WHF Ch 31 – Did he really get into trouble?

Yu Tianbai racked his not-yet-fully-awake brain, trying to piece things together. At this moment, they were still in Songyuan. Xiu Ma had just come out of his house, while Yu Tianbai had spent the night making do in the car. If he remembered correctly, their last exchange before parting the previous night had been a bit of a spat.

So how did meeting again lead to trouble?

“What did you do?” Yu Tianbai asked, full of suspicion.

“It’s hard to explain,” Xiu Ma replied, not looking at him.

Ten minutes earlier, Xiu Ma had left the house, eager to get out of Songyuan early. He didn’t care if Yu Tianbai was awake or not—he’d just bang on the window to wake him up. After quietly closing the door and heading downstairs, he stepped out of the apartment building and ran into the neighbor grandpa, the one with the child seat in the back of his car.

“Did he start rambling to you about nonsense again?” Yu Tianbai’s brows furrowed. “This won’t do. I need to have a word with him.”

“No need. Let’s just go,” Xiu Ma cut him off. “His bike’s in a tree.”

In a tree?

At that moment, their just-started Wuling Hongguang passed through the gap between the buildings. Yu Tianbai glanced to the side and froze on the spot.

On a poplar tree near the flowerbed, among the jagged branches, the bicycle they’d seen yesterday was hanging. The child seat was half-torn off, swaying in the wind. Below, the grandpa was scratching his head and cheeks in frustration. As the car passed, the old man turned, spotted them, and immediately started cursing.

Without a word, Yu Tianbai floored the accelerator. The grandpa’s face quickly vanished from view, leaving only the fading sound of his angry shouts.

As the van bounced along the gravel road and finally hit the asphalt, Yu Tianbai couldn’t hold back a grin. He asked, “Did you throw it up there?”

Xiu Ma had been maintaining a forced calm the whole way. Hearing Yu Tianbai’s question, he let out a slight sigh before answering, “When I threw it, I didn’t expect it to go that high.”

His sincere explanation triggered a burst of laughter from Yu Tianbai. The asphalt wasn’t exactly smooth, and the driver rocked with laughter as the van jolted.

“So you’re capable of something like this. Did I rub off on you?”

“Who knows,” Xiu Ma said, shrinking back from the laughter. “Anyone who spends too much time with you ends up a little unhinged.”

The car reached the outskirts of the city. Yu Tianbai’s silly grin finally faded. In the rearview mirror, he noticed the young master’s hair was a bit messy. He wondered if Xiu Ma had slept well last night.

“You’re just leaving like that? Is that okay?” Yu Tianbai asked.

“I left before she woke up,” Xiu Ma said, his words stopping abruptly as if he’d only said half of what he meant. He sank deeper into his seat.

“It’s still better by my side, isn’t it?” The unlucky boss launched into another round of self-amusement, dragging out his words. This time, though, the young master didn’t snap back with a retort, leaving Yu Tianbai’s teasing unanswered.

The car merged onto the highway. The toll booth was ahead. Once they passed it, Songyuan would be behind them. The sun was bright, and the weather was much warmer than when they’d first met.

What was it like when they first met? Red bricks, green tiles, full of youthful vigor, a striking first impression followed by a punch to the face. Thinking of it, Yu Tianbai’s nose twinged—not from sentiment but from the memory of that hit to his bridge.

“I dreamed about you last night,” Yu Tianbai said, pinching his nose. “I dreamed we were high school classmates.”

The young master raised his eyes skeptically, catching Yu Tianbai’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“We’re eight years apart. How could we possibly be in the same high school class?” he said, correcting Yu Tianbai’s absurd logic.

“Yeah, eight years apart,” Yu Tianbai repeated. “Better respect your elders from now on.”

Xiu Ma shifted his position, resting his elbow on the window.

“Eight years apart means you should be more considerate to your juniors.”

The conversation hit a dead end. This was what happened when a not-quite-mature twenty-one-year-old met a perpetually immature twenty-nine-year-old. Yu Tianbai mentally scolded himself.

