Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Zhang Family's Old Residence

The three of them had no time to investigate Old Zeng's room further; they turned and ran toward Xu Bin's house. Zhang Qinglin was the first to burst in, entering the bedroom and calling out for Uncle Jiang, urging him to wake up quickly.

Cheng Che leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Wu Cheng'an was the last to rush in, swiftly shutting the door, but the insects were already crawling through the cracks. Cheng Che stomped down, crushing several beneath his heel.

"This won't do, we can't stay here, let's go!" Wu Cheng'an shouted.

Cheng Che raised his hand, bitten by the insects, blood now oozing from the surface. Seeing the angry look in Wu Cheng'an's eyes, he knew he'd caused trouble and stammered, "There are so many... How are we supposed to get out?"

At that moment, Zhang Qinglin dragged the drowsy Uncle Jiang out of the bedroom. He glanced at the door, now crawling with those golden insects. "Uncle Jiang, Uncle Jiang, we have to leave, Cheng Che, pack up, quick!"

Without hesitation, Cheng Che fetched a black bag from the bedroom and came to Uncle Jiang's side. "What the hell is this? It's even scarier than the stuff we saw in the tomb. My hand is itching and hurting from the bites."

"What are you yelling about? Uncle Jiang this, insects that, disturbing my good dreams..." Uncle Jiang, still groggy, lost all sleepiness at the sight before him. He cleared his head, pointed at Wu Cheng'an, and said, "You rascal, stand there, go fetch some alcohol... And you two, what are you doing standing there? Go find alcohol!"

Alcohol? Zhang Qinglin turned to the table, grabbing the half-used bottle. "Uncle Jiang... alcohol..."

Uncle Jiang glanced at the bottle. "No, that's not enough. Give it to him first, then find more."

Zhang Qinglin handed the alcohol to Wu Cheng'an. Some insects had already climbed onto his shoes, and more golden bugs were crawling in, all heading for his feet.

"Listen, rascal, open the alcohol and pour it slowly in a circle around yourself. The circle must be complete, no gaps. Then shake off the ones on your shoes, quick!" Uncle Jiang stepped back and instructed urgently.

Wu Cheng'an did as told, pouring the alcohol around him. The insects clustered outside the circle, gathering in increasing numbers, all drawn to the boundary.

Cheng Che found a small bottle of alcohol in the corner and brought it to Uncle Jiang. "Uncle Jiang, here's more, how should I use it?"

"Wait until they’re all clustered there, then pour your alcohol directly onto them. Don't pour too much at once—slowly, pour it over the insects," Uncle Jiang instructed.

Cheng Che carried out the task as directed. The three squatted on the floor, watching the alcohol circle. Countless insects burned to death, their bodies flipped over, yellow fluid oozing from them.

"Uncle Jiang, what are these things?" Cheng Che asked, glancing at Uncle Jiang, who was sitting at the table drinking water.

"Imperial locusts, also called Bloodthirsty Essence. They breed rapidly and feed exclusively on blood. If a normal person is attacked by these imperial locusts, death is certain—they’ll gnaw the victim down to the bone..." Uncle Jiang set down his cup and spoke slowly.

Zhang Qinglin stood up and pressed further, "But how did they appear? Why are they attacking people?"

"Most imperial locusts emerge attracted by the scent of blood. Normally, they wouldn’t be found here—they’re a special species native to tropical regions. If they're here now, someone must be breeding them..." Uncle Jiang pondered, stroking his chin.

Wu Cheng'an looked at Uncle Jiang, lowering his gaze. "So, the old man wasn’t killed by the dog, but by these insects."

The floor was littered with the corpses of imperial locusts, burnt by alcohol. Uncle Jiang insisted they be disposed of thoroughly to avoid trouble. They were collected in a large iron basin, burned to ash, bagged, and buried in the earth.

Once everything was cleaned up, Zhang Qinglin remembered that Old Zeng’s house might still have more, since they first crawled out from there.

