SES Chapter 210 Part 1

Chapter 210

The moment he heard they were heading into the mountains—and to visit grave sites, no less—Cao Yanhua’s face twisted into something like a bitter gourd. If it twisted any harder, you’d think bitter juice would start dripping out.

Luo Ren had three reasons.

First, they were running out of time—only fifteen days left.

Second, there hadn’t been much progress on Wan Fenghuo’s end. The five of them couldn’t just sit around waiting; they had to do something.

Third, based on what they’d learned over the past couple of days, that so-called “Long Town” might truly have been destroyed beyond recognition. In a situation like that, there was nothing to be learned from the living—only the dead might speak.

After all, if “going up the mountain” had been a local tradition for generations, then the townspeople—Old Teacher Wei from the private school, Miss Wei, and the rest—should all be buried up there. If they were lucky, inscriptions on tombstones or steles might provide a few clues.

They put it to a vote. Unanimously approved—though Cao Yanhua’s raised hand was painfully reluctant.

Expecting no short-term breakthroughs, Luo Ren went to the front desk to extend their stay by two more days. While waiting for his receipt, he casually picked up a tourist pamphlet about Tong County and read it with interest.

There were quite a few attractions in the area. Given the region’s long history—and the fact that Hangu Pass had long been known as “the First Mighty Fortress”—the surrounding areas had prospered as well. Every scenic spot was labeled with words like “essence” and “must-see.”

“Hey, hey, Fatty, be careful going into the mountains,” he read aloud from the pamphlet. “‘Qinling mountain range, rich in wildlife, home to wild boars and black bears… and wow, the world’s most diverse pheasant population.’ Hey—liberation from being single might be in sight!”

Cao Yanhua snorted and glared at Cao Liberation, who was hopping excitedly inside the cage at his feet. “What are you bouncing around for? Those mountain chickens are uncultured—totally not your type.”

Then he looked puzzled as he glanced toward the residential complex across the street. “What’s my little master doing, taking Little Red Sand out there?”

They got their answer when it was time to get in the car. Mu Dai came back carrying several bundles of yellow joss paper, along with incense and paper offerings.

She instructed them along the way: “Once we get there, we’ll burn incense together and pay our respects first. Be respectful, don’t speak loudly, and when you’re walking around inside, remember to say ‘Excuse us’ or ‘Sorry for disturbing you’ from time to time…”

Cao Yanhua got goosebumps all over. “Little Master, that’s a bit superstitious, isn’t it? The more you say, the more scared I get…”

Mu Dai deliberately bared her teeth in a grin, unbuckled her seatbelt, turned around, knelt on the passenger seat, and leaned her arms on the backrest, looking at him with a half-smile.

Cao Yanhua shrank backward. “L-Little Master, don’t… you’re scaring me…”

Mu Dai spoke gently. “Fatty Cao, think about it. They’ve been dead for hundreds of years, lying peacefully underground, enjoying their quiet. Then suddenly you show up, carrying the scent of the living, running around on their rooftops and all…”

She actually called it a “rooftop.” Luo Ren didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“What’s wrong with asking you to burn some paper? It’s just manners. When you visit someone, you bring a gift. If you renovate and disturb the neighbors, let them know in advance. How is that superstition?”

Cao Yanhua nodded submissively. “Little Master is absolutely right.”

Mu Dai snorted, turned back around, and sat down properly. Catching Luo Ren looking at her, she shot him a proud glance. “What?”

Luo Ren said, “Fasten my seatbelt.”

When they reached the mountain entrance outside the city, the road became impassable for the car. Cao Liberation stayed behind to guard it—if it went into the mountains and started crowing nonstop, it wouldn’t be very respectful.

They got out, shouldered their backpacks, packed dry rations and water, and continued on foot.

The path resembled a canyon trail. The mountains on both sides were thick with tall trees, blocking out the sky and giving off a chilling gloom—whether from the wind or pure psychology, no one could say.

There were countless peaks, one after another. Mu Dai scanned the area with binoculars and vaguely spotted one or two stone markers hidden among tall grass on nearly every mountain.

The workload for this “grave-sweeping” was no small matter. Mu Dai had learned beforehand that there were no organized burial grounds in the mountains. Each family buried their dead separately—high or low, near or far, deep or shallow—all depending on wealth and the geomancer’s choice.

