Chapter 109#

The moment the police cast their net, the first lead came in that very afternoon.

It came from among the batch of servants the Ji family had let go in earlier years — one that Nie Xu had mentioned — specifically an old gardener surnamed Zhou.

The reason he was flagged as suspicious was because the police discovered the man had a son who had previously worked for the Ji family’s shipping fleet. The year Yu Fei passed away from illness coincided with the Qiming disaster, and his son had “coincidentally” been aboard one of the Ji family’s ships when the incident occurred. After the Ji family paid the Zhou family compensation, the gardener left their employ.

But remittance records showed that Zhou’s son had likely been alive all these years.

Four o’clock in the afternoon.

Ji Yang and Nie Xu drove out to an old town on the northern outskirts.

Two plainclothes officers accompanied them.

The drive took nearly an hour. By the time they arrived, it was almost six.

Winter days always went dark early, and the sky had already turned a hazy grey.

The town was small, strung along a single old street. On either side stood weathered grey-brick bungalows — some empty now, some still occupied. Gardener Zhou’s home sat at the far end of the street. Dry vines crawled all over the courtyard wall, and at the door stood a neatly stacked pile of split firewood, waist-high.

Ji Yang knocked on the wooden door, and before his knuckles even left the surface, the unlocked door swung inward on its own.

Ji Yang saw an old man seated in the courtyard, repairing an old wicker chair.

The man was in his early seventies, slightly hunched, his hands thick with calluses. When he heard the courtyard gate creak, he looked up toward the entrance. The moment his eyes landed on Ji Yang, the movements of his hands visibly stuttered.

Then he spoke: “For lodging and sightseeing, head to the other end of the street. We don’t take guests here.”

Ji Yang: “We’re not here for sightseeing.”

The old man didn’t look up again. “This old town of ours has nothing left but us old fogeys. If you’re not here for sightseeing, then what for?”

Ji Yang stepped inside first.

A row of holly bushes lined the wall of the courtyard. On a small table to the old man’s left sat an old-fashioned enamel mug, half-filled with coarse tea. Ji Yang crouched down by the small stool beside the table, watching the old man’s handiwork for a moment before saying: “Uncle, we’re looking for someone.”

The old man’s hands came to a complete stop. He glanced at Ji Yang crouching before him, then let his gaze sweep over the few men standing behind.

As if he’d been expecting this.

He reached for a long tobacco pipe lying nearby, took out some leaf tobacco, and slowly rolled it, speaking as he worked: “Go on then. What do you want to know?”

Ji Yang opened his mouth to speak, but Nie Xu reached out and pressed him back.

Then Nie Xu took out a photograph and handed it to the old man.

The old man took it, glanced at it twice, and his hands began to tremble violently.

Nie Xu: “This is a photo taken when your son sought treatment for his burn injuries. The date is the night of the Qiming shipwreck.”

“Yes, that’s right.” The old man held the photograph as though he could still recall that night, and spoke slowly: “My son’s name was Zhou Haisheng. When he was young, he was reckless, getting into trouble everywhere. Because I worked at the Ji family, he shamelessly went to Zhao Yuan and asked him to find him work on one of the Ji family’s ships. I remember that a week before the shipwreck, Haisheng suddenly came to me and his mother looking mysterious, saying he’d landed a big job, and that if he pulled it off, there’d be a huge sum of money. I told him there were no free lunches in this world, but he wouldn’t listen.”

The old man paused, lit his pipe, took two puffs with a soft pat-pat, then continued: “Later he finally told me — Zhao Yuan had them sneak aboard the Nie family’s ship to set fire to a batch of fuel. Five of them went in total, all of them thinking they were just there to cause a distraction. Haisheng only found out that trip was meant to be their one-way ticket because he accidentally overheard Zhao Yuan explaining the plan to someone else.”

Ji Yang: “If that was the case, he could easily have found an excuse not to go. So how did he end up burned?”

The old man gestured to the stool beside them, motioning for them to sit.

Then suddenly: “You’re police, aren’t you?”

The two plainclothes exchanged a glance and looked toward Nie Xu. Nie Xu gave a nod, and only then did one of the officers confirm: “We are.”

The old man was silent for a long moment. “I knew this day would come eventually. He did wrong — how could he expect to escape the consequences?”

