!” echoing like a musical note.

He greeted Mu Dai with energy: “Mu Dai sis, come on upstairs—I saved you the best window seat. Best view of Lijiang. No one else gets to sit here. I told the others—it’s reserved for my master!”

Then he leaned in and whispered, “Mu Dai sis, think about it. Take me as your disciple. Lunch is on me.”

Mu Dai’s answer was simple: “Heh.”

Cao, ever the optimist, pressed on. “Why are you so obsessed with learning martial arts anyway?” she asked.

“It’s a dream.”

“To make it easier to steal?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied seriously. “I did ten days in lockup for that. I’m a changed man now. I earn my living with honest labor…”

He leaned closer again. “But if you don’t take me in, I might fall back into my old ways. Think about it—as a favor to society.”

Well, at least he’s self-aware enough to know he’s a public menace. Mu Dai sat by the window and ordered a few dishes. “Where’s Yiwansan?”

“Haven’t seen him.”

Called it. Mu Dai clenched her teeth and stared out the window.

The view really was great—elevated, scenic, ancient rooftops stretching into the distance, adorned with clay tile cats meant to ward off evil.

Then her gaze shifted to the main avenue below.

Wait a second…

Black Hummers weren’t that rare, but one with a roof-mounted hunting light? That had to be Luo Ren’s car.

He was speeding, rushing straight down the road.

Where was he going in such a hurry? Mu Dai stared, a little dazed.

There were too many people and cars for him to go fast. Luo Ren gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other trembling slightly.

“Uncle Zheng, calm down,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Tell me slowly—what’s wrong with Pingting?”