Chapter Sixty-Four: Missing Connection

Before we could even grasp what was happening, a crisp round of applause echoed from within the house. A middle-aged man dressed in a gray long gown emerged. If the silver-haired old lady from earlier possessed an imposing presence, then the man before us could only be described as radiating an overwhelming aura.

His attire consisted of a traditional long robe and cloth shoes. His features were clean-cut and refined, with a rare cascade of long hair for that era—yet it did nothing to diminish his elegance. In his hand, he held a finely crafted folding fan. For a moment, I almost mistook him for a wandering hero straight out of ancient times.

“Damn, that man is truly handsome!” This was Fatty’s candid assessment—the first and only time in his life he’d ever described another man in such terms.

There was no denying it: the man standing before us was graceful, debonair, and exuded a touch of playful recklessness. With looks alone, he seemed capable of conquering any woman’s heart.

His first words took us by surprise. “You’re Cha Wenbin, aren’t you?”

Cha Wenbin was stunned. How did this man know him?

Perhaps noticing our confusion, the man continued, “The young master of the Qian family told you I’d be here, didn’t he? I’ve been waiting for you.” He scrutinized Cha Wenbin with the eager approval of a hunter eyeing prized game. “Not bad, not bad at all…”

Cha Wenbin felt deeply uncomfortable under that intense gaze, but forced himself to remain composed. “And you are?” he asked.

The man responded with unabated cheerfulness, “No need to worry. I just invited you here for a look, and you’ve already passed the first test. Now, I’m quite curious—how did you figure it out?”

Cha Wenbin replied, “A shadowless figure under the sun is either a spirit or a ghost. She had a shadow, but there was a flaw.”

The man’s interest was clearly piqued. “And what was the flaw?”

“She could speak, but her shadow’s mouth never moved. That raised my suspicions. Also, her skin was unnaturally white. This is a remote mountain village—what business would a woman in her eighties have here? A paper figure is still just a paper figure, merely grafted with some skill. It can’t withstand real fire. But the fact she could travel through the earth means she’s been lingering here for many years, which, according to Daoist rules, is not entirely out of order.”

“Good lad. Are you really only nineteen this year?”

“My birthdate was given to me by my parents; I wouldn’t dare change it,” Cha Wenbin answered. “But since you know my name, and even my age, you must be an acquaintance. Perhaps you knew my master?”

The man leaped down from the steps, circled Cha Wenbin like a predator examining its catch, his eyes almost devouring him. “I don’t know your master, nor do I care to. But you interest me. Come with me when this is over.”

“Are my companions in your hands?”

“You mean that girl? Don’t worry—I’ve just borrowed her for a bit. She’s perfectly safe.”

Fatty lunged forward, drawing his pistol and pointing it at the man. “Borrowed? She’s a living, breathing person and you kidnapped her, yet you dare tell us not to worry? In broad daylight, you abduct a woman—how are you any better than the bandits of old? Today, I’ll be judge and executioner. Cha takes care of the underworld, and Stone handles the living!”

I knew Fatty’s strength. He boasted he could take on ten men, and while that was an exaggeration, two or three were certainly no match for him. He mixed raw force with cunning, and as he reached out to grab the man’s robe, the man simply shifted his foot, making Fatty’s hand brush past harmlessly. Fatty’s momentum carried him forward, and with a subtle hook of the man’s foot, Fatty crashed spectacularly to the ground at the threshold.

“Oh dear, little brother, you must be more careful,” the man said, helping Fatty up. Fatty, unwilling to admit defeat, threw his arm around the man’s neck, intending to wrestle him down. His physical strength was formidable; even I worried he might go too far. But once again, reality defied expectations. Fatty’s arm was locked around the man’s neck, yet the man merely supported him by the waist and lifted him up as if he weighed nothing at all. Fatty’s face flushed red with exertion, veins bulging on his forearm, but the man remained unruffled, even asking with concern, “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

To the untrained eye, it was just a scuffle, but to those who understood, the technique was obvious. Fatty immediately recognized he’d met his match—he respected only those tougher than himself. By the time he got back on his feet, his bravado had evaporated, and he hung his head in embarrassment.

