Chapter Forty-Six: A New Life

The space left for Fatty and me was barely half the size of a room. The timber ahead had already collapsed into a jumble, tilting this way and that, barely enough for one person to half-crouch. In this place, it wouldn’t be long before Fatty and I suffocated.

“Who’d have thought, huh? The two of us dying together. Just feels like we’re missing Grandpa Cha. If he were here, the trio would be complete.” Only Fatty could still joke at a time like this.

“Don’t say that. I haven’t married yet. Of the three greatest impieties, leaving no descendants is worst. I’m a filial son—can’t have that. You’d better figure something out.”

“No way around it. Wait it out. We’ve triggered the trap for them; if we survive, it’s fate. As long as they dig us out before a second collapse, we’ll make it. If it falls again, we’ll be buried alive for sure.”

Fatty’s assessment was accurate. Not a minute passed before I heard the sound of sand being pried from above. Grandpa Liu’s experience was unparalleled; the best way to deal with a quicksand tomb was to first extract the sand. To preserve the grave goods inside, violence couldn’t be used. So the two of us, unlucky enough to play human mine detectors, could only leave it to fate. If you died, they’d bury you in the coffin; if you survived, it meant you were lucky, and no one would say much. It was just the way things went.

Half an hour later, daylight returned. Grandpa Liu looked at our dirt-caked faces, still pretending to be a savior: “I’ve ordered everyone to mobilize. As the boss, I’m responsible for this mess. Lucky for you two, you’re tough. Get them home to rest, and stop somewhere for some food and drink to calm their nerves.”

“Alright, Grandpa Liu.” The driver responded and pulled Fatty and me toward the car.

“Wait!” Fatty shoved Yang Dali aside, his expression calm as he looked at Grandpa Liu. “A life for a life. That old Stone Guardian died in the tomb tonight. Grandpa Liu, you owe me a new identity.”

Grandpa Liu was startled, then quickly laughed it off: “Young people, shaken up, that’s all. Dali, what are you waiting for? Get them home, they’re too scared to think straight.”

“You promised, Grandpa Liu. My identity can be cleared, right?”

Grandpa Liu seemed impatient, muttering to Fatty, “Can we talk about this tomorrow? Go home first. I’ll find someone to look into it, and let you know as soon as there’s news.”

Fatty didn’t move, and Yang Dali couldn’t budge him either. Conveniently, the man had taken money from Fatty, so he couldn’t act out. He just waited for Grandpa Liu’s command.

Grandpa Liu’s face darkened. He shouted at the driver, “Dali, take them away!” Then he cursed at his two men beside him, “All you do is eat—do I have to teach you how to get rid of someone?”

The two men, seeing the boss angry, reached behind their backs. I saw Fatty’s lips tremble slightly. In a flash, his hand shot out like lightning. In the blink of an eye, before I could even see clearly, Grandpa Liu’s feet were already off the ground—Fatty had one hand around his neck, lifting him up, while the other hand shoved a gun barrel into his mouth, forced open by his struggle for breath.

Fatty looked coldly at Grandpa Liu, who was struggling and rolling his eyes in terror. “In this business, you have to keep your word, right? Today, the two of us, two lives for your nod. If you agree, tomorrow I leave Xi’an and everything in my shop is yours. If not, well, it’s your life for mine.”

His men seemed eager to act, but Fatty was utterly calm. Wherever his gaze swept, they involuntarily stepped back. I could see Grandpa Liu was nearly done for, his mouth making muffled noises, his hand gestures suggesting everything could be negotiated.

“You agree?” Fatty asked.

“Mmm, mmm.” Grandpa Liu kept nodding, blood beginning to trickle from his mouth. The barrel must have struck his gums—he was nodding with all his strength.

Fatty released his grip, and Grandpa Liu collapsed, unable to stand. Fatty caught him one-handed and said to me, “Brother Xia, Grandpa Liu’s been scared enough tonight. Let’s take him somewhere for food and drink to calm him down. You watch him, I’ll drive.”

He pressed the gun to Grandpa Liu’s waist and reached for Yang Dali: “Keys.”

Yang Dali looked at Grandpa Liu, who coughed several times before shouting, “Give them to him!”

“See? I told you Grandpa Liu was tired. Dali, go to Grandpa Ding and tell him Grandpa Liu is going home with me tonight to study feng shui. When my new documents are ready, Grandpa Liu’s feng shui will be studied. Xiao Yi, let’s go!”

