A Prophet - Chapter 8 (Part 2)

Chapter 2 - Exposing Street Scams

During the 1980s, the land of China was full of vitality. Our town transformed into a prefecture-level city, my father-in-law honorably retired, my second sister-in-law became the local bureau of culture director, and my wife spent a few years pursuing advanced studies before working at the education commission. As for me, I officially took up the Book of Changes. My father-in-law introduced me to a senior scholar of traditional Chinese studies, allowing me to study under him. My wife said, "Since you love this subject so much, you should settle down and study it wholeheartedly."

My wife understood my heart; she knew I could not forget the past. Over the years, whenever I woke up startled from a nightmare, she would hold me tightly in her arms and tell me, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid."

I knew deep down that my sins were heavy. I used to swindle people under the banner of fortune-telling, but now I wanted to sit down and study what the Book of Changes truly was. If the principles of the Changes could genuinely transform lives, I was willing to spend my whole life using them to benefit the people.

One afternoon, I was strolling alone through the book market, hoping to hunt down a few books on the Book of Changes. Just as I was flipping through the pages, I heard someone call out, "Fifth Master!"

My heart skipped a beat. For decades, no one had called me "Fifth Master" anymore. I turned around to see a man in his forties standing before me.

"You are?" I asked blankly.

"Fifth Master, you don't recognize me? I'm Thief Cat!"

"Thief Cat?" My brain raced at lightning speed. I slapped my forehead—ah, I remembered! He was a former brother from the gambling den! He was a foot-runner under Second Basin-head; because of his agility, climbing trees and scaling roofs were jobs exclusively left to him, so everyone called him Thief Cat.

I punched him lightly in the chest and laughed, "Kid, you've grown up so much! It's been all these years, you look completely different!"

He scratched the back of his head, grinning foolishly, "Of course, back at the gambling den I was only in my teens."

A myriad of emotions washed over me. "Indeed, decades have flown by in a blink. How have you been all these years? What are you doing now?"

Thief Cat blushed and said, "After Grandfather died and you basin-heads were all locked up, I served a stint of reform-through-labor and was released. Afterward, I went back to the countryside to farm with my father. What about you, Fifth Master? What do you do now?"

I sighed and replied, "As for me, I am wholeheartedly studying the Book of Changes. Listen well—it's the Book of Changes, not swindling."

Thief Cat smiled, "It's all the same, all the same."

My face darkened. "What do you mean it's all the same! It's not the same at all!"

Thief Cat hurriedly said, "It's different, it's different. If you say it's different, then it's different."

I asked, "What are you doing now?"

Thief Cat smiled craftily, "Fifth Master, I've really struck it rich."

"Struck it rich?" I was puzzled.

Thief Cat said, "You know that Taoist temple on Yuejia Ridge, right? During the Cultural Revolution, the gates were smashed to pieces, but now it's been rebuilt. I'm serving as a Taoist priest inside. It makes money way faster than following Grandfather back then!"

I asked in astonishment, "You became a monk?"

Thief Cat replied, "Nah! I just work there. During the day I wear a Taoist robe and play the priest, and at night I go home to a warm kang with my wife and kids. It's just putting on a disguise. There are plenty of people coming to offer incense and ask for fortunes—combining scams with intimidation, I handle the whole lot."

I understood. "You're still swindling people?"

Thief Cat said, "Well, what else can I do? There's another buddy of mine who's also in the trade; the two of us call all the shots at this Taoist temple. Once, a big boss came to consult his fortune, and we reeled him in for 2,000 yuan in one go. That foolish roe deer kept thanking the Taoist priest over and over. Another time, a woman came to draw a fortune stick, saying she constantly had nightmares. I seized the opportunity to perform a papercraft puppetry trick on her; she didn't know the first thing about the craft and was left utterly bewildered by me. I told her her household was unclean and haunted by malevolent entities. After a few visits, she ended up sleeping with me. Afterward, she even claimed that by borrowing the magic power of the master, she truly stopped having nightmares."