Cha Wenbin, though no fighter, was no fool. Anyone could see what had happened. He addressed the man politely, “Sir, please don’t trouble us young folk. That girl is our friend. We’re planning to return home at once, so I ask that you let her go.”

The man thought for a moment before replying, “I don’t have the final say. But if you agree to stay with me for a year or so, I might be able to help.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then do as you please. And tell your gun-toting friend here that there are at least five snipers aiming at your heads right now. Best put that toy away.”

“I’ll go with you!” Cha Wenbin’s answer was calm and natural, as if he’d considered it at length. He spoke before we could protest. “But please, let my friends go.”

“Agreed. Wait here—I’ll check on the arrangements.” With that, the man disappeared inside. About the time it would take to smoke a cigarette, he returned. “You may stay. The other two, wait at the village office. At midnight, the girl will be returned to you. You, come with me.”

Cha Wenbin turned to me, “Xiao Yi, take Xiaobai and Stone and go. From now on, stick to honest work. Stay away from risky business. Your family only has you—since I won’t get the chance to be filial, you must cherish them well.”

His words sounded like a farewell before death, making me all the more uneasy. “You…”

Cha Wenbin seemed to understand what I meant. “Don’t worry. Go on. We can’t let a girl bear this alone, can we?”

That left Fatty and me with no ground for argument. From any perspective, we couldn’t abandon Yuan Xiaobai. If it were me, or Fatty, any one of us would have volunteered to stay in exchange—let alone Cha Wenbin.

Years later, when I recalled that scene, I finally understood the true weight of the word “helplessness.”

Fatty and I returned to the village and waited in silence, counting every minute as if it were a year. We hadn’t eaten or spoken since leaving the mountain, pacing endlessly by the village office. Around one in the morning, a shadowy figure appeared in the distance.

“Xiaobai?” I called hoarsely, my throat parched from a full day without a word.

The figure staggered toward us, bracing against the wall, and collapsed before I could even be sure it was her.

Five days later, in Shanghai, Yuan Xiaobai awoke in the hospital. Her first words were, “Where is he?”

I shook my head, for I truly didn’t know. When we’d found her, she was caked in mud, reeking of rot, her mind dazed. We’d rushed her out of the village that night on the only tractor available. As for Cha Wenbin, I entrusted his whereabouts to Uncle Miao.

The wait was agonizing. Half a month later, I received a telegram from the northeast. It said that after we left, the villagers searched the mountains for days but found no trace of him. Uncle Miao and I exchanged letters over the years, always inquiring after Cha Wenbin, but he vanished as if swallowed by the earth, just like those mysterious strangers.

Yuan Xiaobai’s injuries turned out to be minor, mostly scrapes and bruises, but she refused to speak of what had happened. She spent her days gazing silently out the window, sometimes shedding quiet tears.

About a month later, when I visited her in Shanghai, only the butler remained at the Yuan family residence. Yuan Xiaobai had left me a letter, saying her father was sending her to study in America. Later, I received postcards from abroad, the backdrop a prestigious university, with a photo of her smiling brightly—though there was a trace of sorrow in her eyes.

Fatty and I went south to Guangzhou in those early years of China’s economic boom. Back then, Shenzhen was still a vast construction site. Drawing on our experience as traders, we resumed our old trade.

It was an era of feverish opportunity. We chose Fatty’s old line of work: collecting scrap.

But this was no ordinary scrap business. Thanks to the port’s advantages, all manner of secondhand goods from overseas piled up on the docks—from clothes to electronics. The very items foreigners discarded as outmoded were coveted luxuries in the mainland.

A used Japanese television shipped from Guangzhou inland could fetch a tidy profit. A trainload of secondhand suits, brought in as waste, would be snapped up after a bit of cleaning and pressing. It was a time of information gaps and explosive growth. Fatty and I were lucky—we struck gold with our first bucketful.