Chapter 413: Night Investigation of the Lou Residence

At dusk, the Liberation-brand truck rolled into the Alley of East City, and the sound of its tires grinding over the bluestone paving was especially harsh.

Xu Damao sat in the passenger seat, his red armband on his arm glaring in the twilight. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the two‑story blue‑brick, gray‑tile house ahead—the villa of Lou Banchen.

The young officer driving, surnamed Zhao, had sweaty palms gripping the steering wheel.

"Deputy Director Xu, shall we… really go straight in?"

"No nonsense!" Xu Damao shot him a sideways glance. "The Revolutionary Committee's order—who dares to block it?"

The truck halted in front of the villa's gate.

Xu Damao pushed the door open and stepped out, his leg still limping, but his movements carried a fierce vigor. Seven or eight young men with red armbands followed him, all members of the Revolutionary Committee inspection squad, holding hemp rope, crowbars, and one carrying a camera—Li Huaide had specifically instructed this, to preserve evidence.

The villa's door remained tightly shut.

Xu Damao stepped forward and raised his hand to rap on the door.

"Open up! Revolutionary Committee search!"

The voice echoed through the Alley, startling a few sparrows on the eaves.

There was no response.

Xu Damao knocked a few more times, harder, and the door panels thudded.

Still nothing moved.

His expression darkened; he stepped back two paces and waved a hand toward his rear.

"Crowbar!"

Two sturdy young men stepped forward, jammed the crowbar into the door gap, and pulled with force.

The old‑style copper lock let out a groaning creak, then snapped with a "clank."

The door opened.

A gust of dusty smell hit his face; Xu Damao choked, coughing twice, and waved his hand to brush away the floating dust.

The interior of the villa was dim.

The afterglow of the setting sun slanted through the windows, cutting several amber shafts across the dust‑laden floor. Within the shafts, dust floated and swirled like countless tiny lives.

Xu Damao was the first to step inside.

He stood in the center of the living room, scanning the surroundings.

Too quiet.

So quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

The living room's furnishings were meticulous: a rosewood sofa, a marble coffee table, a wall clock on the wall, its pendulum stopped, the hands frozen at 3:17.

The display shelf against the wall was empty, leaving only circular marks—the traces of long‑standing ornaments.

"Search!" Xu Damao forced the word out between his teeth.

The seven or eight men immediately spread out, their footsteps echoing in the empty house. Some went upstairs, some to the kitchen, some entered the study.

Xu Damao walked to the display shelf and reached out to feel those marks.

The dust was thick, at least half a month's accumulation.

His heart skipped a beat.

Soon, the search parties returned one after another.

"Upstairs bedroom, the wardrobe is empty, only a few old clothes remain."

"The kitchen's rice jar is empty, the Stove is completely cold."

"Study… the bookshelves are entirely empty."

Officer Zhao rushed down from upstairs, his face turned pale.

"Deputy Director Xu, we've searched everywhere; nothing of value… not a single item."

Xu Damao's face twisted little by little in the gloom.

He limped, personally inspecting each room one by one.

In the bedroom, the carved wooden bed had tidy bedding, but the nightstand drawer, when opened, contained only half a box of matches.

The wardrobe doors were ajar, hanging a few faded Zhongshan suits, all of the plainest fabric.

On the study's shelves, those thread‑bound books and foreign‑bound books had vanished, leaving only rows of empty slots. On the desk sat an ink slab, the ink long dried, and the brush holder held two hairless brushes.

The most infuriating thing for Xu Damao was that the secret room and cellar he had specifically ordered to be searched had all been examined—there simply were none.

Or rather, there were, but his men didn't locate them.

"Search again!" he roared. "Walls! Floor! Every inch, I want you to pound!"

The youths, not daring to delay, wielded crowbars and hammers, clanging as they pounded the walls and pried up the floor.

The sound echoed in the empty house, like a swarm of headless flies crashing into walls.

Xu Damao stood in the center of the living room, watching the last sliver of sunset disappear from the floor.

The house fell into total darkness.

Someone switched on the electric light.

The dim yellow light illuminated a room full of dust and bewildered young faces.

"Deputy Director Xu…" Officer Zhao whispered, "Truly nothing. This house… seems to have been emptied long ago."

