Western Zhejiang, Anta County.
Despite the government’s promotion of “common prosperity” in recent years, even the wealthiest provinces had their lagging counties and cities. Anta was one such place. It wasn’t particularly impoverished or backward, but the rapid changes sweeping through other regions made it seem like it was falling behind.
—
As soon as the intercity bus arrived at the station, waiting taxi drivers swarmed around it.
“Ta East, Ta East! Fifty yuan per person!”
“Anyone going to Ta North? Just need one more person. We’ll leave right away!”
“Meter rate! Running by the meter!”
…
Nie Jiuluo sat quietly on the bus, listening to the accented Mandarin. After being away for so long, she could no longer speak the local dialect, though she could still understand it.
She waited until most passengers and drivers had dispersed before getting off.
The station was small, and bustling only when buses arrived. Now it was quiet, with the setting sun casting a cold, fading light.
Nie Jiuluo dragged her suitcase toward the exit.
Nie Dongyang stood at the exit holding a rolled-up magazine, looking around. After seventeen or eighteen years apart, he hadn’t changed much—just grayer hair and saggier cheeks.
Seeing Nie Jiuluo emerge, he paused, quickly opened the magazine to compare her picture inside, then waved it excitedly: “Xixi, Xixi!”
Nie Jiuluo walked straight toward him, wearing the flawless smile she used for interviews: “Uncle.”
Nie Dongyang smiled: “I watched everyone leave and thought you weren’t on this bus.”
Nie Jiuluo smiled too, rotating her ankle to show him her stiletto boots: “High heels. Can’t walk fast.”
Nie Dongyang praised her: “Wow, you’ve made it—even in magazines now! Impressive, impressive. Come on, let’s get to the car.”
—
Nie Dongyang drove a brand-new Volvo.
Sitting in the back seat, Nie Jiuluo casually checked—this model cost around 300,000 yuan on the road—bought with about half the value of her family’s old house.
As they drove, Nie Dongyang made small talk: “Xixi, you haven’t been back for so long. When Yunyun showed me the magazine, I barely recognized you… Why did you change your name?”
Nie Yun was Nie Dongyang’s daughter, her cousin, less than a year older than her.
“Stage name,” Nie Jiuluo replied.
“Oh, stage name,” Nie Dongyang marveled. “Artists are something else, needing two names. Oh, right, the list.”
He handed over a paper filled with writing.
It listed various expenses for the death anniversary ceremony, totaling 26,000 yuan, including joss paper, offerings, live fish for the main sacrifice, fees for setting up the pavilion, and musicians. Nie Jiuluo glanced over it and said, “Thank you for your trouble. I’ll transfer the money to you.”
Nie Dongyang said: “No rush.”
He reached for his phone to show her his payment QR code, but Nie Jiuluo had already turned to look out the window, truly “not rushing.” He had to put his phone away, paused, then explained the upcoming arrangements: “Xixi, I won’t entertain you today—lots to do tomorrow, still need to give instructions to people. You’ll need to get up early tomorrow; I’ll pick you up from the hotel at seven-thirty. We’ll burn paper and make offerings at the site—just busy for one day. In the evening, we can relax. I’ll have your aunt find a good restaurant, and our whole family can have dinner together and catch up properly.”
Nie Jiuluo said: “Let’s skip the restaurant, it’s a waste of money. I’d like to eat Aunt’s cooking—just a simple meal at home would be fine.”
Nie Dongyang agreed this would be more economical but felt he should protest: “Wouldn’t home cooking be too informal? It doesn’t seem right.”
Nie Jiuluo smiled: “We’re family. No need to be formal.”
—
The hotel was in the city center, surrounded by restaurants. Nie Jiuluo had a simple dinner at one of them. She’d planned to return to the hotel to rest, even reached the lobby, but changed her mind.
She wanted to walk down the road by her old home, to see if those trees that dropped insects after being sprayed were still there, and to find the spot where, looking up, she could see the building where her father had last stood.
But what seemed easy in thought proved confusing in practice. After nearly twenty years, even though Anta developed slowly, it was unrecognizable—many old streets had been extended and widened, many non-streets had become streets, and landmarks like schools and hospitals had relocated…
She couldn’t recognize anything anymore.
The night wind was cool, constantly lifting the hem of her trench coat. She hugged her arms, shivering: Home wasn’t simply a geographical location, but rather a composite of place, specific years, specific people, and specific memories—change any part and it lost its essence. Those who left home for many years never truly returned to their “hometown,” but merely to a place where others now lived.
So why pretend to be sentimental here? There was nothing left to be nostalgic about.
She pulled up her phone’s navigation to plan the shortest route back to the hotel. She’d barely walked a short distance when her sixth sense suddenly rang alarm bells.
Someone was watching her, or rather, following her.
Nie Jiuluo worried she might be paranoid, so she deliberately walked a bit further to confirm.
Indeed, someone was following her, though their tracking skills were amateur at best. Twice, she pretended to fix her hair in store windows, using the glass reflection to get a good look at the person’s appearance.
It was a thin old man, perhaps in his fifties or sixties, looking rather refined but somewhat dull, wearing a faded casual jacket and worn sneakers with cracking sides. He moved rather stiffly, almost tripping once when his foot slipped.
How strange—why did she keep encountering mysterious figures targeting her lately? Usually, she’d assume it was some stalker, but given the current circumstances, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was connected to Yan Tuo’s associates.
She continued striding forward, her high heels striking the ground with authority.
After about ten steps, she suddenly stopped, then turned around and walked straight toward the old man.
The old man’s steps weren’t as long as hers—he’d been almost jogging to keep up. Seeing her approach directly, he panicked, hurriedly crouching down to tie his shoelaces—though they weren’t untied—then frantically searching the ground as if he’d just dropped something.
After a few seconds of searching, a pair of suede square-toed boots appeared before his eyes.
The old man had to look up, then hesitantly stood.