MW CH6

Chapter 6: How Does He Know I’m Frivolous?

If I’m frivolous, then there’s not a single decent person in this world.

I turned, ready to confront Mochuan, when a pained whimper drifted in from outside. Moments later, a dark-skinned old woman, frail and supported by a young man and woman, shuffled into the hall.

Mochuan shot to his feet, rounding the low table to meet them.

“Pinjia! Pinjia!!” The old woman’s steps had been unsteady, but seeing Mochuan, she found some hidden strength. Breaking free from her escorts, she staggered forward, clutching his hem and collapsing to her knees before him.

Her accent was thick, her words a frantic jumble—she was dying, she said, and before she went, she wanted the Mountain Lord to find her daughter who’d left home.

“Take it slow,” Mochuan said, grasping her arms and gently lifting her from the floor. His tone was warm, a stark contrast to moments ago.

I watched for a bit, unable to get a word in, then stepped outside, untied Erqian’s leash, and left with the dog.

Guo Shu returned, rounding out our group. At dinner, being a northerner, she suggested a celebratory drink. Yan Chuwen wasn’t much for liquor and resisted, but she wore him down. He fetched a jar of local Shannan sorghum baijiu from the cabinet.

“Just a little, okay? This stuff hits hard—don’t overdo it,” he warned before we started.

No one heeded him. We polished off the whole jar.

A jin of liquor—Guo Shu downed half, I had four liang, Yan Chuwen managed one, and by the time he passed out, half a liang had spilled on the table.

It was good booze, fierce too. After hauling Yan Chuwen to his room, the alcohol hit me—my whole body warmed up.

Back in my room, I lit a cigarette and stood by the window, smoking to sober up.

So quiet. Quiet enough that even breathing felt intrusive. Used to the city’s endless clamor, a night this still was almost unsettling.

My back window faced north, unobstructed, with a clear view of the temple up high.

Under moonlight, the golden roof lost its gleam, the white walls dulled—just a hazy outline to the naked eye.

Frivolous.

My first two years of college, yeah, I was… a little frivolous. Swapped partners often. First one lasted three months, second two, third stretched nearly half a year—two years, three people, is that excessive? The half-year one was even long-distance!

From junior year on, I buckled down on studies and stopped accepting confessions. If I’m frivolous, I could’ve swapped weekly without repeats—not just yearly.

“Frivolous my ass,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

Seven years ago, he left for Cenglu during the summer between junior and senior year. I’d figured he’d at least finish college—didn’t expect him to just up and go. We hadn’t seen each other since. How’d he know I was frivolous?

No way. I wouldn’t sleep tonight unless I got answers.

I’ve never been good at holding back, and the booze only fueled that itch—once an idea hit, I had to act, couldn’t wait a second.

I stubbed the cigarette on the sill, grabbed my coat, and headed downstairs. Passing Erqian’s kennel, it lifted its head, curious. I zipped up my down jacket, pressed a finger to my lips with a “shh.” Whether it got me or not, it flopped back down.

Pengge at night was quiet—and cold. The buzz in my veins faded into the icy wind after a few steps.

Hunching my shoulders, I reached the temple gate, scanned around to make sure no one was there, then squinted through the door crack. Pitch black, nothing to see. Ear to the wood—nothing to hear.

Circling half the temple, I sized up the wall. Tall, sure, but the brick-and-stone build left plenty of footholds.

Perfect—time to put those wilderness survival climbing skills to use.

I rolled up my sleeves, stretched my limbs, and studied the wall.

Backing up, I sprinted forward, planted a foot on a jutting brick, launched upward, grabbed the ledge with both hands, and kicked off with my other foot along my planned route. In one smooth move, I straddled the top.

Prime vantage point—front courtyard and main hall all in view.

The yard was dead silent. Only a faint yellow glow spilled from a window by the hall—must be Mochuan’s room.

This late, and he’s still up? Don’t people here crash by eight? What time was it…

I patted my pockets—damn, no phone.

Whatever, I thought, perched on the wall. Didn’t matter.

What mattered was… was…

What was it again?

My head felt fogged, thoughts twisting into a sluggish maze, hard to pin down.

Oh, right—settling the score with Mochuan.

Slow, but I got there.

The distant light flickered, casting a blurry shadow on the curtain.

How’s someone’s shadow that good-looking?

Muzzy-headed, I watched the figure peel off accessories one by one, like he was turning in. Panic crept in.

Gotta catch him awake…

I swung over the wall, jumped down—and thanks to the booze, probably—landed off-balance, knocking over a flowerpot nearby.

A soft clatter. I didn’t check if it broke—just saw the shadow pause, half-shed robe slipping back on.

“Who’s there?”

He started toward the window. No time to linger—I scrambled back the way I came, botched the dismount again, rolled half a turn on the ground, and stumbled up, dazed.

Fearing he’d come out, I didn’t even dust off—just ran, tripping and breathless, all the way back. Stripping off my coat later, I found a tear in the hem, goose down spilling out.

Failed at sneaking, trashed a jacket—lousy luck. I flopped spread-eagle on the bed, the room’s heat lulling me into sleep as I grumbled inwardly.

The next few days, guilt kept me clear of the temple. I stuck to sketching, remote work calls, and aimless village wandering—my whole routine.

I’m outgoing by nature, so I quickly got chummy with the locals, even hitting it off with the village head, Nie Peng, like we were brothers.

Unlike city officials, rural ones here juggled everything—fixing power outages, mediating spats. When I had nothing to do, I’d tag along for the fun.

Today, someone’s internet crapped out. Nie Peng asked if I could fix it.

Big issues were beyond me, but small ones I could handle, so I went with him.

It was simple—tweaked the router’s admin settings, and done.

