The forest fire eventually fizzled out. According to A Gui, it seemed to have been caused by the hot weather, but how it actually started is still unknown. In any case, there are forest fires here every summer, but it’s the first time it has come so close to the village. Fortunately, it burned down an abandoned house, so the losses weren’t too great.

I cursed inwardly; my losses were significant. With this, all the leads that Brother Chu gave us were cut off. The only way now is to find a way to force Brother Chu to speak after we go out, which surely won’t be easy and will definitely require coercive measures—something I’m not very comfortable with. However, it’s not completely hopeless, so I wasn’t extremely depressed— as long as Brother Chu wasn’t burned down, that would be fine.

After talking with the Fatty, it seems we won’t be staying here much longer. After finding the old guide, if there are no special reasons, we might have to return to Changsha, as staying here has lost its meaning. The so-called “Yao Jiao Mountain” treasure hunt might have to be postponed to another time.

The Fatty was also quite helpless. Although he felt a bit reluctant, we came here without any tools, and going to Yao Jiao Mountain wasn’t very realistic. However, he insisted on going into the mountains to take a look before heading back, so we finally agreed to discuss it later.

After that, I felt anxious, thinking that something would definitely go wrong with the old guide. I prepared for the worst, hoping that if something did happen, I could handle it better.

Unexpectedly, the old guide’s situation went very smoothly. After A Gui returned, he told us that he had made an appointment, and tomorrow we could go to the old hunter’s house to find him. The old man has a bit of a strange temperament, and since he told the old hunter that we are government people, the old man might be more enthusiastic. We just need to make sure not to give ourselves away.

At a glance, the Fatty didn’t seem like someone who could pass for a government official, so we decided he shouldn’t go. He said he would head to the fertilizer store to find some sulfuric acid, to see if he could dissolve that “iron gourd,” and check what was inside, then sift through the burnt ruins to see if he could find anything else.

I thought splitting up was a good idea, but I repeatedly reminded him that once he got the sulfuric acid, he mustn’t act recklessly and should wait for us to figure things out together, as that “iron gourd” was still a bit dangerous. The Fatty readily agreed, saying he wasn’t a child.

After finalizing our plans, we went to sleep, each lost in our thoughts. When dawn broke the next day, we split up; A Gui took me and the Mute Oil Bottle to find the old hunter, while the Fatty headed straight for the fertilizer store.

I thought everything would go smoothly, but when we arrived, the old man stood us up, saying he had gone into the mountains last night and hadn’t returned yet.

Hunters roam the mountains, making it impossible to track them down. I thought to myself, what’s going on? How did he suddenly go into the mountains when we had made an appointment? Was my intuition right? The old man’s son seemed a bit embarrassed and said that his father had become a bit senile two years ago and sometimes went into the mountains without notice, not even saying what he was doing. He wouldn’t listen to anyone, just went whenever he pleased, disregarding important matters the next day. You could see that the hunting rifle was still hanging on the wall; he definitely wasn’t out hunting, and he should be back soon.

I thought there was nothing to be done but to wait. Just as we sat down in his house, suddenly another person came in through the door, asking, “Is Old Man Panma here?”

“Pan Ma Lao Die” is the name given to the old guide here, and it seems we’re not the only ones looking for him. I was surprised to hear this person speaking with a strong Beijing accent.

As we looked outside, we saw a short and stocky middle-aged man coming in. When I saw his face, I felt something was off. He had a round face and big ears, but he was dressed neatly. His skin was tanned, yet he didn’t look like someone who did hard physical labor.

Pan Ma Lao Die’s son immediately went up to greet him. A Gui said to me, “This is Pan Ma Lao Die’s distant nephew; I heard he’s quite wealthy.”

Listening to his accent, which was distinctly Beijing, I thought to myself that this distant relative was indeed quite distant. The middle-aged man seemed very familiar with the place and walked straight into the courtyard without hesitation. He handed a cigarette to Lao Die’s son and had already noticed me, looking puzzled as he exclaimed, “We have a guest?”

Lao Die’s son replied in heavily accented Mandarin, “Yes, they’re also here to look for my father. These two are from the government—”

The middle-aged man seemed uninterested in this and immediately interrupted him, asking, “Where’s Lao Die?”

Lao Die’s son showed an awkward expression and repeated that his father’s whereabouts were unknown. The middle-aged man clicked his tongue and nodded, saying, “What’s the meaning of this? He’s not here again, and I’m left in a tough spot. What am I supposed to tell the boss?” He glanced at us, his expression unfriendly, and added, “You’re not trying to get more money from me by finding another client, are you?”

Lao Die’s son hurriedly denied it, insisting that we were genuinely looking for Lao Die and were from the government.

The middle-aged man looked at us again, appearing half-convinced, and walked up to us, asking, “Which department are you from? I know most of the people in this town, but I’ve never seen you before.”

This question felt a bit impolite. I looked up at him but didn’t want to lose my temper. I replied, “We’re from the provincial office. We’re here to interview Lao Die.”

“Provincial office?” He looked at us skeptically, but since we did seem like we were from an official agency, he mumbled something and turned back to Lao Die’s son, saying, “Well, you should persuade your father. My boss is offering a good price; holding onto that thing is useless—it’s not something you can take with you when you die, right? Don’t be stubborn; selling it would definitely be worth it. Your old man could enjoy a few years of comfort with the money.”

His son kept nodding in agreement.

The middle-aged man continued, “You have guests here, so I shouldn’t linger. I’ll head out first.” He smiled again, adding, “If this works out, I’ll take you to see some sights. Put in some effort, and come find me for drinks tonight. I’m leaving now.”

With that, he exited the courtyard without looking back, leaving in a hurry. I was left feeling confused—who was this person, and what did he want?

Once the man was far away, Lao Die’s son sighed in relief and explained that he was a distant relative of theirs, supposedly Lao Die’s nephew, his cousin. This man was a local thug who had been living in Beijing, and they hadn’t been in contact for a long time. He had recently started working with some boss who was in Guangxi to collect antiques and had been asking him to introduce people. He was very familiar with everyone and particularly insincere, and they didn’t dare offend him.

I asked, “From what he said, it sounds like he’s interested in something your family has. Do you really have any ancestral treasures?”