Leyenda del pueblo de Baima

Capítulo 4

"So, what about now?"

Zhao Yue remained silent.

I was somewhat touched. I knew that although Zhao Yue had put "Na Duo's Diary: A Lost Night" in that cabinet, he had probably been worried all along. When he saw me today, he couldn't help but ask, and only when he saw that I was alright did he feel relieved. In today's society, to have such concern is already quite remarkable.

"Actually, I've always felt that this matter is not simple, and that I might very well have some involvement. But so far, I haven't had a single clue, so I've just had to play dumb and wait for things to come my way. Now that you mention it, things seem even more unusual. Do you know how to contact the person who delivered the letter to you?" It was one thing to have no clues, but now that I have some, it would be unreasonable not to investigate. Besides, given my curiosity, I really want to know what this mysterious person, whose identity even the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China wouldn't reveal, is up to.

“I only know that person is a laid-off worker from the No. 3 Cotton Mill, but if we really want to investigate, we should be able to find out…” Zhao Yue paused, as if making a decision: “To be honest, ever since I took that million and secretly put the black notebook in the cabinet after browsing the Morning Star newspaper, I haven’t felt at ease, and I can’t even sleep soundly. Seeing you today, I suddenly had an idea: I might as well try to find out the truth about this matter, at least I’ve made an effort. So, if you trust me, I’ll help you investigate the origin of this letter and this notebook.”

Seeing my hesitation, Zhao Yue added, "Actually, I'm helping myself. I need to get rid of this worry in my heart."

I finally nodded, because some knots in my heart must be untied by myself. But I added to him, "If you find anything that you feel is 'untouchable,' then don't touch it, and tell me as soon as you make any progress."

Zhao Yue nodded.

Back at the newspaper office, I typed the press release into the computer while simultaneously trying to recall and process the "Na Duo's Notes" incident. Distracted, the manuscript I sent to the editor had several typos pointed out, and I received a perfunctory remark, which I ignored.

The information I obtained from Zhao Yue indicated that the mastermind behind this not only couldn't directly contact me, but also might not have been very familiar with me. He only knew I might be connected to the Morning Star, but wasn't certain, and hadn't told Zhao Yue about my long-term internship there. Otherwise, he would have definitely shared this information with Zhao Yue to facilitate finding me. Therefore, he likely chose Zhao Yue as the "middleman" because of Zhao Yue's active presence in Shanghai's media circles and his extensive network; he knew a large number of reporters at almost every newspaper in Shanghai.

Since you don't know me well, why are you so determined to give me this book, even if it costs you a million?

My fingers tapped rhythmically on the computer desk. What was that crucial point?

It's the content!

There may be their own reasons for not contacting me, but spending a million shows how important and urgent the message to be conveyed is. As for using my name to name the title, the protagonist, and to sign it, there is only one purpose—to make me take this "Na Duo's Notebook: The Lost Night" seriously and not treat it as an ordinary science fiction story!

Based on this analysis, all the criticism points to the content of this journal entry.

If this isn't science fiction, then what is it, and is it real?

My mind raced along this line of thought. If it were true, the main events described in this journal hadn't yet occurred by the time I received it. Therefore, this was a prophecy. What this journal was trying to tell me was the secret of the gilded pagoda, and also, Feng Lide… no… Mr. Xu.

The breakthrough should lie with Xu Xian.

I might as well just ask Mr. Xu directly. At worst, I'll be seen as a gossip reporter; there are plenty of colleagues like that these days.

Having made up my mind, I started rummaging through my thick box of business cards. Of course, I wasn't looking for Xu Xian's card; I'd never dealt with him. I was looking for Xu Haibin, a reporter covering archaeology at the Shanghai Morning Post. He shares the same surname as Xu Xian and has been covering archaeology for seven or eight years, making him one of the most senior archaeology reporters in Shanghai's media circle. He should have Xu Xian's contact information. You see, our Morning Post's history is much shorter than Xu Haibin's archaeology history, and our archaeology reporters only cover archaeology within Shanghai. We don't really care about archaeology nationwide; we either reprint it or, for particularly significant events, we have to call in a mobile reporter like myself.

