Seeking a Person

Chen Mo felt no particular novelty toward all this; the memories of his original self made him familiar with this environment.

He avoided the crowded, bustling main streets, choosing instead to navigate through quiet, secluded alleys and residential districts.

The addresses of the few households he sought were pieced together from the fragmented gossip of neighbors and the blurred memories of his predecessor, and they were not entirely precise.

The first household was said to be an old man who carried loads at the docks; because he refused to pay the wharf fees, he was beaten severely by men from the Black Tiger Gang. With no money for medical treatment, he lingered for half a month before dying.

His son had gone to sea and vanished without a trace, leaving only an old woman behind.

Chen Mo navigated the sewage-strewn shantytown for a long time before finding the low, dilapidated shack.

An old woman with dull, clouded eyes sat at the entrance, picking through rotten vegetable leaves.

Chen Mo stepped forward and bowed slightly: "Grandmother, I'm here to ask about something. I'm from the paper-effigy shop on South Street. I heard that one of your elders passed away a while ago?"

"Our shop recently accepted a commission from a kind soul who wants to send some 'money for the afterlife' to those who have suffered, to show our respects. We need a small personal item to serve as a tether..."

The old woman raised her clouded eyes and scrutinized him with suspicion, her fingers trembling slightly when she heard the mention of money for the afterlife.

She remained silent for a long time before saying in a hoarse voice: "Gone, long gone... there's nothing left... those god-damned..."

Before she could finish, tears rolled down her cheeks. She lowered her head, ignoring Chen Mo, and went back to mechanically picking through the vegetable leaves.

Chen Mo knew he wouldn't get anything more, and he couldn't bear to press her further, so he retreated in silence.

Here, there was no medium he could use.

The second household was a couple who ran a snack stall. The man refused to pay the protection money demanded by the Black Tiger Gang, so his stall was smashed. During the ensuing struggle, he was shoved to the ground, hit his head on a stone, and died on the spot.

The woman sold off her belongings to bury her husband and had since disappeared without a trace.

Chen Mo found the area near the former stall and asked a cobbler nearby.

The cobbler smacked his lips on his long-stemmed pipe and shook his head: "Moved away long ago, poor thing... When that woman left, she didn't take anything, just clutched a bundle. Went to her relatives in the west of the city, I think? Not sure."

The trail had gone cold again.

The west side of the city was too vast to search.

Chen Mo's heart sank slightly.

There was one more household: the Shen family, who sold tofu.

The Shen son was a hot-headed youth. Because his younger sister was harassed by a minor leader of the Black Tiger Gang, he stepped forward to reason with them and was beaten to death on the street. Many people had witnessed it at the time.

The old father of the Shen family was so enraged he vomited blood and passed away shortly after, leaving only the mother and the daughter who had nearly been defiled to depend on each other.

It was said they were still in the same place, as the small tofu workshop was rented and they had nowhere else to go.

Chen Mo's spirits lifted, and he turned toward the alley where the Shen tofu workshop was located.

It was a narrow, damp alley, and the workshop was right at the entrance.

The storefront was tiny and currently locked, cold and desolate. Even the usual scent of tofu was absent, replaced only by a faint, sour, musty odor.

The white funeral couplets pasted on the door had long since faded and torn, fluttering slightly in the wind.

Chen Mo stepped forward and knocked gently.

After a long while, the door opened a crack, revealing the pale, haggard face of a young girl. Her eyes were red and swollen, filled with wariness.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Is this the Shen residence?" Chen Mo tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. "I am from the Du'e Zhai paper-effigy shop. My father... used to receive some kindness from Old Man Shen. I heard about what happened to your family and came to pay my respects."

When the girl heard the name Du'e Zhai, her guard lowered slightly, but upon hearing the mention of her father, her eyes turned even redder.

She glanced back into the house before whispering: "My mother is ill... it's not convenient to have guests."

"I won't come in, I just want to say a few words." Chen Mo lowered his voice. "I know who killed Brother Shen—it was the Black Tiger Gang, wasn't it?"

The girl looked up sharply, intense hatred erupting in her eyes, her lips trembling.

She didn't speak, but her gaze was an admission.

"I hate them too." Chen Mo's voice was softer, yet carried the weight of shared suffering. "My father is gone, and they have pushed our shop to the brink of ruin. I cannot help you openly, but... I want to try and see if I can make those animals taste the flavor of retribution."

He paused, watching the girl's eyes, which had suddenly brightened with a flicker of doubt, and continued: "I need a small, personal item that belonged to Brother Shen while he was alive—anything will do, a scrap of clothing he wore, or a towel or blanket..."

"I can't promise anything, I just... want to try."

The girl bit her lip hard, tears sliding down silently.

She looked back into the house once more, as if having made a decision, and said quickly: "Wait here." The door closed gently.

A moment later, the door opened a crack again, and the girl handed out a faded blue cloth bundle. It felt very light in his hand.

"It's a piece cut from the new trousers Mother made for Brother's birthday last year... Brother only wore them that once..." She choked up, unable to continue.

Chen Mo accepted it solemnly, feeling the texture of the coarse cloth and the lingering, faint scent of soap.

"Thank you. This matter, heaven knows, earth knows, you know, and I know."

He carefully tucked the bundle into his tunic, then took out the few remaining copper coins he had and pressed them into the girl's hand. "Get your mother some medicine."

Without waiting for her to refuse, he turned quickly and hurried away from the alley, which was permeated with sorrow and hatred.

The clamor of the street flooded back into his ears: the ringing of rickshaw bells, the cries of hawkers, the faint, wailing sound of a huqin from a teahouse... The bustle of this floating world seemed to be a different world entirely from the cold, desolate alley he had just left.

"I heard the leader of the Black Tiger Gang is a martial artist."

Chen Mo, halfway through his walk, suddenly remembered something and couldn't help but stop in his tracks. "I must add some insurance."

By the time Chen Mo dragged his heavy footsteps back to Due Zhai, the sky was already approaching dusk.

The shops along Funeral Street had begun putting up their door panels early, the clattering sounds adding to the desolate atmosphere.

He secured the three-part door, isolating the interior from the outside, and leaned against the panels, panting slightly.

The Sha within his body seemed even more active due to today's exertion, sending a dull, throbbing pain through his chest.

Fortunately, he had managed to get his hands on everything.

He felt the cloth bag tucked against his chest and walked quickly toward his room...

Meanwhile, in the West City of Linhe County, inside a three-courtyard residence occupied by the Black Tiger Gang, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the cold stillness of Due Zhai, though it could hardly be called relaxed.

The main hall of the residence was brightly lit.

Sitting in the grand armchair in the center was a man in his early forties. He was not particularly burly, appearing even somewhat lean, but his frame was broad. His eyes were half-closed, occasionally flashing with a sharp glint like a dormant beast.

This was the leader of the Black Tiger Gang, Lei Laohu. The sharp glint in his eyes was the hallmark of someone who had mastered Dark Energy.

Spread out on the mahogany Eight Immortals table in front of him was a thick ledger.

Scarface stood respectfully to the lower left, the scar on his face appearing somewhat ferocious under the lamplight, though his demeanor was quite deferential, even carrying a hint of imperceptible anxiety.

To the right stood the thin, rat-whiskered Mr. Xu, who held a small sandalwood abacus in his hand, his fingertips occasionally flicking the beads to produce faint, crisp clicks.

The hall was very quiet, save for the low murmurs of Mr. Xu reciting numbers and the sound of Lei Laohu's fingers tapping lightly against the tabletop.