I fell silent, thinking to myself: This kid is beyond saving.

I recalled what that senior scholar of traditional Chinese studies had once said: "To commit depravity within the sacred sanctuary of a Buddhist or Taoist monastery is to plummet straight into the Avici Hell." By using the identity of a monastic to swindle people out of money and exploit them for sex, Thief Cat was destined for a wretched end.

Seeing that I wasn't speaking, Thief Cat rolled his eyes and said, "Well, Fifth Master, are you tempted? You can join us too. You can take the helm, and I'll still listen to you. Times have changed, but seniority cannot."

I smiled, "I've retired from the martial underworld."

Thief Cat said, "So be it. Fifth Master, if you ever need anything, just give your subordinate a command. Whatever I can handle, I will definitely get done."

I said, "Alright, I hope the brothers are all doing well." I knew he didn't understand the implication of my words; he had yet to wake up.

Sure enough, the very next year, a newspaper published a report detailing a criminal case that occurred at that exact Taoist temple. Because of a dispute over the division of stolen spoils, one pseudo-Taoist priest had killed the other, dismembered the body, and thrown the head into the latrine. It was summer, and the cesspool was crawling with maggots. By the time the police discovered it, the flesh on the head had been completely devoured by maggots, leaving behind only a stark white skull with a few strands of hair still clinging to it.

I thought to myself, whether Thief Cat was the murderer or the murdered, his journey through life had come to its end.

On the Ghost Festival of the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, I made a special trip to that Taoist temple to burn a stick of incense. For Thief Cat's sake—after all, he had always treated me with utmost respect.

Thief Cat's death left a very bitter taste in my mouth. Once a person steps onto a crooked path, it becomes exceedingly difficult to find oneself again. I thought once more of the saying Grandfather often repeated: "The greedy will inevitably be impoverished; gentlemen take this as a supreme warning." If ordinary mortals are like this, those who practice the arts of the Abao are doubly so.

I knew there were still many Abao, big and small, scattered across this world. They were still swindling, still consumed by greed. I did not know whether my solitary strength could save anyone, but at the very least, I hoped to save my former brothers.

In 1984, my father-in-law was hospitalized due to a cerebral hemorrhage. Later, his condition worsened, and he lapsed into a coma. I remember there weren't any head-cooling devices available back then, so my wife and I went to the popsicle factory, bought a large batch of popsicles in bulk, and piled them over my father-in-law's head. He remained in a coma for a whole week until one day he suddenly regained consciousness. I knew that people always experience a brief resurgence of lucidity before death. That day, my father-in-law tightly grasped my hands and my wife's hands together and said, "Tianliang, I am leaving. You must treat Yingying well. You are a good son-in-law; I didn't misjudge you."

Looking at my white-haired father-in-law, a sharp pain stabbed through my heart. I had no father growing up; the word "Dad" was merely an illusion in my mind. I had never tasted the feeling of paternal love until I married Yingying. For over a decade, my father-in-law had cared for me meticulously, making up for the lack of fatherly love in my life. Now, he was about to depart. Tears streaming down my face, I said to him, "Dad, rest assured, I will definitely take good care of Yingying."

Many people witness various bizarre visions before they die. In Buddhist theory, these are called karmic creditors. When a person commits too many evil deeds, they face retribution right before death. Yet my father-in-law departed so peacefully and plainly; he didn't thrash about wildly like others, nor did he gasp for breath in agonizing cycles. He left in profound serenity.

A true teacher imparts the Way, explains professional skills, and resolves doubts. My father-in-law accomplished all of this. He spent his entire life as a schoolteacher—ordinary, unpretentious, yet truly great.

With my father-in-law gone, I cherished my wife even more. I frequently recalled those years of the Cultural Revolution, remembering my father-in-law's quiet trepidation and my wife's uninhibited daring. Fortunately, humans possess memories; those aged matters of the past can always stir up ripples within your heart, leaving you feeling profoundly blessed afterward.

