Chapter 92 — The Tracker “Jing’er, actually, you still have an uncle.”
Bai Mingyu had taken the train for a whole day and night before finally returning home.
Everyone in the household knew he’d gone out to see someone off — and that it was a long, thousand-mile journey.
At first, Bai Mingyu had been a little embarrassed about it, but since he had a thick skin, after a few days he stopped caring and even went to boast to Xie Jing, saying with a bit of pride, “Little Xie, tell me, do you think everyone knows about me and ‘Aunt’ now?”
Xie Jing didn’t get it. “What about you and Hongqi?”
Bai Mingyu flushed. “Well… about us.”
Xie Jing said nothing.
Lately, all he’d been hearing were rumors about the “foolish Second Young Master.” As for the guest Bai Mingyu had seen off, no one paid much attention — they were far more fascinated by the story of the Bai family’s second young master personally escorting someone across a thousand miles. No one had ever seen such passionate hospitality before.
Bai Mingyu was blissfully unaware, convinced that everyone already approved of and blessed his and Bai Hongqi’s relationship. His face glowed with pride.
After Xie Jing was dragged along by him for a while, his patience ran out. He found an excuse: “Second Young Master, I’ll have to go out later with Lord Bai Jiu — a bit busy today. He’ll probably send someone looking for me soon.”
But to Bai Mingyu’s ears, that sounded different. “You just can’t stop mentioning Lord Bai Jiu for one moment, can you?”
Xie Jing: “…?”
Bai Mingyu’s expression turned serious. “I don’t know if you believe in gods or not, but every time you talk about him, I can’t help but think of how you always find excuses to touch his hand in the study. You get too close. Just thinking about it makes me uncomfortable.”
Though he loved to boast, Bai Mingyu didn’t like hearing anything about Xie Jing and Lord Bai Jiu together. In his mind, Lord Bai Jiu was like a celestial being — noble and untouchable. Hearing Xie Jing associated with him felt blasphemous.
Xie Jing raised his eyes and couldn’t help feeling that Bai Mingyu’s words sounded oddly familiar.
—
That afternoon, in the East Courtyard study.
Lord Bai Jiu had been preparing for his trip to Shanghai. He was dealing with affairs from the northern territories — there were many matters to settle and people to meet before his departure.
Everyone in the East Courtyard was busy packing. Steward Sun Fu bustled around the courtyard, directing servants to pack up the daily-use items, unlocking storerooms to take out antiques and artworks, all of which were carefully packed into crates.
Xie Jing accompanied him to the private treasury — five hidden chambers in a row. There were no electric lights, but even by candlelight, the golden brilliance dazzled the eyes. On the walls hung a ten-meter-long gold-thread embroidery scroll depicting roaring rivers that seemed almost alive. Shelves were filled with jade and gemstones, and in the lowest chests lay dusty jewels that shimmered into life at the touch of light. Near the wall were stacked over twenty massive wooden chests with silver-plated corners — the top one open, revealing neat stacks of silver.
Xie Jing held a lantern and followed Steward Sun inside.
The steward glanced at him in confusion. Xie Jing snapped out of his daze and quickly said softly, “Ah, I’ve just never seen so many treasures before — got a bit dazzled. Don’t laugh at me, Uncle Sun.”
Sun Fu chuckled. “That’s normal. Even I get a shock sometimes when I come in here.” He opened another door and gestured. “There’s a small mechanism here — stay close behind me.”
Xie Jing followed obediently.
In his previous life, he had often been brought here by Lord Bai Jiu; he knew these mechanisms even better than the steward.
Inside, there were two more storerooms — fewer things, but more clearly arranged. One side held calligraphy and antiques, the other ancient utensils. Along the walls were large wooden crates reinforced with dark gold edges and brass rivets.
The steward asked Xie Jing to hold the light while he carefully wrapped a few rare books and picked out a pair of vases with plum-blossom motifs. Xie Jing’s eyes caught on a blue-and-white gourd vase with a cloud-dragon design nearby. His heart stirred, and he asked, “Uncle Sun, if you’re choosing decorations, why not take this one too?”