Zhang Qinglin and Wu Cheng'an took the remaining alcohol and returned to Old Zeng’s door. The house had been lit up before, which explained the strong light.

They pushed the door open and looked inside. The floor was clean, no trace of imperial locusts. Entering, they saw the living room ceiling hung with rows of talisman papers, and a table set up with a Bagua array. Looking around, it seemed Old Zeng knew how to use these things, which explained his strange and cryptic manner of speaking.

Apparently, only the door had imperial locusts earlier; now not a single one could be found.

Back in Xu Bin’s living room, Cheng Che was sitting on the sofa, eating instant noodles, while Uncle Jiang had returned to the bedroom, sleeping soundly.

After eating, they all rested.

Early the next morning, Zhang Qinglin suggested leaving. If he stayed any longer, he’d neither hear any news of Jiang Xinyue nor find clues about his father.

Cheng Che asked if he planned to return to Beijing first or wait for more information. Before they arrived at Xu Bin’s, Cheng Che had already called his home in Beijing, asking his father to find someone to help investigate Jiang Xinyue’s whereabouts.

Zhang Qinglin told them the second matter Old Zeng had mentioned. By now, Cheng Che already knew his circumstances, and Wu Cheng'an had been through so much with them; he ought to know Zhang Qinglin’s special constitution. Uncle Jiang had watched him grow up and wouldn’t find it strange.

He was convinced that Jiang Xinyue was almost certainly not in Chen Gongzi’s hands. Who had really taken her? And the message Wanqing had shown him—was it genuine, or had she deceived him? He couldn’t be sure.

Wu Cheng'an then said a few words that dispelled Zhang Qinglin’s earlier doubts about him. He said Jiang Xinyue was very likely taken by people from the Qilin Sect. That night, he’d heard sounds of fighting, ran out, and caught someone whose neck bore a chain with a Qilin Sect pendant. Wu Cheng'an had torn it off, intending to help Cheng Che and the others, but was stopped by Baroque Lingda.

Uncle Jiang sat nearby, listening. He hung his head, unable to hide his disbelief, but soon regained composure. When Zhang Qinglin asked for his opinion, Uncle Jiang replied coolly, "You make the decisions."

As for the information Cheng Che’s father had found, Jiang Xinyue was indeed abducted by people from the Qilin Sect. Their current destination seemed to be Fang County, which lay between Zhangjialou and Liulianli. This surprised Zhang Qinglin; why would the Qilin Sect kidnap Jiang Xinyue? Was their destination Fang County, or one of the two towns?

Mention of Zhangjialou brought a flash of deep sorrow to Zhang Qinglin’s eyes. It was his birthplace, and where he lost his family. After Uncle Jiang took him away, he hadn’t returned for twenty years. Now, he could seize the opportunity to revisit his old home.

Zhang Qinglin entered the bedroom and retrieved the map and the leather notebook he’d hidden under the bed board. Fortunately, he’d prepared in advance. Using the rice paper Xu Bin kept in the drawer, he’d made a fake map—the one burned in the factory courtyard was that rice paper.

He also took out the white jade cup Xu Bin had hidden in the cabinet—it was important to him too. He packed it, glanced around the bedroom, grabbed the black-and-white cloth bag from the cabinet, and stepped out.

Cheng Che, with money from who knows where, had bought a mobile phone and was making a call in the living room. When he hung up, he turned to Zhang Qinglin, brimming with excitement. "I got us a car!"

Zhang Qinglin replied indifferently, "Your old man found it for you, didn’t he..."

"Qinglin, can’t you not speak the plain truth? If someone hears, I’ll lose all face!" Cheng Che glared at him, embarrassed.

The phone had just come from a close family friend. The man delivered a bag containing the phone and a bundle of cash to the entrance of the complex, along with a bank card. He told Cheng Che to withdraw money in advance if needed, since it would be inconvenient in the villages. After giving instructions, the man left.

