I quickly fell asleep, perhaps because I was too tired from climbing the mountain, or maybe because pondering those bad things drained too much of my energy. The alarm on my watch woke me up at five o’clock. I struggled to get up; it was still pitch dark outside. I did a few push-ups to wake myself up and then stretched lazily before stepping outside. The yard was silent, the entire temple was as quiet as a dead zone. I grabbed a cigarette, put on my gloves, and walked into the darkness of the temple.

At the first place I went to, I had hidden four lighters. All four lighters were identical and were placed in order within the crevice of a stone wall, with some very subtle marks known only to me. When I took the lighters one by one, I found that the order had changed; the other party had not noticed my little trick.

Indeed, someone was watching me, and there was certainly someone following me now. Unfortunately, I couldn’t feel anything; the other party was skilled. I used one of the lighters to light a cigarette, then collected all the lighters into a small bag and put it in my pocket. The second place was where I had hidden the slingshot, which was on a beam above a pile of clutter, and it looked completely dark at first glance. I had tossed it up there before, and now even if I jumped, I couldn’t reach it. To get the slingshot, I would have to climb or use something to stand on.

There were various items around that could be used to step on, and as I approached, I noticed that they were no longer in the order I had remembered from my previous visit. I squatted down and found that one of the water jugs had fingerprints on the edge. When I turned the jug over, I saw that it had been flipped and stepped on, with a very faint shoe print at the bottom. However, it was clear that the person did not want to leave any traces, as they had wiped away all the marks with their hands.

I looked at the other clutter and was surprised to find that there were no other signs of being stepped on. This water jug wasn’t tall; I am 1.81 meters, and even if I stood on it and jumped, I still couldn’t reach the slingshot. Only this water jug had been used, and with so much clutter around, it was impossible for someone with strong jumping ability to have stepped on the jug to reach it; otherwise, there would definitely be more traces left behind. The person who took the slingshot must be taller than me, but among that group of Hong Kong people, I didn’t see anyone taller than me. The only people in the entire lama temple who might be taller than me would be those Germans.

Were they involved too? Could it be that in the whole lama temple, I was the only innocent one and everyone else had issues? At that moment, I felt a sense of fear for the first time; if that were the case, this would be a grand play, and I would be the only audience. I hoped things wouldn’t develop to that extent.

I stacked two water jugs on top of each other to reach the slingshot and took it down. I carefully checked it; it was not damaged, so I directly put it into my bag. I didn’t want to check the other places; I needed to maintain some mystery. I returned to my room, closed the door, used a lighter to burn the instant noodles until they were charred, crushed them into very fine powder, mixed it with water, dipped a toothbrush in it, and then flicked the bristles to spray the black water mist onto the lighter.

Soon, the fingerprints were revealed. I used tape to collect them. Following the same method, I collected all the fingerprints from the lighters. That night, a few of my associates came to find me. I briefed them on some matters and then went down the mountain to find a place with a phone. I dialed up to connect to the internet and sent the fingerprint scans to a friend of mine. I needed to check if the owners of these fingerprints had any criminal records. Because if they were people from our line of work, it was likely they had a record.

That night, I stayed at the same guesthouse as last time. My friend’s surname is Mao, and I had only met him in recent years, mainly due to our connections in the underworld, hoping he could provide some convenience. He quickly replied to me, informing me in his email that among the seven fingerprints I provided, three were the same, and four were different. They could either belong to four different people or be four different fingers of the same person. He checked in the database and found that only one of the fingerprints had a record. He attached the file of the fingerprint record holder in the email. I pulled down the vertical bar, and a formal electronic file appeared in front of me. I saw a somewhat gloomy face.

I was startled and suddenly realized that I had seen this face before. Damn it, this was the face of that woman—the one who spat out my smoke yesterday. “So it’s you, girl,” I muttered to myself, and then I saw her name. I found that her surname was Zhang, but there was no record of her first name.

It turned out she was a relative of the young man. I pulled down the file and continued to look. This person was about the same age as me and had served three years in prison in 1998 for the crime of intentional injury causing disability. However, her profession at that time was far removed from this crime; she was a trainer at a training institution.

It seems that when I was hiding things in the temple, she was the one following me. I just didn’t know if it was still her following me now. After her release from prison in 2001, her record was blank, but I wasn’t without options. I found the phone number of the training institution she worked at in the file and searched for that institution’s website. It was an outdoor sports training institution in Hong Kong. When I opened the trainer’s page, I immediately saw many familiar faces.

I recognized many of the people I had seen in the lama temple. Almost all the trainers from that institution were in the lama temple, and I even saw a photo of that girl Zhang in the list. It seemed that after her release, she returned to her old workplace, which surprisingly still wanted her. What kind of training institution was this, specifically training people to disgust me? “The Disgusting Wu Xie Training Class,” specializing in teaching people how to disgust Wu Xie?