The steward glanced over. “Oh, that. The Master bought it in the capital a few years ago, but there are dark spots on the surface. He didn’t like it, so it’s been stored here ever since.” He handed it to Xie Jing with a smile. “If you like it, take it to Shanghai — keep it in your room. It’s a fine piece, genuine Yongle blue-and-white [1].”
Xie Jing had never realized the steward knew so much about antiques. In his past life, the man had always looked half-asleep and rarely spoke to him. Yet he had been the last one to leave Lord Bai Jiu’s side — his hair white, tears streaming — and would have never left if not for being ordered to find Bai Mingyu.
By the flickering candlelight, Xie Jing looked at the old man, and when the steward noticed his dazed expression, he laughed and pressed the vase into his arms. “Hold it tight — it cost six thousand silver back then!”
Xie Jing instinctively tightened his grip. The steward, already walking ahead with his bent back, called over his shoulder for him to watch his step.
For some reason, hearing his voice made Xie Jing’s nose sting. He softly agreed and hurried after him.
Soon the items were packed and labeled. The steward reminded the servants, “Handle these carefully — they’re for the Master’s study in Shanghai. Don’t mix them up!” Then he sent Xie Jing back to Lord Bai Jiu’s side and went to deliver books to Mr. Huang Mingyou.
This trip of Lord Bai Jiu’s looked less like travel and more like relocation.
Rumor said he would stay in Shanghai for three to five years. The old patriarch declared that anyone who wished to go could go — no limits.
Naturally, no one wanted to stay behind.
Even Mr. Huang was packing up — he didn’t care for much, except that he couldn’t go a single day without books.
Xie Jing himself had few belongings and finished quickly — but his eyes lingered on the golden nanmu logs in the firewood shed.
In his last life, when Lord Bai Jiu went south, war had already broken out in the north. Many valuables had been moved, but those logs were lost — perhaps burned, perhaps looted.
A pity. But for now, they couldn’t be transported.
That afternoon, while serving tea in the study, Xie Jing was distracted thinking about those logs. His hand slipped — he poured too much water, which dripped over the table and splashed onto Lord Bai Jiu’s sleeve. Without thinking, he tried to wipe it off with his own sleeve — only to have his hand caught and pressed down. His ears reddened as he stammered, “Master, I didn’t mean anything — there was water, I just wanted to wipe it—”
Lord Bai Jiu tilted his chin up, smiled faintly, and said, “If you want something, just say it. No need for such little tricks.”
When the man leaned in, Xie Jing tried to block him. “Master, I didn’t—”
Lord Bai Jiu bit his fingertip, chuckled lowly, and guided his hand downward, pressing the two together. His voice husky, he murmured, “Still say you didn’t? Then what’s this?”
Xie Jing couldn’t control himself either; frustration flickered across his face. When he was finally pulled into Lord Bai Jiu’s lap, he suddenly realized — yes, that was exactly the Bai family’s bloodline: the Second Young Master was still an amateur, while Lord Bai Jiu was the true expert.
Outside, the sounds of people moving crates mixed faintly with chatter. Beyond the ornamental archway, the inner courtyard was quiet.
Willow leaves swayed in the breeze.
The curtains in the study were half-drawn, sunlight streaming through only part of the window. Their shadows intertwined — a gasp, a low laugh.
It went too far that day. Xie Jing bit the Master’s collar, damp and wrinkled. His hands trembled slightly around the man’s shoulders.
Lord Bai Jiu kissed him tenderly, not minding the sweat on his brow, soothing, “It’s fine — no one else is here.”
It took Xie Jing a while to recover. His hoarse voice said, “Don’t do that again.”
Lord Bai Jiu kissed him again. “Mm. Next time I’ll be gentler.”
When Xie Jing avoided him, he added, “All right, no brushes next time — I promise.”
Only then did Xie Jing relax, resting quietly in his arms. After a while, he murmured, “Master, I want a few things.”
Lord Bai Jiu, in a good mood, said, “What does Jing’er want? I’ll have Sun Fu open the treasury — take whatever you like.”
Xie Jing shook his head. “I want what’s in the firewood shed.”
Lord Bai Jiu chuckled. “Just some wood. What do you want with that?”