Xu Damao said nothing.

He walked to the window, watching the sky outside turn completely black.

In the Alley, a neighbor's window lit up, but no one dared to look out—when they heard the truck, those lights went out one by one, and now they dared to glow quietly again.

"Lou Banchen…" Xu Damao murmured, "Old Fox."

He recalled the promise he had made with Li Huaide, the imagined gold and antiques, and the prestige he should have enjoyed after assuming the deputy director seat.

It was all ruined.

Not only would he be soaking in the bath, he could also stir up a whole lot of trouble.

Li Huaide isn't someone easily fooled; he himself issued a military order, and now he can't produce the goods…

Xu Damao broke out in a cold sweat on his back.

By the time the truck drove off, it was already past nine at night.

The villa's door wasn't locked—the lock had been pried broken, left ajar. Moonlight streamed in, casting a pallid beam across the floor.

The alley returned to silence.

But within the silence, something was brewing.

At midnight, a black shadow silently scaled the villa's courtyard wall.

Landing like a leaf, it made not a sound.

Li Ping'an stood in the courtyard, his gaze sweeping over the small building.

He wore a deep blue work uniform, rubber-soled cloth shoes on his feet, and a black cloth over his face—not to avoid being recognized, but to keep out dust.

For those places that might have been overlooked, might be hidden even deeper, might be spots even Xu Damao wouldn't think of.

Li Ping'an did not rush inside.

He closed his eyes, and his Divine Perception slowly unfurled.

Like ripples, it spread outward from him.

Ten meters, twenty meters, fifty meters…

His Divine Perception blanketed the entire villa, infiltrating every brick, every tile, every inch of floor.

The villa's structure emerged clearly in his Divine Perception.

First-floor living room, second-floor bedrooms, basement… and so on.

Li Ping'an's brow twitched slightly.

Below the basement, there was something else.

Not a cellar, but a hidden chamber.

Hidden beneath the concrete layer, the entrance was not inside the house, but…

His Divine Perception followed the wall and finally, beneath an ordinary-looking floor tile at the corner of the backyard wall, found a mechanism.

It was a very delicate mechanism.

The tile could be lifted, revealing a vertical shaft just wide enough for one person, about three meters deep, with an iron ladder on the shaft walls. At the bottom, the shaft ran horizontally toward the hidden chamber.

The hidden chamber wasn't large, about ten square meters.

But what lay inside made Li Ping'an's breath catch slightly.

He did not go through the main door.

He went around to the backyard, found that tile. In the moonlight, the tile looked no different from the surrounding paving stones, but his Divine Perception told him there was a fine seam along its edge.

Li Ping'an crouched, feeling along the seam with his fingers.

He felt a slight bump and pressed down hard.

Click.

A faint trigger sound.

The tile sprang up at one corner.

He lifted the tile, revealing a dark opening below. A smell of rust drifted up, mixed with the earthy odor of soil.

Li Ping'an didn't hesitate; he swung himself down.

The well walls were icy cold, the iron ladder somewhat rusted but still sturdy. He reached the bottom, where a horizontal passage lay ahead, only 1.5 meters high—forcing him to bend to pass.

The passage wasn't long, about seven or eight meters.

At the end stood an iron door, without a lock, only a rotating mechanism handle.

Li Ping'an gripped the handle and gave it a light turn.

The door opened.

There was no light in the hidden chamber.

But Li Ping'an didn't need light.

His Divine Perception swept over, making everything as clear as daylight.

The hidden chamber's walls were concrete; in the corners lay thirty-odd camphor-wood boxes, each with a copper lock. Against the wall stood an antique shelf holding about a dozen items: porcelain, jade, bronze ware, and several scrolls.

Li Ping'an first went to the antique shelf.

He reached out and picked up a blue-and-white plum vase.

The vase's body was icy cold, its glaze lustrous; under his Divine Perception he could see the fine body and the steady hue of the blue decoration—an official Yongle ware of the Ming dynasty.

He then picked up a white jade carved coiling dragon paperweight.

The jade was warm and smooth, the carving exquisite, each scale distinct, the eyes inlaid with black jade, vividly lifelike.

There was also a bronze wine vessel, a field yellow stone seal, a purple sandalwood carved pen holder…

Each piece was a fine work.