“If you didn’t forget anything, we’ll head to the next place.”

Back to square one: the health product shop owner from the Jilin border and the young master tagging along for the experience. Their journey would continue, but what stories awaited them next?

“Hold on, don’t rush off yet.”

Xiu Ma stopped him just as he was about to floor it, halting his ambitious momentum.

“Before I left, Xiaojuan asked me to do something,” Xiu Ma said, looking out the window again, as if the next words were hard to say. “She told me Fang Hui might be in danger. If possible, she hopes we can look for her.”

The van’s interior was bright and quiet. It passed the service road and merged onto the highway. In less than an hour, they’d reach Heilongjiang, the northernmost tip of China, the end of the Northeast.

Yu Tianbai suddenly spoke up. “How am I supposed to know who Fang Hui is? I can’t look for someone I don’t know. Do you know her?”

It was a flat-out refusal, no room for negotiation. He didn’t want this supposedly easy trip tangled up with anyone else. But the young master’s next words made him swallow his loud rejection.

“I don’t know her, but you might.”

Know who?

If it was a guy’s name tied up in some messy drama, Yu Tianbai could maybe stomach it. But pulling a random girl into the mix and saying she’s connected to him? That was too far-fetched.

“Remember the two bandits who blocked the road?” Xiu Ma asked, looking at him.

The Tu uncle-and-nephew duo.

Yu Tianbai gripped the steering wheel in silence, waiting for Xiu Ma to continue.

“The first time we got ambushed, the uncle was asking his nephew if he wanted to marry someone. That someone was named Fang Hui.”

It felt like a distant memory, though it was only half a month ago. Yu Tianbai furrowed his brows, racking his brain, but he couldn’t recall it.

“You don’t remember? You even pretended to be my uncle to mess with them!”

“Your memory’s impressive,” Yu Tianbai said, exaggerating his praise for the stellar young master. “What else did I say?”

Xiu Ma snorted, crossing his arms. “You said you were going to drive all the way to the Potala Palace.”

“That’s my style,” Yu Tianbai said, laughing. “What else?”

“And that you’d pray to the gods in Tibet.”

Yu Tianbai shook his head, marveling at his past self.

“You can believe in fate, but praying to gods? Nah. No deity’s probably listening to my requests.”

Xiu Ma’s lips had started to curl upward, but at those words, his faint smile vanished.

“You also said you’d pray to the gods so I’d have someone to love.”

Yu Tianbai did remember saying that. He relaxed his expression and licked his lips.

“Then you’d better try to be a good kid who people will like.”

The trip down memory lane ended there. Yu Tianbai cleared his throat, sat up straight, and got back to the point. “That girl you mentioned earlier—what’s her deal? Fang Hui, right?”

The weather was clear, the plains vast. Xiu Ma, still with his arms crossed, stared out the window for a long time before taking a deep breath and turning back.

“She’s missing. The police came to see Xiaojuan yesterday.”

Probably while they were dodging another group of cops at the massage parlor, Yu Tianbai thought, shrugging noncommittally.

“Maybe she just went out to clear her head. People don’t go missing that often in a single day.”

Xiu Ma let out another breath, then turned to face him. “But what if they’re all connected to the same person?”

The same person?

“The man who fell into the river and Fang Hui—they both worked at the glass factory.”

Hearing Xiu Ma’s words, Yu Tianbai raised an eyebrow. There really was someone named Fang in the factory’s accounting department. Could it really be that coincidental?

“Now there are two gun-toting lunatics chasing you. You still think it’s a coincidence?”

It did sound pretty serious. Yu Tianbai shifted his gaze to the side mirror.

“You can worry about it later. After all, that’s your—” Xiu Ma paused, lifting his chin, “Factory Manager Sun.”

He definitely meant to say “ex-boyfriend.” Absolutely. It was the young master’s unique way of throwing down the gauntlet, at least in terms of attitude.

