Chapter 500: Computer Trap

"Why?" I asked, a little surprised. He said, "If he wanted to test you, he wouldn't need such complicated equipment—just sending a message to your phone and checking whether you replied with the agreed code would be enough. All these computers and such are unnecessary." I thought it over, found it reasonable, and said, "Sounds like you have some idea."

He said, "This definitely isn't a trap. Those two computers must have a purpose, and that person really was living under this house the whole time. Otherwise, when you went downstairs you wouldn't have seen those quilts."

"But didn't you say those two computers were basically never used?" I asked. "How do you explain that contradiction?"

"Let contradictions be contradictions, and Caesar be Caesar," he said. "Simple: the guy was living downstairs, but his communication with you didn't rely on these computers. These computers are a trap, but the basement below is not."

I took a drag on my cigarette. "Then what did they use to communicate?"

Every conversation upstairs could be heard clearly in the basement, but I'm sure that no sound from downstairs could be heard anywhere else.

"Maybe they didn't need to communicate at all?" he said. "Maybe it wasn't hiding, but surveillance?"

I thought for only a second, and then it hit me like a thunderbolt—the contradictions from before all became clear.

The modifications in Third Uncle's computer weren't done by him. Perhaps Third Uncle didn't even know there was a room under his house, or that his computer was connected to another one. He didn't know every word he spoke could be heard, and that the person could intercept all of Third Uncle's information.

Who was this person? Like a tapeworm living in Third Uncle's belly.

I sent my classmate off, promising to pay within three days, and told him to keep thinking and let me know immediately if he came up with any new ideas.

Afterwards, I sat among the clutter in the yard, behind the table where Third Uncle drank tea, leaned back in a chair, and made a phone call. I called Second Uncle and asked, "When was Third Uncle's house built?"

Second Uncle hesitated for a moment without answering, then suddenly asked me, "Where are you?"

I fudged a location, but Second Uncle still hesitated, clearly not fully believing me. His tone was strange, and listening to him I felt something was wrong, but I didn't want to delve into it now. I just pressed him. Second Uncle then told me, "The foundation of that house was laid in the 1970s. I don't know how many times it was rebuilt later. At first it was just a small one-story house, then as Lao San made more money, he gradually expanded it. The longest expansion was in 1988, and during that time he practically lived at my place."

After saying this, Second Uncle suddenly added, "Don't stir up trouble lately. Just stay put in Hangzhou." He hung up immediately.

Listening to him, I felt like Second Uncle was busy with something. After hanging up, I thought for a moment and then called my father.

I leaned there, smoking and chatting casually with my father. I wasn't trying to ask anything specific—just talking about trivial things. At the same time, I was thinking about small details that might help my reasoning.

It was rare in recent years for me to chat with my father so happily. He was caught off guard. Halfway through, he carefully hinted, "Xiao Xie, did you get dumped? If you're sad, tell your dad..."

I chuckled to myself, thinking my dad was pretty sensitive to pick up that something was on my mind. But I knew him too well—even if I told him everything, it wouldn't help.

From my chat with my father, I managed to pry out the whole story of how the Wu family moved from Changsha to Hangzhou. After hearing it, I realized it was like a TV series—especially the story of my grandfather, Huo Xiangu, and my grandmother. Against that historical backdrop, it was a really good film.

My grandfather made his name in Changsha. He became famous very young. He was the first grave robber to train dogs to sniff out tombs. A well-trained dog could scout tombs ten times faster than a person, and dogs could keenly sniff out various fire-oil traps, and even detect whether a corpse had turned into a zombie.

From the moment my grandfather trained his first dog, his wealth accumulated extremely quickly. Within a few years, he probably held several "firsts" in all of Changsha: first in the number of ancient tomb locations known, first in the number of unsold grave goods, and so on. Even Lord Zhang's men would come to my grandfather asking for locations.

At that time, the Huo, Qi, and Xie families were already somewhat famous, but the Huo family suffered from serious internal strife and was forced to gradually focus on business rather than going underground (going underground easily resulted in losses). The Qi family had always been good at business, neither hot nor cold. Master Xie Jiu had just returned from Japan. My grandfather's accumulation during those years even surpassed what the Qi family had built over generations.

When my grandfather talked about that period, he was quite proud and always said, "Technological innovation is productivity. Especially in a traditional trade like tomb raiding, even a little innovation can bring earth-shattering changes."

My grandfather truly had his glorious days in Changsha. He was young and legendary, yet completely without airs. He spent money like water, but was also approachable and kind. Naturally, he attracted countless friends and admirers. That's where his relationship with Old Madam Huo began. At the time, she was older than him, and she was utterly smitten.

Then came the big case in Changsha, when Jude Kao betrayed everyone. My grandfather lost all his wealth and hid in an ancient tomb for a while. Later he fled to Hangzhou. By then, Master Xie Jiu had already risen. Although he wasn't as wealthy as my grandfather, his family's foundation, wide connections, and business acumen made the Xie family the best at handling government-business relations among the Nine Gates. It was through Master Xie Jiu's protection that my grandfather met my grandmother.

At that time, at Master Xie Jiu's introduction, my grandfather first lived at my grandmother's house (my grandmother was a distant relative of the Xie family; she was in charge of looking after my grandfather). The soft, reserved Jiangnan girl was completely different from the rugged female grave robber of Hunan. My grandfather must have been two-timing. Without any explanation to Old Madam Huo, he was directly won over by my grandmother. Of course, my grandmother didn't know at the time either.