Each would fetch a fortune in later ages.

But Li Ping'an's expression remained calm.

He wasn't a collector, didn't understand their artistic worth, but knew they'd surely be valuable later.

They were too conspicuous, too burdensome, and if discovered would be outright proof.

So the old man chose the safest course: hide them and wait for the fuss to die down.

Too bad he underestimated the storm's force, and also underestimated the sniffing ability of people like Xu Damao.

Li Ping'an examined each item one by one, probing them carefully with his Divine Perception.

When he picked up the third piece of porcelain, he suddenly stopped.

This piece of porcelain is a heavenly globe vase, with a sturdy shape, a celadon glaze, and fine crackling on the glaze.

But what caught Li Ping'an's attention was not the porcelain itself.

But rather, there was something inside the bottle.

His divine perception penetrated inside, seeing a layer of soft cloth lining the bottom of the bottle, with a small cloth bag placed on it.

He gently turned the bottle upside down.

The cloth bag slid out and landed in his palm.

He opened it; inside were several sheets of yellowed paper.

By the light of a flashlight—he had taken the smallest flashlight from his space—Li Ping'an made out the content on the paper.

They were property deeds.

Three property deeds, all for real estate in Beiping City, in excellent locations.

There was also a letter, with neat and elegant handwriting:

"Seeing this letter is like meeting me in person. All that I have collected in my life is here. If peace ever comes, I hope a kindred soul will treat them well. If the world remains turbid, let them gather dust, but do not let them fall into the hands of wolves and jackals. Lou Zhenhua, winter of the Jiachen year."

The Jiachen year is 1964.

Last winter, Lou Bancheng had already sensed something and made these arrangements.

Li Ping'an fell silent for a moment, folded the letter neatly, put it back into the cloth bag together with the deeds, and stored it away in his space.

Then he turned and looked at the dozen or so camphor-wood chests.

The chests were not locked—the bronze locks were merely for show, and opened with a twist.

He opened the first chest; inside were paintings and calligraphy.

The scrolls were all wrapped in oiled paper and tied with ribbons. Li Ping'an did not unfold them one by one; a sweep of his divine perception told him they were all masterpieces: landscapes by Wen Zhengming, flower-and-bird paintings by Tang Bohu, bamboo by Zheng Xie…

The second chest held ancient books.

Thread-bound copies of the Records of the Grand Historian and the Book of Han, a Song edition of the I Ching, and a Ming-print of The Plum in the Golden Vase—this last one made Li Ping'an take an extra glance, for in this era it was nothing less than a "poisonous weed" among poisonous weeds.

The third chest contained miscellaneous items.

There were ivory-carved chess pieces, rhinoceros-horn cups, gilt-bronze Buddha statues, and a complete set of the Four Treasures of the Study: the inkstone was a Duan inkstone, the ink was Huizhou ink, the brush was a Hubei brush, and the paper was xuan paper.

Li Ping'an stood in the secret room, surveying the room's "Four Olds."

These things were the lifetime painstaking efforts of Lou Bancheng. Li Ping'an thought they might only be part of Lou Bancheng's collection, and surely there were more elsewhere.

If these fell into Xu Damao's hands, they would be enough to see the Lou family exterminated to the last member—although there was hardly any "whole family" left now, Lou Bancheng had fled, and his relatives were likely already scattered.

Li Ping'an did not hesitate.

He extended his divine perception, enveloping the entire secret room.

With a thought,

the porcelain, jade, and bronze vessels on the antique rack disappeared.

the camphor-wood chests, together with their paintings, ancient books, and miscellany, disappeared.

Finally, even the antique rack itself vanished.

The secret room became empty and bare, nothing left but the four concrete walls and a faint camphor scent in the air.

Li Ping'an then used his divine perception to scan carefully once more.

After confirming nothing had been missed, he turned and left.

He climbed out of the shaft and replaced the floor tiles.

The moonlight remained pallid, shining on the overgrown flower beds in the rear courtyard—the flowers had long withered, leaving only a few dry stalks swaying in the wind.

Li Ping'an climbed over the wall and, upon landing, glanced back at the villa.

The second-floor windows were dark holes, like a pair of blind eyes.