A rooster's crow pulled me back from my recollections into reality. Day was breaking, and I had not closed my eyes all night. My wife had also gotten up. Gazing at her, I instinctively pulled her into my embrace. "Yingying, you're wonderful."

My white-haired wife let out a soft chuckle. "Where on earth did that come from? I'll go make breakfast, you get some more sleep."

My wife prepared breakfast, and after eating a few bites, I carried a belly full of stray thoughts, walking out onto the street with my hands clasped behind my back. Grandfather's figure began to sway in my mind once more. A chilly gust of wind swept by, and I tightened the collar of my jacket.

As I approached the People's Park, I saw a crowd gathered along the roadside. Drawing closer, I saw two young men dressed like monks setting up a street stall for fortune-telling.

Watching the eagerness of the surrounding crowd, I couldn't help but inwardly scoff: this sort of thing was obviously a scam at first glance! You must always keep one golden rule in mind: true monastics—whether Buddhist monks or Taoist priests—have seen through the illusions of the mortal world and harbor few desires; they would never run around the streets giving fortunes to people. Those dressed in religious garb who appear on street corners and alleys to tell fortunes are nothing more than practitioners of low-tier Abao tricks.

Although the "Jiangxiang Sect" as a unified entity perished and could never again stir up massive waves in Chinese history, it had once flourished immensely, its disciples spreading across the entire country, and even today, some remnant heirs were still kicking up trouble.

As I walked closer and listened intently, good grief! This group was using the northern branch's "Double Golden Mouths" technique of the "Jiangxiang Sect." Back in the day, the four major regional dens—East, South, West, and North—each had their own specialties: the Eastern school excelled at "papercraft puppetry," the Southern school excelled at "Yingyao physiognomy," the Western school excelled at "geomantic bureaus," and the Northern school excelled at "Double Golden Mouths."

The Double Golden Mouths, also known as "two-way blockades," were foolproof divination axioms summarized by Northern Abao over hundreds of years. These axioms were immensely sophistry-laden; no matter who they were spoken to, the recipient would invariably reply, "That's right!"

Let us examine a few of these standard chants:

"As for you, your destiny is one of constant worry, and you always toil away without getting any appreciation!"

People living in this world are naturally exhausted. Whether high officials and nobles or ordinary commoners, everyone is racking their brains and exhausting their wits for a livelihood; who doesn't worry? Furthermore, eight or nine out of ten things in life do not go as desired, and almost everyone believes they work hard for little reward. But the roe-deer victims coming for fortune-telling don't think like that, because they never consider the trickery involved. The Abao look at your palm and suddenly drop such a line, and eighty percent of people will inwardly praise, "That is so accurate!"

"As for you, your grand fortune arrives after middle age, and your old age will be blessed!"

Almost no one in their seventies or eighties cares to have their fortune told; the elderly never seek out divination because they have already lived through the greater part of their lives and know their own destiny best. Even if they do consult someone, it is usually for their son or grandson. Given this age gap, things become easy for the Abao. When a young or middle-aged person comes, the Abao first tells them their recent prospects are poor and that they are afflicted by disaster stars, and then informs them that their great fortune will turn around after thirty-five or forty, culminating in an exceptionally blessed old age. This is actually the simultaneous application of "inflation and planting hope." The fortune-seeker will naturally think the reading is spot-on, but have they ever considered what kind of people actually seek out fortune-tellers? Only those who feel their lives are unfortunate, fraught with disaster and hardship, or those facing major troubles or hiding a guilty conscience would do so. If a person were wealthy, noble, domestically harmonious, physically healthy, and free of a guilty conscience, would they be full enough to play around with fortune-telling? Since you've come to have your fortune told, you must be facing vexing problems, which is why the Abao can effortlessly blurt out clichés like—"Your recent prospects are poor and you're afflicted by disaster stars."