Cheng Che opened the bag, delighted by the heavy stack of bills. 'The old man still remembers me.'

"When will the car arrive? Where are Uncle Jiang and Wu Cheng'an?" Zhang Qinglin placed the cloth bag gently on the table and asked.

Cheng Che pouted, glancing toward the door, then flopped onto the sofa. "They went out, one after the other. Not sure what they're doing."

Moments later, Uncle Jiang pushed open the door with a dark expression, Wu Cheng'an right behind him.

As Cheng Che’s phone rang again, the car had arrived outside the complex. The four climbed into the brand-new secondhand vehicle. Though used, everything inside was still new.

After some discussion, they decided to head first to Zhang Qinglin’s hometown, Zhangjialou. Along the way, they bought a map. Cheng Che drove, Zhang Qinglin navigated, Wu Cheng'an and Uncle Jiang sat in the back. Uncle Jiang was silent throughout, his expression stern, eyes occasionally closed, perhaps avoiding Wu Cheng'an's gaze.

Zhang Qinglin spread out the map and found discrepancies between it and the actual route. Some small villages weren’t marked, yet their car was already in one. According to the map, they had to pass through these villages to get back onto the main road.

The villages looked old. Zhang Qinglin glanced in the rearview mirror at Uncle Jiang staring out the window. Remembering Uncle Jiang had visited Zhangjialou before, he called out, "Uncle Jiang..."

Uncle Jiang seemed not to hear, still gazing outside. When Zhang Qinglin called again, he finally responded gruffly, "Eh... What is it?"

"Uncle Jiang, look, the place we’re going isn’t on the map, but we need to pass through here to keep going. You visited a few times before—are there any routes to Zhangjialou directly?" Zhang Qinglin turned to ask.

If Uncle Jiang knew a faster way, they could reach Zhangjialou before dark.

Uncle Jiang lowered his head, thinking, then looked ahead and guided Cheng Che out of the village, onto a smooth highway. Zhang Qinglin offered him the map, but Uncle Jiang didn’t need it—he remembered the route perfectly.

With Uncle Jiang’s guidance, they bypassed the Yellow River area and arrived in Zhangjialou before nightfall.

Most parts of Zhangjialou had been renovated. Zhang Qinglin only vaguely remembered his old home’s location, but Uncle Jiang knew exactly where to go. They parked by the roadside.

Looking to the right, there were four rows of houses, each row home to five families. Zhang Qinglin’s old house was at the very front, still standing, with a dozen large trees in front and a big water pit nearby. That solitary house was where Zhang Qinglin had spent his childhood.

He stepped out, recalling the year he first remembered things: his grandfather sitting under the trees, counting ants with him, his mother fetching water from the pit. He walked forward, gazing at the tightly locked door.

A man was strolling nearby; Zhang Qinglin called out and asked about his home.

"Uncle, may I ask, does anyone live here now?" Zhang Qinglin inquired.

"Which house do you mean? Point it out," the man replied.

Zhang Qinglin indicated the house by the trees. "That one. The door’s locked. Did anyone live there before?"

"Oh, that one. Somebody lived there over ten years ago, but they moved out long ago. What are you folks doing? That house isn’t for rent now, find somewhere else," the man said, lifting his head to study Zhang Qinglin.

Looking at the old house, Zhang Qinglin’s feelings ran deep. At last, he’d returned home; this was where he truly belonged.

He asked why it wasn’t available, and the man pointed to the wall. Zhang Qinglin saw a large "DEMOLISH" character painted there.

After passing by the village committee, Zhang Qinglin was granted temporary permission to stay, as he lacked proof it was his family home.

Even so, he was satisfied. Carrying their simple luggage, they entered the Zhang family house.

That night, Zhang Qinglin saw the abandoned rocking chair in the corner of the yard, and all his childhood memories surged before his eyes in an instant...