He suddenly recalled that line from Lou Bancheng's letter: "If the world remains turbid, let them gather dust, but do not let them fall into the hands of wolves and jackals."

Now, the things have not gathered dust.

Nor have they fallen into the hands of wolves and jackals.

Instead, they have entered his Spiritual Spring Space.

In that little world separate from the outside, these items will be kept in the best possible condition—constant temperature, suitable humidity, no insect damage, no weathering.

When peaceful times come, perhaps…

Li Ping'an shook his head, pushing that thought aside.

It's still too early.

This storm has only just begun.

He turned and melted into the night.

His steps were light as a cat's; a few leaps and he vanished into the depths of the alley.

The next morning, Xu Damao came again.

He brought more people and a more complete set of tools.

He did not believe in the supernatural.

Or rather, he dared not believe in the supernatural—how would he explain to Li Huaide when he went back? Saying that Lou Bancheng had already fled and there was nothing left in the house? What would Li Huaide think of him? A useless fool who can't even carry out a confiscation properly?

So he came again.

This time he was more ruthless.

He pried up all the floorboards, peeled off all the wall plaster, and even poked several holes in the ceiling.

Dust flew everywhere, and broken bricks and tiles piled up in the courtyard.

And still, there was nothing.

Xu Damao stood in a messy living room; the scar on his face twisted with anger, like a centipede come alive.

Section Chief Zhao approached cautiously.

"Deputy Director Xu, there really... really isn't any. This house is just an empty shell."

Xu Damao didn't speak.

He walked to the window, watching the sky outside gradually brighten.

In the alley, people began to move—those going to the morning market to buy vegetables, heading to work, going to school… but everyone passing this villa quickened their steps, averting their gaze.

"Lou Ban Cheng..." Xu Damao gritted his teeth, "You're ruthless."

He suddenly turned, staring at Section Chief Zhao.

"Investigate! Investigate all his social connections! Investigate where he might go! Even if we have to turn Beiping City upside down, we must dig out this old thing!"

"Yes, yes!"

"Besides," Xu Damao lowered his voice, eyes sinister, "keep an eye on Li Ping'an's side as well. I don't believe that in Nanluoguxiang, only Lou Ban Cheng is problematic."

Section Chief Zhao was taken aback.

"Chief Li..."

"He's a chief, but more importantly, he's a person." Xu Damao interrupted him, "Being a person means he has issues. Go find him, dig into him, overturn his past accounts!"

Having said that, he limped out of the villa with big strides.

The morning light shone on his back, but it couldn't warm the chill seeping from his heart.

In the west wing courtyard, Li Ping'an was having breakfast.

Lin Xueqing served him porridge, whispering, "I heard Xu Damao raided the Lou family yesterday and came back empty-handed?"

"Hmm." Li Ping'an took the bowl, his expression calm.

"Then what about him..."

"He won't give up." Li Ping'an took a sip of porridge, "People like him, after suffering a loss, will seek compensation elsewhere."

Lin Xueqing's face slightly changed.

"You mean..."

"It's fine." Li Ping'an set down the bowl, patting Li Yaozong's head beside him, "Practice the boxing your father taught you more these couple days. Also, at school, speak less, read more."

Li Yaozong nodded, half-understanding.

Xiao Nuanqing also imitated her brother, nodding vigorously.

Li Ping'an smiled, his smile holding an indescribable complexity.

He recalled those things in the Spiritual Spring Space.

Those porcelain pieces, those calligraphic works, those land deeds.

And that letter.

"If one day there is peace..."

Peace.

This simple word, in this era, has become the most extravagant wish.

Li Ping'an stood up, picked up his coat.

Time to go to work.

In the courtyard, Xu Damao just returned from outside, and the two met in the central courtyard.

Xu Damao stared at Li Ping'an, his eyes like hooks, trying to hook something out of his face.

Li Ping'an's expression remained normal; he nodded as a greeting, then pushed his bicycle out of the gate.

Xu Damao stood where he was, watching his back, his teeth grinding audibly.

"Put on an act, keep acting." He muttered softly, "Sooner or later I'll peel your skin off to see what you're really made of."

The wind swept through the courtyard, lifting the fallen leaves.

The leaves swirled, like so many homeless souls.

This winter, it's still growing.