The next morning, I returned to the lama temple with my belongings, pretending that nothing had happened, and went back to my room. As soon as I entered, I closed all the doors and windows, then pulled out some of my hair and rubbed it on a piece of tape to make it sticky. I placed a piece on each window seam, and then used a clothes hanger and rubber bands to make a slingshot.
From what I gathered at the post office, the people who designed the surveillance on me must be quite skilled; they couldn’t be amateurs. Therefore, they would definitely use high-tech equipment to monitor me. Perhaps there are pinhole devices in this lama’s room, and they would see all my actions. I needed to test how closely I was being watched and controlled.
I stepped out of the room; they couldn’t possibly monitor the entire lama temple. I began to wander around, and once I confirmed there were no people nearby, I started to observe the terrain, hiding everything I had, including the slingshot, in various corners of the temple.
Then I returned to my room and checked the hair I had placed on the window seams. I found that all the hair was still there. No one had come through the window, but that didn’t prove much for now.
I continued to read the notes written by the “Dull Oil Bottle” until evening, when I finally went out to greet some people and have dinner. At that moment, I noticed a few porters hired by the group from Hong Kong smoking at the entrance.
They were smoking the best cigarettes from Motuo, the same kind I had bought yesterday. I glanced at the group from Hong Kong and then at the porters, realizing that my first trap had worked.
It’s not easy to follow someone in the streets of Motuo because outsiders stand out. The porters here love to smoke, so I pretended to have lost half a pack of cigarettes at the guesthouse. If they weren’t a very professional team, they would surely pick them up and smoke them.
I quietly sat down next to the group from Hong Kong. They didn’t act strangely and continued chatting naturally. Here, people’s demeanor is quite relaxed, so I casually took some of their food to eat and listened to what they were talking about.
When they spoke Cantonese quickly, it was hard to understand, and I soon gave up. However, during that time, I noted their faces, observing each person for the first time.
Soon, I felt ashamed of my oversight. I realized that at least three people in the group had impressive skills, showing signs of professional training. The rest all appeared very fit and healthy. In a typical tourist group, there are usually people with exceptional fitness and others who are just there for the experience, but these Hong Kong people seemed to have an unusually good and uniform physical condition.
When I looked at the group again, I noticed that one of the three skilled individuals was a woman. I only realized she had feminine curves when she moved, but her face was always covered by her clothing, making it hard to see clearly.
I lit a cigarette and walked over to her. In a team, the most skilled person doesn’t necessarily hold a high status, and my approach to a girl wouldn’t raise too many suspicions. “Hey, beautiful,” I said with a smile as I approached her, “I have some instant noodles here. Since you’ve eaten their food, would you like a bowl?”
The girl raised her head to look at me, glanced at the noodles in my hand, then at my face, and suddenly snatched the cigarette from my mouth, putting it between her own lips. She said to me, “Forget about the noodles, I’ll take this cigarette.”
I was taken aback for a moment, and the man beside her burst out laughing. I composed myself, thinking that I couldn’t let this intimidation get to me, and said, “My name is Wu Xie. What’s your name, beautiful?” The girl looked at me and spat the smoke out onto the ground. “I changed my mind. I shouldn’t have taken the cigarette. Give it back to you. Now get lost.”
I had never felt so embarrassed in my life, but I wasn’t the same reckless young man who would have felt ashamed and wanted to crawl into a hole in such a situation—at that moment, I just found it very amusing.
After she finished expelling the smoke, she brushed past me. I looked around at the crowd watching, shrugged my shoulders, and they all laughed even harder. I asked one of them, “What’s her name?” “I wouldn’t dare tell you,” he replied, and immediately everyone burst into laughter again.
I laughed along, thinking that if you guys are really plotting against me, you won’t be laughing for long. I picked up the cigarette from the ground, took a puff, and left the group.
The reason I made so many moves before was simple. This was a method I had figured out over the years of doing business, and perhaps only someone like me could use it, as I had enough energy to pay attention to so many details.
In the past, my uncle used a centralized system for his business, managing the entire chain with his authority and rules. I definitely wasn’t suited for that route because I found it hard to endure in particularly intense situations for too long, and I couldn’t stand too much cruelty and harshness.
I preferred for everyone to be well-off, to earn the money they deserved, and to live harmoniously. That’s why my subordinates called me “Wu Little Buddha.” This nickname came from my catchphrase at the time, “Amitabha, put down the butcher’s knife and earn money to become a Buddha,” which had nothing to do with Zhang Da Buddha, but I found it quite ominous.
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