When I got through to Xu Haibin's cell phone, I thought that if he didn't have Xu Xian's phone number either, he would have to call the Beijing Examination Association and ask around, no matter how troublesome it was, to find Xu Xian.

"Oh, so many? What's up?"

"I need your help with something small."

“We’re brothers, what’s with all this talk about helping each other? Just say it.” Xu Haibin has traveled all over the country, going up mountains and down to the countryside, and speaks like a江湖人 (jianghu person, a person of the martial arts world), making people feel very comfortable and straightforward.

Do you have Xu Xian's phone number?

Unexpectedly, Xu Haibin's tone was somewhat hesitant: "Mr. Xu... are you also asking him for an interview?"

"An interview?" I didn't quite understand.

"Hey, didn't you want to interview Xu Xian about his announcement of retiring from archaeology? His letter arrived at the Archaeological Association yesterday, and he also posted it online. I'm trying to find him, but he's no longer in China. The letter came from the United States, and Chinese phones and mobile phones are no longer working."

"ah……"

After hanging up the phone, I was still filled with doubt and uncertainty. I went to the "Gate of the Ancients" website and sure enough, I saw a brief statement from Mr. Xu on the homepage, saying that he was not feeling well and wanted to take a complete rest, so he decided to withdraw from the archaeological field and no longer preside over or participate in any archaeological or related projects.

Xu Xian's trail went cold, and even Xu Haibin couldn't be found. What else could I do? Many netizens left messages for Xu Xian online, but none of them responded.

The fact that Na Duo's journal entry was confirmed in this way sent a chill down my spine.

I rubbed my temples hard. The gilded pagoda, the last guidance left in Na Duo's notes!

Go online and search!

Half an hour later, I confirmed that the gilded pagoda was currently on display at the Palace Museum in Beijing. I immediately booked a flight to Beijing for tomorrow through Ctrip. Tomorrow is Saturday; I'll go in the morning and return in the evening, so I don't need to call my workplace to ask for leave. As long as there aren't any urgent interview assignments, nothing should go wrong.

The next day, I stood there blankly in the Palace Museum for the entire afternoon. People came and went around me, and many tourists cast slightly surprised glances at me. After all, the Palace Museum is so big, and there are many treasures that are more interesting to see than this Gilded Pagoda. Yet, I stood in front of the Gilded Pagoda for more than five hours without stopping.

That evening, dragging my aching legs, I flew back to Shanghai in dejection. I stared at the gilded pagoda for so long, and even when I closed my eyes, all I could see was the image of that glittering little golden tower, but nothing happened.

Two weeks later, Zhao Yue came to me with a list. The large sheet of paper unfolded into a chart. Arrows connected the names, and below each name were the date and the person's identity. I counted; the chain had nine links. After the last link of names, there was another arrow pointing to that person, but the line after that arrow was blank.

Zhao Yue's face had noticeably thinned; drawing this table had clearly taken a lot of effort. He began to explain the table to me.

Despite my surprise, I had a general idea of the meaning of the table before Zhao Yue even spoke. At the very front of the list was me, Na Duo; next was Zhao Yue; then came the laid-off worker from the Third Cotton Mill, named Lü Xuenong. The next six people had various backgrounds: two were laid-off workers, one was a foreign trade company employee, one was a customs officer, one was a hospital caregiver, and the last one was an insurance representative from AIA named Yao Shu.

"In this form, everyone except you and me received four items. The first was a black notebook filled with notes; the second was several sealed envelopes with names and addresses written on them; the third was a letter addressed to him, instructing him to deliver these letters and the black notebook to a stranger—one of the people whose names were on those letters; and the fourth was money, already deposited into that person's bank account. When it reached me, there were only three items—the letter to me and no other letters to pass on. You, however, only received the black notebook. Although not everyone was willing to disclose how much they received, the amounts clearly varied, and it's certain that the sums were enough to tempt that person. These people have different incomes and are of varying wealth, but they share one thing in common: they are all relatively honest and trustworthy, and cautious in their dealings. In other words, the mastermind behind this whole affair doesn't care how much money is spent, but rather about ensuring the smooth running of the entire process."