He turned to look at Ji Yang and added: “He did find an excuse not to go. But Zhao Yuan — he knew too much. Whether he went or not, the outcome was the same.”

“Did he escape from the ship?” Ji Yang didn’t believe Zhao Yuan would leave anyone a way out.

The old man shook his head. “He never boarded. Zhao Yuan had been planning an accident on land that night. The reason Haisheng survived is that someone saved him.”

Ji Yang’s fingers clenched unconsciously.

From the moment they had entered the courtyard, Ji Yang had indeed felt the old man was too cooperative. Even if the police had already uncovered a trail, he shouldn’t have been pouring everything out so readily, before they’d even shared much information.

Ji Yang’s throat tightened. “Who was it?”

The old man looked at him. “Your mother. Miss Yu.”

The grip of Ji Yang’s clenched hands slowly relaxed, as though dust had finally settled. He raised his eyes to meet the old man’s gaze. “You knew me?”

“I saw you once, when you were a child.” The old man’s clouded eyes swept over Ji Yang’s features, then looked away. “You grew up to look about seventy percent like your mother. When I worked in the Ji family’s greenhouse, I’d often see her taking you for walks in the garden. The Ji family had many visitors, and she didn’t care for socializing — sometimes she’d stay in the garden the entire afternoon.”

The old man said: “She was a very kind person.”

Ji Yang couldn’t speak.

“That day…”

“That day, I don’t know why she appeared at the docks.” The old man said: “By then she had already moved out of the Ji family estate. Haisheng said he saw Miss Yu with a group of people, running desperately toward the docks.”

But the docks at that time had been full of people from the Ji family and the merchants’ guild.

She stood on the shore, watching the sea blaze with fire. Ji Yang, now, could not ask her what exactly had unfolded at the scene, nor could he know what she had faced.

The younger version of himself had drifted away on a small boat toward the reed marshes.

After the Nie family’s crisis, Nie Xu had brought him back and entrusted him to the old butler of the household — and thus began the chain of everything that followed.

Nie Xu helped Ji Yang to his feet, sat him down on the stool, and asked on his behalf: “Do you know what happened after she returned to the Ji family?”

“To keep Zhao Yuan from finding out Haisheng was still alive, I stayed on at the Ji family for a while after collecting the compensation money. All I know is that Miss Yu fell ill. Her mental state truly worsened day by day. By then, the Ji family’s eldest had brought back an illegitimate son, and the servants were all whispering among themselves — they said Miss Yu had a broken heart.”

Ji Yang gritted his teeth: “Bullshit.”

“I thought so too — Miss Yu was an open, free-spirited person.” The old man tapped his pipe against the stool, seeming to sink into memory, and sighed: “Because of Haisheng, I actually went to see Miss Yu. She said she didn’t save him for any other reason — she was a mother. She advised me to have Haisheng turn himself in, at least so he could live out his remaining years in peace. But I, out of my own selfishness…”

The old man didn’t finish the sentence — he felt that he had betrayed his conscience for the sake of his son. Ji Yang had no right to judge another person’s choices. He was only thinking that her advice to surrender hadn’t really stemmed from believing it would change anything, but likely because she genuinely thought that, given the Ji family’s meteoric rise at the time, a prison sentence would be far more bearable than spending the rest of one’s life in hiding, unseen and unknown.

Finally, Ji Yang asked the last question: “How much do you know about her funeral arrangements?”

“Nothing but the surface glamour of a wealthy family. I heard that the golden nanmu coffin originally chosen was ultimately swapped out for plain cypress wood. On the day of burial, the old master hired a renowned feng shui master and chose an evening hour.” The old man sighed at this point as well. “Fanzhou custom dictates a morning burial. Miss Yu was of noble birth herself — who would have thought it would end like that… She had barely passed away when that woman walked through the door. Even the lilies Miss Yu had loved most in the greenhouse were all dug up and destroyed…”

Nie Xu frowned: “A feng shui master?”

One of the officers followed up: “Based on our previous investigations and interviews, there was no mention of a feng shui master being involved.”

The old man: “How could something like that be made public? Wealthy families care about these things most, but they’d never let it appear on the surface — it’s all done behind closed doors. I didn’t sleep that night. I watched with my own eyes as the old master escorted the man out through the back door. He said something about the site gathering water and sheltering wind, bringing prosperity in descendants and wealth — only the bones must not be seen.”

