In a mountain village in Guangxi, the situation with the mute person in the village was getting increasingly bizarre. However, what Brother Chu said made me itch with curiosity. What exactly did he see in the mute’s room? No matter how I asked, he refused to say anything. I pressed him multiple times, but he was stubborn. Looking at him, I felt there was something odd and pretentious about his demeanor, which was quite strange. Eventually, the guards came in to ask what was going on. At that point, if I pushed any further, it might lead to trouble, so I had to let it go.

Panzi was quite frustrated and suggested that he should find someone to teach the mute a lesson to make him talk. I said there was no need to go that far; I could see that the mute looked a bit uneasy and might not even know the details himself.

“Why?” Panzi asked.

“This is called bluffing. He might only know that there’s a table in that room with some photos on it, but he doesn’t know exactly what’s in those photos. Bluffing is something those who sell information or lend money often do,” I replied. “Of course, he must have been there to speak so confidently.”

This was just my speculation, and thinking about it didn’t really matter. In any case, we still needed to go there ourselves; then we would naturally find out if what he said was exaggerated.

After getting the address of Banai from Brother Chu, our plan to go to Guangxi was basically confirmed. Banai is a Yao village located deep in the mountainous area of the Ten Thousand Great Mountains in Guangxi, often referred to as the Siberia of Guangxi. Years ago, it was quite a poor place. Looking at the address, it seemed it might not even be in Banai village itself, but rather in the surrounding mountains.

Chen Pi and Ah Si were old-school types and probably preferred to choose places where it would take two days for the police to arrive after a report was made, so if anything went wrong, they could just escape into the mountains. However, this made things difficult for us.

The fat guy and the mute arrived in Hangzhou first. The fat guy said it was good because they could take this opportunity to check out the local scene in the south and find more sources of goods. Business was tough these days, and he hadn’t had supplies in a long time. So, after resting for a few days, we set off from Hangzhou, flew to Nanning, and then took a train to Shangsi.

This wasn’t a treasure hunt; we didn’t bring anything with us. We traveled light, joking around the whole way. There were six people sleeping in one train compartment—two were migrant workers returning to Shangsi, and one was a tour guide. The guide taught us how to play big character cards, which were a lot like Mahjong, and it was quite fun.

As we approached Shangsi, the landscape became all mountains. The train passed through tunnel after tunnel, with distant mountains shrouded in mist. The tour guide said that was the heart of the Ten Thousand Great Mountains.

The mountains in Guangxi are called the Ten Thousand Great Mountains, a range stretching for hundreds of kilometers, covering over five million acres of forest. At its center lies a vast area of primitive jungle, with towering peaks and lush forests, waterfalls and streams. It’s said to be a paradise, a gathering place for immortals. However, this terrain also makes transportation extremely inconvenient. We chose the train for this reason; people from the plains who take a bus into the heart of Guangxi might end up throwing up.

As I looked at the great mountains, my emotions were quite strange. In the past, seeing such a scene often meant that I would soon delve deep into these towering mountains to uncover some secrets buried within. However, this time, our destination was merely a county town in the mountains.

This feeling was odd; I couldn’t tell if I was disappointed or relieved. Looking at the distant green granite peaks and dense forests, I couldn’t shake the feeling of goosebumps.

Upon arriving in Songsi, we turned towards Nanping and then headed to Banai. We traveled part of the way by car and walked the rest. It was midsummer, and the scenery was so beautiful that it almost made us melt. The sights left me and my companion, Fatty, in awe, even bringing a spark to the usually expressionless eyes of the Silent Oil Bottle.

This journey took quite a bit of time, and by the time we reached Banai, it was already close to evening. I had previously asked a few fellow travelers for information and knew that there were accommodations in the Yao village. We inquired along the way and finally found a place thanks to a man named A Gui.

A Gui was in his forties, with two daughters and a son, all of whom were quite young. He had two tall wooden Yao houses—one for himself and the other serving as a guesthouse. He was considered quite capable in the area, often bringing tourists from outside. When he saw the Silent Oil Bottle, I expected him to recognize him, but to my surprise, he showed no reaction at all. After Fatty explained our background, A Gui was generous and didn’t haggle much before we settled in. He seemed quite accustomed to people like us, exuding the demeanor of a rural guesthouse owner, and assured us that he could take care of anything we needed during our stay.

After a long journey, I couldn’t think of anything I needed him to handle; I just felt extremely hungry and told him to prepare dinner first. A Gui then sent his two daughters to cook while he helped us get settled. I placed my luggage on the wooden floor, wiped my body with spring water, and sat on the cool, comfortable wooden floor, feeling completely relaxed. Watching the two graceful Yao girls preparing the meal, I suddenly felt that this was the life I desired.

While waiting for the food to be ready, the Silent Oil Bottle asked A Gui about the address that Chu Ge had given us, sounding a bit anxious. A Gui said it was within the village, but up on the hill. Fatty urged him not to rush: “Although it’s your own house, it’s late to have someone take you there without a key; it could raise suspicions. We have plenty of time now that we’re here, so it’s fine to go tomorrow.”

I agreed, and the Silent Oil Bottle nodded; I believed he had the patience for this.

Dinner consisted of stewed meat and sweet rice wine. The Yao people also hunted, and we were told the meat was from squirrels, which felt a bit strange, but the sweet wine was excellent—sweet on the palate, and the local water was very pure and refreshing. Fatty drank too much and became quite talkative, insisting to A Gui that he was a big boss and didn’t want to leave, even suggesting that A Gui marry off both of his daughters to him, promising to farm well.

Worried that he might offend someone with his words, I quickly finished my food and helped A Gui’s daughters clean up, leaving Fatty to enjoy the cool breeze and sober up alone.

As I washed the dishes, I chatted with the two girls about life in the Yao village. They told me that it used to be very poor, and they couldn’t even fill their stomachs. However, after tourism developed, their situation improved. For instance, their father brought people to stay in their home, and the money earned was enough for food and drink. He no longer needed to hunt in the mountains and could buy what others hunted, allowing their family to support several other families.

I specifically asked about Chen Pi A Si and whether there were Vietnamese people in the area. They confirmed that there were Vietnamese, but not in Banai; one would have to go further into the mountains. Now that more people visited, they couldn’t tell whether there were people from Changsha among them.

After tidying up, I shook my hands and thought to myself that it seemed Chen Pi Ah Si was indeed cautious, not even daring to stay in the village. It occurred to me that they might have disguised themselves as tourists heading to Ba Nai, while the locals would go through the forest, and they would meet up in the mountains for their transactions. If that’s the case, the goods being traded here are probably much more than we imagined, at least Chen Pi Ah Si values them highly. These connections may also be networks he established while fleeing in Guangxi.

Lost in thought, I walked into the cafeteria, planning to ask Ah Gui for some fruit. At that moment, I noticed a chubby man reeking of alcohol staring intently at the wall. I thought he must have drunk too much and was in a daze, but when he saw me, he grabbed me and said, “Xiao Wu, come here.”

I walked over and asked what was up. He gestured with his eyes towards a wooden wall in the dining room, where a frame was hanging, filled with many photographs. He pointed to one of the photos with his chin and said to me, “Take a look, who is this?”