The more I listened, the more alarmed I became. This indicated that the mastermind behind the scenes had thoroughly investigated everyone on this list. Such intelligence capabilities were far beyond the reach of ordinary people or organizations. I examined the list closely. Starting with the foreign trade company employee, the information was no longer from Shanghai but from Dalian. Zhao Yue said that this young man named Li Lian frequently traveled between Shanghai and Dalian for business. By the time it reached Yao Shu, the information had shifted to Tianjin. He was from Dalian and returned to Dalian once or twice a month. The date listed under each person's name was the date they received the letter. Except for the letter to Zhao Yue, each letter clearly stated the delivery timeframe. The longest deadline was given to Yao Shu and Li Lian, as they were being sent to other locations, so they were given five days. The others were given only two days. Therefore, it only took 17 days from Yao Shu to Zhao Yue.

"What about Yao Shu's previous work?" I asked, then immediately regretted it. Zhao Yue's ability to find out to this extent in such a short time is already a very good achievement. How could I ask for so much?

"I'm sorry, thank you very much. Please leave the rest of the work to me," I said, changing my mind.

Zhao Yue said with a wry smile, "There's no previous record; we can't find any information about the previous ones."

"Can't find it?"

“Yao Shu said that the person who gave him the letter was an accountant from a clothing company named Shi Lei. I found Shi Lei, but he denied it. The important thing is that on this day,” Zhao Yue pointed to the date under Yao Shu’s name, 8 p.m. on May 18, 2001. Only this date was accurate to the hour: “That night, Shi Lei worked overtime at the company until 10 p.m. with three colleagues. Shi Lei had a solid alibi, but when I showed Yao Shu Shi Lei’s photo, Yao Shu and his five-year-old daughter insisted that it was him, and that it was just after 8 p.m..”

My face twitched slightly: "Then, could it be Shi Lei's...?"

“No, Shi Lei is an only child, he has no brothers.” Zhao Yue had obviously guessed what I was going to ask.

"Furthermore, I inquired and found that the bank cards into which the money was deposited were distributed among four banks: Industrial and Commercial Bank of China, China Construction Bank, Agricultural Bank of China, and Shanghai Pudong Development Bank."

Good heavens, what on earth did I encounter?!

After that, I waited. Since this matter was so complex and bizarre, and ultimately pointed to me, it was as if a huge net had already ensnared me, and I seemed powerless to do anything about it. I waited, waiting for the net to close.

But, surprisingly, nothing happened.

In the days that followed, I became increasingly observant of my surroundings. My skeptical attitude led me to encounter more and more strange events, and I wrote one entry after another in the "Na Duo's Journal." Sometimes, I tried to connect the strange events I encountered with this incident, but all my efforts were in vain. This "Lost Night" journal incident, which only had a beginning and no end, had absolutely no connection to the "murderous man" and "Iron Bull's return" events that I later encountered.

I'm reminded of a story: There was an old man who had a bad habit every night before bed: when he took off his shoes, he would swing them high into the air before slamming them heavily onto the floor. One day, his downstairs neighbor came over to complain, saying that this every night was seriously affecting his sleep. The next night, the old man, unable to break his habit, swung his left shoe off, but then suddenly remembered his neighbor's words and quickly and gently put the other shoe down. The next day, the neighbor came to him with red eyes, saying that he had been waiting all night for the other shoe to fall to the floor, but it never did, and he hadn't dared to sleep all night.

I'm like that neighbor, always waiting for the other shoe to fall off.

until……

Third, the second entry in my journal: In August 2003, my father called me and asked me to visit the old house sometime. It was the second floor of an old-style Shikumen building on Kowloon Road, nestled in a maze of winding, interconnected alleyways typical of Shanghai, a place steeped in early 20th-century Shanghai. Those weathered old houses, some over a hundred years old, might soon be demolished. It bordered the Huangpu River, in the so-called "North Bund" area. The Shanghai municipal government had a massive North Bund redevelopment plan, extending the Bund—Shanghai's original landmark—northward and comprehensively transforming the area. The houses there were being demolished without warning.

