Ten o’clock in the evening.
Nie Jiuluo finished flipping through a book titled *Western Contemporary Sculpture*. To be honest, her life wasn’t as exciting as Yan Tuo imagined. When she went out, it was mostly to gather inspiration, and when she stayed in, she either worked with clay or read books. A few days ago, Lao Cai suggested that she try to connect with all kinds of people and embrace life more. He said that sculpture is not just about crafting cats and tigers or working behind closed doors; it requires experience and depth. Only then could the audience feel the complexity of her life through a lump of clay.
But that was too mysterious for her, and after all, she had only lived a little over twenty years—hardly enough time to become “complex.” As Nie Jiuluo closed the book, her thoughts drifted to Yan Tuo. She lived among a group of aliens, pretending not to notice them. That alone was enough to add texture, contrast, excitement, and layers to her life. But in the end, she was just an ordinary person.
Just as she was lost in thought, her phone rang. The caller ID showed “Nie Dongyang.” Nie Jiuluo recognized the caller instantly and answered the phone with composure.
The voice of Nie Dongyang came through, cheerful, “Xixi, you’re still awake at this hour?”
Nie Jiuluo intended to address him respectfully as “Uncle,” but she found herself unable to utter the word. After all, Nie Dongyang was the brother of her father, Nie Xihong, making him her uncle by blood.
She simply responded, “What’s the matter?”
Nie Dongyang cleared his throat. “Well, Xixi, you’ve been working hard out there, and you haven’t been back home for years. But this year is different. Next week marks your father’s nineteenth death anniversary. According to our customs, the nineteenth year is even more significant than the full twenty years. Will you come back to pay your respects?”
It had been nineteen years, and she knew she should fulfill her filial duty. “Alright,” she agreed.
Nie Dongyang continued, “The thing is, since it’s been nineteen years, we need to make it a bit grander, which will require quite a bit of money. I was wondering if you could handle that expense?”
Nie Jiuluo didn’t reply right away; she felt a bit like laughing. After her father had jumped from a building to his death, she had been left “orphaned.” However, she didn’t need to go to an orphanage because her uncle was still around—Nie Dongyang took her in, along with her house, all the money, and herself. He had patted his chest, promising to treat her better than his child, even pledging to take care of her until she married.
In the end, she didn’t need him to raise her. After taking everything, now he had the nerve to ask her for more.
Sensing her emotions, Nie Dongyang quickly added, “You know, if you weren’t here, I would’ve taken care of everything myself—after all, he was my own brother. But think about it, the bond between father and daughter is stronger than that between brothers. If I handled it all without your input, it wouldn’t seem right, and your father wouldn’t be happy about it either.”
He had a way with words, making sure everything was covered. Nie Jiuluo was too tired to argue over the money. “Okay,” she replied.
Nie Dongyang was pleased. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep a detailed record of all the expenses and even try to get receipts.”
“Receipts,” she thought. It wasn’t as if she had anyone to submit them to. Originally, she had planned to say no, but after a moment of thought, she changed her mind and said, “Alright.”
Let Nie Dongyang worry about all the costs—if it made him happy, so be it.
After hanging up the phone, Nie Jiuluo stood there for a moment, then walked to her bookcase and pulled out an old photo album from the lower shelf.
This album contained photos of her father, Nie Xihong, and her mother, Pei Ke, with only a few of her. It wasn’t that they neglected her; she had her own albums. They were filled with photos from her first hundred days after birth until the day her father jumped off a building when she was six years old. Then, the albums abruptly ended.
Nie Jiuluo opened the album. For over nine years, it had been filled with color photos, though the colors had faded. The photos captured her parents’ journey from falling in love to getting married and beyond. In nearly every photo, Pei Ke wore a platinum necklace with a jade pendant.
She remembered that necklace vividly because, as a child, she loved holding the jade up to the sky. Through it, the sky turned into a green, flowing river. The platinum chain, too, was memorable. Back then, she believed gold was the most valuable thing in the world, but Pei Ke had told her that platinum was even more expensive.