Now look at the second half—"your old age will be blessed." A person lives a lifetime hoping for a good final destination; no matter how much hardship you endure in your youth, if you ultimately have a good ending, your life wasn't wasted. Upon hearing "your old age will be blessed," how could the petitioner not be overjoyed? Little do they know that the Abao's words require time to verify. By the time you grow old and look back on these words, you realize they are all utter nonsense, but by then, where are you going to find this fortune-teller to settle scores? Even if you are fortunate enough to find him, he will be on his last legs and on the verge of death; surely you aren't going to beat him up?

"Your destiny is plagued by romance, and entanglements with the opposite sex are endless!"

This is a trick Abao frequently use on handsome young men and beautiful women. Humanity is divided into ranks, with the ugly and the fair; regardless of gender, as long as one is attractive, they will inevitably draw the attraction of the opposite sex—this is an eternal and unchanging truth! Troubled, sorrowful young matrons who come for readings step through the door, and the Abao immediately asks, "What are you consulting for?" "Romance and marriage!" The Abao will instantly make you burn three sticks of incense before the deities, observe the shape of the incense ash, and finally declare: "From the shape of the incense you burned, this is clearly an omen of two men fighting over a single woman! You are trapped in a romantic dispute!" The matron will inevitably gasp in shock: "Miraculous!" In truth, she fails to realize that being so attractive, she is bound to attract wolves, and since she walked in asking about romance, even an idiot could divine that!

"Your child is an immortal boy from the side of the Queen Mother of the West."

This statement is even more groundless, yet its "credibility" is the highest. When parents come to have their child's fortune told because the child is in poor health, using this phrase is the most "miraculous," because parents all believe their children are extraordinary. As the old saying goes: "Other people's daughters-in-law always look better, but one's own children always look best." Since the child is an immortal boy from heaven, their reincarnation must be due to some accidental reason, and their destiny is bound to be different from ordinary children; frequent illnesses and disasters are therefore completely normal. In reality, this is an "inflation" tactic deployed by the Abao, invisibly elevating your children's status. Once your psychological defense line is lowered, the Abao immediately delivers the "striking blow": "This disaster must be dispelled, otherwise the child will be taken back by the heavens!" Upon hearing this, the parents will be terrified and ask, "Tell us how to dispel it!" At that point, they are completely at the mercy of the Abao.

...

For decades, I had abided by Grandfather's philosophy of "being a good person." Whenever I saw anyone using fortune-telling as a pretext to swindle people out of money, I would expose them and chase them away. Therefore, for all these years, no swindlers had managed to gain a foothold in our moderately sized prefecture-level city. Today, hearing that these two men had out-of-town accents, I prepared to teach these two junior upstarts a lesson.

After observing closely for a while, I noticed that besides the two pseudo-monks, there were also two accomplices posing as bystanders—both of them women. One woman played the black face while the other played the white face. One insisted on having her fortune told, while the other held her back, saying, "Why bother calculating this? It's all feudal superstition!" Finally, the first woman retorted, "I'll just try it once; if it's not accurate, I'll leave!"

The outcome was entirely predictable: the reading was unfailingly accurate! Furthermore, the other woman also had her fortune told, and it was equally accurate. After the readings concluded, the two women asked, "Master, how much is it?"

The man replied, "Benefactor, we are from the monastery on Mount XX, traveling here to collect alms. We monastics have no use for money; just donate some incense money. In the future, all these funds will be used for the renovation of the monastery, which also counts as accumulating a share of merit."

The two women said, "The masters are truly benevolent. How much should we donate?"

The other man replied, "Donate more or less as you please; there is no fixed amount, just give whatever comes from your heart." With that, he produced a ledger, opened it, and handed it to the two women. "The two benefactors can write it down yourselves. Write whatever amount you wish to donate, and also write your names so they can be inscribed in the merit book later."