Fatty shoved Grandpa Liu into the car and handed me the gun. I pressed it right to Grandpa Liu’s forehead. Fatty started the engine and floored it.

That night, we never went home. Fatty drove straight to Xi’an train station. I tied Grandpa Liu up tightly. Fatty said it didn’t matter where we hid in Xi’an—this was Ding’s territory, ruling both sides of the law. Right now, plenty of people were watching us from the shadows.

I said, “Doesn’t that make us pretty unsafe?”

Fatty pointed at Grandpa Liu. “We’re not as valuable as him. He knows exactly how many emperors and generals are buried beneath Xi’an’s outskirts. They’ll agree. For them, my issue is just a word. You’re involved now, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, please. Like you’ve ever owed me before. But what if they renege?”

“Well, that depends on whether Ding Xingyun values reputation or ruthlessness in this world. These days, people aren’t into killing—there’s a nationwide crackdown. Killing me does him no good. When you’re on top, you tend to be cautious, don’t you think, Grandpa Liu?”

With his mouth stuffed with a foul sock, all Grandpa Liu could do was nod—his life was in my hands. Fatty was right: the ones who make it big are the most afraid to die. The tough fear the ruthless, the ruthless fear the ones who have nothing to lose.

Before dawn, snoring in my seat, I heard someone knocking on the car window outside. It startled me awake.

“Who’s there?” Gun in hand, I looked around but saw no one. I dragged Grandpa Liu up, pressing the gun to his head. He was terrified, shaking his head, begging for mercy.

Looking up, I saw, through the windshield, a little girl of seven or eight waving at us.

“Hey, Fatty, wake up.” I kicked his seat—he slept heavier than a pig.

Fatty opened the door. The little girl handed him a brown paper bag. “A man asked me to give this to you. He said you should leave here quickly and never come back.”

Fatty opened it: two train tickets and a booklet. There weren’t ID cards back then—the booklet was Fatty’s proof of identity. With it, he could leave.

“Can we go?” I asked.

Fatty looked at the tickets—the earliest direct train to Shanghai. He gazed at the bustling crowd at Xi’an station and sighed deeply. “We should be able to. And the gun—leave it in the car, we can’t take it.” He turned to Grandpa Liu, who was still in the car, and clasped his hands in salute. “Grandpa Liu, I apologize for any offense. The Buddha statue is wrapped in cloth on the left beam of my room. Send someone to fetch it. Also, tell Grandpa Ding I’ll repay what I owe him when I get the chance. Farewell!”

And so, I boarded the train again. But this time, I wasn’t alone. As villages flashed past outside the window, I suddenly remembered something. “Fatty, damn it, I really want to hit you—I left all my tapes at your place!”

Four days and three nights later, we arrived at Shanghai Hongqiao. A few years ago, Fatty and I had come here, when Cultural Revolution slogans still fluttered everywhere and Red Guards in red armbands filled the station.

Shanghai’s prosperity was already evident. The crowds of businessmen filled even the little wonton shop. Fatty and I squatted by the roadside, eating wontons. I asked, “Should we go find Little Bai?”

Fatty mumbled, mouth full of wontons, “You got her address?”

I pulled out a small notebook from my pocket. “I do. She gave it to us when we sent her photos, wrote it right here.”

“Nice. I miss Little Bai’s cooking—her pancakes were good, really fragrant.”

“Alright, let’s do that. Once we finish eating, we’ll go.”

Shanghai, a city of dazzling debauchery, witnessed the rise and fall of two dynasties in just a hundred years. It endured countless brutal wars. No matter who you were, this city was always the prize. If you open its modern history, it’s like that beautiful Chen Yuanyuan—everyone wants to possess it, everyone wants to claim it. Built in ravaging, thriving in blood.

No. 2, Lane 131, Huaihai Road—that was Yuan Xiaobai’s address.

I didn’t know what kind of mansion this was, had never even seen one. But when our rickshaw driver heard where we were headed, he sized up Fatty and me for five minutes, finally muttering, “You want to make sure, yeah? The address is right?”

“It’s right, sir, let’s go,” I said.

The driver threw a towel over his head, shook his head, and sighed, “Can’t understand.”

Goodnight. These past few days have truly been exhausting.