Chapter Twelve: An Unexpected Discovery

Unexpectedly, Dazhuang’s stamina was astonishing; in no time, he clambered up the slope with bare hands. The mountain ranges east of Siyue County stretched endlessly, and Dazhuang had grown up here from childhood—scaling hills and climbing ridges was no challenge at all for him. In contrast, Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che, both raised in big cities, could hardly keep up; now, they were already breathless and exhausted.

In a blink, Dazhuang reached the summit of the nearest small mountain. He glanced back anxiously from time to time, then continued to climb upward.

“Damn it, is this kid truly simple, or is he just pretending? He runs faster than a rabbit,” Cheng Che grumbled, following behind Zhang Qinglin.

After crossing the slope, they saw Dazhuang crouched beneath a large locust tree not far off, giggling foolishly. His eyes were wide and his pupils darted about—he looked entirely odd.

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che rushed to the locust tree, stopping in front of Dazhuang. They watched as he bowed his head, his hands unconsciously waving in front of him, tracing circles as if hypnotizing himself.

Cheng Che strode forward and yanked Dazhuang up, pinning him against the locust tree behind. Raising his hand as if to strike, he barked, “Why… are you running… keep running then…”

Zhang Qinglin stepped closer, glanced at Dazhuang, then looked to where Dazhuang had been staring. From his demeanor, it seemed something lay on the ground. As Zhang Qinglin approached, he discovered something in the grass a couple of steps away. He bent down, parted the weeds, and found a notebook bound in cowhide.

He picked it up and flipped through it. It was still somewhat damp inside. Cheng Che looked over as well. The two exchanged a glance, then took Dazhuang and the notebook back with them.

Zhang Qinglin sat at the stone table in the courtyard, poring over the cowhide notebook brought back from the hills. On closer inspection, its cover was already worn. The first few pages were filled with names of various regions written in blue ballpoint pen. Some places had been soaked by rain and were creased and blurred. The names that remained legible were ones he had never heard of. Turning a few more pages, he found rough sketches—lines linked together, mapping mountain ranges.

“How is it? Any discoveries?” Cheng Che came out of the house, saw Zhang Qinglin absorbed in the notebook, and sat at the stone table with a somewhat grave expression.

Zhang Qinglin pointed to the pages he had just turned to. “Look at these places—don’t they resemble the mountain ranges in the Shangtang Eight Steeds Map?”

At his words, Cheng Che immediately bent over for a look, furrowing his brow. His left hand clenched into a fist, which he slammed onto the stone table.

“It’s all my fault—I didn't keep a close eye on Xinyue. Someone must have taken her. Could she be in danger now?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Cheng Che. Yueyue will be fine. I’m wondering if their goal is to find those treasures?” Zhang Qinglin said, brows tightly knit.

Cheng Che gazed at Zhang Qinglin. “Old Zhang, don’t you think Uncle Jiang’s involvement is a bit suspicious? Everything points to the Shangtang Eight Steeds Map. The secret hidden in the map must be the so-called Whisper Plan Sister Xiao mentioned. So what we need to do now is search for those silk manuscripts according to the map?”

“No, Cheng Che, I think we’ve misunderstood from the very start…”

“This matter is far more complicated than we imagined. Sister Xiao wouldn’t simply send us to look for the Shangtang Eight Steeds Map.”

Zhang Qinglin’s deep eyes looked out toward the small patch of wild greens by the stone table.

Suddenly, a brick flew in from beyond the stone wall, landing with a sharp crack.

Both men were startled. Cheng Che immediately rushed out. He stopped in the alley—no one was around, save for the occasional passerby at the entrance. He quickly returned to the courtyard, finding Zhang Qinglin standing before the brick and unfolding the paper tied to it.

It was a sheet of letter paper. The corner was torn where the brick had landed. After reading it, Zhang Qinglin’s expression changed, three deep lines creasing his brow.

“What is it?” Cheng Che, seeing his look, reached for the letter paper in Zhang Qinglin’s hand.

On the page were two vertical lines of characters: ‘Bring Shangtang tomorrow at four in the afternoon. Meet at the Phoenix Moon Pavilion of Chenghai Restaurant for a detailed discussion.’

“What does this mean? What should we do now? Should we call the police, let them handle it? Maybe they could find Uncle Jiang and Xinyue.”

Zhang Qinglin raised his head and looked at him. “We can’t call the police. If you do, too many people will get involved—not only would it fail to save Yueyue and Uncle Jiang, it could even endanger them.” His intuition told him this was no simple matter.

He took back the letter paper from Cheng Che and tucked it into his pocket, heading inside.

Cheng Che was momentarily speechless, glancing at Zhang Qinglin. “So you mean to meet them?”

“Yes. Trap or conspiracy—either way, we must go.”

Dazhuang did not emerge all day, likely frightened by Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che. The old granny said he was often like this; after encountering strangers, he would be back to normal in two or three days. Beneath the dim bulb hanging on the fence, Zhang Qinglin devoured the food from the cracked porcelain plate under her kindly gaze.

Tonight, there was no moon. In the heat of summer, a gentle breeze stirred. Spending summer in Siyue County was, in truth, rather pleasant.

At dinner, Zhang Qinglin asked the old granny about the Chenghai Restaurant they were to visit the next day. She said it had been there for ages—Siyue County’s oldest establishment. The local population was sparse, so most patrons were tourists. Civilized folk from big cities liked cleanliness, so the restaurant was popular and well-known. It was located just south of Central Street, a turn away.

Zhang Qinglin said their friends would arrive tomorrow, and they planned to move to Chenghai Restaurant. He patted his pockets; he had not a penny left. Quietly, he said to Cheng Che, “Lend me some money for now—I’ll pay you back later.”

Cheng Che rummaged through his pockets and produced his last six hundred yuan, placing it in Zhang Qinglin’s hand. Zhang Qinglin handed the money to the old granny, saying it was payment for food and lodging. She adamantly refused, but after much insistence and gratitude, she finally accepted.

After dinner, the old granny said she would bring some food to Dazhuang. Zhang Qinglin wanted to check on him, and Cheng Che, resigned, followed along.

Before entering, they heard bursts of laughter.

“Hee… hee hee... ha ha ha....”

Zhang Qinglin lifted the curtain and saw Dazhuang curled up on the kang, staring ahead with wide eyes and a silly grin.

As soon as someone entered, Dazhuang scuttled to the corner, crouched and hugged his legs, bowing his head. He kept his eyes wide open, tracing shapes with his left hand in front of his feet.