Splitting into teams would have improved efficiency, but before Luo Ren could suggest it, Cao Yanhua was already shivering. “I think… we should all stick together. Don’t split up. It feels safer.”

So, following Mu Dai’s instructions, they burned incense first and bowed four times together. Even so, when they climbed the first mountain, their hearts pounded. They couldn’t help holding their breath, feeling like outsiders who had stepped into someone else’s territory, needing to be cautious everywhere.

The forest was dim. Without discussion, they naturally divided tasks. Mu Dai held the flashlight for Luo Ren so he could read the inscriptions. Yan Hongsha carried the yellow paper; every time she took out one or two sheets, Wan San would light them and set them down. As for Cao Yanhua, his hands were clasped in front of his chest almost the entire time, murmuring “Sorry to disturb” and “Please don’t take offense” in every direction.

The graves truly followed no discernible pattern. Some were solitary; some grouped three or five of the same surname. Some were built with brick and stone; others had only a wooden stake with carved characters standing in for a tombstone. After centuries of wind and rain, the words had faded, the wood had rotted, and even fungus had grown from the cracks.

They spent over two hours on that mountain alone, surveying about twenty graves, ranging in age from the Republican era to the late Qing dynasty.

During a break, standing at a high point and looking out over endless overlapping peaks, Luo Ren felt troubled. This was only the first mountain of the first valley. At this pace… things looked grim.

And indeed they were. By the end of the day, they had covered four mountains with almost no results. They even encountered a tomb from the late Ming dynasty that appeared to have been looted—the coffin lid ajar, looking desolate.

Creepy as it was, they discussed it and decided to fill it back in, considering it an act of goodwill.

Strangely enough, after repairing that grave, Cao Yanhua felt much less afraid. He kept chatting with Wan San, saying that there were gods three feet above one’s head, and that if spirits truly existed after death, they would know these people meant no harm and would protect them.

By the time they exited the valley, it was already dusk. On the way back, Cao Yanhua held Cao Liberation, fed it a handful of millet, and watched it peck away. Surprisingly, he took the initiative to suggest that this pace was too slow and that they should split into groups the next day.

Thus ended the first day.

On the second day, they split into two teams and covered more ground, but the results were the same. Not every grave had a tombstone, and most inscriptions were limited to phrases like “Beloved Father So-and-So” or “Deceased Wife, née X.” Even when there were words, they didn’t form useful information.

Luo Ren almost began to doubt whether this approach was even correct.

They checked in with Wan Fenghuo by phone—still no progress. The fortune-teller called too, completely unconcerned. “No rush for me to head over. I’ll keep researching—this silver-eyed bat just refuses to fly, no matter what.”

The third day passed with nothing to show for it. The countdown card flipped to “13,” and morale in the car sank to rock bottom.

Luo Ren said, “Let’s go back and find a restaurant. Eat a big meal.”

Cao Yanhua perked up immediately. “Hot pot! Brother Luo, there’s a ‘Chongqing Old Hot Pot’ on the way back. I’ve been craving it forever!”

By the time they arrived, it was past peak hours. They were the only table, seated in the center. The divided pot was boiling—clear broth bubbling fresh and fragrant, red oil shimmering with spice. Plates of beef and lamb slices, lotus root, potatoes, shrimp, tofu skin—two tables full. Steam rose thickly, lively and warm.

Cao Liberation was tied near the door by a small side table. The owner apologized, saying, “Please don’t let the chicken roam around. This is a hot-pot place—if it slips and gets burned…”

Left out of the festivities, Cao Liberation looked a little forlorn.

Halfway through the meal, Wan San picked up a strip of tofu skin with his chopsticks and asked, “Does Cao Liberation eat tofu skin?”

Cao Yanhua was busy dipping lamb into chili oil. “Beans, yes. Tofu skin—I’m not sure.”

“I’ll go try.”

He cheerfully carried it over. On the way, he saw Yan Hongsha returning from the restroom, speaking with the owner.

“Could you make a bowl of noodles? I’m craving noodles.”

“Sorry, miss. This is a hot-pot place—we don’t serve noodles. We used to have the kind you cook in the pot, but those are sold out too…”

…

When Wan San returned, the table was still lively, steam obscuring faces.

Cao Yanhua asked, “So? Does Liberation eat tofu skin?”