Xiong Hei’s car sped out of the villa.
Yan Tuo sat in the passenger seat. After they got onto the main road, he asked Xiong Hei, “What’s the urgent matter?”
Xiong Hei kept his eyes on the road, focused on driving: “Just that mess with Ban Ya. We’ve been keeping Jiang Baichuan and his people for some time now—we can’t keep them forever.”
Something stirred in Yan Tuo’s mind.
Earlier at the farm, when he’d discussed Jiang Baichuan with Xiong Hei, the latter had let something slip—after saying “Sister Lin’s son,” he’d refused to say another word.
Yan Tuo casually asked, “Planning to exchange people?”
Xiong Hei responded without thinking, making an affirmative sound.
“Exchange for Aunt Lin’s son?”
Xiong Hei was about to grunt in agreement when he suddenly realized and startled: “How do you know?”
“You let it slip last time, and told me not to tell Aunt Lin, remember?”
Was that right? Xiong Hei couldn’t quite remember, but with Feng Mi in the back seat, he felt somewhat embarrassed and tried to gloss it over.
But Feng Mi wasn’t easily fooled: “Brother Xiong, you’re not good at keeping secrets.”
Xiong Hei said awkwardly: “Yan Tuo is… one of us.”
Since they’d gotten to this point anyway, Yan Tuo turned slightly to look at Feng Mi in the back seat: “Aunt Lin’s son—how old is he? Is he handsome?”
Xiong Hei responded irritably: “What’s it to you whether he’s handsome or not?”
Yan Tuo smiled: “I’m asking for Feng Mi.”
Feng Mi snorted: “I don’t know how old he is, but he’s not handsome. Don’t ask for me—it has nothing to do with me.”
Yan Tuo maintained his casual demeanor: “How did Aunt Lin’s son end up with Ban Ya’s people? Was he kidnapped like me?”
Feng Mi remained silent. Xiong Hei cleared his throat: “Enough, Yan Tuo. It’s none of your business—stop asking questions.”
Yan Tuo turned back, staring ahead: “Who doesn’t have curiosity? Telling half and hiding half—can’t stand how stingy you are with information.”
The car fell silent for a while. Xiong Hei glanced at Yan Tuo, several times wanting to ask something but swallowing his words.
He’d better not meddle—just follow Sister Lin’s instructions.
Yan Tuo didn’t speak again either, turning his head to watch the city’s night scenery through the window.
Xi’an, as a city, had always felt foreign to him.
Although his household registration showed “Xi’an,” he’d spent his childhood in Tang County. After that came a complete relocation, and only then did they move to Xi’an. The advantage of big cities is that no matter how close people live to each other, the distance between them remains far—in the same community, even next-door neighbors might live there for three to five years and remain strangers.
Lin Xirou must like such places: move once, shed a skin—after several times, she could be reborn.
In his view, the street scenes kept changing, sometimes new, sometimes ancient, and sometimes decrepit.
…
Xiong Hei received a phone call. After listening for a while, he said “Okay.”
Then he turned the car around.
The car made a wide turn. Yan Tuo asked curiously: “What’s wrong?”
Xiong Hei didn’t look at him: “Taking you somewhere—you probably don’t know we have such a hideout in the city.”
He raised his voice: “Feng Mi, do you know about it?”
Feng Mi’s voice was lazy: “I know now, just take me there.”
Another hideout?
Yan Tuo took out his phone to check the location.
He’d never been here before—it was in the western suburbs, originally an old industrial area packed with factories surrounded by workers’ residential buildings. As the city developed, many residents moved to better neighborhoods, leaving these buildings gradually vacant, awaiting demolition and renovation.
The renovation seemed to be slowly progressing now. Yan Tuo noticed many walls marked with white chalk circles containing large characters for “demolish.”
After numerous turns, the car finally stopped in front of an apartment building. Xiong Hei bent down to undo his seatbelt: “First floor, the unit at the very end.”
Yan Tuo got out and looked up at the building. It was extremely old, with walls so weathered that the plaster was peeling. Electric wires crawled like snakes from one window to another. If not for one or two units still having lights on, he would have thought it was an abandoned building.
He felt like he’d traveled back to the 80s or 90s—no, the 60s or 70s.
Why bring someone here for an exchange? Had Jiang Baichuan and the others been moved here from the farm?
Xiong Hei beckoned Yan Tuo into the hallway, with Feng Mi lazily following behind.
The hallway light was broken. Xiong Hei lit up his phone’s flashlight. The deeper they went, the stronger the years-old musty smell became. Yan Tuo saw rusty bicycles lying askew on the ground, and broken pickle jars whose leaked juices had long dried, leaving large white stains on the floor.
The door at the very end had white funeral couplets pasted on it.
—One illness parts from earth and homeland, the whole family weeps for their lost kin.
The couplets were also aged, corners curling up, appearing especially eerie in the phone’s light.
Yan Tuo sensed something was wrong and instinctively stopped: “Wait, this place…”
Before he could finish, he felt a gun barrel press hard against his lower back, and Feng Mi’s sighing voice came from behind: “Yan Tuo, Aunt Lin’s instructions were that if you resist, I can shoot—so please cooperate. My heart might be unwilling, but my hands might not be.”
Yan Tuo’s scalp tingled, but he quickly recovered, forcing calm as he smiled at Xiong Hei: “Brother Xiong, isn’t there some misunderstanding?”