But it was an indisputable fact that the tour guide had been afflicted with fly gu. She had removed those egg sacs with her own hands, and judging from Long Li’s reaction, the tour guide definitely wasn’t one of their group. So his deliberate scheme against Ye Chan made no logical sense at all.
Could he be the Mountain-Seeking Traveler? Or perhaps the owner of that third walkie-talkie was him too?
But what would be his motive for doing so? Destroying the altar?
Could he and Yuzi have conspired together to wipe out the village?
The more she thought about it right now, the more plausible that seemed. If they never found the tour guide’s body, she might need to turn her investigation toward him next.
Gu Xianwang asked Ye Zhen, “Who do you mean by ‘professionals’?”
Ye Zhen glanced at her in mild surprise and chuckled. “Looks like Old Master Shang really kept you sheltered.”
“Those so-called professionals go by ‘Rat-Walkers’ among insiders.”
Ye Chan chimed in. “The ‘Rat-Walkers’ from that line: ‘Hungry crows welcome the sacrificial guests, Rat-Walkers scare the witch children.'”
Gu Xianwang blinked in surprise. “You know it too?”
“Not really,” Ye Chan said with a cheeky grin. “Just picked it up and parroting it back.”
Ye Zhen scoffed at her. “Half a bucket of water sloshing around. But the poem’s spot on. Rat-Walkers are also known as hidden guests. Let me figure out how to explain what they do… Ah, think of them as the modern equivalent of the old jianghu escort agencies and retainers. We name the price, they guarantee our lives.”
Gu Xianwang ventured, “Like bodyguards specialized for the treasure-hunting trade?”
Ye Zhen laughed. “They’d starve that way. There aren’t many left in treasure spotting anymore. The flower fair we’re heading to is crawling with jianghu folk. To keep from looking green, let me lay it all out from the top for you. Listen up, you brat—don’t embarrass the Ye Family out there.”
“Tch. If you’d clued me in sooner, would I be this clueless?”
“You might not know much about how we operate internally, but you’ve probably heard the sayings ‘three teachings and nine classes’ and ‘eight great jianghu.’ The ‘eight gates’ we usually talk about are the public ones—the ‘Metal Skin, Color Hang, Balance, Troupe, Mediation, Willow.’ Those are all the classic street-performer gigs and hustles going back ages, peaking back in the Republic days. The Changchun Association—the precursor to the Changchun Society I mentioned earlier—was basically the union for those old jianghu hands.”
“Changchun Society and Association might share a name, but they’re night and day inside. The shared name’s just cover. If there are public eight gates, you know there are dark ones too: ‘Bee, Hemp, Swallow, Sparrow, Flower, Orchid, Ge, Honor.’ Those are mostly illegal rackets. Guo Degang even did a whole stand-up bit called ‘Bee Hemp Swallow Sparrow’ about the first four.”
“Our treasure-spotting trade doesn’t really fit in either the public or dark eight gates. Put a nice spin on it, we’re lone wolves. Harsh truth? Nobody wants us around. After the founding of the People’s Republic, the dark eight gates got pretty much wiped out. The scammers in the first four—the ones who could be nabbed—were. What’s left nowadays are greenhorns chasing cash, with none of the old jianghu code left.”
“Right in the middle of that decay, the Changchun Society popped up, organized by the Thieves’ Sect and the Spirit-Seeing School. It pulled in folks from both the inner and outer eight gates, and the Rat-Walkers played the biggest part in making it happen.”
Ye Chan cut in. “By your logic, don’t Rat-Walkers carry a ton of weight? So how’d you get them out here to save our skins?”
Ye Zhen smacked his lips. “Me? That wasn’t me calling in a favor. Old Master Shang burned through his connections overnight to drag them out. By traveling rat rules, they only take gigs upfront. You hand over full details on personnel, routes, intel—they judge it, quote a price, and decide whether to bite. Showing up after the mess like you did? Money’s no good then.”
Gu Xianwang murmured, “…This Rat-Walkers bunch doesn’t sound like jianghu types at all.”
