Chapter 501: Grandfather's Past

The name that popped up on my phone had not appeared on it for a very long time. In that instant when I saw it, I thought, no matter whose name jumped out on my phone, I wouldn't be surprised. But this person in particular—I was extremely surprised.

Actually, it wasn't a name, but a title.

"Grandpa"! The name displayed on the phone was the number my grandpa used before he passed away. After he was buried, no one had ever called it. Unexpectedly, it hadn't been disconnected.

I paced back and forth in the yard, thinking to myself, damn it, it seems I'm really getting close to the core. My direction is right, but I still can't figure out what these people are actually doing. I thought for a moment, then dialed the number again and put the phone to my ear. I didn't know what I'd hear, but I was actually quite looking forward to it. Whatever sound it was, I was very eager. "Sorry, the number you dialed cannot be connected."

I put down the phone. Grandpa's phone must have run out of battery. Maybe there was still some credit left in it, because in his last days, Wu Laogou had been quite well-off. My third uncle used to top up Grandpa's phone card, probably with enough credit for several years, so it hadn't been disconnected. But that phone—no one had charged it.

My grandma wasn't the type to be burdened by emotions; she lived very wisely and wasn't too saddened by Grandpa's death. I didn't want to disturb her now.

This house was rented by Grandpa, and the lease had been for nineteen years.

I no longer wanted to dwell on the possibilities. I dialed the landlord's number again and told him that I had contacted the sub-landlord and would transfer five hundred yuan every month to both the sub-landlord's and the landlord's accounts. The sub-landlord told me to ask the landlord to print out a previous payment record and give it to the agent.

The landlord was very helpful, probably knowing he could get an extra five hundred yuan every month. He quickly printed out his account statement and gave it to me. I lit a cigarette. I climbed over the wall, and while telling my men to find a few people who knew how to pick locks, I also contacted a friend at the bank to inquire about the payer for this account.

At first my friend hesitated on the phone, but I said I would give him a little kickback and told him I only needed the payer's account number, so he agreed. Soon the account number was sent over. I entered it into an ATM, and quickly the name corresponding to that account appeared.

I stared at the ATM for a long time.

It was my grandpa's name.

Maybe Grandpa had set up automatic payment.

I returned to the street and almost got hit by a truck while crossing the crosswalk. I couldn't care about that; I went into a café in a daze, found a seat, and realized I could no longer think.

What was going on? Could it be that Grandpa had dug that basement? Grandpa had rented the adjacent house, dug a basement, and was spying on his own son?

Grandpa wasn't that twisted, was he? In my memory, Grandpa had basically withdrawn from the world, living in his own world and memories. In his later years, his heart held only a cup of tea, a few dogs, and an old woman holding his hand as they strolled along the West Lake.

But nineteen years—that number came to mind. What was Grandpa like nineteen years ago? Many fragmented pieces of information flashed through my mind. I thought of some ambiguous words Second Uncle had said to me, hinting that they weren't unaware that Third Uncle was a fake.

Nineteen years ago, that seemed to be exactly when the fake Third Uncle returned from Xisha to Hangzhou. After he came back, Second Uncle and my grandpa quickly discovered something was wrong. But they didn't know what had happened.

At that time, everyone was still quite taboo about "It." Especially Grandpa—he must have thought it was related. To avoid alerting the enemy, Grandpa dug this cellar here to spy on the fake Third Uncle.

Possible. Very possible.

Then why was there someone living in the cellar all year round? Could it be that Grandpa and the others had recruited someone to monitor Third Uncle, and this person had been living in the cellar all these years, still on duty? Damn, that would be the shittiest job in the world—working in a sewer, with no holidays. If this secret room was built nineteen years ago, then that person had been there in the dark for nineteen years, worse than laboring in a small coal mine.

