Chapter Eighty: The Mass Grave of the Western Mountains

When Zhou Yi emerged from the heart of the mountain, it was already July 12th, 1917. History records the farce of Zhang Xun’s restoration, which, after twelve days of uproar, ended abruptly and the curtain fell.

Zhou Yi wrapped twenty gold ingots in his thin robe and surfaced from beneath the waters of the Heavenly Pool. The first sight that greeted him was Wu Qian’s smiling face, and the sounds he heard were Baozi and Mu Chen bickering.

Baozi, having saved Zhou Yi’s mother, had lost all his hair and eyebrows to the flames; none had grown back yet, making him look quite ridiculous. Mu Chen teased him about it, provoking Baozi to bare his teeth in protest, though he could not win the argument.

Seeing Zhou Yi emerge from the mountain, Mu Chen hurried over to greet him. Baozi seized the chance to kick Mu Chen from behind, sending him tumbling into the Heavenly Pool with a splash.

“I can’t swi—” Mu Chen sputtered, but before he could finish, he sank beneath the water again.

“You can’t swim…”

“Help…”

“So you’re a landlubber after all,” Baozi laughed heartily, pointing at Mu Chen.

Just then, Xun Feng surfaced from the water, clutching Mu Chen’s collar in his jaws and dragging him to shore. Mu Chen pointed furiously at Baozi, his eyes blazing with anger.

In the east, the new sun rose, heralding a new day.

“Enough fooling around, let’s go home,” Zhou Yi said with a smile.

The group returned to Baozi’s home in Baishan village, and the family was joyfully reunited.

Zhou Yi made another trip to the foreign trading house, exchanging the twenty gold ingots for two thousand silver notes. He left five hundred for Zhou Mo, to rebuild the family house.

He gave Baozi’s father three hundred, and Wu Qian three hundred more.

He then handed Zhou Mo another three hundred. “Take these to our eldest brother’s family. He’s had a hard time these years. Tell him not to gamble anymore.”

Zhou Mo took the silver notes and went straight to deliver them to Zhou Zhen.

Zhou Yi had planned to leave the next day for Shenyang, to see if Ji Liang and Ji Yulin had found the key. But just after lunch, Mu Chen’s brow furrowed in concern.

Zhou Yi noticed Mu Chen’s troubled expression and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Mu Chen pulled a talisman from his robe and handed it to Zhou Yi. Zhou Yi, puzzled, took it, and as soon as it touched his hand, it grew warm and quickly combusted on its own.

Zhou Yi hurriedly tossed the talisman away. “What’s going on?”

Mu Chen frowned. “This talisman is used only for summoning disciples of Mao Mountain. Only the master would use it in times of great trouble. Something serious must have happened at Mao Mountain.”

“Maybe your master just wants you back, and nothing bad happened?” Baozi suggested.

“No. All Mao Mountain disciples have their own communication talismans. If the master wishes to summon only one, the others wouldn’t receive it. The one that just burned was a talisman for gathering all disciples—so something major must have happened,” Mu Chen explained, still frowning.

“Don’t worry. Pack your things first. Baozi and I will go back with you,” Zhou Yi said, picking up his bag and casting an apologetic glance at Wu Qian.

“Take care of your own matters first. These two communication talismans are for you. If the red one heats up, it means all is well and you needn’t worry. If the yellow one heats up, something serious has happened—then you can hurry to Mao Mountain,” Mu Chen said, handing Zhou Yi a red and a yellow talisman.

Although trouble had arisen at Mao Mountain, the northeast was far away; worrying would do no good.

Zhou Yi took the talismans and kept them close. “Third brother, since all is settled at home, I’ll continue searching for the key. Take care of our mother while I’m gone. Now that the Qing dynasty has fallen, those soldiers won’t come to cause trouble anymore.”

Zhou Mo nodded. “Second brother, don’t worry. With Uncle and me here, nothing will happen.”

Zhou Yi smiled, patting Zhou Mo’s shoulder. Between brothers, words were unnecessary.

“Uncle, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Please look after my mother and brother. In a few days, take him to town to buy wood and bricks, and build a new house where ours used to be. Don’t scrimp—hire labor if you must.”

Ni Wu grinned, honest and broad. “Don’t worry, nephew. I may not have many talents, but building a new house is right up my alley. You two must be careful on your journey—if you meet powerful people, don’t make trouble.”

With everything settled, Zhou Yi turned to Wu Qian, his eyes full of apology. “I don’t know when I’ll return. I’m sorry to make you wait.”

Wu Qian smiled and shook her head. “With those words, I don’t mind waiting. I’ll wait for you to finish your business and come back to marry me in a grand procession.”

Zhou Yi nodded solemnly. “I won’t make you wait long.”

“All right, we should get going. If we delay any longer, we’ll have to sleep in the mountains again tonight,” Baozi said, cutting through their romantic exchange.

Mu Chen bade farewell to everyone, mounted his horse, and rode back to Mao Mountain.

Zhou Yi and Baozi left home once more. This time, it was different from before—Zhou Yi looked back at every step, and each time he turned, he saw Wu Qian smiling and waving goodbye.

“If you keep this up, we might not leave the village before dark, and by the time we reach Shenyang, the key will surely be gone, taken by Ji Liang already,” Baozi said, rubbing his bald head, a new habit since losing his hair.

Zhou Yi glanced at Baozi and chuckled. “No matter how much you massage that bald head, your hair won’t grow back.”

Xun Feng understood their conversation and let out a low whimper, as if agreeing with Zhou Yi.

Baozi dared not strike Zhou Yi—he couldn’t win—but Xun Feng was unlucky. Baozi slapped the back of Xun Feng’s head. “Laugh, will you?”

But Xun Feng was too quick for Baozi, darting away. Baozi chased after him, but he was no match for Xun Feng’s speed and could only shout loudly from behind.

Falling behind, Zhou Yi gathered his energy and leapt forward twice, catching up to Baozi and Xun Feng. With renewed effort, Baozi sped up, and their journey quickened.

Accompanied by Xun Feng, they raced onward and reached Shenyang by dawn the next day. The tents had been rebuilt, now set farther from the woods.

Ji Liang and Ji Yulin were still present, peering anxiously down into the excavation, as if they had made a discovery.

“Brother Yi, if there really is a key here, do you think it’s ‘Gen Mountain’ or ‘Thunder Zhen’?” Baozi whispered.

There was no need to be so cautious; they were far from Ji Liang and Ji Yulin, and even speaking loudly would likely not be overheard.

But a guilty conscience makes one furtive, and their voices dropped unconsciously.

Zhou Yi pondered a moment, then said, “It’s more likely ‘Gen Mountain.’ This is a mass grave—‘Thunder Zhen’ belongs to the yang, and wouldn’t be suitable for burial.”

Baozi rubbed his bald head again. “I say it’s ‘Thunder Zhen.’”

“Why?”