Ye Zhen barked a laugh. “That’s because their knack for adapting and pivoting is the best of the lot. Rat-Walkers have been around since jianghu’s dawn, tracing back to the Spring and Autumn Period. The Yin-Yang School, Vertical Alliance, Mohists, Military School—they all kept retainers for wet work like assassinations. Then the Qin Emperor unified it all and melted down the weapons; those folks spilled out of official service into the rivers and lakes.”
“From killers to escort factions, sureties and pawnshops—which side, black or white, doesn’t give them face?”
Ye Chan smacked her lips. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes before, I’d swear you’ve just read too much Jin Yong and Gu Long and showed up to fool me.”
The car came to a stop in front of a franchise outlet. Ye Zhen unbuckled his seatbelt. “We’re here. Let’s get the essentials sorted first.”
~~~
When Ye Chan emerged from the store, she finally clocked their location and exclaimed in surprise, “You’re buying a phone card, and you picked a spot near the food street? Can we even make it on time if we drive out now?”
Ye Zhen slid into the driver’s seat and arched an eyebrow. “Drive out? Drive where? The place we’re headed is right around here.”
“Holy shit,” Ye Chan said, her eyes going wide. “Hiding in plain sight, huh?”
“Nah. This Flower Fair might be part of the Eight Gates Gathering, but the local fixers are running the show, and on the surface, it’s all above board.”
He glanced into the rearview mirror and asked Gu Xianwang, “Everything okay? Phone card giving you trouble?”
Gu Xianwang’s expression was indeed grim. She’d slotted in the new SIM, powered up the phone, and watched in horror as it auto-formatted. Not only was every scrap of data on the card wiped clean, but the phone’s system files were gone too. She fired up Tieba, logged into her account for a check—and her post had vanished. The Mountain-Seeking Traveler account was marked as deleted.
Every last clue in her possession, erased.
“It’s fine. The card works okay,” Gu Xianwang said, steadying her breathing as she looked up. “So the Flower Fair’s happening near South Market?”
Ye Zhen nodded. “Yep. Tradition to hold it here.”
He gestured at the broad avenue and towering buildings nearby. “All this used to be marshy lowlands. Back in the Republic days, they called it No-Man’s-Land, right up against the edge of the Japanese concession. It was prime turf for the jianghu crowd—bigger than Shichahai, and in its heyday, just as lively as Tianqiao. That era, the big-time traitor and Green Gang hoodlum Yuan Wenhui planted his flag right here. He clung to the Japanese for dear life and clawed his way up to Tianjin Godfather.”
“Heh.” He let out a soft scoff. “Funny thing—the Flower Fair’s name actually ties back to that Yuan Wenhui somehow.”
Ye Zhen pulled out onto the road and found a nearby diner for a quick lunch. Over the meal, he broke down the whole structure of the Changchun Society for the two girls—relations between the factions, the lot—explaining it all in plain terms, step by step. Time was short, though; it was like cramming for an exam, and they only got through the basics.
Once they’d eaten, he ditched the car at the restaurant curb and flagged down a cab straight to Central Plains Restaurant. The place was just two streets over from South Gate Food Street: a standalone six-story building, weathered with age, the picture of an old-school Tianjin eatery.
Its facade was unassuming, with only a couplet hung out front. From a distance, you could see two usherettes in qipaos standing guard outside, while four suited men who looked like security loitered within, scrutinizing arrivals. On second glance, it wasn’t scrutiny exactly.
Ye Chan blinked in surprise. “Are they checking invitations?”
Ye Zhen shrugged. “Looks like it.”
Ye Chan frowned. “Do we have one?”
Ye Zhen nodded. “I do.”
Gu Xianwang: …
Ye Chan: …
“You sneaky bastard!” Ye Chan snapped, smacking his arm hard. “No wonder you parked so damn far away—only you’ve got an invite? What about us?!”
“Ow,” Ye Zhen winced, rubbing the spot. “Easy there. Those invitation checkers? In the know, we call ’em Gatekeepers. Local old hands who know every face in the game.”