Moreover, there was another question that couldn't be logically resolved. Nineteen years—with Grandpa and Second Uncle's capabilities, after nineteen years of surveillance, hadn't anything changed? In nineteen years, you could change an entire dynasty. Why were they still watching now? Or perhaps Grandpa and Second Uncle should have quickly discovered the root of the problem. From the hints Second Uncle gave me, that implication was there too: they knew that Third Uncle was Xie Lianhuan. So why didn't they take any measures?

Could it be that in all this surveillance, they'd grown attached? Or did Second Uncle and Grandpa have their own plan? And what plan would that be?

I thought it over and over but couldn't figure it out; I was about to break down. I realized that no matter how difficult or shrewd Second Uncle was, I had to lay my cards on the table. I really had to know what they were thinking.

Back at Third Uncle's place, I lay on the sofa aimlessly pondering. In my past understanding, scheming against Second Uncle was basically asking for death. Second Uncle could see through a setup without needing the intermediate steps; he just looked at your expression and general story and immediately knew what tricks you were pulling behind his back. Moreover, his favorite move was to go along with your setup. Once when we went to our hometown, Third Uncle set a trap to embezzle an ancestral heirloom. Second Uncle pretended to fall into it, but actually arranged everything along the way, breaking the setup with his own counter-setup, using Third Uncle's trap to break an even bigger trap set by another clan member. Just when Third Uncle thought he had finally won, Second Uncle snatched away all the fruits of victory with a few words.

I wondered if Second Uncle would tell me everything. What were the prerequisites for him to tell me? I really couldn't think of any. Second Uncle was impervious to both soft and hard tactics. The only possibility for me to force his hand was to threaten my own life.

But Second Uncle was a very shrewd man. He knew I was the type who would absolutely never risk my life. I thought he'd most likely just sit there drinking tea, completely ignoring me. I couldn't really go and kill myself.

I had to create a situation where he understood that if he didn't tell me, I would really die. In other words, I had to do something so extreme that even I couldn't control it.

Should I fake a kidnapping? I thought to myself. If I cut off one of my fingers and sent it to Second Uncle, would he give in? I thought he would. But I didn't think he'd give in immediately. One finger definitely wouldn't be enough; Second Uncle's nerves could hold out for at least three.

I went to the kitchen, looked at my left hand, picked up a cleaver, selected three fingers that seemed not very useful, and mimed the cut. Suddenly I felt life was especially beautiful—why would I do this to myself?

Would Second Uncle come to me personally and tell me voluntarily? If he had dug that hole, then once the person below escaped, Second Uncle would know immediately. Would he activate some emergency measure? Would a guided missile fly over and blow me to pieces? A long time had passed; nothing had happened since I came back. Damn strange. If there were no emergency measures, what was the point of such surveillance? I felt that all directions seemed to make sense in this matter, but I lacked a key—the only key. In the past, I was too far from the truth, only seeing many straight-line clues that contradicted each other. But this time I was too close to the truth, so I saw countless possibilities. In comparison, between absolute impossibility and countless possibilities, I now found the former more merciful.

Scheming against Second Uncle.

I picked up the cleaver again and pressed my hand on the chopping board. It seemed like this was my only way; though a little stupid, I seemed to have no other options left.

A feeling of desperation and eeriness surged from the bottom of my heart. At that moment I realized I was going crazy; my inner demon had reached an uncontrollable level.

"Save me!" I muttered to myself. Just as I was about to slash down with the knife, at that instant, the phone I had placed aside suddenly rang.

I was startled, and in an instant all my aggression dissipated. I felt nearly collapsing. I picked up the phone, hesitated, saw it was an unfamiliar number, answered and asked who it was. The other party said, "Put down the knife and look out the window."

As soon as I heard the voice, I realized it was the person I had heard in the cellar. I immediately looked out the window and saw a flashlight flickering in a farmhouse in the distance.

As I was wondering, I heard the person on the phone sigh: "I left the flashlight here. The things you want to know, I left next to the flashlight. After you read them, you'll know what to do."