SES Chapter 45 V2

No wonder they needed someone for protection. If the Yan family had been doing this for generations, they probably had techniques for dealing with the mist. They knew how to make money—it explained how this elderly man and young woman could afford such a luxurious home in the city and hire staff.

As long as she didn’t have to go down the well, the job sounded a whole lot more appealing—good money and a chance to learn something new. Why not?

Mu Dai nodded. “Okay, I’m in. So, where’s the well this time? Yunnan? Or… Xinjiang?”

Hongsha didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, she sounded hesitant. “We’re… not going into a well this time.”

Not going into a well? Then what was all that explanation for? Just showing off?

Hongsha said, “Come with me. I’ll show you something in my room.”

She didn’t wait for Mu Dai’s agreement—just turned and walked toward the back hall. Mu Dai hesitated, then followed. Just as she stood up, the door opened and a housekeeper came in carrying a bowl of soup.

“Sir, time for your soup.”

What kind of soup? It smelled weird. She glanced at it—chrysanthemum petals were floating on top.

The woman seemed to notice Mu Dai’s curiosity and smiled. “Chicken liver and chrysanthemum soup. One set of chicken livers, three qian of petals. Would the young lady like a bowl?”

Chicken liver with chrysanthemums?

Mu Dai thought—I haven’t seen enough of the world.

Hongsha played a video for her.

It was shot at night, but the moonlight was clear and the resolution high—none of that noisy, grainy footage. It looked like a shoreline. The water was calm, rippling like silk folds. The moon reflected on the surface like countless glowing specks—like an uneven, glimmering mirror.

Hongsha pointed at the center of the screen. “Look here.”

What was that? A dark lump.

The cameraman seemed to anticipate the viewer’s confusion. The next moment, the shot zoomed in.

It was big—about the size of a small tabletop. But what was it?

Almost as if to answer her question, the thing suddenly opened along a line.

Mu Dai’s eyes widened.

“That’s…!”

“That’s right—a clam. Ever seen one this big?”

Mu Dai held her breath. On screen, the clam’s body slowly shifted.

There was a voiceover in the video—a man, clearly excited: “I’ve never seen a clam this huge. It’s basking in the moonlight right now. Legend has it that on full moon nights, old clams get especially lively and will twist to catch the moonlight as it moves across the sky…”

Then he said, “I looked it up before. The biggest pearl ever found is called the Pearl of Laozi—about the size of a human head, estimated at over $20 million. If a clam this size produced a pearl, it’d be priceless… I’m going to get closer.”

The video cut off there.

Hongsha explained, “The voice you heard—that’s my uncle, Yan Jiuxiao.”

“He’s one of our family’s treasure hunters. But we haven’t worked in years—my grandpa’s eyesight is failing.”

Treasure hunting, even if you know where the treasure is, requires sharp eyes, not just groping around blindly. You have to train from a young age to develop a keen sense for detecting the faintest trace of treasure mist among all the natural elements.

So, success wasn’t about grabbing treasure. It was about recognizing it.

But life has a way of balancing things out. Old Yan, whose eyes were trained to see treasure, couldn’t tolerate bright light anymore—not even sunlight. He rarely left the house, and over time, had become nearly blind.

The cruel irony was, he couldn’t see anything anymore—except, just barely, treasure mist.

While Old Yan stayed home to preserve his eyesight and train his granddaughter, Yan Jiuxiao grew restless. He earned well when working, but their lavish lifestyle drained resources fast. He didn’t want to sit around waiting for money to run out, so he declared he was going out to “try his luck.”

He once told Hongsha, “We treasure hunters don’t overlook a single gem. And treasure isn’t just gemstones—there are pearls in the south, jade in the west. If there’s a chance, we should take it.”

Xinjiang was far, so Jiuxiao headed first to Hepu in Guangxi.

About ten days ago, he called Hongsha. Said he’d heard about a village there named Wuzhu—Five Pearls. A special place. That village had long practiced traditional pearl-harvesting methods handed down through generations. They only collected natural pearls—never farmed.

Most treasure hunters believed that artificially made gems, no matter how polished, couldn’t compare to those formed by nature. Like how a surgically enhanced beauty could never outshine someone naturally radiant.

What excited him most was that Wuzhu Village had been abandoned.

Hongsha still remembered how thrilled he’d sounded: “They say it’s been deserted for years. The old clams haven’t been disturbed—they can focus on forming pearls. Some people drowned nearby, so locals avoid the area. Perfectly peaceful. Who knows—I might find something amazing out here.”

A few days later, he sent her that video.

Guangxi, Hepu, Wuzhu Village. What a coincidence…

Mu Dai asked, “And then?”

“There was no then,” Hongsha said. “After that, he disappeared.”

Mu Dai felt a chill run down her spine.

Hongsha didn’t speak further. Truthfully, it wasn’t that there was no contact. There had been one time. One night, half-asleep, she received a call from Yan Jiuxiao.

She wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or a real call—maybe both.

In the dream, Jiuxiao was crawling along the ocean floor. His hands were buried in sand, the current pushing his trembling body. His face was pale, eyes were bloodshot. Suddenly, they locked eyes.

He choked out through tears, “Hongsha… I don’t want to die here…”

Hongsha jolted awake, still holding the phone. And on the other end, the sound of crashing waves thundered through the speaker.

Her voice trembling, she whispered, “Uncle?”