Yu Tianbai was no stranger to the ways of the world, especially in business. After twenty years in the game, he could read between the lines and say what needed saying. But when it came to this kind of brain-teasing deduction, he felt an urge to look for the exit button.

“Should I praise you for being clever?”

The young master didn’t hold back. “I’m definitely smarter than you.”

As expected, it turned into another round of bickering. But Yu Tianbai seemed distracted, and the van swerved slightly, making Xiu Ma a bit nervous. The driver squinted ahead, looking like he was thinking but actually zoning out.

“Yesterday, didn’t you ask me if I’d done anything illegal with that Sun guy?”

As soon as he finished, the screech of brakes pierced the air. On the road to Heilongjiang, the Wuling Hongguang came to a stop in the middle of the road for the umpteenth time.

“No illegal stuff, but if you’re asking for evidence, I might have something.”

Yu Tianbai glanced back at the pile of boxes in the van. On top lay a sealed plastic bag containing the culprit behind their flat tire—a claw hammer that had appeared out of nowhere on the road.

“It can’t really be that coincidental, can it?”

He didn’t know how many times he’d said that today.

---

“What did you say?” Old Tu the Fifth snapped his head up, his dining tray rattling three times, though the rice grains on his lips didn’t budge.

Old Seven wanted to laugh, but if he did, his uncle would definitely get mad. So, he lowered his head and added some sugar to his dish.

“This tomato and egg stir-fry is already so sweet. Why are you adding more sugar?” Old Five asked, pointing with his chopsticks, rice still stuck to his lips.

It wasn’t mealtime, so the driver’s diner wasn’t crowded. Before speaking, Old Seven glanced outside, then focused on his food before finally answering his uncle.

“Our days are too bitter. Gotta eat something sweet.”

“Forget that for now,” Old Five interrupted, waving his hand. “What did you just say? You saw something in their van—what was it?”

Ever since they left the factory, Old Seven hadn’t been himself. His reactions were half a beat slow, and just earlier, he’d been dead set on leaving. It took Old Five’s promises—good words, bad words, and a vow that they’d go find Fang Hui as soon as this was done—to calm the kid down.

“Don’t get mad when I tell you,” Old Seven finally said.

Old Five gave a rare, honest smile. “What could make me that mad? If it kills me, so be it.”

The diner’s owner came over to collect trays. Old Seven stayed quiet, pretending to sip from his water bottle. He twisted the cap back on once she left, leaned in, and lowered his voice. “When I was in their van, I saw our missing hammer.”

At those words, Old Five decisively tossed his chopsticks. One hit the floor; the other bounced off the edge of his tray and flew off into the ether.

The owner, still nearby, turned at the noise and shouted, “You’re fighting, but don’t go throwing dishes!”

Old Five cleared his throat, adjusted his collar, and sat there red-faced for a moment. He put his elbow down and lowered his voice too. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me earlier?”

To be fair, his nephew’s brain was sharp. Old Seven immediately shot back, “You said you wouldn’t get mad!”

That was true. Old Five was still stewing over losing his nephew’s grandpa’s prized rifle. On any other day, he’d have taken off his shoe and started swinging.

He inhaled, exhaled, and grabbed a new pair of chopsticks from the holder, stirring his egg drop soup before looking back at his nephew. “You sure it’s the one we lost?”

“Absolutely,” Old Seven replied. “Iron head, red handle, a bit of rust on top, and it smells kind of bad.”

Watching the kaleidoscope of expressions on Old Five’s face, Old Seven’s thick brows knitted together. He propped one foot on the beam under the table and leaned closer to his uncle. “Uncle, be straight with me. Why’s this hammer so important? When the factory manager told us to take Old Fan away, we didn’t even bring paper money for him, but we took this hammer. Is it some kind of magical artifact?”

The owner came back with a rag, grumbling as she picked up the chopstick from the floor. She shot the uncle and nephew a glare. Old Five shielded half his face with his hand, staying silent until she left. The longer he waited, the more impatient his nephew got, craning his neck to check. Once she was gone, Old Five let out a long breath. “Seven, I’ll be straight with you. This hammer wasn’t from the factory manager. It was from Secretary Yan. He said how we handled Old Fan wasn’t important, but the hammer had to be disposed of. If we did it right, he’d give us an extra five.”

