Chapter 106: The Mystery of Numbers

Upon receiving the parchment, I hastily unfolded it to find two lines of numbers.

The first line was all too familiar—it was my birthdate, which nearly scared me out of my wits. Could it be that my grandmaster, Ye Guyi, had foreseen that I would inherit the legacy of the Ghost Sect and even predicted my arrival in Thailand, hence writing down my birthdate?

Only I could decipher the meaning of those numbers at a glance.

The second line read: **”29-34-110-78.”**

Dai Hao, seeing my furrowed brow, assumed it was some kind of treasure. He snatched it away and scrutinized it for two full minutes, even trying to soak it in water and oil before exclaiming, “There’s nothing here! Just a piece of oxhide. My ancestor must’ve been playing tricks.”

With that, he tossed it into the fire, where it quickly turned to ashes.

But the second line of numbers was seared into my mind.

**”29-34-110-78.”**

What did it mean? It didn’t seem like a birthdate. The parchment, delivered by the earth-nurtured corpse on Ye Guyi’s behalf, couldn’t have been a joke.

A fleeting thought crossed my mind—what if this earth-nurtured corpse had been raised here by Ye Guyi, waiting for my arrival across thousands of miles and half a century? But I quickly dismissed the idea with a slap to my own face. No one could be that formidable. My imagination was running wild. Since no answer came, I stopped dwelling on it.

…

The matter was eventually resolved satisfactorily. Dai Hao arranged for me and Xie Lingyu’s group to be escorted out of the Golden Triangle as a reward, along with $50,000. I also took Anna with me, and Dai Hao, true to his word, didn’t refuse.

By the time we reached Chiang Mai, Anna, now free, flew back to the U.S. As for that unforgettable night in the cabin, neither of us mentioned it again—after all, we would never see each other again.

Soon after, the police autopsy report confirmed that He had died of a sudden heart attack, an internal cause unrelated to me.

Of course, this was also the result of Dai Hao’s machinations.

Zuo Shan followed Abe Chikako to Japan, single-mindedly focused on reclaiming his masculinity and, for the time being, had no intention of dealing with me. His disciple, Zeng Jie, accompanied him. Unlike Meng Liuchuan, Abe Chikako wasn’t as invested in the Abe family’s ambition to defeat the Ghost Sect. Unaware that I had severely wounded Meng Liuchuan, she harbored no immediate conflict with me and was solely focused on tracking the black cat and returning to Japan to expand the drug trade for profit. Yu Qian, as Dai Hao’s representative, also followed Abe Chikako to Tokyo.

…

Back at *Zhonghua Qing*, I had a long talk with Zhang Jingding and Lü Haoyang, assuring them that everything was resolved and inviting them to visit me in China when they returned.

They nodded in agreement before pulling Xie Lingyu’s group into the inn to stay. Lü Haoyang, driving his taxi, took us around Chiang Mai for sightseeing. I had initially wanted to see a ladyboy show, but after recalling the expression of the earth-nurtured corpse’s cousin, I never brought it up again.

We wandered until midnight before returning, only to find Ma Ruoxing waiting for me, his face deathly pale.

Glancing around warily, he pulled me into a dimly lit alley. Two men, caught in an intimate embrace, hastily buckled their belts and scurried away, muttering, **”Shit.”**

Thailand had its fair share of same-sex couples, just as Japan had its AV stars—something Ma Ruoxing surely hadn’t heard of.

“How strange… men doing that with men…” Ma Ruoxing muttered before pulling open his shirt.

“I don’t have that kind of interest!” I shouted, only to freeze at the sight of a bloody handprint on his chest. **”Who did this?”** I gasped. **”Who injured you?”**

“Ah Lang’s mysterious friend. The same man who gravely wounded your grandfather. Your grandfather thought he had killed him, but he’s still alive. I went through great lengths to get close to Ah Lang in Thailand, only to end up ambushed and severely injured. The man’s accent sounded like it was from Shanxi or Shaanxi…” Ma Ruoxing coughed up blood as he spoke.