At that moment, I suddenly discovered a shocking detail. I saw that on this page, nearly 80% of the trainers had the surname Zhang. At a glance, it was densely packed with the surname Zhang. A bad thought crossed my mind. I started to recall these people and realized I couldn’t see their hands. This group of Hong Kong people all wore gloves and never took them off.

In that rundown guesthouse, the dial-up internet was painfully slow. I slowly opened the web pages, and a long-lost anxiety began to rise within me. I don’t know when it started, but I had become remarkably calm—so calm that it frightened me—because no matter how dangerous the situation, I felt indifferent as long as it was related to me.

I had gone through the most tragic times, unable even to pay for water and electricity. Compared to then, things were much better now, so I thought, at worst, I could return to that state. I could bear any failure. And I wouldn’t engage in anything life-threatening, so I continued to live quite calmly. It was only when I saw news like this, news that seemed to involve that original secret, that I felt anxious. I looked at the names of these people, becoming increasingly flustered. Most Hong Kong people have English names, so most of the names on this page were in English, with traditional Chinese names listed below.

Almost all the names were neatly composed of three characters, like Zhang XX. One person was named Zhang Longsheng, and someone of similar age next to him was named Zhang Longban. It was obvious they were from the same family generation. “Damn it, the Zhang family’s nest, has little brother’s family come looking for him?” I touched my face. The little brother’s family was quite large; could it be that they still had influence in Hong Kong? But it seemed they were doing just okay there, running a family business focused on training.

So what were they plotting against me? Did they lose track of the little brother and blame it on me? If that’s the case, they wouldn’t need to plot against me; they could just beat me up! If they wanted to ask about the little brother’s whereabouts, I would certainly tell the truth. If they didn’t believe me, they could just take me along with them. My mind was in turmoil. If they were the little brother’s relatives or friends, it would be hard to say whether they were foes or allies, and many of my harsh tactics would be rendered useless.

They were all wearing gloves. If their fingers were like that, did it mean that this group of people was all quite skilled? If they were all like the little brother, then I shouldn’t even try to scheme; I should just kneel and surrender and let them do as they please.

No matter how I thought about it, I couldn’t possibly outsmart them. I pondered this discovery and felt it was too important not to share with Fatty, so I called him late at night, but no one answered at his place. I checked the time and realized it was indeed late, so I decided to wait until tomorrow. Overall, my plan was going quite smoothly, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased with myself. Others thought I knew nothing, but in just one day, I had actually learned a lot of useful information.

Additionally, the second reason for my good mood was that I genuinely believed the little brother’s relatives wouldn’t harm me. I went to the public restroom of the guesthouse to take a dump, squatting down to smoke a cigarette and think about what to do next. I didn’t know what they were up to, and I couldn’t figure it out. They seemed to just want to monitor me. Why? Under what circumstances would they need to monitor someone? Suddenly, I thought of those surveillance tapes from Huo Ling. Surveillance, surveillance, surveillance—a lightning bolt flashed through my mind. Could it be that they thought I wasn’t Wu Xie?

I know that there is another person in this world who looks exactly like me, wandering around and doing some mysterious things with unclear intentions. Are the Zhang family trying to determine whether I am the real one or if that imposter is the real one? Suddenly, it makes a lot of sense to me, and I immediately think about clarifying my identity. But then I realize, when has a thief ever admitted to being a thief? Moreover, if it were so easy to distinguish, these Hong Kong Zhangs wouldn’t be using such complicated methods. If they believe I’m the fake one, what will happen to me? Will I be ruthlessly eliminated? I suddenly feel a great deal of pressure about being myself, thinking that I must act more like Wu Xie.

However, if my guess is correct, then at least I can be sure that they are not in cahoots with the fake one. Logically, they should prefer the real one, so if I let them know I’m genuine, maybe they will start to communicate with me. But how can I prove it?

I suddenly realize that, philosophically speaking, it’s quite difficult for a person to self-validate. I let out a long sigh, feeling no mood for a big release anymore, and this single-person swamp toilet is just too foul. After forcing out a few drops, I want to hastily pull up my pants and leave. When I look up, I suddenly see that someone has scrawled something disgusting on the toilet door with something very unpleasant. It’s yellow—could it be feces? Who the hell is in such a good mood that they would smear poop on the door while taking a dump? It’s too disgusting.

I feel a bit nauseous and carefully stand up, afraid of touching it. In that moment, I suddenly realize that what has been drawn on the door with feces is something I am very familiar with.

It’s a star chart of Tamu Tuo, which I’ve seen in my notebook. Next to this chart, a number is written: 104.

104 is the room number here. I am taken aback and think to myself, what is going on?