After her mother passed away, the necklace was kept in the dresser drawer as a keepsake. When her father got drunk and cried from missing her mother, Nie Jiuluo would climb onto the dressing stool, take out the necklace, and drape it around her neck. She imagined how beautiful she would look wearing it, how a handsome prince would fall in love with her, and how a white elephant would carry her to a rich kingdom (she had no interest in a white horse—it had a skinny back and wasn’t comfortable to sit on. The white elephant, on the other hand, had a wide back with thick meat, perfect for a comfortable ride). From then on, she would live a happy, blissful life.
Later, the necklace, along with the house, money, and herself, were all taken by her uncle’s family.
With a snap, Nie Jiuluo closed the album.
***
Twelve o’clock, midnight.
In the basement kitchen, Big Head was chopping something with a knife again. This time, Shan Qiang was there to help. A pot of boiling water bubbled on the stove as Shan Qiang carefully placed slices of liver into the pot, one by one, using chopsticks.
Big Head grumbled, “What a little beast, insisting on eating cooked food. Now I have to go through all this trouble to cook it.”
Shan Qiang hushed him, “Shh…”
Big Head understood and immediately lowered his voice, “Hey, do you think Sun Zhou has whipped it yet?”
Shan Qiang grunted in response.
Big Head asked, “Did he buy the whip?”
“Bought it,” Shan Qiang put down his chopsticks with great interest, took out his mobile phone, and showed Datou his Taobao order. “See, a special cow tendon whip, ancestral craft weaving.”
Datou raised an eyebrow. “You’re really going for it?”
Shan Qiang shrugged. “I’m the closest. Why wouldn’t I?”
Datou seemed a bit doubtful. “Can you even handle it?”
Shan Qiang was not pleased. “What kind of question is that? Who isn’t from a whip family around here? Even if I don’t know all the finer details, I can still manage the basics of ‘whipping,’ right? If I can’t handle the tougher parts, I’ll just hand it over to Yu Rong.”
At the mention of “Yu Rong,” Datou’s mouth twitched. “That’s one twisted person.”
Shan Qiang laughed. “Sure, but isn’t that why they’re so sharp? Nie Er, Xing Shen, Yu Rong—none of them are exactly ‘normal.'”
He nudged Datou with his elbow. “So, who do you think is the most twisted of them all?”
Datou closed his eyes dramatically, the wrinkles around them deepening. “Do you even need to ask?”
Shan Qiang nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I figured it’s him too.”
…
Jiang Baichuan was the master, and Xing Shen Lao Dao was an honored guest, so the midnight food delivery fell on Datou and Shan Qiang. Tonight, they had to deliver two meals to two different places.
Datou picked up the pot of cooked food. “I’ll head to the garage and feed the little beast. You and Sun Zhou cover the other places, closer to each other for easier follow-up.”
Shan Qiang agreed that it was a good plan. He placed the remaining raw meat on the cutting board into a pot, hummed a little tune, and headed toward the inner room. As he approached the door, he heard Sun Zhou eagerly shouting, “Brother Qiang, hurry up, get over here!”
To help Sun Zhou get through the dull and boring “treatment period,” Datou had downloaded a bunch of energetic action movies from the internet.
Shan Qiang quickened his pace, sighing to himself: Sun Zhou really has a big heart, still able to find joy even in such dire circumstances. But happiness won’t last long, after all, there aren’t many good times left like this.
He hurriedly pushed the door open. “What are we watching, domestic or foreign?”
“Domestic, domestic! Hurry!”
Hearing it was domestic, Shan Qiang was thrilled. To be honest, he didn’t get much out of foreign action movies—different cultures, different styles. But domestic ones were different—they resonated more with him.
He quickly put down the plate, sat at the end of the bed, and stared at the screen. “Is this a period piece?”
“No, it’s set in the Republic of China.”
Republic of China, huh? That’s still close enough to modern times to empathize. Shan Qiang scooted back, finding a more comfortable position, and was about to tell Sun Zhou to hurry up and eat when he suddenly felt a heavy blow to the back of his head.
The impact made his vision go black—large, uneven patches of darkness. Somehow, he managed to stay conscious, turning his head in disbelief toward Sun Zhou.
It was indeed Sun Zhou, holding the large pot holder from the kitchen, glaring at him with a vicious expression. Seeing that Shan Qiang was still conscious, Sun Zhou raised the pot holder again and brought it down on his head.