Ye Chan rolled her eyes furiously. “Yeah, they know faces, alright. A couple of fresh ones like us show up, and we’re outta there.”
“Tsk. Patience, kid,” Ye Zhen said, wagging a finger. He’d grabbed a shopping bag from the car earlier; now he fished out two plain silk scarves and passed one to each girl. “Fresh off the shelf. When we head in, drape ’em on. Keep quiet—just nod along to whatever I say.”
Gu Xianwang wasn’t one for accepting random gifts, but she eyed the Wanshili label; she’d square it away later. The two of them wrapped up without protest, following Ye Zhen’s cues to obscure their faces as best they could.
Ye Chan figured the guy was full of hot air. “This is really gonna fly?”
“What’s there to worry about?” Ye Zhen grinned. “If it flops, you can always bail. C’mon.”
The trio jaywalked across the street. Gu Xianwang folded her scarf into a chic half-mask, veiling just her lower lip. Ye Chan, though—her outfit screamed her brother’s handiwork, but you can’t fake vibe. She’d looped the scarf around her neck and face like some highway robber gearing up for a heist.
The welcome hostess carried herself with elegant poise, the mark of professional training, and somehow managed to stifle her laughter at the sight of her. “Welcome.”
Two security guards stepped forward, politely blocking Ye Zhen’s path. “Good evening. The venue’s booked privately tonight. Do you three have invitations?”
Ye Chan shot Ye Zhen a glare the moment she heard how they phrased it—
Weren’t these guys supposed to know everyone who mattered? Turns out you’re just another face in the crowd too?
Ye Zhen ignored her and calmly drew a stamped paper invitation from his inner pocket. It was about the size of a bookmark, set against a vivid vermilion background with an exquisite thumb-sized kingfisher orchid embedded in it.
The lead guard’s expression warmed instantly at the sight. He nodded to Ye Zhen, then glanced at the two women standing behind him.
It looked like they needed one invite per person.
Ye Zhen shifted aside to make introductions. “These two are high-rolling foreigners. I brought them in to check the wares.”
The guard nodded in understanding and murmured, “Fair enough, but we’ve got a lot of cops sniffing around these days. Folks slip out and start blabbing, you know how it is. How about your brother here holds onto their IDs for us? We’ll hand ’em back when you leave.”
Gu Xianwang couldn’t make heads or tails of their underworld slang. She just saw Ye Zhen’s face tighten slightly, his eyes darting as he scrambled for an excuse. It was clear sweet-talking these gatekeepers wouldn’t be so simple.
Right then, another man strolled in from outside. He was a touch taller than Gu Xianwang, rail-thin, dressed in a pink ripped T-shirt, cropped jeans, and flip-flops. Hands jammed in his pockets, he slouched with a slight hunch, chewing on a strand of squid jerky.
He didn’t look like he belonged to the scene at first glance—more like some street punk loitering outside a school gate. His buzzed hair and dead-eyed stare made him seem like a loan shark eyeing up his next mark. He was young, though, with sharp, handsome features. He clicked his tongue when he saw the guards holding people up.
“Invitation?” He lifted his eyelids, thinking. “Uh… yeah, think I got one. No clue where I put it.”
His accent was pure Minnan. Gu Xianwang picked it up right away. He rummaged through both pants pockets—no invite turned up, but a pair of plastic-gloved hands emerged.
That distraction pulled all four guards’ attention. Ye Zhen was quick; he tugged the two women inside and brought up the rear, scurrying into the elevator with quick little steps.
Ye Chan clutched her pounding heart. “Holy crap, that was way more intense than a cave cricket. They won’t come up and drag us out, right?”
Ye Zhen shook his head. “Nah, once you’re in, you’re a guest. That’s the rule. Long as we don’t break any major taboos, they won’t chase us out. Gotta thank that guy from earlier.”
Gu Xianwang stared at the elevator doors, her mind fixed on the Jade Guanyin pendant hanging around that man’s neck. She recognized it—the signature mark of the Yang Family treasure spotters.