Before I was 13, my parents and I lived there. Later, our housing conditions improved, and we moved to a new house. After I started working, I rented out my own place. The old house and the old furniture that held my childhood memories gradually faded from my life, covered in thick dust. Now, my task is to thoroughly renovate the old house, moving everything of value that I can carry, except for the furniture, to my parents' place.

I wandered around the newspaper office for a bit, making sure there was nothing to do, then skipped work in the afternoon and went to my old house. The Morning Star newspaper office is right on the Bund, so I didn't call a taxi and just walked along the Bund, enjoying some rare leisure time.

Half an hour later, I went up the wooden stairs of the old house. The neighbors downstairs had changed twice. We didn't know each other well and just nodded to each other.

The lock on the door wouldn't open. It was difficult to insert the key, and then it wouldn't budge no matter how I turned it. I punched the wooden door hard, but then I suddenly remembered that the old house had been robbed a few months ago, and the lock had been changed. When my mother gave me the key, I threw it into my bag without changing the old key off the keychain.

I rummaged through my bag for ages, almost emptying everything, before finally finding the brass key.

The door creaked open, letting in a cloud of dust. No one had lived here for so many years. I covered my nose and quickly opened the window. The furnishings inside gradually overlapped with my memories. The thief's visit a few months ago didn't seem to have caused much damage; perhaps there wasn't much to take, so they just glanced around and left. Even when my father spoke to the police, he couldn't recall a single stolen item. So, even if something was taken, he wouldn't remember. Most absurdly, the thief didn't even bother with basic rummaging. Probably the dust had suffocated him.

I opened each drawer one by one, and there were those old objects: rolling pin, scale, Chairman Mao's quotations, and three jin of grain coupons—they had sentimental value but little practical value.

After tidying up for over two hours, I'd only checked a small part of the area. Sitting on the palm-fiber bed, my back ached terribly. I wiped the sweat from my brow and decided to rest. Suddenly, I remembered something, peered under the bed, and pulled out a wooden box. If I remembered correctly, it was full of my things.

Before opening the box, I started to recall what might be inside: a diary? A composition book? A report card? Or toys?

I really didn't expect to see this again; to be honest, my heart skipped a beat.

A box full of odds and ends, with a black hard-covered notebook on top.

Perhaps I used a notebook like this when I was a child, but at this moment, only four words come to mind: "So many notebooks."

I stared at this notebook for a long time. It was about 80% new, and it looked a lot like the one with the title "Na Duo's Notebook: A Lost Night." Moreover, there was very little dust on it.

I turned my head and looked around to make sure I was all alone. I felt a little more at ease, reached for the notebook, and opened it.

The first page, the first line, reads "Na Duo's Notebook: The Covered Boat".

This is the second entry, not a personal diary entry by me, but it's still signed "Na Duo".

Since I've already copied the entire first entry into this "Na Duo's Journal of Chinese New Year," I'll naturally do the same for this second entry. Similarly, this entry is quite readable.

A beautiful bronze vessel containing liquid was recently unearthed in the Three Gorges Reservoir area, according to a Xinhua News Agency report from Chongqing on September 7. Archaeologists believe the vessel may have contained wine brewed by local indigenous people two thousand years ago.

September 8, 2001, Youth Daily

The comprehensive cleanup of waterways in the Huamu area has eliminated garbage pollution, leaving only trash and no water. Unregistered and unlicensed boats had been lingering there for a long time, finally curing a long-standing "hidden problem" in the beautiful Huamu area. After less than a month of large-scale intensive cleanup, 11 key polluted waterways, including Xiantangbang, Huangjiabang, and Longgoushao, have been thoroughly cleaned, removing 7,866 tons of garbage, eliminating unregistered and unlicensed boats, and salvaging 43 sunken vessels. Local residents are all applauding the achievement.