This time, Shan Qiang couldn’t take it. He collapsed, paralyzed, as a single thought flashed through his mind: “What the hell is going on…”
With Shan Qiang down, Sun Zhou quickly got to work. First, he pocketed Shan Qiang’s mobile phone (he had memorized the password after watching him use it for days), then he dumped the plate of raw meat into the trash and placed the empty bowl conspicuously in the living room. He dragged Shan Qiang’s limp body back to the room, laid him on the bed, covered him with a quilt, and finally turned off the light and locked the door from the outside.
Everything went according to plan. Nothing was missed.
Sun Zhou wiped the sweat from his palms onto his clothes, trembling slightly, then leaned against the wall and hurried toward the door.
…
When Datou returned home, the first thing he noticed was the empty basin.
He thought I washed it that quickly? Annoyed, he looked toward the bedrooms, first noticing that Sun Zhou’s room was closed and locked, and then seeing that Shan Qiang’s door was also shut.
Damn, they’re more eager to sleep than anyone, Datou thought, throwing the empty basin he had brought back onto the table. He turned off the light and went to bed himself.
I’m not washing it either. I’ll make Sun Zhou do it in the morning.
…
Sun Zhou was like a thief, sneaking around in the villa area. Once he climbed over the wall, he broke into a run, finally stopping out of breath at a busy commercial street intersection.
It’s safe, he thought, relieved to see people around. He moved to a quieter spot and called his girlfriend, Joya.
Hearing from him surprised Joya. “Why did you change numbers? Didn’t you say you were going to Guangzhou with friends to explore some business opportunities?”
Sun Zhou sighed. “That was just a lie to keep you from worrying. Explaining it over the phone is too complicated. I’ll tell you in person. I’ll send you my location—come pick me up. I’m in… ” He looked at a real estate agency’s display window, checked the address, and reported the name of the city and county to Joya.
The news shocked Joya. “You’re almost out of the province! That’s a long drive. Why not just take the train back?”
Sun Zhou snapped, “I told you it’s complicated! Those people… something’s really wrong with them. It’s worse than a pyramid scheme. And if I take a train… what if someone waits for me at the station? Just hurry and come! And if anyone asks about me, don’t say a word—I’m afraid they might still be looking for me.”
…
Six o’clock in the morning.
It had been almost four hours since Lin Xirou entered the small room to “interview” her lame father.
Yan Tuo and Xiong Hei waited in the lounge. At first, they chatted about how stubborn the lame father was and how Aunt Lin would handle the questioning. However, as time went on, they grew tired and eventually stopped talking altogether.
Yan Tuo had driven for hours non-stop before Lin Xirou summoned him. Exhausted, he curled up on the sofa, hugging a blanket.
He was drifting off to sleep when suddenly he heard Lin Xirou’s voice, “Xiao Tuo, are you asleep?”
Is she… out already?
Yan Tuo stayed motionless, processing the alarming conversation he’d just overheard. The mention of “dog teeth” and “omnivorous” had him confused, but the urgency in their voices was clear. Lin Xirou and Xiong Hei involved themselves in something far more sinister than he had anticipated, and now he knew too much. The “mad knife” they were talking about—who could that be?
As he mulled over these thoughts, his heart pounded even harder. Yan Tuo knew that if they discovered he was awake and had heard their conversation, he could be in grave danger. The stakes were higher than ever.
Carefully, he let the doorknob go and backed away from the door, trying to suppress the panic rising in his chest. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. Should he confront them? Should he try to sneak away? His thoughts raced, and then he remembered the conversations earlier. Lin Xirou had mentioned a drug that could make people talk in an unconscious state.
Suddenly, everything made sense—the way they were treating the old man, the careful steps they’d taken to cover their tracks. Yan Tuo shuddered. He had to get out of there, but he couldn’t afford to be reckless. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and slowly crept back to the sofa.
Feigning sleep wasn’t going to protect him for long. He needed to leave before they returned, but first, he had to find out more. His survival depended on it. As he lay there, pretending to sleep, Yan Tuo began to formulate his escape plan, carefully considering every move.
