Chapter Thirty-Three: A Familiar Warmth

Wenqing drove the car to a secluded spot outside Siyue County. After walking a short distance, they saw a mansion ahead, with two burly guards posted at the entrance. Approaching closer, a plaque hung above the main gate—Zhao Residence.

Zhang Qinglin followed Wenqing inside. It was a traditional five-courtyard compound. As soon as they entered the main hall, they spotted Jiang Xinyue and Cheng Che waiting anxiously inside.

Because of severe blood loss, Zhang Qinglin’s face was deathly pale, and he could barely walk straight. He nearly stumbled over the threshold before Dazhuang quickly caught him, steadying his swaying body.

“Qinglin, are you alright?” Jiang Xinyue rushed over, her voice trembling with concern.

Cheng Che stepped forward as well, helping Zhang Qinglin into a chair.

Wenqing fetched a medical kit and began tending to his wounds. She had learned some basic medical care before, so bandaging was not difficult for her. But Zhang Qinglin’s wound still wouldn’t stop bleeding, prompting her to ask, “Your wound isn’t that big—why won’t the bleeding stop?”

“Where’s Old Seven?” Zhang Qinglin asked, his head lolling weakly.

“How can you still be worrying about others at a time like this? Just look at yourself!” Cheng Che scolded.

Jiang Xinyue’s eyes were red from crying. She watched as Wenqing sprinkled layer after layer of medicinal powder over Zhang Qinglin’s shoulder, but in just a few minutes, the blood had soaked through again, trickling slowly down his arm. She choked out, “Qinglin, you must hang on! Cheng Che, Wenqing, please, think of something!”

“Wenqing, where’s the nearest hospital?” Cheng Che asked urgently.

“There’s only one hospital in Siyue County—it’s thirty-five minutes away. At this rate, he might not make it there alive,” Wenqing replied, just as footsteps sounded at the door.

“Mr. Zhao!” Wenqing turned her head.

Zhao Ruilong approached, stopping in front of Zhang Qinglin and studying his face intently. He picked up a pair of tweezers from the table, brushed aside the powder on the wound, examined it, then looked carefully at Zhang Qinglin’s face, eyes, tongue, and arms.

Suddenly, Zhang Qinglin felt a shudder run through him—darkness closed in, his head spun, smoke seemed to billow all around him, and his body felt weightless. Amid the haze, he dimly heard a voice at his ear...

“Gentle wind, six five, mighty and high,
Ripples rise in the mountains, unperturbed by waves.
Silent bamboo, nine li, approaches slowly,
No joy, only nature, supreme in its presence.
Heaven’s vastness, earth’s depth, Qianlin draws near,
New strategy, Yu Ben, a thousand destinies.
A single thought in the red dust, confusion among the stars.”

That voice—it was Grandfather’s... And that was the Si Liu Book...

Gradually, an image formed before Zhang Qinglin’s eyes: the Zhang family courtyard, shrouded in mist, a gentle breeze blowing. Grandfather sat in a bamboo chair, smoking his long pipe. After a few puffs, he set the pipe down and sat upright.

“Xiao Chu, come to Father,” Grandfather called to a little boy playing alone nearby.

Zhang Qinglin watched as the boy stood up and ran over. As the child looked up, Zhang Qinglin gasped, “Father...”

Wasn’t that his father as a child?

“Come here. Let me show you—this is the Qianlin Pendant. Your grandmother left it, said it was a family heirloom. She told me before she passed that when you turned eight, I must put it around your neck. Remember, this is to stay with you always, never to be taken off. Got it?”

Grandfather took a jade pendant tied with a red cord from his pocket and, looking at the boy who leaned against his thigh, placed it around his neck.

“The Qianlin Pendant—so why didn’t Grandmother give it to you?” the boy asked, blinking his big eyes and scratching his head in curiosity.

“Because your grandmother left it for you.” Grandfather gently tapped his nose.

At that moment, a voice called from inside the house, “Dinner’s ready!”

Grandfather replied, rising to go inside, while the little boy headed out toward the courtyard.

Step by step, the boy approached Zhang Qinglin, drawing nearer and nearer, until the jade pendant on his neck came into sharp focus.

The pendant was a blend of bluish yellow and dark red, the left side carved with a qilin. That was the very same pendant Zhang Qinglin had seen before in Uncle Jiang’s drawer!