**”A northwestern accent!”** Why did that sound so familiar?

“Xiao Qi, stay out of this! I also came to take the ghost infant away. He can’t stay with you,” Ma Ruoxing said bluntly.

**”Why?”** Seeing his pained expression, I lit a cigarette for him.

“Though the deep-seated yin energy in you has been purged, the ghost infant’s presence will exacerbate your latent illness. Listen to me—I was your grandfather’s most loyal friend. Let me take the ghost infant. I know how to help him grow up healthy.” His eyes bore into mine with sincerity.

For some reason, I chose to trust him. The word **”loyal”** struck a chord—perhaps because I still remembered Ma Ruoxing’s tears and laughter before my grandfather’s coffin. No false friend would display such raw emotion.

“Fine. He’ll be better off with you,” I agreed through gritted teeth.

When Qi Qiqi learned Ma Ruoxing was taking Bai Yueming away, she was heartbroken, sobbing uncontrollably before kissing the child’s forehead in farewell.

**”Remember Mama… remember Mama…”** Her voice broke into quiet sobs.

**”Mama…”** Bai Yueming mumbled incoherently.

Ma Ruoxing glanced at Qi Qiqi, as if wanting to say something, but in the end, he left with Bai Yueming that very night.

With Bai Yueming gone, the once-bustling streets felt desolate. If he could grow up normally, my heart would be at ease.

Zhang Jingding stayed behind at the inn while Lü Haoyang took the night shift driving. At the barbecue stall, a drunkard sat slumped—rumor had it many like him were scattered across Chiang Mai that night. I knew why: Rose had passed away.

Later, I heard tales of a man in nothing but shorts wandering the Golden Triangle’s forests. At night, a red-clad spirit would accompany him… the two living blissfully among the trees.

The night deepened unnoticed.

I turned off the lights and lay down, only for a shadow to slip through the door. Thinking it was the assassin Wu Wei, back for revenge, I lunged forward, pressing a military knife against the intruder’s throat.

**”Who are you?!”**

Hmm. Smooth skin, a fragrant scent, and a heaving chest—was this a female assassin?

**”A keepsake for the long road ahead…”**

It was Qi Qiqi, her long legs and youthful vitality unmistakable.

I shooed Xiao Jian into the bathroom, warning him not to peek.

**”You and I… we’re just passing travelers.”** I wasn’t keen on crossing that line with Qi Qiqi now.

**”If I’ve wronged you in any way… don’t blame me. And don’t let our son blame me either.”** Her moist, alluring lips silenced my protests.

The “son” she spoke of was none other than Bai Yueming, the ghost infant she’d cared for these past weeks.

The bashful Qi Qiqi pressed closer. I was no saint—just a man of flesh and blood. Resistance crumbled.

**”Mother of my child, the floor’s cold… let’s move up.”** I dropped the knife and swept her into my arms.

Her robe loosened, and under the moonlight, her porcelain skin and curves were a breathtaking masterpiece—timid yet seductive, natural yet intoxicating.

My hands traced her form, top to bottom. She gasped, trembling, as her tongue met mine.

[915 words omitted]

After several rounds of passion, exhaustion claimed me. In my dreams, those numbers danced wildly before morphing into the wrinkled old woman and the one-legged zombie, as if hosting a macabre ball.

At dawn, only her fragrance lingered on the sheets. I reached out—she was gone.

All that remained was the phantom of that intoxicating night, echoing in my mind.

On the table lay a note in tiny script: **”Forgive me. My name is Guo Qiqi. I’ve left.”**

Gone with her was the copper jar she’d carried.

My mind reeled. The note confirmed it—the Guo family had come.

I recalled Qi Qiqi making two phone calls earlier, the voice on the other end unmistakably bearing that northwestern accent.

It all clicked. This entire Thailand trip had been orchestrated by an unseen hand. Every “coincidence” was meticulously planned—the Red Hat Travel Agency, the empty seat on the bus, Qi Qiqi lingering at the temple all afternoon. All to get close to me.

Qi Qiqi—no, **Guo Qiqi**—had come for the copper jar.

After setting the stage, she’d deployed the oldest trick in the book: the honey trap.