Chapter Sixty-Eight: Scarlet Embroidered Shoes

At that time, Grandfather was sitting in a rocking chair, puffing on his pipe, watching Grandmother bathe my childhood self in the courtyard. I was just a small child then, delighted by the water, splashing away with both hands in the large basin, sending droplets all over Grandmother’s face. My father and mother were cooking by the earthen stove, laughing together—a family scene brimming with warmth and joy.

Zhang Qinglin lifted his head, taking in the sight of the three dilapidated rooms. He watched as Cheng Che entered and turned on the light. The dim yellow glow seemed to awaken the courtyard from its slumber, infusing it with a hint of life and human presence.

Cheng Che and Wu Cheng’an went inside, taking a look around. Years of dust had settled in these rooms; they would need a thorough cleaning before anyone could stay. All the household items remained. Everything that belonged to the family had been packed away in a small room—though in truth, it was just a large wooden chest.

As Zhang Qinglin reminisced, watching the others busy themselves, Cheng Che and Wu Cheng’an tidied up, while Uncle Jiang sat at the gate, smoking, occasionally glancing inside, then lifting his eyes to the dark sky, lost in thoughts.

“Uncle Jiang, what’s on your mind? Are you worried about Yueyue?” Zhang Qinglin walked over and asked.

He had noticed Uncle Jiang’s troubled mood throughout their journey.

Uncle Jiang stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, stamping it out as he stood up. “It’s nothing,” he replied.

“Yueyue will be fine. By the way, Uncle Jiang, here’s your lighter. I’m returning it to its rightful owner…” Remembering that Uncle Jiang’s cherished lighter was still in his pocket, Zhang Qinglin quickly pulled it out and handed it over.

He continued, “Uncle Jiang, this is too precious to keep with me. I promised Yueyue I’d return it to you as soon as I found you. Luckily, it saved me several times.”

Uncle Jiang seemed momentarily stunned, as if unsure of Zhang Qinglin’s meaning. He stared at the ordinary vintage lighter in Zhang Qinglin’s palm, his expression blank, unmoved, as though the lighter had nothing to do with him.

“Is that so? How strange. You can keep it then. I have a few more like that at home. Consider it a gift,” Uncle Jiang said, glancing at the lighter.

“A gift?!” Zhang Qinglin was surprised, unable to believe Uncle Jiang would give him something so important. “Uncle Jiang, but Aunt Yun gave this to you.”

Uncle Jiang examined the lighter in Zhang Qinglin’s hand, took it, looked it over, and said, “Well, in that case, I’ll keep it myself. Is there anything else?”

“Uncle Jiang, there’s one more thing… I know I’ve asked many times, but I want to ask again…” Zhang Qinglin said.

“What is it?”

Zhang Qinglin glanced towards the house, emotions stirring inside him. “Back then, when you rescued me from here, did you see who the murderers were? Why did they do it? Did my father leave you any clues?”

Uncle Jiang shook his head, saying nothing.

Just then, Cheng Che called to them and quickly set out a few simple dishes, opening two bottles of baijiu. The group sat around the wooden table to eat.

Uncle Jiang drank quite a bit again that night. Yet Zhang Qinglin was left puzzled about the lighter—how could Uncle Jiang simply give away something so significant?

He carried a stool outside, looking for a quiet place to sit. As he reached the western wall, under the faint light, he noticed something gleaming. On closer inspection, it turned out to be the lighter he had returned to Uncle Jiang.

That night, Zhang Qinglin felt as if his family were by his side, wrapped in warmth. For the first time in ages, he slept deeply and peacefully.

The next morning, Cheng Che sat at the table, bleary-eyed and nodding off, dark circles under his eyes.

Zhang Qinglin gave him a nudge. “What’s wrong, didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Sleep well? I didn’t sleep at all! After drinking so much, I still couldn’t doze off. And look at Uncle Jiang…” Cheng Che said irritably, glancing toward the west room’s door.

“Haha, seems you’re not used to the old house, Master Cheng,” Zhang Qinglin teased, gazing at the morning sunlight outside.

Cheng Che slapped the table and glared up at Zhang Qinglin. “It’s your fault for snoring all night; I barely slept a wink! Old houses? I’ve stayed in Beijing’s courtyards, which are just as old. I go there all the time.”

“Cheng Che, you must be drunk. I don’t snore—you must mean Uncle Jiang…” Zhang Qinglin said. He’d never had a snoring habit, but lately he’d noticed that Uncle Jiang not only snored after drinking, but his mannerisms while speaking and eating had changed as well.

“Uncle Jiang? Impossible. He was in the other room—he wouldn’t sneak over and snore in my ear in the middle of the night,” Cheng Che retorted, getting up. He and Zhang Qinglin had slept in the east room; he’d have noticed if anyone came in. Besides, Uncle Jiang had been so drunk he couldn’t get up, lying on the kang like a dead pig.

Zhang Qinglin let it go. Suddenly, there was a loud knocking at the gate. Who could be visiting so early?

He went to the courtyard and heard an elderly voice outside. Opening the gate, he found an old woman, carrying a bamboo basket covered with cloth, her expression anxious as she peered inside with squinting eyes.

“Grandma, can I help you?” Zhang Qinglin asked.

The old woman shuffled forward, her voice quavering with tears. “I’m looking for my daughter…”

Cheng Che stepped out in two strides, standing beside her. “Ma’am, you’ve got the wrong place. There are only four men living here, no women. See over there, the village committee loudspeaker? Try over there,” he said, gently turning her around and pointing to the broadcast pole in the distance.