He raised his hand, palm open. Older folks liked to talk like that—five meant fifty thousand, a full year’s wages for city work.

Fifty thousand for a hammer. The story was getting wilder. Old Seven’s mouth practically watered. Old Five was finally getting to the point.

“Have you ever heard of the Northeast Underground City?”

Old Seven slurped back his drool. “Uncle, I told you to stop listening to those audiobooks and playing those browser games. You’re going from dementia to delusions.”

“It’s real!” Old Five, in his excitement, nearly tossed his chopsticks again. The owner glanced over, and he quickly pretended to stretch his shoulders. “If we find it, we could get ten of your grandpa’s lost rifles back!”

Old Seven was skeptical. “How do you know this place exists?”

The ceiling light flickered with the fan. Old Five set his chopsticks down solemnly. “Secretary Yan saw it himself.”

In the driver’s diner, surrounded by cotton coats and tea mugs, the image of Secretary Yan in his sweater and artsy vibe seemed oddly credible.

No one who’d come to the city to work wasn’t intrigued by the idea of striking it rich. Old Seven leaned in immediately. “What’s in there? An imperial tomb?”

His uncle slapped his thigh, exasperated at his nephew’s lack of ambition. “What kind of ambition is that? No emperor ever lived under this black soil! Back then, a shovel couldn’t even break the frozen ground!”

Talk of frozen soil and shovels brought them both to Old Fan, buried under the Songhua River for days. They fell silent in unison.

“Let me tell you,” Old Five said, pointing two fingers like he was commanding the world, though his fingertips aimed at the vinegar bottle and salt shaker on the table. “This underground city holds cutting-edge tech from the war days—American tanks, Japanese rifles, Soviet missiles, all stored inside.”

The ceiling fan wasn’t just a fan anymore—it was the propeller of a rising helicopter. Old Seven’s lips curled into a grin.

“If we sell it all, we won’t have to run errands for anyone anymore!”

Old Five hissed in disapproval at his nephew’s grandiose words. “Why so small-minded? We’re in a lawful society now!”

Old Seven shut up. He could throw a tantrum, sure, but when it came to decisions, he still listened to his uncle.

“We report this underground warehouse to the government. Then, we’ll get banners and rewards galore!”

At that moment, it was as if they were speaking on the county government’s radio station. The uncle and nephew already had huge red flowers pinned to their chests, flags waving in the wind, in a bright, spacious auditorium. A piercing voice broke the epic moment.

“Don’t rush off after eating! You still owe me those few bucks from last time!”

The owner stood behind the counter, hands on hips, waving a rag at the table’s water stains. It wasn’t clear if she’d overheard their post-meal bravado.

Passersby glanced over. Both men shut their mouths. When the owner turned to settle the next table’s bill, Old Seven shifted his stool and spoke again. “Why bother working for the factory manager? Let’s go straight to Secretary Yan!”

It wasn’t a bad idea, but Old Five had calmed down from his excitement, his face showing slight hesitation. “As the saying goes, every radish has its pit, every monk his scripture. We finish our job. Besides, before I left, Secretary Yan mentioned something else. If we pull it off, he’ll give me another—”

He held up his hand, all five fingers spread for his nephew to see.

“Five?”

Old Five shook his head.

A moment later, Old Seven gasped, “Fifty?”

Before Old Seven could leap up in joy to pay the bill, Old Five stopped him. “To get that money, we’ve got one more thing to do.”

Seeing his uncle so secretive, Old Seven’s excitement deflated. Was there some condition?

“To get that cash, we need to bring two people to see him.”

Outside, the spring wind howled. Inside, it felt like a martial arts showdown. Old Five slapped his chopsticks on the table, like a gavel striking, as if a fortune was already in the bag.

“Those two in the van—we need to meet them again.”

Old Seven’s momentum crashed. “Again?”