WHF Ch 49 – “Do you want to come home with me?”

In Mudanjiang, at ten in the morning, the fourth call Sun Jiu dialed was hung up.

He stood in front of the glass factory’s gate, behind him a renovation crew unloading something from a flatbed truck. Sun Jiu wore sunglasses today and an engineering jacket, looking less like a big boss and more like a construction foreman. The crew finally unloaded the item onto the ground, and a worker approached, holding a clipboard, presenting it to Sun Jiu.

“Boss, one life-sized, full-color statue of Guan Erye, as ordered. Please review the documents, and if everything’s in order, sign for it.”

Sun Jiu glanced at the worker, his displeasure visible even through the sunglasses, as if invoking Guan Erye’s name diminished its power. After eyeing the worker and the invoice back and forth, he finally took the pen, signed with a flourish, and sent the man away.

On the plains, winds stirred the clouds. The statue of Guan Erye was freed from its wooden crate, revealing its form. As the factory manager admired his masterpiece, Secretary Yan approached from behind, walking side by side with the factory’s second-in-command, the man above all but one. They admired the daylight and scenery for a moment before Yan spoke. “With Guan Erye here, those petty thieves from outside won’t dare cause trouble anymore, right?”

No one who opened their mouth today could satisfy him. Sun Jiu clenched his jaw.

“It’ll keep things in check, sure. Outsiders might be deterred, but those inside? That depends on their own discipline.”

His words carried a hidden meaning, and Secretary Yan didn’t push back, wisely staying silent. Not far off, the statue of Guan Erye, mounted on wheels, was pushed toward the factory by the workers, looking at first glance like Guan Yunzhang himself had come to life, gliding toward the workshop like a wandering deity—not exactly auspicious, more like an impermanence spirit.

The factory manager cleared his throat, searching for words. “Have you recently contacted that uncle and nephew?”

Secretary Yan turned with a kind expression. “Were you just calling them—couldn’t get through again?”

As always, no one who spoke today pleased him.

“What’s it to you if I got through?” Sun Jiu shot back, wielding his factory manager’s authority. “With so many things in the factory to manage, you’re worrying about me?”

His voice was loud, causing a few workers in the distance to pause, even Guan Yunzhang seeming to glance their way. Bad omen. Sun Jiu quickly turned, pretending nothing happened, dodging responsibility.

Secretary Yan didn’t leave, and the factory manager didn’t shoo him away. Once Guan Erye and the workers entered the factory, Yan turned, adjusting the wide glasses on his low nose bridge. “Factory Manager, those contacts you asked me to reach out to—I’ve handled it. The private room at the restaurant for Friday is booked. You just need to show up.”

After half an hour in the cold, this was finally good news. The factory manager’s expression softened slightly behind his sunglasses.

If inviting Guan Erye was idealism, calling in those contacts was materialism. Last week’s fiasco had cost him enough face, with workers even humming “Baby, I’m Sorry” in the workshop. Where was his dignity as factory manager? Professionals were needed—hired muscle to intimidate the factory, scaring off any ghosts or goblins daring to wander at night!

“It’s a peaceful era now,” Sun Jiu said, resuming his factory manager stance, like he was opening a meeting. “Hiring muscle is just to scare people. We don’t do anything illegal.”

Secretary Yan smiled. “Being a factory manager is all about balance, like you—blending East and West, harmonizing the five elements.”

The flattery pleased Sun Jiu, and as he waxed eloquently, Yan’s smile faded. He knew why the factory manager was contacting old underworld connections—for those two from last week, the deputy factory manager and the blond kid. They were likely in deep trouble.

And that suited Yan just fine.

As Sun Jiu expounded grandly, a smile spread across Yan Guoxian’s face.

—

Four hundred kilometers away, at the Suihua rest stop, the Wuling Hongguang was parked by the roadside, with two men in deep trouble beneath it. Xiu Ma was pulling at grass stalks, while Yu Tianbai held half a sausage. They sat side by side on the curb.