During the cleanup operation, it was discovered that the "three-no" vessels (vessels without registration, license, or crew) that had long been lingering on the waterways, which were previously filled with garbage and devoid of water, had lost their navigation function and become settlements for migrant workers. Among them were also scrap recycling points and a former military doctor's medicine warehouse, which not only seriously polluted the aquatic environment but also posed a major threat to local public security. Two "heavy blows" were launched by the Waterway Management Bureau, Huamu Town, together with the Public Security Water Police, Urban Management Enforcement Brigade and other relevant departments, leaving no "blind spots" and effectively improving the living environment of the surrounding residents.

June 9, 2001, Xinmin Evening News

These two news items are completely unrelated in terms of both timing and content. Comparing their contents, most people would likely be more interested in the ancient wine.

What would it taste like to drink a bottle of wine made by local indigenous people using secret methods and aged for thousands of years? What would happen after drinking it? And even if you're tempted by such wine, would anyone actually be able to drink it?

Yes, that person was me. To be honest, I almost drank it. That's hard to understand, but in the bizarre incident I want to talk about, this bottle of wine isn't the main character. So, I want to start with the second news item and explain the cause and effect of the matter.

The "Huamu" area mentioned in this report refers to a large area in Pudong, Shanghai, near Lujiazui. This area will become the administrative and cultural center of Pudong in the future. The Pudong New Area government building and Century Park, Shanghai's largest park, are located there. The Science and Technology Museum, located next to Century Park, is the main venue for the APEC Shanghai meeting.

Holding the APEC meeting in Shanghai is a prestigious event, and holding it in Pudong would also bring honor to Pudong. Therefore, it's only natural to clean the meeting venue thoroughly and present a splendid image to welcome foreign guests. The action taken in Huamu District stemmed from this idea.

However, most of the strange events in this world are initially triggered by very ordinary and normal things.

I accompanied the team on that mission, and the article I wrote back then was much longer and more vivid than the short piece in the Xinmin Evening News. That's the difference between being there and not being there. Several months have passed since then, and the reason I'm only now writing down the secrets behind this event in my notes is because I've only just learned about the secrets that happened months ago.

This was definitely not something I realized too late; if it weren't for a coincidence... I might have been kept in the dark forever, forever.

I will now write down the whole thing in chronological order. It started out very uneventfully, and there may have been some puzzling details, but as someone involved, it would have been impossible to discover them at the time or in a very short time afterward.

Around noon that day, I arrived at a small bridge in Huamu. Under the bridge was Bailianjing, one of the hundreds of small rivers in Pudong.

The patrol boat is ready; if I arrive any later, it will just leave without me.

I jumped onto the patrol boat, gave a brief greeting to the people on board (I didn't really know any of them), and then the boat started moving.

Standing next to me was a member of the Pudong Urban Management Enforcement Brigade's Waterborne Division. He was impeccably dressed and quite young. He seemed very curious about the journalism profession, as he came over to talk to me and even called me "Teacher Na," which made me feel very comfortable.

His surname was Zhang, and from him I learned some background information about this operation.

We need to go back half a century. At that time, China's steel industry was still underdeveloped, and there wasn't enough steel to build ships. Shanghai, especially Pudong, was crisscrossed by waterways, making shipping an essential mode of transportation. Thus, cement ships came into being.

Although these cement-built boats had many shortcomings, such as poor flexibility and sturdiness, they were acceptable for that era as long as they could float. At that time, it was conservatively estimated that there were 5,000 to 6,000 cement boats in the various communes of Pudong.

Half a century later, none of these cement boats could move on the water on their own anymore, nor had any left Pudong. They had either sunk in the river during storms or lost power and drifted aimlessly on the water. Over time, many people who had nowhere else to go on land for various reasons made these boats their home.

The purpose of this joint operation is to drive these people off the ship and then completely destroy it.

What followed was quite a spectacle, in the eyes of a typical news reporter. The patrol boat spotted the target, boarded, and, knowing full well the answers, asked the people on board for their vehicle registration and other documentation. The answer, of course, was no, and then they began to herd them away. Some obediently went ashore, some refused to leave, and others jumped into the water shouting in protest—a diverse array of reactions.

When they found the fourth boat, they discovered a family living on it who spoke with a Jiangsu accent and appeared to be scrap metal dealers. The man on board started making a scene, and a crowd quickly gathered on the riverbank to watch.