Chapter 26: Plotting

28TH AUG 2022~ VERALUCTL

Mo Cong felt that something had been very wrong with the past few days. Maybe the cold air from Siberia had come in too strongly, or maybe the lack of ventilation due to the winter weather had made him a little pessimistic, but no matter where he looked, everything seemed off.

For example, Xiao Jin had suddenly cut her hair short, wiped clean her smokey face, and started going to school like a good student. It made her class teacher, who had already despaired, cry in joy for correcting a delinquent who had been as stubborn as a rock in a latrine. 

For example, the first door opposite his had suddenly become secretive overnight, the frequent encounters suddenly changed to barely seeing each other once a week. Even when they did meet, those old, intimate joking waves had disappeared, replaced by a few curt nods of courtesy.

And that feeling of being spied on, which he had almost gotten used to, had suddenly vanished.

It was as if the entire world decided it was time to change to welcome in the new year.

As he walked past the nearby high schools, he heard the deputy shout at the top of his lungs, “New year, new look!” For some reason, he found this ‘new look’ which seemed to be developing for the general good to be extremely frustrating.

Not long after New Year’s was the winter holidays. Xiao Jin was uncharacteristically housebound and studious; Mo Cong even found some bizarre things like textbooks strewn about. An Jie on the other hand seemed to have completely forgotten that he needed to take the entrance exam. Apparently, his teachers from various subjects had tried to talk to him in private, but he rejected every tutoring class that was ‘in his own time’. The moment the holidays hit, he packed up his bags and went traveling. He was quite kind-hearted, leaving behind a pair of house keys to Xiao Yu, telling her that she was welcome to retrieve some books anytime. 

Si-ge took over everything from Cao Bing, including Cao Bing’s limelight and growing prosperity… Even the legal businesses in Si-ge’s hands had their profits double with the New Year’s financial peak. The Si-ge from back then had always had the feeling of an intellectual degenerate about him, but now with his changed situation, his attitude had also undergone a complete makeover.

It was the same pair of glasses on his nose, but there was now an air of grandeur in the look behind it. The result of Mo Cong’s hustle was to fill up Xu Si and Chen Fugui’s wallet. Of course, he himself had also gotten a lot out of it, but… with his identity of a university student right now, he couldn’t use them.

Mo Cong didn’t care about that though. He cared only about Si-ge’s growing power and hardening base.

Money didn’t mean much, profit didn’t mean much, he wasn’t lacking in any of them. His ultimate goal was the old gun Zhai. Mo Cong sometimes thought that, even if the old gun Zhai hadn’t tried to use his hand for dirty work, even if he hadn’t stabbed Si-ge in the back, one day he would go up against him.

Because there could only be one most powerful in the capital. 

Zhai Haidong was old and crippled, he had been in his position far too long. It was time for a new emperor to step up. However wise and powerful he had been back then, it was a thing of the past… Now was no longer the same time as back then. Men needed to have introspection – since they were thugs, there was no need to follow the old respect for the elderly.

In this world, every career needed to follow the times and remain innovative.

Mo Cong constantly judged his and Old Gun Zhai’s power, constantly watched that blind and crippled… lion on his deathbed, watching his throne. 

This was a kind of ambition that could drive someone mad.

Some sage had said once, those whom the gods wished to destroy, they first made mad. Such a well-said verse, it was a shame that real madmen turned a deaf ear to it.

Xu Si floated in this feeling that was akin to a dying fish flipping back to life, a daughter-in-law finally becoming the mother-in-law. He was yet to understand a law of the world – jackals lived the way jackals do. Even if it changed its appearance, it could never hold the job of a tiger.

It was like this day – it was barely five days after New Year, the taste of dumplings had yet to fade from their throats. Xu Si was talking business with some big nosed Russians that Chen Fugui had recommended, tall and wide with the air of those who lived life on the edge; there was also a persimmon-faced translator with dark, yellow skin, and a few cargo loaders.

He didn’t bring Chancellor; after all, Chancellor was his secret weapon, it wasn’t good to reveal him too many times.

Xu Si finally realized how good the Russians were with their liquor; no matter how strong the vodka was, they drank it like soft drinks without so much as a blush. He knew his capabilities; he didn’t know whether to keep drinking or stop and ended up pouring the alcohol into his stomach in a muddled manner.

But the facts were that the Chinese stomach really couldn’t handle the western alcohol from these polar bears. After finally inspecting the goods and handing over the money, he let out a sigh of relief and escaped to the bathroom after an apology.

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Xu Si pulled up his pants in the bathroom and shook his head. He felt quite good about himself – at least his mind was clearer than just then – as he walked a crooked path to the washbasin, his head yet to return from its state of confusion. He washed his face a few times and was just about to raise his head when he suddenly realized that something not so peaceful was being forced against the back of his head. 

Xu Si immediately broke out in cold sweat, the vodka in him evaporating through his pores as his brain cleared up. He straightened his trembling waist as the mirror very honestly reflected the persimmon face of the person behind him – the cameo translator might have looked a little sore to the eyes, but he wasn’t scary. The scary thing was the P7M13 in his hand.