“He definitely stole it when we were chasing Old Seven,” Yu Tianbai declared, his sausage dangling precariously, looking less than appetizing.

In contrast, Xiu Ma’s grass stalks were universally harmless. With a twist, another broke off. “Maybe he stole it while feeding the sheep.”

Yu Tianbai bit off half the sausage, mumbling, “Nah, we already ate one of their sheep. They don’t have many sons left, and now one’s gone.”

Xiu Ma tossed the broken stalk behind him. “Their son’s a person, not a sheep.”

But it was delicious, truly delicious, especially with a hotpot of pickled cabbage. They sat together on the stone curb, silent in the breeze for a moment.

“Maybe he just wanted to take the gun back,” Yu Tianbai mused to himself. “He said it was Old Seven’s grandfather’s.”

The sausage was gone, and Xiu Ma stopped pulling roadside weeds. He remarked on Yu Tianbai, “Since when are you so empathetic?”

Yu Tianbai was confident. “I checked the gun. It’s an old model, but well-maintained, barely used. No marks beyond firing traces. It’s from a veteran’s hands, not bought through other channels.”

Never mind how Yu Tianbai knew what black-market guns looked like. Xiu Ma countered, “I’m not talking about the gun. I mean his reason for taking it back. How do you know what he’s up to?”

Desperate times, desperate places—after three days in a mountain village without even a bus, anything seemed possible in this wilderness.

“I’m never coming out to stock up in winter again,” Yu Tianbai swore.

“I’m never doing winter break work again,” Xiu Ma echoed.

After speaking, Yu Tianbai turned to him. “Didn’t you ask if you could work for me next year?”

Xiu Ma looked back. He had asked, but Yu Tianbai had firmly said, “If you’re doing well, don’t come looking for me.” Hard to tell if it was self-mockery or boasting. Xiu Ma didn’t reply, pulling another weed from the flowerbed behind him.

Maybe because it was past the Lunar New Year, the rest stop was surprisingly busy. Sitting by the road, they saw a sedan pass, then a van. Their spot was right at the parking lot entrance, and every passerby gave them a glance.

Yu Tianbai was unfazed, deep in thought. “But speaking of a veteran’s gun, it reminds me of something.”

A bus rolled by, its passengers casting long, lingering looks their way. Xiu Ma squirmed under the stares.

“Back in the army, there was a rumor about an underground city beneath the air-raid shelter. Me and some buddies went down to check—twisting tunnels, lots of wastewater pits, even condoms, but no city.”

Shouting that word in a busy parking lot was classic Yu Tianbai. Another minibus passed, and Xiu Ma pulled his hoodie up, yanking the drawstrings tight.

“But the rumor spread like wildfire in the army. They said the underground city was a wartime military base—planes, cannons, tanks. Whoever found it would jump ranks. Plenty believed it, spending their leave poking around nearby counties…”

“So,” Xiu Ma, who’d been silent, cut in, “you think Old Five and Old Seven bought into this wild rumor and went treasure-hunting?”

Yu Tianbai turned, facing a round, hooded head—Xiu Ma had tied his hoodie so tight, with a bow under his chin, that if he weren’t good-looking, he’d seem ready to dig up landmines.

“What’s with that getup—I didn’t mean that. I’m saying, maybe their gun was stolen from that underground city by their grandfather.”

The traffic finally calmed. Xiu Ma turned his tightly wrapped head, eyeing Yu Tianbai’s earnest expression. “You actually believe that?”

Maybe he’d worked too long with his unlucky boss, but Xiu Ma fell into thought too. It sounded oddly plausible—an unreliable family doing unreliable things, a grandfather stealing a gun from the deep mountains. It seemed reasonable enough.

Oddly, despite it not being a holiday, the parking lot kept buzzing with people, all glancing their way. Yu Tianbai finally noticed.