I couldn't help but cover my face in exasperation, thinking that this trick was already being used by Grandfather decades ago, and yet these guys were still using it. This was a complete trap; the names and donation amounts written in the ledger were all fabricated by themselves, using different handwriting to mimic various individuals. Next to almost every name, the amounts were written as 100 yuan, 200 yuan, with a few at 50 yuan. Although it seemed like they were letting you write the amount yourself, the preceding sums they had written were already so substantial that if you took hold of that ledger, there was no way you would ever write down fifty cents or one yuan. Because people care about their pride and reputation; when the entries above are all 50, 100, and 200 yuan, no matter what, you feel compelled to write down at least 10 or 20 yuan. Back in those days, money still held real purchasing power; taking ten or twenty yuan out on the street couldn't even be spent entirely—chives were 20 cents a catty, Chinese cabbage was 10 cents a catty, and tomatoes were at most 50 cents a catty.

I watched as an old woman, after having her fortune read, trembling fished out a handkerchief from her pocket, turned her body away, and fumbled to open it. Inside were all one-jiao fractional notes. After counting them out to about one yuan, she handed them all to the man. She said she couldn't write, so she asked the man to help write her name down.

Kind-hearted people are always blinded by the tricks of swindlers. I was losing my patience. Even thieves have a code of honor, and within the Abao circles, there were guild rules: barring absolute necessity, one must never fleece the impoverished. These grandson-generation Abao before my eyes had pushed me past my limit.

"Give me a reading." I squeezed my way forward.

One of the men looked up at me and asked, "Elderly sir, are you calculating for yourself or for your family?"

I replied, "For myself."

He asked, "What aspect are you inquiring about?"

I replied, "My health."

He said, "Then please tell me your birth date and hour."

I casually fabricated a set of birth characters.

The punk muttered to himself with a pretentious air for a moment, then said, "Elderly sir, these past two years your heavenly stems and earthly branches have clashed directly; your health isn't looking too good."

I chuckled inwardly. After all these years, their technical skills hadn't improved by an inch. Seeing that I remained silent, he continued, "Uncle, do you constantly feel a sense of inadequacy and lack of strength?"

I replied, "Not really. My health has been quite robust these past two years."

He was momentarily stunned and blurted out, "Then why did you ask me to check your health?"

I said, "That's right. Being robust now doesn't mean I'll be robust in the future. I want to know when I'm going to die."

Everyone around us burst into laughter. The punk lost face completely and muttered sullenly, "Elderly sir, fortune-telling requires reverence; this isn't something to joke about."

I replied, "I am very reverent. I just want to calculate when I'll die so I can make some preparations."

Hearing this, he assumed it was a situation involving unfilial family members and hurriedly said, "Elderly sir, judging from your physiognomy, your children's palace is dim and devoid of light. I calculate that your children are somewhat unfilial and frequently cause you, elder, to suffer grievances."

I let out a long sigh. "Sigh."

Thinking he had hit the mark, he quickly followed up with, "Elderly sir, don't be too sad. We can help you break this curse and avert the misfortune."

I said, "Avert what? It's precisely because my children are too filial that I want to know when I'll die, so I won't drag them down."

The punk's nose was twisted in frustration. He exchanged a glance with the man beside him, who stepped forward and said, "Elderly sir, your situation is quite unique. Let's step aside and talk."

He dragged me to a deserted corner and said coldly, "You're not here to have your fortune told."

I replied, "And you fellows aren't fortune-tellers either."

He said, "My partner and I are traveling monks collecting alms, merely looking for traveling expenses. I wonder how we've offended senior?"

I said, "There aren't just two of you; there are four."

He was stunned. "What on earth are you?" As he spoke, his right hand reached toward the small of his back.

I knew they were carrying weapons—it was standard practice for nomadic Abao operating on the run. I said, "The winds of the 'Strike Hard' campaign have barely subsided; you surely don't want to go inside, do you? Fraud alone is enough to land you a prison sentence of several years, and adding intentional assault to that means you really are courting death."

He was startled once more, standing stock-still. I stared at him unblinkingly. After a standoff of a few moments, he chuckled, cupped his fists, and said, "Senior! We are new to this territory, and if we subordinates have done anything out of line, we hope you'll be magnanimous. All the money we collected we can split fifty-fifty, please don't take offense, senior!"

