Chapter 161: Urban Turmoil

Uncle Jianguo looked at me strangely, “Master Xiao, why are you shedding tears for a man, and a monk at that?”

I ignored the fortune-teller. He was clearly asking a question he already knew the answer to, just to mock me. But I was also puzzled—why *was* I crying for a man?

Have you ever experienced something like this, shedding tears so unexpectedly? Outside the airport, planes took off and landed, farewells and reunions happening every minute. A girl in a red scarf ran swiftly, wrapping her arms around an anxiously waiting boy, tears of happiness streaming naturally from her eyes.

The plane jolted twice during takeoff before stabilizing in the stratosphere. Peering out the window, I watched the city shrink until only buildings remained, the people too tiny to see. Leaving Jiangcheng for Xi’an, then Fufeng, to Famen Temple, and back—it had only been a month. As the poet once said, *What should be gained remains ungained, what should be lost has long been lost.* That line perfectly captured my current state.

On the plane, Uncle Jianguo and I chatted. I remarked how this trip had seemed perilous at first, yet everything had gone smoothly. He gave me a weird look. “Are you just being difficult? Things went well, and now you’re nitpicking?” I scoffed and retorted, “*You’re* the difficult one. I’m just being cautious, alright?”

Uncle Jianguo laughed. “We’re both difficult—plus your Little Rascal. We’re the *Three Troublemakers.* But what’s next for you? Still hunting zombies and catching ghosts?”

I burst out laughing. “*Three Troublemakers*—you’re too much, Half-Immortal.”

I laughed loudly because his question had stumped me. The bronze jar had been taken by the Guo family. Xie Lingyu wouldn’t return for three years. Ji Qianqian had already left. Suddenly, it seemed I had nothing left to do. Without Xie Lingyu and Xie Xiaoyu, I had no way of finding the owner of the bloody handprint. And with the money Dai Hao had deposited in my bank account, I didn’t have to worry about food or shelter for now.

Seeing my hesitation, Uncle Jianguo teased, “How about we team up? You know a bit about feng shui and can handle zombies. Let’s go tomb raiding—dig up some treasures, get rich. I heard there’s a guy called *Southern Sect Third Uncle* who’s great at digging graves.”

I shook my head. “That guy? He can write novels, sure, but if he actually went tomb raiding, he’d get in and never come out.”

Uncle Jianguo stared at me skeptically, trying to hype me up, but I wasn’t interested. I still wanted a free life—no point ending up in jail over stolen artifacts.

Bored, I closed my eyes and napped on the plane. Three hours passed quickly, and the plane landed smoothly at Jiangcheng Tianhe Airport. As we disembarked, Uncle Jianguo nudged me with his elbow. “That guy ahead looks weird—walks like a stiff puppet.”

Following his gaze, I saw a man with an indifferent expression, accompanied by a woman bundled in thick clothes—a black trench coat, collar flipped up, a hat, and black gloves.

Aside from her stiff gait, there was nothing unusual.

I shook my head. “Nothing weird. Maybe she just has trouble walking.” Uncle Jianguo rubbed his eyes, puzzled. “Maybe I’m just seeing things.”

I grinned. “You’re so obsessed with tomb raiding, everyone looks like a zombie to you.” As we exited the cabin, a flight attendant behind us was cleaning up. “Huh? Why are there so many nails here…?”

After waiting at the airport to retrieve Little Rascal from baggage claim, we hailed a taxi. A woman pulling a suitcase caught my eye—blue scarf, a square hat, and a thick blue flight attendant uniform. She glanced at me twice, her long legs drawing attention in the cold wind.

A gust of wind blew, and she adjusted her scarf before boarding the airport shuttle, disappearing from view.

But those bright eyes lingered in my mind. Had I seen her somewhere before?

Uncle Jianguo smacked my head. “What are you staring at?”

I rubbed my chin. “That flight attendant… I think I know her.”

Uncle Jianguo lit a cigarette and handed me one, laughing. “Quit watching so many dirty movies.” I shook my head. “I must be mistaken. I heard she went abroad after graduation. No way she’s back as a flight attendant already.”

Uncle Jianguo took a drag and pointed ahead. “That couple’s still here. The woman’s acting strange.”

As a former scout, Uncle Jianguo had sharper observation skills than most. Following his gaze, I saw a woman in her thirties—jet-black hair, but now wearing a deep red mask that revealed only her eyes and mouth. Her pupils barely moved. Her husband noticed us staring and quickly ushered her into their car, speeding off.

Uncle Jianguo asked, “Anything off about her?” I smirked. “Maybe a zombie. Specifically, a female one. Her black-gloved fingers looked unusually long—probably growing claws.”

Uncle Jianguo exclaimed, “Shouldn’t we chase them?”

I waved him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just messing with you. There aren’t that many zombies in the world.”

Wearing a red mask didn’t make someone a zombie.

By the time we took a taxi back to Chuhan Avenue, it was already 1 PM. Uncle Jianguo returned to his run-down home, waiting for his demolition payout so he could open a coffin shop elsewhere. Yu Yuwei noticed fewer people had returned with me this time—just me and the black dog. “Um… when will the boss lady be back?”

“In three years,” I replied with a faint smile, setting Little Rascal down. I trimmed the flowers and swept the floor. Yu Yuwei, sensing my mood, didn’t press further and urged me to rest. I wiped down the motorcycle—it had been lent to Iron Ox but was still in good shape.