Suddenly, blood streamed from the boy’s eyes, his mouth twisted into a terrifying grin, and a knife had somehow stabbed into his heart.

“Dad... don’t...” Zhang Qinglin cried out in anguish, as if his very heart had been cut.

Sweat drenched his body, darkness flooded his vision, and he fainted.

“Old Zhang... Old Zhang... what’s wrong? Don’t scare me...”

...

When Zhang Qinglin awoke again, it was night. Rain still poured down outside, while the bright lamplight illuminated his pale face. But the person slumped at his bedside was not Jiang Xinyue, nor Cheng Che, nor Wenqing—it was Dazhuang.

At this quiet hour, Dazhuang’s presence was oddly comforting. Zhang Qinglin moved his head slightly, not wanting to disturb Dazhuang’s sleep, but accidentally tugged at his wounded shoulder.

He couldn’t help but cry out in pain.

With a start, Dazhuang sat bolt upright, eyes wide. Zhang Qinglin’s cry had frightened him.

At that moment, Jiang Xinyue came in with a bowl of medicinal soup. Seeing that he was awake, she rushed over. “Qinglin, how do you feel? Is there still any discomfort?”

Zhang Qinglin shook his head, his tense expression slowly relaxing. “Yuanyuan, don’t worry, I’m all right now.”

“Do you know how scared you made me? You lost so much blood... I thought I’d never see you again...” Jiang Xinyue began to sob.

Dazhuang shuffled awkwardly to the side, watching as Jiang Xinyue sat at the bedside to feed Zhang Qinglin the medicine.

This trip to Wuzhou had been filled with peril. As he sipped the medicine, Zhang Qinglin watched her quietly, wondering how she had endured these days. Seeing her gaunt cheeks, he was overwhelmed with guilt.

“Yuanyuan, I’m so sorry to have put you through this... I really am fine now, please don’t cry...” Zhang Qinglin gently wiped her tears away.

“Old Zhang, you rascal, you’re finally awake!” Cheng Che stood at the doorway, with Old Seven behind him.

Cheng Che glanced around, then shut the door. “Come on, Old Seven, let’s talk business.”

He had spent the afternoon gathering information about Nanshan and the owner of this residence.

After the bloody battle at Nanshan, Boss Ma had reportedly fled, and the half of the “Tang Bajitu” painting had been torn to shreds. The great fire at Nanshan was mostly extinguished by now.

He’d also learned that the owner of the Zhao Residence, Zhao Ruilong, was not only the county party secretary of Siyue, but also a skilled physician. Because of Zhao’s unique status, it was almost impossible to find any more useful information.

“I think, even if he’s the secretary, he’s not necessarily a good person. We’d better be cautious,” Old Seven murmured, head down.

“How can you say that? If he hadn’t saved Qinglin today, who knows what would have happened. You’re just too suspicious,” Jiang Xinyue chided, putting away the spoon and cradling the medicine bowl.

“Yuanyuan, let it go. Old Seven’s just looking out for everyone,” Zhang Qinglin said gently.

Leaning against the bedpost, Cheng Che continued, “I also found out something astonishing: Wenqing and Zhao Ruilong are cousins.”

“If that’s the case, is Zhao Ruilong simply helping us because of Wenqing? I don’t think it’s that simple.” Zhang Qinglin muttered, his gaze lingering on the ceiling beam, then slowly shifting to Dazhuang.

“In any case, we need to leave here tomorrow,” Zhang Qinglin said calmly.

“But where will we go?” Cheng Che asked.

“We’ll return to Steep Cliff Road first, take Dazhuang home, and then decide what to do next.” Zhang Qinglin looked at Old Seven, who still hung his head. “Old Seven, come with us.”

Old Seven nodded faintly without a word.

It was late; everyone returned to their rooms to rest.

Only Jiang Xinyue lingered. She stood up with the medicine bowl, ready to leave, when Zhang Qinglin noticed the two tobacco pipes he kept in his bag were missing and quickly asked, “Yuanyuan, have you seen the pipes in my bag?”

“What pipes? I didn’t see any. Qinglin, you should lie down and rest—only then will you recover quickly.” Jiang Xinyue pressed him to lie back, then switched off the light and left the room.