The lady of the house still rolled out her best tea and snacks, even tried keeping us for dinner.

“Sister, no need for a meal—can I borrow that brooch to look at?”

I’d clocked it the moment we walked in—a stunning square brooch pinned to her chest. Pure silver, its twisting, vine-like lines coiled toward the center, half-wrapping a vivid red coral bead. Against her navy robe, it was a perfect finishing touch.

She didn’t catch much Xia, looking blankly at Nie Peng.

He translated into Cenglu, adding, “Little Brother’s a jewelry designer—just curious, no harm meant.”

I hadn’t planned to hide knowing Cenglu, but if I spoke it, Yan Chuwen would know I’d lied before. Hesitating, I’d missed my chance.

Now, admitting it felt awkward—better to play the clueless outsider.

She nodded at Nie Peng’s words, carefully unpinned the brooch, and handed it to me with both hands.

“This is gorgeous—is it an heirloom?” I could judge the coral’s quality but not its age.

“The style’s ancestral, not the brooch itself,” Nie Peng said, tongue a bit clumsy with Xia. “It’s a xin yin—same as mine.” He tapped a small, round gold star brooch on his chest.

“Cenglu don’t have surnames—just names. These mark our families. Back in war times, bodies were nameless without one—but with it, they’d know your home. Later, peace came, but the habit stuck. Your women take the man’s surname in marriage, right? We swap xin yin instead.” He beamed proudly. “This star’s my wife’s.”

I’d thought it was a Communist Youth League badge—go figure.

I said, “Surnames are old-school now—no one bothers. Yours is better.”

His Xia was shaky. After some back-and-forth, I got that xin yin meant “token,” not “surname.”

“Pinjia doesn’t have one, right?” I couldn’t recall Mochuan or Li Yang wearing brooches.

Nie Peng laughed. “They don’t marry—why would they need it?”

The woman caught “Pinjia,” took back her brooch, and asked Nie Peng, “Are you talking about Pinjia?”

“Little Brother asked if Pinjia has a xin yin,” he replied.

She smiled. “Pinjia doesn’t, but he’s got heaps of stuff way rarer than xin yin. All our clan’s shiniest treasures belong to him.”

Nie Peng perked up, switching to Xia. “Little Brother, if you’re into jewelry, check with Pinjia. He’s got tons of old Yan Guan heirlooms—necklaces, earrings, bracelets, anklets. None of us can touch his stash.” He gestured a circle ten centimeters wide. “A jadeite slab this big—deep green, emperor-gifted long ago.”

Are these people naive or just fearless? Kids in Haicheng know not to trust strangers with valuables. I’d been here less than a week, known them a few days, and they’re spilling everything.

If I were greedier—or nastier—Mochuan wouldn’t survive the night.

I frowned, warning, “Big Bro, keep that to me—don’t tell others. Someone might get ideas and target Pinjia.”

Nie Peng blinked, then roared with laughter, clapping my shoulder. “You’re a good one—Big Bro didn’t misjudge you. Don’t worry—if anyone harms Pinjia, we’d hunt them to the ends of the earth!”

Hunt them after the damage is done—what’s the point?

He didn’t take me seriously, but it wasn’t my problem, so I dropped it.

The woman saw us to the gate just as a somber crowd filed into the neighbor’s house. Soon, muffled sobs leaked out.

“Yunduo’s still missing,” she sighed, gazing over. “Her mom wants to see her before she dies, but looks like that’s not happening.”

Nie Peng glanced that way, face heavy. “She shouldn’t have left Pengge.”

Understanding but pretending not to is exhausting—especially with gossip this juicy. Luckily, Nie Peng soon ushered me to the car and shifted topics. He didn’t explain, and I didn’t ask.

I thought he’d drive me straight back, but he swung by a courier stop a few kilometers out, grabbed a pile of packages, and handed me one.

“What’s this?” I checked—Mr. Lu’s delivery.

“Pinjia’s package. You’re on the way—drop it off for me.”

Mochuan’s? Mr. Lu… Lu… Mister?

Ha—who says Pinjia’s got no xin yin? He’s crowned himself with a husband’s surname! I tossed it to the backseat without a glance.

Nie Peng shot me a look. “If you don’t wanna, I’ll do it. No big deal—I just figured you two were schoolmates, probably tight…”

“I’ll take it,” I cut in, deadpan. “We’re tight. I’ll deliver it.”

Cuoyansong’s high altitude, near the equator, meant winter sun hung high even at four or five p.m., no sign of setting.

Stepping through the temple gate, I caught Mochuan watering his flowers—one hand lifting the other sleeve, slightly bent, a string of jadeite beads dangling in the sunlight, green enough to blind me.

“…”

Do these Cenglu have any sense of “don’t flash wealth”?

That jadeite—judging by its clarity and color—could fetch eight figures. If it’s an antique… its value’s unthinkable.

The Cenglu should thank me for not being a greedy bastard.

I coughed lightly to get his attention, beating him to the punch as he looked up.

“Big Bro Nie Peng asked me to drop off your package.” I lifted the box slightly.

It was big but light, rattling inside—couldn’t tell what.

“Thanks for the trouble.”

Mochuan set down the watering can and approached, taking it from me. His cool fingers brushed my hand—barely there, like a feather—and I flinched. Glancing at him, he seemed unfazed, so I shoved my hand in my pocket, clenching it tight.

The box wasn’t sealed tight. He tore the tape right there, pulling out a stack of green plastic flowerpots.

“A thief hit this place a few days back—smashed another pot. Worried he’d come back and break the rest, I ordered plastic ones online to replace them all,” he said with a small smile. “Though, if he returns, I hope he’s not dumb enough to climb over the wall with the flowers again.”

“…”

Damn it—he knows. He knows it was me that night!