I also smiled. "You only just now realized I'm a senior? Your blindness in sizing people up is off the charts!"

He hurriedly bowed and recited: "The horse-mouth crosses the flowing river, the hound-snout opens fire on the very first strike. This humble one is an 85-batch licentiate, may I ask the master's ranking?"

Hearing this, I recognized the underworld jargon. "Horse-mouth" meant horses, "hound-snout" meant dogs, and "licentiate" and "master" were ranks and seniority levels among Abao. He meant to say that his group were nomadic Abao operating on the run, today was their first time working a pitch in this locality, he was a licentiate-rank promoted in 1985, and he wanted to know my background.

I replied: "The goose-bill lays no eggs, the duck-bill endlessly broods; this humble one is a 50-batch top-three scholar."

This was more underworld jargon. The "goose-bill" referred to geese, and the "duck-bill" referred to ducks. My words were meant to inform him that I had long since retired from the underworld, and that I was a top-three scholar skipped ahead in rank back in 1950.

Once this title and era were dropped, the punk dropped to his knees: "Master on high, please accept this subordinate's bow."

Later, he called the other three over and announced, "We're not running the pitch today; a senior is present."

Afterward, they packed up their gear, and the five of us headed to a small restaurant.

Following the formal greetings, after three rounds of drinks and five courses of food, everyone began chatting. It turned out the four of them were two couples who had been in this trade for some years. They lamented that with the strict anti-crime crackdowns of the past two years, business had become exceedingly difficult.

I said, "If it's difficult, then stop doing it. Is there nothing else you could do?"

One of the women asked, "Why is master saying that? Didn't you also come up through these exact same years?"

I replied, "Indeed, times were even harder back then. Precisely because I walked that path myself, I am advising you not to walk it anymore."

The woman said, "Master, if I may speak disrespectfully, please don't take offense."

I said, "We're all family here, speak your mind."

The woman glanced at the others and said, "You accumulated savings back in those days and got everything you needed, which is why you were able to wash your hands of it. Once we reach master's stage, we'll quit too."

I took a sip of wine, let out a long sigh, and said, "I figured you would say that. Let me share my own history with you." From there, I began recounting my days as an Abao starting in 1948, detailing how we swindled, how we set up scams, how scams fell apart, Grandfather's death, the deaths of the various basin-heads, and Thief Cat's death... When I reached the most sorrowful parts, tears fell involuntarily from my eyes.

Finally, I concluded, "You only saw the joy Abao felt when making money and the carefree extravagance when spending it, yet none of you are willing to face the ultimate conclusion of an Abao. What a tragedy, truly a tragedy."

The four of them fell silent, and the room grew dead quiet. I believe human nature is originally good at birth; no one is born wanting to be a villain. The sea of bitterness is boundless, yet turning back brings you to the other shore. As long as one is willing to turn back, one can step ashore.

Suddenly, the leading man asked, "Master, that Grandfather you mentioned just now—could he be the Eastern school's sect leader who unified the 'Jiangxiang Sect' back in the day?"

I replied, "That's right. He was sentenced to death in 1952."

He looked at the other three around him, exchanging glances as if hesitating and undecided.

I didn't know what he meant; he seemed to have something to say yet dared not utter it.

I gave a light chuckle. "If you have anything to say, just say it. Whatever I know, I will tell you."

He looked at the other three once more, lowered his head in deep thought for a moment, and whispered, "Grandfather is not dead!"

"What?!" My blood pressure instantly spiked.

Seeing me shocked to this extent, he turned and pulled a photograph out of his cloth bag, handing it to me. I took it and looked closely. It depicted an octogenarian walking with his hands behind his back amidst autumn leaves. Looking even closer, "Good heavens!" My heart felt as though it had been pierced by a knife, and my entire body trembled. Even though it was a profile shot, I could clearly distinguish him: it was Grandfather!