The Wuling van, however, was covered in dust. I wanted Brother Jun to give it a tune-up.

Brother Jun kicked the van twice. “Tune-up? This piece of junk? Sell it for scrap!”

I frowned. “If I sell it, are you giving me your Fukang? I can’t haul flowers on a tricycle.”

Brother Jun relented. “Fine, I’ll fix it. But don’t expect discounts—I heard you’re loaded now.” He wiped his hands and extended one. “Let’s be friends, big spender.”

I was speechless. “Big spenders are monks now?”

Liu Jibao and Iron Ox, fresh from an internet café, grumbled as they walked in. “Even that mutt Black Dog has his own turf now, and we’re still nobodies.”

Brother Jun scolded them. “All you do is game and blow money on gear. Save up and get married! Zongbao’s wife is already pregnant, and you’re still single.”

Liu Jibao retorted, “Uncle, being a mechanic sucks. Black Dog—my old buddy—wears a chain as thick as his… well, you know. He’s even got two college girls. I wanna join him—earn a grand a day just guarding a place.”

Brother Jun grabbed a feather duster and whacked him. “Gang life? Fast money, huh?”

Liu Jibao stood his ground, taking the hits silently. Iron Ox tried to intervene but got beaten too. Brother Jun ranted, furious and heartbroken.

I stepped in. “They’re just kids. Scold them, but don’t wreck your own business. Blame society, not them.”

I kicked Liu Jibao and Iron Ox. “Apologize to your master, you idiots.” Trembling, they muttered, “Sorry, Master. We won’t do it again.”

Brother Jun tossed the duster aside. “If any of you join a gang, I’ll break your legs myself.”

He lit a cigarette, fuming. I took a drag, hesitating before speaking. “I… want to learn real skills from you. Military boxing, combat—teach me everything.”

Brother Jun paused, forgetting to inhale. “Alright. What’s got you so serious?”

I sighed. “People have to grow up sometime.”

By nightfall, Iron Ox had washed the pot and set up an alcohol stove. We tossed in hotpot base, water, radishes, beef, and ham. Within minutes, it was bubbling away—ready in half an hour.

The aroma of hotpot mixed with the garage’s oil and gasoline, fueling our testosterone. Add two bottles of booze, and it was pure bliss. Four bottles of 17-yuan Huanghelou liquor later, words failed us. Brother Jun passed me his Baisha cigarettes—harsh but satisfying.

I almost suggested inviting Yu Yuwei, but Liu Jibao and Iron Ox didn’t mention her. Clearly, she’d rejected them in the past six months.

“Let’s drink,” Brother Jun said, pouring a cup for Little Rascal too.

Calmly, he added, “Jibao, Iron Ox. Stick it out another six months, and I’ll send you to Lanxiang Tech. With real skills, I’ll set you up with your own shops. Black Dog’s nothing—trash bound for prison.”

I agreed. “Cars are booming in small towns. This trade’s a goldmine.” Liu Jibao and Iron Ox stayed silent, downing their drinks.

Soon, they were on the floor, bawling. “Sister Yu… why’d you reject us?”

*I offered my heart to the moon, but the moon shines on the gutter.*

We burned through eight alcohol blocks and two refills of water, finishing the hotpot and all the liquor.

Drunk, Brother Jun kicked a bottle. “Cheap booze is just watered-down alcohol. But what’s worse? Fake emotions.” He rambled about a lost love—something about housing and residency permits.

“All these years, and I still can’t get a local Jiangcheng hukou. No wonder she left.” He stabbed the hotpot, splitting a sausage between himself and Little Rascal.

I reassured him, “The right woman will come.”

Brother Jun shook his head. “Afei and Chengpeng divorced. I don’t believe in love anymore.”

I fumbled for my phone to record his drunken wisdom but only patted Little Rascal’s head. The dog was already sprawled out, half-asleep.

Something felt off. “Uh… Afei divorced *Yapeng*, not Chengpeng.”

Brother Jun waved it off. “Same difference. Both names have ‘peng’—means ‘bird.’ I’m fine. Two bottles won’t take me down. You go ahead. I need to cry some more.”

Staggering, I carried Little Rascal home. *Men don’t cry easily—unless their hearts are broken.* And Brother Jun’s heart was shattered.

Behind me, his off-key singing echoed: *”I’d do anything for love… I’d even roam the earth for you…”*

The cold wind bit my flushed face. Neon lights blurred in the distance, and for a moment, I thought I saw Xie Lingyu. Rushing forward, I realized it was just a mirage. My stomach churned, and I vomited into a trash can, nearly passing out from the dizziness.

After two minutes, I felt lighter. Sitting on the curb, exhausted and defeated, Little Rascal beside me, I watched the traffic. The world felt vast—and I was utterly alone.

“Little Rascal… do you think our loneliness means nothing to this world? Just a fart in the wind? No, wait—a *human* fart.” I slurred.

Little Rascal twitched his ears, clueless about farts, human or otherwise.

A couple walked past, eyeing me.

“F*** off,” I spat at the guy.

He kicked me in the gut. “Psycho.” His girlfriend dragged him away before he could stomp on my face.

Lying on the ground, I laughed hysterically as a street-cleaning truck sprayed icy water on me.

The sky was pitch-black—endless and unreachable.

Petting Little Rascal’s head, I murmured, “From now on, we’ll get stronger. No more luck, no more last-minute rescues. Understand?”