Chapter 65: The Half-Immortal’s Past

Liu Jianguo stepped forward and called out, “Old Regimental Commander, how have you been?”

The old man immediately cursed, “Liu Jianguo, you bastard, you still remember me? I thought you’d long forgotten about me.”

Liu Jianguo’s eyes reddened. “Old Regimental Commander, how could I ever forget you?”

The old man glanced at me and Xie Lingyu behind him and asked, “Is this your son? Your daughter-in-law is quite pretty. Why’d you even bring the family pet along?”

Geng Zhi looked at Little Rascal and frowned. “Not many people keep rural mutts like this these days…”

Liu Jianguo quickly explained, “He’s a master. He came to Yunnan to find something. I invited him along to help me locate the remains of Tian Fugui, Shui Jinbao, Shi Dazhuo, Ma Shangqian, and Fu Wulong.”

This was the first time I’d heard these five names, but Liu Jianguo recited them in one breath, proof that they were etched in his heart.

The old man strode over, fastening his collar button. “Young comrade, hello, hello. My name is Geng Zhi. Can you really find their remains? Money is no issue—just name your price. This matter has weighed on my heart for years. I’d even sell my military medals to pay you.”

Geng Zhi didn’t dismiss me as a fraud, likely out of trust in Liu Jianguo.

I said, “Elder Geng, I owe it to Uncle Liu’s help. Asking for money would be wrong of me.”

Geng Zhi nodded approvingly. “Good lad. You’re far better than those pretentiously clever folks. I don’t have much to offer, but come down and join us for a meal.”

Liu Jianguo, sensing my hesitation, said, “The old commander isn’t one for formalities. Just treat it like home.”

I nodded. “A meal sounds good, but after a day and night on the train, I’m a bit dizzy and could use some sleep.”

Geng Zhi burst into laughter.

Liu Jianguo chuckled too. “Old Regimental Commander, how many people would kill to dine with you? And today, you get turned down.”

Geng Zhi wasn’t offended. “Fine, skip the meal if you must, but at least feed the cat and dog. Rest can wait till after.”

Seeing no room for further refusal, I relented. Geng Zhi’s home served simple, homely dishes—tofu soup and the like—but all were delicious.

True to his name, Geng Zhi was straightforward and hearty. He and Liu Jianguo dove into discussions of national affairs, reminiscing about their glory days with great fervor.

Slamming the table, Geng Zhi fumed, “Back then, Vietnam dared to push regional hegemony, encroaching on our borders. I wouldn’t stand for it—those bastards were just asking for a beating! Worst of all, after we thrashed them, they still wouldn’t quit, skulking around our defenses.”

Seeing my confusion, Liu Jianguo explained, “The Southern Frontier War wasn’t just a single battle. There were many skirmishes before and after. The worst part? In ’79, we hammered the Vietnamese, withdrew, and signed an agreement. But those sneaky bastards pretended to comply while stirring trouble behind the scenes. In ’81 at Fakashan, ’83 at Koulinshan, ’84 at Laoshan and Zheyin Mountain—border clashes kept flaring up. During a ’84 reconnaissance mission at Zheyin Mountain, six of us went out… but only I came back.”

Liu Jianguo’s eyes reddened again. “Fugui, Jinbao, Dazhuo, Shangqian, Wulong… they never made it back…”

Geng Zhi’s eyes also welled up.

For some reason, the words of these two old men were enough to bring tears to anyone’s eyes.

After leaving Geng Zhi’s home, a young guard escorted us to the guesthouse. Liu Jianguo didn’t want to disturb the old man further.

Emotionally drained, Liu Jianguo no longer carried the air of a mystic. Who’d have thought the owner of a coffin shop could be such a tough man, bearing the weight of five lives?

Xie Lingyu handed him a tissue. “Fortune-teller, don’t grieve. You’re back to find them now, aren’t you?”

Liu Jianguo wiped his eyes. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Xie Lingyu teased, “I’m laughing at you, a grown man, nearly crying. Don’t mope, or the young ones will think less of you.”

