The Yellow River still flows. The sun and moon rise as always. My life is also incredibly beautiful. I had intended to keep the secret of the copper jar hidden forever. But since too many people were involved, I decided to retrieve the copper jar. I hope this secret will be one that benefits humanity, not an evil and malicious one.
Returning the car to the Hua family in Chang’an and flying back to Jiangcheng, it was already the end of the first lunar month, mid-March on the Gregorian calendar. The Bai Meng Flower Shop had been unattended and closed for a long time. Iron Ox and Zhang Zongbao were busy with their work. Little Rascal jumped off me and ran into Brother Jun’s auto repair shop.
Brother Jun was holding paper and pen, planning to renovate the auto repair shop, which hadn’t been refurbished in years. Suddenly spotting Little Rascal, he shouted, “Where did this little dog come from?” Startled, Little Rascal shivered, and Brother Jun burst into laughter. Iron Ox and Zhang Zongbao called me “Uncle.” I laughed and said, “Zongbao, share with us how it feels to have a son.”
Zhang Zongbao, his hands covered in grease, grinned and said, “Not much different. Just that I can call myself ‘Dad’ now.” Brother Jun called out, “Xiao Qi, you came just in time. Help me figure out how to renovate this auto repair shop!” I quickly waved my hands in refusal, saying, “That’s not my expertise. If you trust my aesthetic taste, the result would be laughable.”
Brother Jun nodded. “True. Just look at your Little Rascal—no taste at all.” Little Rascal immediately protested. First startled by Brother Jun, now mocked, he clearly wasn’t being taken seriously. He barked loudly. Brother Jun tossed the paper and pen aside, picked up Little Rascal, and said, “How about I treat you to ribs for lunch?”
Little Rascal seemed to consider it for a moment, deciding ribs sounded good, and his barks softened. I opened the Bai Meng Flower Shop, where a few mice scurried away. Since Yu Yuwei suddenly disappeared, no one had taken care of the shop. I had an emotional attachment to it and couldn’t bear to sell it, but I had to leave Jiangcheng soon. I sighed repeatedly.
After all, if the Bai Meng Flower Shop remained open, Xie Lingyu might return and find shelter there. Brother Jun sensed my dilemma and offered a suggestion. Before sharing it, he asked Zhang Zongbao to pause his work and listen. Brother Jun proposed inviting Zongxiao to help run the shop—she could earn some extra money for baby formula, and since it was close to home, their elderly parents, in their fifties, could take care of the child. She could visit on weekends.
Zhang Zongbao, worried about baby formula costs, immediately agreed. They could also hire two female workers to assist. With Zongbao overseeing things, the shop wouldn’t suffer losses.
I said, “Fine. As long as the shop’s name stays the same, it’s okay. I don’t care about the profits.” Zhang Zongbao grew anxious. “Uncle, I’m not greedy. Zongxiao would be working for you. You’d still be the boss.”
Seeing Zongbao’s honesty, I didn’t press further. I cleaned the shop, chased out the mice, and drove the Wuling to the flower nursery owner, Yu Fan, to restock. Yu Fan said he hadn’t seen me in a while and thought I’d quit. I explained, “I was delayed by some matters. I’ll be leaving Jiangcheng soon, but the shop will remain. Please take care of it.” Yu Fan agreed. After settling the bill and transporting the flowers back, I arranged the business. I had a simple meal with Brother Jun, tidied up, and everything was in order.
The next day, Zongxiao arrived, though her eyes were swollen—likely from missing her son. But arrangements had been made: a neighbor with ample breastmilk would help feed the baby for a fee until weaning at eight months to a year.
I hadn’t met Zongxiao much before. The only time was when Zhang Zongbao bought her a rose at the shop. She was a down-to-earth girl with a braid, having studied computers at the same vocational school as Zongbao, who majored in auto repair. They bonded over sharing the character “Zong” in their names. People teased them, and eventually, they became a couple.
I showed Zongxiao the ropes—ordering flowers, sales, and key points to remember. Her computer skills were sharp, and she noted everything down. Next was hiring two diligent female workers. Zongxiao suggested bringing in a fellow villager and a part-time college student.
I nodded in approval. With everything settled, I asked Zongxiao, “What’s your son’s name?” She smiled shyly. “Zongbao didn’t want anything too flashy, so we named him Zhang Wuji.”
