After eating, Qi Ran followed Jiang Zhique out of the cafeteria. The workers, now on their dinner break, were streaming noisily down from the construction site, passing by them. Not a single person noticed them. Qi Ran guessed Jiang Zhique must have used some special method. Indeed, it was quite convenient.
“Curious?” Ah Qiao followed behind her. “See that sachet hanging on her left waist? That’s Blinding Incense. Even the current you could use it. Of course, you’d need to prepare yourself mentally first—it’s an incense ground from the ashes of the dead.”
Qi Ran sniffed but didn’t detect any unusual scent in the air.
After passing through the construction site, they arrived at the family residential area. These were still simple structures made of corrugated iron. They climbed a narrow, open-grid metal staircase to the second floor, a landing of steel plating. Walking to the very last room on the right, Jiang Zhique stopped. The door didn’t appear to be locked; it opened with a simple twist of the handle. For someone like her, worrying about burglars seemed entirely unnecessary.
After pushing the door open, she didn’t step inside immediately. Instead, she stood on her tiptoes and felt along the top of the doorframe, eventually retrieving an old, rust-speckled bell bound with red string. There was no clapper inside; in its place was a slip of paper, looking as if it had been randomly torn from a larger sheet, its torn edge jagged, stained with a streak of dark red.
She hung the bell on the doorframe. After waiting a brief moment, she then entered the room.
“What is that?” Qi Ran asked.
Jiang Zhique turned on the light inside the room. “A Paper Bell. From the Southwest Tang Family. The Tangs are good at making these convenient little gadgets. They have a near-monopoly on the market. It acts as a doorkeeper. But mine’s been used too long, worn down too much. Its range is now less than ten meters.”
After turning on the room light, she also drew the blinds, sealing them shut tight.
To Qi Ran’s surprise, Jiang Zhique’s room seemed incongruent with her clothing style. The thin corrugated iron walls were covered with wallpaper in a warm, light brown hue. The originally old, rusty metal bunk bed, its ladder frame layered with rust, had been carefully wrapped flat with waterproof soft adhesive paper. The bed itself was clean and tidy; the pillow was placed atop the folded blanket, and the plain-colored sheet lay flat without a single wrinkle. On the other side, a simple wooden table held a small desk lamp, a small oval black mirror, an alarm clock, and a transparent plastic pouch containing shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. The slightly decaying, blackened surface of the wooden table was spread with layers of old, yellowed newspapers, which were in turn covered by a thin pane of glass. The result didn’t look shabby at all, possessing instead a sort of retro aesthetic beauty.
In the corner of the table sat a photo frame… but it was placed face down. Clearly, Jiang Zhique didn’t want anyone seeing the photo inside.
Qi Ran glanced at the newspaper glimpsed through the edge of the glass and was stunned. It was, impressively, the People’s Daily. Unlike the brightly colored, flashy newspapers of today, this one was almost entirely text, with barely any graphic lines. The large, bold headlines were clearly visible: “Leaders of xx and xx Exchange New Year Greetings” and “Telegram Congratulating xx on Republic Independence Day.” The date was June 15, 1984. This newspaper, spread beneath the glass on the wooden table, was nearly twice as old as she was.
She silently looked at the slightly cozy room before her. She could fully imagine how Jiang Zhique had racked her brains to decorate this room that was hers, turning a dilapidated corrugated iron hut—which in design was scarcely different from a prison cell—into something that exuded the warmth of a home. Because she had once done the same. She had been very young then, just starting middle school. At that time, the girls in her class were all into sticking stickers on their water bottles or pencil cases; there were all sorts. She had saved her lunch money for a while and bought a bunch of stickers to take home, as if just covering the dents smashed into the wall by beer bottles—and the shards of broken glass sticking out of them—meant none of it had ever happened.
But after Qi Jianguo woke up, the wallpaper had been torn down. Of course, he wouldn’t like those gaudy princess stickers.
No matter, Qi Ran thought. She hadn’t really liked those stickers all that much back then anyway. She just felt a little heartache over the wasted money.