The guard, Yu Zhuangzhuang, halted and saluted Liu Jianguo. “Sir, you’re a hero. Men like you command respect. They say real men don’t shed tears lightly—only when the heart truly breaks. We all carry the honor of soldiers.”

Liu Jianguo asked, “Who taught you that?”

Yu Zhuangzhuang, having just delivered his impassioned speech, now flushed slightly. “I came up with it myself.”

Liu Jianguo sighed. “Kid, you’re still too green.”

But I understood Liu Jianguo’s meaning. Add “veteran” before “soldier,” and the picture changes. Once the smoke of war clears and the years grow quiet, especially for those with disabilities, facing local bullies and loneliness—life becomes more than just “quiet.”

Yu Zhuangzhuang wanted to argue but held back. He courteously arranged three single rooms for us, saluted Liu Jianguo once more, and left—a well-mannered young man.

Late that night, Liu Jianguo knocked on my door. “Boss Xiao, Master Xiao, since we’ve got time tonight, let me tell you my story.”

Exhausted from the train ride and the emotional evening, I could barely keep my eyes open. But Liu Jianguo, already emotionally spent, brewed two cups of green tea and sat by my bed. Xie Lingyu, hearing the commotion next door, joined us.

Realizing I wouldn’t sleep until Liu Jianguo finished his tale, I sipped the tea to stay awake. The kitten and puppy sat on the floor, the latter persistently nuzzling He Qingling.

I kicked Little Rascal lightly. “Quit pestering He Qingling. She doesn’t even like you. You’re a dog, trailing after a cat—how pathetic is that? Even if you ever develop Yin-Yang vision, you’ll still be her lackey.”

Xie Lingyu laughed. “Worry about yourself. Little Rascal here wants to hear the story.”

Liu Jianguo grinned. “You two—a man and a woman, a cat and a dog—are quite the pair. Drink your tea, Master Xiao, and I’ll begin.”

I agreed but warned, “Just keep your emotions in check. No weeping midway.”

Liu Jianguo took a sip. “What’s wrong with shedding a few tears during a story? Since when is that against the rules?”

I countered, “Fortune-teller, if you keep crying like this, you’ll lose your spiritual edge. Aren’t you trained in the *Mayi Shenxiang* tradition? If you can’t control your emotions, how will you read faces?”

Xie Lingyu scolded me. “Xiao Qi, you’re just afraid you’ll cry too. Even Guanyin sheds tears for human suffering—does that diminish her enlightenment? Grieving is part of cultivation, whether in Buddhism or Taoism.”

Chastened, I relented. “Fine, tell your story. This tea’s woken me up anyway.”

Liu Jianguo began, “People say Yunnan is lush and scenic, a tourist’s paradise—Dali’s romantic charm, Lijiang’s azure skies, Cangshan’s mountains, Erhai’s waters.”

I quipped, “I heard Lijiang’s also great for hookups.”

Liu Jianguo sipped his tea. “Everyone sees Yunnan’s beauty. Even Jin Yong wrote of Dali’s famed pagodas and Buddhist grace. But—”

His sudden shift startled me.

Though Liu Jianguo could spin fortunes with flowery prose, his storytelling lacked structure—jumping back and forth, omitting key details. For clarity, I’ll recount his tale in full.

Yunnan’s rich in tourism and ethnic diversity. Poets and writers praise its landscapes; even Jin Yong and Liang Yusheng set heroic tales here.

But Uncle Jianguo saw it differently.

The long border was rife with drug smuggling—most narcotics entered China through Yunnan. Large cartels clashed bloodily with border guards, claiming many lives.

The deep forests hid venomous creatures and beasts. Many who ventured in for herbs vanished without a trace—eaten by animals or, as folklore went, “spirits brewing them into soup.” (Though spirits wouldn’t bother with soup—they’d devour prey on the spot. I embellished for effect.)

These were natural perils.

Then there were man-made horrors.

Regions like Yunnan, Guizhou, Guangxi, and Sichuan historically resisted central control. Dark arts banished from the heartland thrived here, blending with local witchcraft—soul summoning, ghost-raising, corpse-refining—birthing grotesque practices.

Once, Jianguo saw a dog, dead for three days, suddenly spring up and sprint away—lively as hell.