Exchanging looks with a passing old man, he mused, “Where’d they get the bullets? If they dug them up, they’d probably be useless by now.”

The bullet question stumped him, but he figured out why Xiu Ma was wrapped up—everyone glanced at him first, then locked onto Xiu Ma. Polite folks looked briefly; less polite ones, like this old man, stared endlessly.

The old man left, but another bus arrived. As its doors opened, Yu Tianbai bellowed, “Keep staring—what’s there to see!”

His boldness, amplified by the open plains, silenced the lot. Passengers glanced around; the old man who’d stared longest scurried off.

As the saying goes, the barefoot fear no one. Yu Tianbai’s outburst stopped the gawking. The plains were clear, no idle passersby. He was pleased.

“Let them stare, it’s fine,” Xiu Ma said, still huddled in his hoodie fortress, not coming out.

Yu Tianbai didn’t reply, glaring into the distance like he was ready for a street fight. Finally, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it in his mouth, and grumbled, “You’re used to being stared at. I’m not!”

Xiu Ma tucked his hands into his side pockets, then pulled off his hood. No one stared at the perfect handsome guy on the desolate Northeast roadside anymore, his golden head gleaming alone in the rest stop. After a pause, he said, “About the money you mentioned—my mom called, said someone tampered with her hidden cash at home, suspects the nanny stole it.”

Money, nanny, a windfall, Fang Hui.

They exchanged a look, landing on the same answer. Yu Tianbai took the cigarette out. “Does she suspect who took it?”

Xiu Ma pressed his temple, exasperated at his own answer. “She suspects Xiao Juan.”

“Xiao Juan?” Yu Tianbai nearly leapt up. “Xiao Juan’s such a good kid. Why not suspect it was lost earlier?”

“She trusts Fang Hui completely, said more than once she’d leave her inheritance to her, treat her like a daughter.” Xiu Ma said, tugging his hoodie’s drawstring, clearly wanting to pull it back on.

Yu Tianbai looked into the distance, at a loss for words, sighing first.

“It’s not your fault.”

He grabbed Xiu Ma’s wrist as he tugged the drawstring, shaking it firmly. His eyes weren’t on him, but Xiu Ma felt the strength in his grip.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” Xiu Ma stated, then added, “Fang Hui’s smart, but even if she took the money, what would she do with it?”

Everyone loves money, but for someone with a stable job to risk stealing from their employer, the reason had to be complex.

But that wasn’t what Yu Tianbai cared about now.

“How’d your mom react to the missing money?”

A rough, burlap-like voice, a wheelchair-bound, rag-like demeanor, and an unexpectedly serene beauty with strangers—this woman left a chaotic, unpredictable impression in his mind.

After a moment’s thought, Xiu Ma answered, “She fired Xiao Juan and nearly trashed the house.”

Expected, yet reasonable.

“Wait,” Yu Tianbai suddenly realized something. “Xiao Juan’s gone—who’s taking care of her now?”

“My dad got a lawyer and a private doctor. They moved her to a nursing home.”

Hearing this, the Northeast landscape seemed to crumble further. The Wuling Hongguang, freshly polished at the car wash, lost its shine. He’d almost forgotten Xiu Ma was a young master. Maybe the grand entrance with maids and butlers he’d imagined at their first meeting was his true life. Even now, enduring hardships with him, the worst outcome was returning to a 500-square-meter mansion.

“Are you cursing me in your head?” Xiu Ma asked.

“Yeah, don’t interrupt,” Yu Tianbai replied.

The question circled back: if Fang Hui took the money, what did she do with it?

The guy on the left pulled grass again; the guy on the right picked up his phone. As a seasoned operator in the Northeast’s underworld, Yu Tianbai sifted through his contacts and found a lead to follow.

“Young master,” Yu Tianbai pocketed his phone, making an unexpected offer, “Do you want to come home with me?”