Jiang Zhique bent down and pulled a wooden chest out from under the bed. Opening it, she took out a shirt, a pair of pants, and a towel, tossing them to Qi Ran. “They’re not new. Mind?”
Qi Ran shook her head, accepted the clothes and thanked her. The clothes carried a distinct scent of mothballs. “Where are the washroom and showers?” she asked.
“I’ll take you in a bit,” Jiang Zhique said, still rummaging inside the wooden chest. “Let me first see if I have spare sheets, a duvet cover, and a pillowcase. If not, we’ll have to stop by the supermarket later. Oh, aren’t you going to tell your parents you won’t be coming home tonight? As for the school, don’t worry, Li Siwen will handle it to make it look like you never left.”
Qi Ran paused. She had indeed forgotten about that… Her relationship with Tao Xiao had seemed a little less strained lately. Although they still couldn’t find many topics to talk about, it was at least not as excruciatingly silent and awkward as before. Sometimes, she actually wanted to say a few more words to Tao Xiao, she just didn’t know what would be best to say, and didn’t know if Tao Xiao even wanted to listen.
It was actually her own problem, she thought. She’d seen how other girls interacted with their mothers. Qi Xin and Xu Yan were like textbook young women, naturally making playful, coy gestures towards their mothers. Actions subconsciously intimate—drawling their syllables, complaining or sharing school happenings with their mothers, hooking arms with them while walking… these things just seemed so natural to them, requiring no effort or learning, just unfolding effortlessly.
For Qi Ran, such behavior was far too difficult. She couldn’t imagine herself making those kinds of gestures with Tao Xiao. She’d much rather jump from the fourteenth floor.
This sort of thing must really depend on innate ability, she figured. Qi Ran sighed inwardly. Being likable was a talent in itself.
Seeing Qi Ran hesitate without answering, Jiang Zhique suddenly remembered that Qi Jianguo was already in prison, and that her birth mother, Li Wanying, was also an elite heavyweight of a problem. Realizing she had misspoken, she awkwardly changed the subject. “There aren’t any extra sheets. We’ll need to head to the supermarket. Just as well, we can stop by the bathhouse for a shower on the way.”
Qi Ran nodded, packing the change of clothes and towel into a bag. She casually asked, “You mentioned earlier that the Paper Bell is from the Southwest Tang Family. Can you tell me more about the other… companies, or rather, families in The Circle like them?”
Because of the listening device, she didn’t directly ask if Jiang Zhique recognized the surname Zuo.
Jiang Zhique nodded. “The Southwest Tang Family is actually a relatively recent power. They really started making a name for themselves around 1864. You should have studied history and know the major events happening at that time. Basically, the Tang Family built their fortune off the dead. To give an example: everyone else was thinking of going to pan for gold, so they didn’t pan for gold; they sold the essential equipment needed for gold panning. And the Tang Family’s goods are genuinely sturdy and genuinely useful. Not just the Paper Bells, but also Coiled Incense, Blinding Incense, Insect Repelling Talismans, Red Sand, White Oil Candles… all of them real, life-saving items. If they’re a bit pricey, so be it. Losing money is always better than losing your life.”
“The Tang Family rules are very intricate and strict, you could even call them harsh. They place exceptional importance on their reputation, their signboard. Everyone knows their bottom line. Those expensive consumables are the foundation of their prosperity and the lifeblood of their existence,” Jiang Zhique stated flatly. “The stereotypical impression outsiders have of the Tangs is that they’re conservative, old-fashioned, inflexible, and stubborn to the point of rigidity. But that doesn’t mean they’re the bumbling, puny craftsmen that cliché suggests… In reality, when it comes to matters of core principle, they can be incredibly assertive, refusing to yield an inch. The factions in the Southwest almost all serve the Tang Family. It’s the same in the market—no one dares to play any commercial tricks against the Tang Family, because they will stop at nothing, spare no cost, to protect their livelihood.”