…
For the first few days, I stayed at the shop, coordinating with Hua Changsheng about preparations for Hong Kong—how much money we’d need. Hua Changsheng said most people wouldn’t recognize the object’s value, but those who sought it would spare no expense, even risking bloodshed to obtain it.
Finally, Hua Changsheng emphasized that this was a gold jar. My enthusiasm waned—where would I get the money? Hua Changsheng would outmatch me, and though we were on good terms, the Hua family also included Hua Manlou and Hua Chongyang, none of whom were pushovers. I had my own agenda: ensuring the gold jar ended up in my hands. If someone else got it, I wouldn’t trust them. After much thought, I remembered Meng Xiaoyu—the best option was to borrow from her, given I’d helped her last year.
First, I called Shen Yihu, hoping to reach Meng Xiaoyu through him. But Shen Yihu brushed me off, saying he was busy and to leave him alone. Before I could curse him out, he hung up. No chance. Shen Yihu was unreliable, so I tried Gao Mo. She didn’t even pick up—probably saw my number and ignored it, muttering, “Damn that annoying guy calling again.” It reminded me of that saying: Sometimes people save your number not to answer your calls, but to avoid them.
With no luck reaching Meng Xiaoyu through intermediaries, I thought of Feng Wushuang. Her boss, Feng Shiqiao, was wealthy, but it felt inappropriate to ask her for money, so I dropped the idea.
By late March, with no loans secured, I had no choice but to team up with Hua Changsheng. Then I recalled the two landscape paintings Guo Yingying had given me as a gift. Since they were valuable, I decided to sell them for funds. Based on my knowledge of the art market, famous landscape paintings could fetch a high price. With that in mind, I packed Xie Xiaoyu, Little Rascal, and the kitten, hopped on my motorcycle, and left Jiangcheng. It was early spring, and as we headed south, the weather warmed. By the time we reached Shenzhen, it felt like summer—just a light jacket was enough.
I had previously obtained an ID card and Hong Kong/Macau travel permit for Xie Xiaoyu. Crossing the border with Little Rascal and the kitten was a hassle, but we managed. The permit allowed only a seven-day stay in Hong Kong.
I thought, “Seven days is fine. Who cares? I’ll enjoy Hong Kong first. If they blacklist me, so be it.”
We arrived in Hong Kong on March 25. First, I went to Sotheby’s on Queensway Road. I had called ahead to inform them about the two famous landscape paintings I was bringing. But when I learned the auction process was too slow, I decided not to sell. A man in a suit with a short beard, not a Sotheby’s employee but possibly a bidder, noticed another scroll I carried and asked to see it.
Unrolling it revealed the painting of a classical beauty with a high bun and bare back, an eye on her arm. The man handed me a business card, saying to contact him if I wanted to sell. I took it politely, saying I’d consider it. The card read “Zhao Banshan,” chairman of an international cultural consultancy.
Leaving Sotheby’s in the afternoon, I spotted a beggar near the building. His eyes looked familiar—sharp and cunning, unlike a typical beggar’s pleading gaze. But I didn’t dwell on it.
The streets were crowded. Afraid Little Rascal and the kitten would get lost, I carried them instead of leashing them. Xie Xiaoyu held my treasures—the jade ruler, compass, snail, and scroll. Any thief targeting her would regret it.
Hungry, I joined a long queue and waited ten minutes for egg waffles. Then I took a bus to Lan Fong Yuen in Tsim Sha Tsui, famous for its silk-stocking milk tea. I ordered a pineapple bun and chicken chop noodles. Halfway through the meal, it hit me—the beggar was Yanzi Li San, the chivalrous thief I’d met in Jiangnan City. His sly yet righteous eyes were unmistakable. In Jiangnan, he had helped Xiao Ming’s family. His presence near Sotheby’s hinted at another heist.
After eating, I fed Little Rascal and the kitten, checked a map, and planned to explore Hong Kong. I booked a hotel for a few nights.
Suddenly, a loud crash and frantic car horns erupted. Little Rascal barked as people scattered. A speeding car veered out of control, smashing into parked vehicles before hitting a lamppost and stopping just ten meters from me.
Xie Xiaoyu and I rushed forward. She forced the car door open, and I pulled out an unconscious man in a black jacket, his face bloodied.
I shouted, “What’s your name? I’ll call your friends!” Worried he didn’t understand Mandarin, I repeated in English.
“My name is Laughing!” he gasped before passing out.
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