Seeing Xu Si’s throat slide a little, persimmon-face snickered darkly and said in the same tone as that classic ‘break your throat’1, “Si-ge, the brothers under you have all taken a rest, there’s no need to worry.”

Xu Si’s eyes spun around wildly as he tried to keep his knees from wobbling. He squeezed out a few words from the back of his throat. “You… Russian devils…”

Persimmon-face jabbed his head with the barrel of the gun. “When I came here, they told me that Si-ge was a wine-sack, but they underestimated Si-ge.” He paused, and added, “In my opinion… Si-ge is a high-class, intelligent wine-sack.”

He suddenly twisted Xu Si’s arms back and moved the muzzle down his back to press against his heart. “Apologies, this lowly one is acting under orders. No matter how classy you are, you’ll have to come with me.”

How did Qu Yuan end up dying in the hands of the King of Chu, and how did the martial duke lose favor under the succeeding ruler2? The grief and anger of every loyal subject who did not meet a wise ruler would probably be felt more personally very soon by Mo Cong, who had always held a keen interest in observing the dramas of history. 

Maybe what this story wanted to tell us was that what was on paper would always appear shallow, and one must experience it to truly understand.

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An Jie returned in just a half a month. In truth, he hadn’t gone off very far anyways, he hadn’t even left the Hebei province. Following that almost abandoned train track, that once too-famous Beijing-Baotou railway, he had left Beijing to travel north.

Winter was not a popular traveling season as there weren’t many vibrant, beautiful scenes and attractions, especially in this land that had once belonged to the Yan and Zhao. But one could always see something unexpected.

People said that the Yan and Zhao were people of sentimental laments, but it was only when traveling past the foot of Mt. Yan that one could understand that truth. Compared to the south, the mountains here weren’t tall nor treacherous, but those huge, gray, exposed rocks had the simple ability to speak of sadness.

Dry branches struck out from the crevices of these rocks or waited in solitude, simple graves that could be seen when nearing the villages. Crows perched silently or soared into the sky, letting out cries for blood. Jagged stones streaked across the cold wind of the wild north, as if they could be forced to make a whimper of grief and rage.

And those worn out houses… the ones that could be seen. Their bricks were no longer there, but the yellow dirt piles were still tightly guarding the ancient city within its walls.

The place where Mu Guiying had fought off the Jurchens in the legends, the old traces of Yang Yanzhao’s statue, the beaten Great Wall that had yet to be made open for tourism, this place where the dust of war had risen–

An Jie had never gone to somewhere like this place before and had made the decision on a whim during class as they read through a poem describing the great frontiers. He suddenly understood the meaning of ‘he is no man if he has never been on the Great Wall’. The Great Wall here definitely wasn’t referring to that one small section in rural Beijing, filled with tourists from both inside and outside of China, a place which required a long pause after each step during tourist season; it should be this body that was carved and wounded by the marks of swords and knives, a remnant in the wilderness.

This was a path that a man had to traverse at least once in his life.

Once leaving the mountain pass, the cold air from the north became even more unbridled without the barriers of the mountains, especially when there was wind. Those from the midlands might be unable to imagine this cold; it wasn’t a gloomy cold, it wasn’t chilly cold… it was a type of biting cold that felt as if it could pierce one’s organs when they breathed it in.

The last place An Jie stopped at was the Bashang Grassland, then he decided that it was about time he returned – he suddenly couldn’t quite let go of the young twins of the Mo family, especially the emotionally disturbed Mo Jin. It felt like it had been a long time since he had felt this feeling of attachment. 

When he got home, the sky had already completely darkened. An Jie carried a simple bag, his clothes ragged and dirty and his stance a little crippled – there was certainly nothing to complain about the physicality of this young body, but the hardware really couldn’t support him and suddenly walking so far had caused many blisters to form on the soles of his feet.

Because of his sore feet, he didn’t go by the main gate and took a shortcut. This so-called short cut was next to a place in the neighborhood where there shouldn’t have been a door, but due to the lack of repairs, a small gap had opened. The strata had taken the money without doing the job, and so the gap had stayed there.

This place was near an alleyway and had no street lamps, so it was quite dark at night. An Jie was leisurely walking through with one earphone in when he suddenly paused.

He slowly pulled out the bud from his ear, fished out his phone, lit up the screen, and shone it at his feet – there was a puddle of dark red liquid that hadn’t yet dried. An Jie slowly raised his phone and followed the trail…

A person leaned against the overgrown corner of the wall, his head tilted to the side, the hem of his jacket sweeping out a large trail of blood. The faint light shone onto their face. An Jie held his breath for a second–

Mo Cong.

Author’s Notes: Reminiscing about the Beijing-Baotou Railway that I haven’t walked in a long time~~

Looking up depressed forty-five degrees at the sky, how many people are secretly hoping that our little friend Mo Cong won’t come back?

Such is life~~~

1A very famous line from a Hong Kong film. ‘Even if you scream so hard you break your throat, no-one will come to save you.” Also a meme in China; Priest is being funny here.

2Qu Yuan: a very patriotic and famous poet who threw himself into the river because he was banished from the capital and made unable to support his nation. Martial dukes generally originate from supporting a rebellion, becoming a duke, and then being accused of treason, usually by the new emperor, because of the military power they hold.