Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen: Don

Jiangcun Community.

Before reaching the gate, the crackling sound of firecrackers had already reached his ears.

Ningtai County is a small county; although you can ride an electric bike from the city center to the foot of Mount Sining, once you cross Taihe River, you’re in the countryside, and all urban restrictions no longer apply.

The promotional slogan at the community entrance was still “Straw Returning to Fields, Soil Enrichment,” and nearby green spaces had been turned into vegetable plots; from a more humane perspective, everyone still tried their best to maintain their original way of life.

In the first few years after demolition, old men still drove their sons’ newly bought Land Cruisers to farm, then came back cursing Japanese cars as useless. In recent years, more land had been taken, people’s attitudes had gradually calmed down, and their cars had shifted from Land Cruisers to Cayennes to Europes, slowly blending into the mainstream.

“Yuanzi’s back.” Outside the small shop at the community entrance, a dozen idle people were chatting; these were villagers too lazy even for mahjong, and when they spotted Jiang Yuan from afar, they shouted: “Who did you dissect today? Where did someone die?”

Jiang Yuan slowed his vehicle and replied politely: “No dissection today.”

“Then what do you do all day?”

“No dissection means nothing to do—do whatever you want.” Fingerprint work was something Jiang Yuan volunteered for; it didn’t count as forensic work.

The idle men and aunts outside the shop praised him: “That’s why everyone says civil servants are good. Look at people working for state units—they get paid without doing anything all day. How can regular workers compare? Like the tenants in my front building—a bunch of young people who only come home after dark; some young couples leave early and return late, their faces black with exhaustion.”

“The young people renting my place are the same—some ride bicycles slower than I do.”

“Exactly. You’ve got to be an official. Look at those guys from the demolition office—acting like they’re royalty. Last time they tore down the east end, my tree was clearly ten centimeters, but they insisted it was nine, shortchanging me big time!”

“My son just won’t study. I had no choice—I got him a temporary bank job. At first, two boxes of deposits weren’t enough; they kept asking him to deposit money every few days, calling it some kind of deposit service. He’d deposit 500,000, 800,000 at a time. Our house is stuffed with oil the bank gave as gifts—we can’t even use it all. By the way, if any of you guys want to blow something up, come to my place for oil.”

“No need, no need—it’s the same everywhere, oil’s everywhere.”

Listening to these familiar yet strange conversations, Jiang Yuan felt as if he’d returned to the village. He’d lived on campus since middle school, and by the time he graduated university, he’d missed the entire period when Jiangcun villagers escaped poverty, then became rich, then ultra-rich.

He smiled politely, slowly passed the shop, crossed the square occupied by another group of aunts, and the express delivery point manned by middle-aged and young people, then arrived beneath his own building.

Across from his home, in the public hall, a lively yet orderly funeral ceremony was underway.

A bald monk, a long-haired Taoist priest, and a short-haired priest each occupied a corner, displaying their respective powers. Jiangcun Community had been wealthy for over a decade, and with so many devout believers, it had long been a contested stronghold for all factions—even if Uncle Seventeen died violently and needed extra toll fees, if a village cat died, someone would still organize a Water and Land Dharma Assembly.

Jiang Yuan’s father, Jiangfuzhen, was, as usual, helping in the kitchen; his braised beef and lamb were the best in the village. Once you established such a reputation in the village, you were inevitably called upon for every wedding, funeral, or celebration.

Jiang Yuan was accustomed to these events; he parked his electric bike, washed his hands and face nearby, then went willingly to the kitchen to help.

He was always in charge of slicing potato threads and carrot threads.

“Busy today?” Jiangfuzhen skimmed the blood foam off the beef and asked.

Jiang Yuan had just put down the knife and shaken his hands. “Not busy. Did some other things.”

“Didn’t cut up a corpse today?” Jiangfuzhen asked again. Aunt Hua glanced over.

“No cut. In all the time I’ve been at the unit, I’ve only seen one corpse.” Jiang Yuan gave a detailed explanation.

Aunt Hua patted her chest, relieved, then changed her expression awkwardly and wailed loudly: “Uncle Seventeen… waaah… just thinking of Uncle Seventeen makes my heart ache—how long had good days lasted, sigh…”

Jiang Yuan calmly waited for her to finish crying, then asked his father: “Since Uncle Seventeen and Aunt Seventeen are gone, who’s organizing the banquet?”

“Your fifth uncle’s in charge. The condolence money covered expenses—it’s for Uncle Seventeen’s kid’s schooling, that’s Jiang Le—you remember him, right?” Jiangfuzhen said, stirring the beef pot.

Aunt Hua added: “Yuan, remember to go out and take photos later. All the younger generation went off to study; some haven’t been seen in a year. When you get the chance, take lots of photos, look around—just get familiar with faces.”

Jiang Yuan nodded. When he finished slicing the vegetables, someone called out: “Photos now!”

Jiang Yuan stepped out of the kitchen and saw over a dozen young people energetically posing under a tree.

The hired photographer specifically reminded them: “Let’s move a bit to the right—left side risks capturing the monk.”

“Just Photoshop him out if he shows up,” a girl said, striking a pose.

The photographer replied gently: “Monks’ bald heads reflect light easily. We can Photoshop out the baldness later, but the glare makes faces look bigger.”

The girl quickly stepped out of the shade, spotted Jiang Yuan, and waved urgently: “Sixth cousin, come stand in the middle! Just off work?”

“Yes.” Jiang Yuan walked over.

“Let me and cousin take one first,” said Cousin Jia, holding up a peace sign in front of her face and pulling Jiang Yuan along: “Do it together.”

“Turn your hand over,” Jiang Yuan made a peace sign but turned his nails toward the camera, explaining: “Fingerprints can be extracted from photos—so this gesture is risky.”

Cousin Jia obediently flipped her fingers over, then bragged to a few non-Jiang classmates who came over: “My brother’s a forensic pathologist. He dissected Uncle Seventeen.”

“Forensic pathologist… wow, they’re actually kind of hot,” the non-Jiang classmates gathered together, giggling.

A girl taking a selfie with a peace sign stopped, looked at Jiang Yuan, and boldly said: “Forensic brother, check out my photo. You just said fingerprints can be extracted—but even if they are, they can’t be used, right?”

“Generally speaking, yes—but fingerprints last a lifetime. Maybe…” Jiang Yuan decided to make it sound more serious: “They could use your fingerprint to unlock your phone.”

The girl’s mind snapped into it—she turned pale with alarm and hurriedly said: “I’ve posted so many photos to my Moments!”

“Photos with filters are fine,” Jiang Yuan easily reassured her.

…