The whole country was in chaotic wartime; even letters couldn't get through. This matter just dragged on. About two years later, when Old Madam Huo came to Hangzhou, my grandfather had already married my grandmother, and my grandmother was pregnant with my father. Old Madam Huo didn't see my grandfather. She just politely sat in the room with my grandmother, chatted for an hour, and left.

From then on, they went their separate ways. They both knew the other existed and how they were doing, but they never saw each other again. No one ever knew what they talked about that day, only that the servants said they had a pleasant chat.

When my grandfather heard that, he must have been sweating buckets. Even I couldn't help sympathizing with him. About three years later, my grandfather finally pushed his business back into Changsha, and after that he basically split his time between the two places. Every time he went to Changsha, my grandmother accompanied him. My grandfather and Old Madam Huo never had a chance to rekindle. Another year later, Old Madam Huo married into Beijing. When my grandfather talked about it, he felt wistful. When she was around, she was frightening; when she left, it was melancholy.

My third uncle started in the business on his own around thirteen. He first worked the tombs in Changsha, then with some experience and money, he came to Hangzhou and acquired the current piece of land. At the time, there was no concept of buying; he got it through connections, built a house, and gradually shifted his focus to business. The place was expanded multiple times and got better.

My second uncle had always been an academic. About seven years ago, he opened a tea house, not to make money, but simply to have a place for him and his friends to gather. I've never seen my second uncle with a woman; he seems completely celibate. But maybe because my second uncle is extremely meticulous, no one knows about any of his affairs. My father left home very early, went to the border areas for geological survey work in the north, and didn't come back until the late 1970s.

After he came back, they got married and had me. My mother was a strong-willed woman, the daughter of a local official family in Hangzhou. For a while, she kept threatening to divorce my father, which almost drove me crazy.

The whole story of the Wu family in Hangzhou was now clear and straightforward. The question now was: how did the room under this building come about? Was it dug before the house was built, or during one of the expansions?

If Third Uncle himself didn't know about the secret room, then it must have been dug secretly. So it couldn't have been designed during the original construction; it was probably dug during one of the later reconstructions.

I studied architecture, so I knew that digging a basement wasn't a simple thing. I walked a few steps, pacing the distance, and soon realized it wasn't as complicated as I'd thought.

The exact location of this basement wasn't directly under Third Uncle's house, but under the wall that joined his house to the neighboring one.

I looked at the building next door—I had never paid attention to it before. The farmhouses here were densely packed. Every time I came to Third Uncle's, I'd go straight upstairs to look at goods and not stay long. I really had no idea who lived next door.

My mind was a mess. In a daze, I walked to the neighbor's front door and, as if possessed, knocked.

It was an iron door, the kind of sturdy security door common in farmhouses. After a few knocks, I noticed a scrap of paper on the door, mostly peeled off, that read "Room for Rent" with a phone number below.

No one came to open the door. I knocked for a long time with no response. I took out my phone and dialed the number.

The ringtone sounded three or four times, but no one answered.

I looked around and, seeing no one, found a spot, vaulted over the wall, and jumped in.

My own agility startled me—it seemed to be the result of two years of "going underground." After landing, I realized the house must be unoccupied; the yard was desolate, covered in fallen leaves. Just as I was wondering where all these leaves came from, I saw a few more drift down. Looking up, I noticed plants growing on the roof of the house. Untended for a long time, they had withered and died, and the leaves were falling from above.

I paced the yard, estimating that if someone wanted to dig a tunnel from here to Third Uncle's building, it was indeed feasible. But I needed to know when it was dug.

I walked toward the building's entrance, where there was another security door—a large copper-clad door. The owner had no taste; the brass door gleamed golden, looking quite imposing, which is why many nouveau riche country bosses liked such doors.

Though the door looked vulgar, its security was excellent. I figured even ordinary explosives wouldn't blast it open, and with six or seven bolts, prying it would be extremely difficult.

How to get in? I thought for a moment, noticing that the second floor was also heavily barred, all windows tightly sealed, as if specially fortified against burglars. Just as I was about to call someone for help, my phone suddenly rang. I saw it was the number I had just called calling me back.

I answered. A man's voice asked what I wanted. I said I wanted to rent the house. He replied, "The house has already been rented out for a long time."

I said, "Impossible—the house has never been occupied." He said, "It was rented out nineteen years ago. The note probably was never torn down. For nineteen years, the rent has been paid on time every year, so I've never bothered about it from out of town."

Nineteen years ago? I was taken aback. I looked at the house's layout; it certainly wouldn't have looked like this nineteen years ago. It must have been renovated. So I asked him if the house had undergone any renovations in those nineteen years.

He said he didn't know and couldn't manage it anyway, since the rent increased by a set percentage every year. Then he asked, "Is something wrong?" I said, "Nothing much, I just wanted to rent the house." Then, on a whim, I asked, "Can you give me that person's contact info? I want to sublet from him—rent two rooms for myself."

He was quite warm-hearted and said to hold on. Soon he gave me the number, adding that he hadn't been in touch for a long time. If there were any problems, I could call him again.

I felt a warmth in my heart, thinking that there was still kindness in the world. So I dialed the number he gave me. After a few rings with no answer, I lowered the phone to check if I had misdialed. Suddenly, I saw a name pop up on my phone screen—this number was actually in my contact list! Seeing that name, I immediately hung up, thinking, Damn it, no way.