Chapter Four: The Old Home and Ancestral House

The pleasant scenery along the mountain path quickly dispelled the gloom lingering in our hearts, and I restrained myself from dwelling any further on the matter of the tattoo. Having vomited so miserably earlier, it wasn’t long before our stomachs began to rumble again. Luckily, our packs were well-stocked with provisions, so we could simply reach in and eat.

“Most people bring compressed biscuits for travel and adventure, but you, damn it, packed nothing but compressed beef jerky and ultra-concentrated chocolate bars—living the high life, aren’t you?” I teased, chewing on a piece of jerky.

“The times are changing; outdoor gear and food are evolving. I’m keeping up with the trend. If you’ve got food, just eat and stop complaining,” Old Tan retorted, scolding me instead.

The banter made our journey much easier, and with fruit trees lining the path—never seeming to run out—we walked for over an hour before our stomachs felt stuffed. Helpless, we stopped to rest again. This was due to my lack of experience in trekking, but thankfully it wasn’t a serious issue. All the way, I kept an eye out for the cave I’d visited as a child, but eventually, fatigue made me forget about it entirely.

Based on my childhood memories, I expected us to reach the village in just over three hours. But Old Tan and I had spent nearly ten hours on the road before this, and now we were scrambling up the mountain, our strength waning rapidly. Fortunately, summer nights come late; though we moved slowly and took frequent breaks, nearly five hours passed before I finally caught sight of the ancient yellow horn tree at the village entrance, just as dusk was settling in.

“We’ve finally arrived.” Leaning on a wooden stick, I gazed at the towering tree, a rush of emotions flooding my heart.

“Damn,” Old Tan plopped himself down on a large stone by the roadside. “Brother, now I—now I understand how you won the five-thousand-meter championship at school. Oh, my God, I don’t think I’ve walked this far in all my twenty-some years.”

“Alright, let’s hurry into the village. My father might be waiting,” I said, pulling Old Tan up, feeling my steps lighten.

The village houses were wooden structures built on the slopes, scattered among the trees at varying heights. The old, abandoned terraced fields looked just the same as before. Compared to my memories, nothing seemed to have changed—but as we drew closer, a sense of desolation crept over me.

The boatman had been right; it seemed not a soul remained here. The sky grew ever more gloomy, and oppressive humidity lingered, as a chilling, eerie silence gradually enveloped us.

“Yuan Jie, your hometown is quiet, damn it. Why am I getting goosebumps?” Old Tan muttered, eyeing a dilapidated house before us.

Honestly, even as a native, cold shivers ran down my spine. In the past, I’d thought the mountain’s tranquility comforting, but now, all I could sense in the village was emptiness and decay. Though I didn’t admit it aloud, I was no different from Old Tan—my heart pounding as I watched the swaying trees and listened to the squeaking and creaking of wooden doors in the wind.

We passed several houses, each scene nearly identical. With my family’s old home in sight, an unsettling and practical question suddenly crossed my mind: what if my father hasn’t returned yet—how will we spend the night?

As soon as the thought occurred, I slapped myself. “Damn it, what nonsense! Am I really scared of my own house?”

Old Tan must have heard my muttering, for he approached, pointing at the open wooden door of my old home. “Looks like your father isn’t back yet. See? Your doorframe’s about to fall off. Are we staying here tonight?”

“Of course. If you want to sleep at the village entrance, I won’t object. Even if my father doesn’t arrive, we’ve got tents, haven’t we? Might as well get used to it early.” With that, I strode toward the old house.

Once inside the main hall, our nerves eased a little. The place was quite tidy; whoever my father had hired must have cleaned thoroughly before leaving. There weren’t many appliances or furnishings, but the tables, chairs, and beds were clean, and the bedding seemed recently purchased. Best of all, the cabinet by the bed held mosquito coils, candles, and a lighter.

Surveying the room, I patted Old Tan’s chest with pride. “Well? Not bad, right?”

Old Tan, seeing the place was indeed decent, replied with a chuckle, “Definitely, Yuan. Your family must be the local gentry up here.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Heh. Seriously, though, I see plenty of firewood behind the house, and it’s getting dark—candles alone won’t do. The courtyard’s big enough; let’s light a bonfire and roast some game. That’s the way to enjoy life.”

I laughed. “A bonfire is fine, but it’s already dark. Are you brave enough to hunt for wild game in the mountains? Let me warn you—there are tigers up here.”

Unexpectedly, Old Tan grinned mischievously and pulled out two sealed packs of meat from his bag. “I came prepared.”

I couldn’t help but laugh and scold him. “So that’s why your pack was heavier than mine—so many tricks up your sleeve.”

“It’s my first time this deep in the mountains. How could I not enjoy it properly?”

I had to agree. The two of us began hauling firewood from behind the house into the courtyard, and soon built a bonfire. Though conditions in the mountains were rough, sweet spring water was readily available. We set up the meat, sprinkled it with salt, and let the aroma mingle with the clean mountain air—a sensation beyond words.

For sheer enjoyment, Old Tan could easily make the top lists. Once he unpacked his bag, I saw half of it was filled with food and beer. I didn’t bother to scold him anymore; I just thought that if we wanted to keep traveling, I’d have to resupply his gear in Dazhou.

Around ten o’clock, we sat beside the bonfire, drinking beer, eating roasted meat, and smoking. All the fatigue from our journey seemed to melt away. We chatted about anything and everything, reminisced about college days, discussed women—it was pure delight.

Once we’d had our fill, we simply stared into the tranquil mountain night and the spotless starry sky, lost in thought. I thought about my father, about those people at the Yanjing Grand Hotel, and worry crept in. Before we parted last time, he hadn’t set a date, but knowing his habits, unless something unexpected happened, he’d surely have reached home before me. Now that he was nowhere to be seen, could something have happened?

The thought left me helpless. If something had happened to my father, what could I do? I didn’t even know what he did or where he was—the only thing I could do was wait. I silently pondered all the clues from over the years. “What could he be involved in? Underworld? Unlikely. These days, even penniless gangsters put on airs, and my father’s never been so shabby. Smuggling or drug trafficking? Not impossible, but when he took me wandering through Yanjing, he never seemed to hide anything. Once, he rented a beat-up Santana, got a ticket from the police, and handed over his ID without a hint of guilt. Could he be a pimp? Or even a spy... wait.”

Suddenly, I recalled something. That time, his associate wanted to give me a black-striped box with a red base. For some reason, my mind connected the box with the tattoo I’d seen on the infant corpse today. The two objects didn’t look alike, but the feeling they gave me was strangely similar—though I couldn’t describe exactly what it was. My father had been so nervous then; could his business be related to that box?

My thoughts wandered aimlessly, and suddenly, sensing something, I turned to look—Old Tan had disappeared without a trace.