I was completely dizzy. Grandfather had been gone for so many years, and the grievances of the "Jiangxiang Sect" had slowly faded in my memory. Now that I was old, I only wanted to pass away quietly with peaceful thoughts and occasional sorrow. I never expected that at the close of the 20th century, first Fourth Basin-head declared that Huang Farong was not dead, and now Grandfather—whose life had been inextricably intertwined with my own—was reappearing. My unseverable "Jiangxiang Sect," has your destiny still not reached its end?

My left eyelid began twitching again.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. "What is going on?"

The leader looked around cautiously and whispered, "The dragon palace marks ten sons, the millstone seeks the old stubble. Bean sprouts emerge, while old empty and old broad stand bare."

My heart jolted; I understood all this underworld jargon. "Dragon palace" meant water; "marking ten sons" meant chopsticks, referring here to rowing or taking a boat; "millstone" meant mother, alluding to the female sect leader; "old stubble" meant father, alluding to the male sect leader; "bean sprouts" meant female Abao; "bud" meant male Abao; "old empty and old broad" referred to opponents or hostile forces. These sentences meant that a female sect leader had returned by boat from overseas, intended to find the male sect leader, and was organizing the scattered Abao everywhere to gather and re-enter the martial underworld.

That man continued, "Master may not know this, but when we go out hunting roe deer, our true purpose isn't just to fleece money, but to search for and gather brothers scattered in every corner..."

I was dumbfounded!

Grandfather used to say: "An Abao must remain steady at all times." I began to carefully ponder this series of events. Behind every complex appearance, there is always a thread connecting them—it was just that I hadn't touched it yet. I vaguely felt that all of this was probably related to the death of Fourth Basin-head, but regardless of anything else, if Grandfather was truly still alive, it would be the greatest possible blessing for me. Over the decades, I had dreamed of him countless times, dreaming of his fatherly smile. Suddenly, I thought of Huang Farong. In my mind, the image of Fourth Basin-head's ex-wife had always remained hazy; I entered the path late, and by the time I joined the gambling den, she had already been "dead" for a long time, with her story having been told entirely by Second Basin-head. As I thought about this, my left eyelid twitched again, fluttering wildly and throwing my heart into chaos. I raised my hand and pressed against my eyelid, but it kept twitching nonstop.

At that moment, a figure flashed past outside the window, and a woman walked in. She was tall, dressed in a magnificent trench coat, and wearing dark sunglasses—she looked to be around forty. In the 1990s, such attire was still quite rare in our prefecture-level city.

The moment those four Abao laid eyes on this woman, their faces turned ashen with terror. Thud, thud, thud, thud—they all dropped to their knees: "Unaware that master was gracing us with her presence..."

The woman glanced at them coldly and uttered a single phrase: "Why don't you get lost back home!" The four of them immediately packed their belongings and bolted away like a puff of smoke.

The woman turned her gaze to me and asked, "Are you Fifth Master?"

My whole body shuddered; the title "Fifth Master" carried far too much weight.

"You are..." I asked skeptically, my eyelid twitching even more violently.

The woman removed her sunglasses, looked at me, fell silent for a moment, and then stared straight into my eyes, saying indifferently, "Might we go to Fifth Master's home for a chat..."

"Uh... very well..." Another wave of dizziness washed over me.

The room was eerily quiet. My wife poured a cup of tea for the woman, who slowly accepted it. The three of them remained silent; no one spoke, and the air seemed to freeze.

After a long while, the woman finally broke the silence. Accompanied by her heavy, sorrowful recounting, I finally learned who she was and what relationship she had with the "Jiangxiang Sect." My thoughts involuntarily flew back to those distant Jiangxiang years. The brilliance of the 1930s, the turbulent and stormy Shanghai Bund, the youthful Grandfather, the affectionate Jiang Feiyan, the genius Fourth Basin-head, the ill-fated Huang Farong—between heaven and earth, how many heroes arose in that single era... When she reached the most poignant parts, the three of us shed tears. Grandfather, Fourth Basin-head, Huang Farong—the grievances and entanglements of all three were, for the very first time, laid out before us complete and clear...