Chapter Thirty-Five: The True Face Revealed

As soon as Jiang Xinyue stepped into the room, a strange odor hit her—something between mold and rot. Covering her nose with her hand, she leaned slightly and peered through the bamboo curtain into the inner chamber. The light inside was dim, and the furnishings were old and worn. It was hard to imagine anyone could live in such conditions.

Entering the inner room, she saw Dazhuang huddled in the corner of the kang, his head buried and arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Zhang Qinglin stood nearby, gently comforting him.

The moment Jiang Xinyue lifted the curtain and stepped inside, Dazhuang suddenly looked up, sprang to his feet, pointed at her, and shouted, “Grandma… Grandma…”

Zhang Qinglin turned instinctively, glancing toward the doorway with the same expression as Dazhuang—

Fear. Astonishment.

The tension in the air left Jiang Xinyue wide-eyed. She couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder, taking two steps in retreat to hide behind Zhang Qinglin. But there was nothing there—just empty space. “Qinglin, you two are awful, teaming up to scare me…”

“Grandma…” Dazhuang darted off the kang, leaping to the floor and rushing out, leaving Jiang Xinyue utterly stunned.

Zhang Qinglin followed close behind. At the doorway, Cheng Che intercepted Dazhuang. Old Seven entered the courtyard carrying several bags of food, and not long after, Wanqing arrived as well.

Wanqing walked toward Zhang Qinglin. While arranging the dishes, Jiang Xinyue kept glancing furtively toward Zhang Qinglin and Wanqing.

“I went to the police station. The elderly woman you mentioned is named Wu Xiaoyun. She died a year ago—illness, it says so clearly on the death certificate. See for yourself. Also, on my way back, I saw Old Seven acting suspiciously. Be careful with him…” Wanqing handed a piece of paper to Zhang Qinglin.

“That’s impossible!” Zhang Qinglin stared in shock at the death certificate, then at Dazhuang, who had returned to squatting beneath the window, gnawing on a flatbread. His eyes were filled not only with fear, but also with pity and sorrow.

“Come on, you two, eat before it all gets cold,” Old Seven called, turning his head toward Zhang Qinglin and Wanqing.

Zhang Qinglin pulled himself together, quickly putting the death certificate away. Dazhuang couldn’t know the truth yet, and besides, he still wasn’t sure how much he could trust Wanqing.

After eating the food Old Seven had brought, everyone settled down to rest. Zhang Qinglin sat in a battered old chair by the wall, staring ahead. Suddenly, his eyelids grew heavy, and he slumped onto the wooden table, falling asleep.

He had no idea how long he slept. When he awoke, it was to a bony hand patting his back. Lifting his heavy head from his numb arm, he looked around to see who had roused him. But the doorway was empty—no one was there.

He glanced around: dim light, darkness pressing in from the window, Cheng Che and Dazhuang sprawled haphazardly on the kang.

His gaze landed on his backpack on the table—and in a flash, he bolted upright, frantically searching through its contents, dumping everything out.

The most important items were missing!

Zhang Qinglin shook Cheng Che awake, then rushed outside. He found Wanqing slumped over the stone table, a dried smear of blood visible on her forehead.

“Wanqing… Wanqing…” Zhang Qinglin called, checking her wound. It wasn’t deep, fortunately missing her temple. As he saw her eyelids flutter, he was reassured she’d be all right.

“Cheng Che, come help!” Zhang Qinglin shouted to Cheng Che, who was staggering toward the door.

Now fully awake, Cheng Che hurried over. “What happened?”

Zhang Qinglin, not seeing Jiang Xinyue or Old Seven in the courtyard, ran to another room.

Moments later, he emerged supporting Jiang Xinyue, who was dizzy and unsteady, and helped her to sit at the stone table.

“Wanqing, how did you get hurt?” Jiang Xinyue pressed her own forehead, glancing over as Cheng Che disinfected Wanqing’s wound with a cotton swab.

Wanqing touched the bandage on her forehead. “It’s nothing, just a scratch. Are all of you okay?”

“We can’t find Old Seven. What happened? Wanqing, who hurt you?” Cheng Che demanded, hands on his hips.

Zhang Qinglin stood, exchanged a glance with Cheng Che, then looked at Wanqing. “It’s cold out here. Let’s talk inside. Yueyue, come on, Cheng Che…”

Zhang Qinglin’s gaze signaled toward the large doors. Cheng Che nodded and hurried to close them tightly.

“Old Seven drugged the food. I saw him steal your things,” Wanqing said, her eyes flashing with anger.

Cheng Che slapped the table in outrage. “That bastard, after everything—we rescued him, helped him escape the black mine…”

He turned to Zhang Qinglin, whose face was a mask of complicated emotion. “Old Zhang, did we lose anything important?”

Zhang Qinglin glanced at Wanqing, then at Jiang Xinyue leaning against the wall. Since things had come to this, there was no point hiding anything.

He began, “Wanqing, honestly, I lied to you. The painting I gave you before, the ‘Eight Steeds of Shangtang,’ was a fake. Sister Xiao saw through it long ago.”

“We found a treasure map to Maple City hidden in the real ‘Eight Steeds of Shangtang,’ along with a notebook from the back mountain and my grandfather’s pipe. All of it is gone!” Zhang Qinglin said.

“Why would Old Seven steal those things? Does he know something? Is he taking them to Master Wu?” Cheng Che wondered aloud.

“He can’t return to Zhoukou for now, so he’s likely gone to see Boss Ma,” Wanqing said, rubbing her forehead.

Both Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che looked at her in shock.

“Old Seven and Boss Ma, they…”

“Yes, Old Seven is Boss Ma’s nephew.” Wanqing explained further, “The map hidden in the ‘Eight Steeds of Shangtang’ is only part of the Apocalypse Map—a diagram of the Tang Emperor Gaozong’s tomb complex, split in two and hidden within two paintings. One is the ‘Eight Steeds of Shangtang,’ the other is the ‘Rivers and Mountains of Xiahe.’ No one has found the latter yet. If Boss Ma gets it, Old Seven must be taking the other pieces to him.”

The ‘Rivers and Mountains of Xiahe’? The name seemed familiar to Zhang Qinglin, as though he’d seen it somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite recall. He looked up slowly at Wanqing.

No wonder she’d warned him about Old Seven. Now, what should they do? The map was stolen, Old Seven had disappeared, and Uncle Jiang’s clue was lost.

But none of that mattered compared to the fact that everyone was safe. That, above all, was most important.

Just as Zhang Qinglin was about to ask about the whereabouts of the ‘Rivers and Mountains of Xiahe,’ a muffled thud sounded from outside the door.

Wanqing immediately sprang up, alert. Jiang Xinyue leapt from the kang, Cheng Che stood and peered outside, and Zhang Qinglin followed.

“Grandma… Grandma… you’re back…” Dazhuang’s voice called out from outside.

A reply came to him: “You’re back…”

In that instant, Zhang Qinglin froze, a chill running through him. Only he and Wanqing knew that Grandma was already gone.

He was the first to step out the door, but stopped in his tracks. Beneath the dim courtyard lantern stood a figure.

Short and hunched, with a head of gray hair, clad in coarse hemp clothing, the woman turned slightly, her face beaming with a loving smile at Dazhuang.