The old woman twisted back, murmuring, “My daughter and I argued, and she ran out. She didn’t come home all night, left barefoot. Why did she have to be stubborn with me…” Tears choked her voice, her distress growing.

“Grandma, don’t worry. Maybe she’s already home. Go check, and if not, ask the committee to broadcast for her—she might hear and come back,” Zhang Qinglin said.

“She didn’t wear shoes—her feet must hurt. I brought her favorite shoes. When I find her, I’ll put them on her…” The old woman placed the basket before her, lifted the white cloth, and wiped her tears.

Beneath the cloth lay a pair of bright red embroidered cloth shoes, new and adorned with plum blossoms, their petals vivid and lifelike. Something was stuffed inside the shoes. Looking closer, Zhang Qinglin saw it was yellow joss paper.

He realized then that her mental state was not right—she seemed dazed. After covering the shoes, she suddenly grabbed Cheng Che’s arm, repeating, “She didn’t wear shoes—her feet must hurt…”

Cheng Che said helplessly, “Grandma, you gave me a fright. I don’t know where your daughter is.”

“She used to be around here a lot. Where could she have gone? Plum Blossom… Plum Blossom…” The old woman’s eyes wandered blankly.

“Sigh, Lao Zhang, what should we do? She’s clearly not all there,” Cheng Che whispered, gesturing at his head.

Zhang Qinglin watched the anxious old woman pacing in circles. “Looks like it. Let’s take her to the committee.”

Just as they were about to help her there, two people—a man and a woman—came running down the lane, stopping in front of her.

The woman, about forty, said anxiously, “Mom, what are you doing? Why did you sneak out again? Are you trying to worry us to death? Come on, let’s go home!”

The man, of similar age, seemed slow-witted, trailing behind the mother and daughter without a word.

Suddenly the woman stopped, glaring at the basket in the old woman’s hand. Her face changed as she snatched the basket, lifted the cloth, and shouted, “Mom, are you mad? Why are you still keeping these shoes? Plum Blossom isn’t coming back, she’s not! Old Tie, hurry up and throw these shoes away!”

She pulled the embroidered shoes from the basket and tossed them to the man, who, without a word, glanced at them and then flung them into the large water-filled pit opposite Zhang Qinglin’s gate. With a splash, the shoes disappeared into the water.

“Plum Blossom, those are her shoes! Where has my Plum Blossom gone… why did you throw away her shoes…” the old woman cried out toward the pit.

The woman held her back, afraid she’d rush into the water, then scolded the dazed man, “Old Tie, get Mom home, now!”

As the trio walked away, yesterday’s elderly neighbor approached, shaking his head and sighing. “What a tragedy!”

“Uncle, what happened?” Cheng Che asked in surprise.

The old man explained, “She’s from the sixth neighborhood. She had three daughters. The eldest married a simpleton, the second married far away. When the youngest was about to be married, she argued with her mother and ran out in the middle of the night. She was assaulted by several men.

“After that, she became pregnant, but the old woman refused to let her keep the child. She made her drink medicine, and the baby died before it was born. The girl became mentally unstable, always running off, never coming home, wandering madly around the village. If she saw a child, she’d grab them, calling them her own.

“It broke everyone’s heart to see a good girl turn mad. In the end, she fell into the river. By the time she was found, it was too late. The old woman grieved so much she developed dementia.”

Zhang Qinglin shuddered at the story, recalling his grandfather’s mention of a madwoman.

The old man continued, “Her eldest daughter’s family isn’t well off, so the old lady lives alone. They bring her three meals a day. On the first and fifteenth of every month, she takes a basket and looks for her youngest daughter, and at night, she burns those embroidered shoes by the river where her daughter drowned.”

“Why not burn them at the grave?” Cheng Che asked.

“There was no grave,” the old man replied. “After what happened, and the pregnancy, it was a disgrace. She drowned herself, an even greater scandal. Her family refused to bury her. After she was pulled from the water, she was cremated right there.”

Cheng Che shook his head. “So even in death, she wasn’t allowed a proper burial. That’s too cruel. The old lady’s life has been so hard—and that girl’s fate, too.”

After hearing the story, Zhang Qinglin felt a deep sense of helplessness. People often want to change things, but in the end, nothing changes, and it’s they themselves who are hurt.

Returning to the courtyard, Zhang Qinglin tidied up. The morning passed quickly. Cheng Che spent it on the phone, Wu Cheng’an went out after breakfast, and only Uncle Jiang remained inside, sleeping heavily.

That evening, the three of them gathered at the table. Cheng Che shared the latest news about Jiang Xinyue: his father’s men had tracked the Qilin Sect to Fang County, though they didn’t know the exact location yet, but they were there.

Cheng Che said he would go to Fang County the next day to rescue Jiang Xinyue. Zhang Qinglin advised caution, suggesting they first find out more before taking action.

Suddenly, Cheng Che tapped the table twice and barked, “Didn’t you want to help? Let’s hear your ideas!”

Wu Cheng’an ignored him and spoke to Zhang Qinglin instead. “Right now, we need to know why the Qilin Sect took her—what their purpose is, and whether they’re connected to Young Master Chen…”

“Enough, spare me your theories. I don’t care what their purpose is. The priority is to save Xinyue, not worry about Young Master Chen or the Qilin Sect. Lao Zhang, it’s settled—we’re going to Fang County tomorrow. I’m going to bed,” Cheng Che said, getting up and walking into the house.

“Cheng Che…” Zhang Qinglin called after him.

Wu Cheng’an placed both hands on the table, his gaze sharp. “I went around Fang County today and found there are three hotels and one guesthouse. I think they’re likely staying in one of those hotels…”