"Probably. Last time I ran into someone from their village at the bus station. He said the couple was making good money over there. Heh, the cripple even went to their house to make a scene before, demanding they give him more betrothal money because he hadn't gotten enough back then. He wanted them to hand over their daughter's earnings, too. The two families almost came to blows."
"I see. Then, driver, have you heard what their shop in Minqing is called, or where it is?"
"I wouldn't know. They keep it under wraps. Those women go over there and don't say a word when they come back. Some people probably know, but outsiders—people from outside the village—don't. They've got a way to make money. They're not going to shout about it and let someone else steal it from them."
The view switched back to the road outside the car.
The road ahead was still winding and difficult to travel.
The video had been edited. A second later, the car stopped at the foot of a mountain.
The driver spoke again. "Follow this road, and you'll get there. If you need a ride when you come out, call me. Don't use your own phones. There's no signal in these mountains. Spend a little money and borrow one of their phones to call."
"Okay. Thanks for the trouble, driver."
The car turned around with the scrape of parts, sounding as if it were about to fall apart.
The battered minivan, its body pocked with dents, drove out of view.
The scene shifted, turning toward a narrow mountain path. It didn't look like it had been built; it seemed to have been worn down by people walking over it. The bare earth stretched ahead, all the way into the woods. Tire tracks