The officers put away the recording device and the transcript, bagged and sealed them.

Seeing that the interview was more or less complete, they declined the old man’s offer to stay for a meal. When the group emerged from the courtyard, it was already nine o’clock.

The sky had long since gone pitch black.

The old town had few residents to begin with. Every household had barred its doors and shuttered its windows. Only two dim yellow lanterns outside the alley cast a lonely, feeble glow.

Ji Yang couldn’t describe what he was feeling. Walking along the stone-paved road, he caught his foot on a pebble and nearly stumbled.

Nie Xu was beside him — a single arm reached out and steadied him.

“Watch where you’re walking,” Nie Xu reminded him.

Ji Yang nodded. “Got it.”

But Nie Xu didn’t let go of his hand. He tucked Ji Yang’s hand into his own coat pocket as they discussed the known leads with the officers beside them.

One of the officers said: “The empty coffin in the suburban cemetery is indeed cypress. If the material was swapped on short notice — was that also the feng shui master’s suggestion?”

Nie Xu: “There’s another possibility.”

“What?” the officer asked.

Nie Xu squeezed Ji Yang’s fingertips: “The density of golden nanmu and cypress wood aren’t in the same weight class. Nanmu is significantly denser and heavier.”

The officers exchanged a glance and nodded: “That’s certainly a valid line of inquiry. If someone intended to move the coffin, cypress would indeed be more practical. The problem is, checking purchase records at this point is virtually impossible.”

“Find the feng shui master,” Nie Xu said. “I’ll handle that. The population registry system only allows name searches — for niche services like this, the formal channels won’t work. Sync what you have with the municipal bureau and see if there’s any additional information. Keep me updated.”

“Understood,” the officers responded quickly and got into the car.

Just as Ji Yang and Nie Xu were about to get in as well, a sound came from behind the alley.

It was the old gardener Zhou, come to see them off.

The old man walked over in silence and pressed a bag into Ji Yang’s hands: “Eat on the road. Don’t go hungry, young master.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ji Yang said. He looked inside the bag and saw it was filled with bread, biscuits, and the like, so he didn’t refuse it. “Just call me Ji Yang.”

The old man waved his hand dismissively, then looked at the person standing beside Ji Yang.

“From the Nie family?” the old man asked.

Ji Yang’s expression showed surprise.

Nie Xu nodded: “Yes.”

“Good. Good.” The old man nodded, saying “good” twice in succession. His gaze moved back and forth between the two of them before he said: “I just suddenly remembered — when Miss Yu was still alive, she once mentioned a friend’s child. She said he was a few years older than you. I heard the results of the recent accident investigation on the radio. That’s very good.”

With that, the old man turned and shuffled unsteadily deep into the alley.

The wind poured in from the north, stripping the last batch of leaves from the roadside branches until not a single one remained. Ji Yang got into the backseat and cracked the window open a sliver. Cold air snaked through the gap, blowing the stray hairs across his forehead into disarray.

Nie Xu reached over and rolled the window up, then followed Ji Yang’s gaze out. “What is it?”

“I was thinking — maybe most people living in this world are like Gardener Zhou,” Ji Yang said. “They all have their own selfish desires, yet they’re also good people.”

Nie Xu ran his fingers through Ji Yang’s hair. “Yes. At least I certainly do.”

“Selfish desires?” Ji Yang asked.

Nie Xu: “Mm. Selfishly, I don’t want you to face what comes next. But I know I can’t do that.”

When Nie Xu said he couldn’t — it was because he had realized Ji Yang might not be able to accept the truth.

The police’s investigation and Nie Xu’s ran simultaneously.

Every person who had once worked at the Ji estate was checked one by one. Memories of the funeral’s details were cross-referenced. And finally, the feng shui master — who, it turned out, was found at a hospital, hooked to a breathing machine and no longer able to speak — corroborated everything.

Yu Fei had likely never left the Ji estate.

When Ji Mingyue drove to find Ji Yang along with the Ji family’s Third Madam, Ji Yang was sitting in his car at the gates of the Ji estate.

It was yet another evening in what had been three consecutive days during which Ji Yang had slept fewer than five hours.

Dark clouds churned densely in the overcast sky. Lightning split through the clouds, cleaving the air in two. The Ji family’s once-gilded main building now looked even more sinister and terrifying under the storm.

Ji Mingyue supported the Third Madam to Ji Yang’s car.

“Xiao Yang,” the Third Madam called out to him.

Ji Yang looked at Ji Mingyue. His voice, worn from prolonged exhaustion, came out hoarse: “Why are you here?”

Ji Mingyue opened her mouth as though about to say something, then held back, glancing at the Third Madam.

The Third Madam’s face was filled with guilt. She couldn’t even meet Ji Yang’s eyes directly.

She forced a shaky smile: “I…”

Ji Yang sensed what was coming. “Third Aunt, whatever you want to say, just say it. There’s nothing you can’t say.”

“It was me.” The Third Madam tried several times before the words came out. Her lips trembled, and tears spilled first: “It was me. I let you down. I let your mother down.”

Ji Yang said nothing.

The Third Madam covered her mouth, her voice laced with terror: “That year, I saw it. I actually saw it. Father and Eldest Brother didn’t send your mother away — they entombed her directly beneath the main building. I don’t know why — why they would do such a thing. But I had no way out. Your Third Uncle is weak by nature, and Mingyue was still a child then. All I could do was pretend nothing had happened.”

Rumble—

A thunderclap rang out across the sky.

Ji Yang suddenly understood why everyone said the Third Madam spent her days chanting Buddhist scriptures and keeping a vegetarian diet, and why more than one person had mentioned that the Ji family’s main building had been renovated in the early years.

He could recall with perfect clarity something Ji Yansong had said just over half a year ago — when Ji Yansong used his hotel room to conduct a smuggling deal involving a batch of overseas goods, and had said he would give Ji Yang shares in Haicheng.

He had said: “You look more and more like your mother.”

He had said: “The main building has been renovated — there’s no trace of your mother left. But it’s still the place where you grew up. That is your home. That is where you should live.”

At the time, Ji Yang had thought Ji Yansong was simply displeased with his disobedience.

Now, recalling that gaze again, Ji Yang understood at last: the unmistakable scrutiny and humiliation in those eyes, delivered in a posture of almost smug satisfaction — watching the glory he had spent his entire life building, while burying his deepest fear deep underground, never to see the light of day.

Ji Yang stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him with a bang, walking inside.

Ji Mingyue grabbed an umbrella and hurried to follow him.

The open ground in front of the Ji estate’s main building that night had the illusion of returning to its former bustle.

Officers and personnel moved to and fro, setting up equipment and carrying out their work.

When the rain began to fall in steady drops, Ji Mingyue held the umbrella over him, following in silence. Ji Yang pushed through the bustling crowd. The rain grew heavier, faster, until soon faces were indistinguishable and voices blurred together.

Ji Yang heard someone who could only shout over the noise: “The old bastard in there won’t talk! Brother Nie’s inside!”

“The detection equipment’s no good — we can’t pinpoint the location. We need to drill!”

“Stop wasting time! Bring Ji Changshou in!”

Ji Yang stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the main building’s front entrance.

He didn’t know how long he stood there.

Nie Xu came out.

The old man in his grip was barely clinging to that last thread of life.

Nie Xu dropped him to the ground.

Ji Yang crouched down. He looked at the old man sprawled on the ground — a wretched, beaten heap of mud, ancient and decrepit — and called softly: “Grandfather.”

The old thing lifted his eyelids. His gaze carried the look of a man whose fate was sealed, yet that stubborn thread of breath still stuck in his throat, refusing to release.

At this moment, a police officer came forward and said: “We’ve pinpointed the approximate location. But we’ll likely need heavy machinery. I’m afraid this building can’t be preserved.”

The question was directed at both Ji Yang and Nie Xu.

For the transfer of the Ji family’s assets, Nie Xu had the authority to make the call — and Ji Yang was the person involved; his decision mattered just as much.

Ji Yang rose to his feet and looked up at the building.

He spoke softly: “The site gathers water and shelters wind, bringing prosperity in descendants and wealth — only the bones must not be seen. There’s a second half to that saying, isn’t there? If the bones are seen, the pillars will crack; if the pillars crack, the household will collapse. Ji Yansong — since you believed in it, then today, watch with your own eyes as everything you once took such pride in crumbles into ruins before you.”

Everyone watched him standing in the rain, rooted like an iron nail, letting himself be soaked through by the cold downpour.

Facing the building that had entombed his mother, he spoke slowly, with finality:

“Dig.”