“Will you give it to me?”
“Of course. It’s the first time you’ve ever asked for something — take it all.” He smiled. “But tell Sun Fu — he’s been saving those logs for years to make a study set. You’re taking his entire stash; he might cry.”
Sure enough, when Xie Jing later asked the steward for the key, the old man was stunned.
He gave the key, but followed along anxiously. “Little Xie, those things aren’t much use to you. Why not let me pick something better — how about a pair of porcelain vases? There are fine blue-and-white dishes too—”
Xie Jing opened the shed and said, “No need, Uncle Sun. I just want the wood.”
The steward trailed behind, muttering every time Xie Jing touched a log: “That’s meant for a cabinet… that one for a screen… those few for a Luohan couch…”
When Xie Jing looked back, he met the steward’s pitiful eyes. “Little Xie,” he pleaded, “maybe leave me two logs? I’ll make some book chests — this wood repels insects and smells wonderful. Perfect for scrolls!”
Xie Jing nodded. “All right. I’ll leave two for you.”
Relieved, the steward immediately sent men to carry them off before the boy could change his mind.
Satisfied, Xie Jing pocketed the key and went home to Grandma Kou.
The East Courtyard was nearly packed. Back at the small restaurant, he needed to tell Li Yuan and Grandma Kou to prepare for the move as well. He would never leave her behind — not after everything. If war broke out again, staying would be too dangerous.
When he returned, the restaurant was quiet. The two kitchen women were sorting vegetables. Seeing him, they greeted him warmly.
Not finding Grandma Kou, Xie Jing asked, “Where’s Grandma?”
They shook their heads. He went to Li Yuan, who thought for a moment and said, “Maybe the post office — she’s been going there lately, says she’s expecting a letter.” Then added, “Want me to fetch her?”
“No need,” said Xie Jing. “I’ll go myself — it’s close.”
He knew the provincial capital well and soon found the post office — still called a “relay station” by habit. The street was crowded with merchants, the air filled with hoofbeats and chatter.
Inside, he quickly spotted Grandma Kou at the counter. She seemed to be inquiring about something. Strange — she didn’t have any close friends or family he knew of, apart from Kou Peifeng’s family back in Qinghe County.
He waited until she came out, then stepped forward to take the basket from her hands. “Grandma.”
Surprised, she said, “Jing’er, what are you doing here?”
“I had some free time — wanted to walk you home. Were you picking up a letter?”
Grandma Kou sighed. “Yes. I was thinking, you’re grown now, it’s time to reconnect with family.”
“My family?” he echoed.
“Yes,” she said gently, stroking his hair. “Jing’er, I never told you — you still have an uncle. He and your mother were very close. Your mother’s family was wealthy, from Sichuan. I served her before she married — the lady mother died young, so she raised her younger brother herself. The young master adored her. Truly, sister and mother were one to him.”
Xie Jing froze. He’d never heard any of this. In his previous life, Grandma Kou had died when he was thirteen — he’d been alone ever since. The thought that he might still have family made his throat tighten. “Then… why did my uncle never come for us?”
“She told me before she passed,” Grandma Kou said softly, “never to return until you were grown. Only then should we reach out. I kept her words. When you got older, I started writing to Sichuan. But I sent several letters and never got a reply.”
Xie Jing said nothing. These days, postal routes were broken; even within the borders, mail rarely reached its destination — especially when sent to an address remembered from over a decade ago.
Supporting her by the arm, he walked slowly beside her. She began telling him bits of the past — and as he listened, something in him stirred. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure behind them, following at an even distance.
He lowered his gaze, thinking for a moment — then changed routes.
When they turned a corner, he suddenly guided Grandma Kou into a narrow alley.
She frowned. “Jing’er, this isn’t the way home—”
He covered her mouth gently and whispered, “Grandma, don’t make a sound. Wait here for me. If I don’t come back soon, don’t look back — take the side path and go straight to the Bai household’s East Courtyard. Find Lord Bai Jiu.”
Her face went pale. Grabbing his sleeve, she stammered, “Jing’er, no — you run. Don’t worry about me. My legs are slow — I’ll only hold you back. You go!”
She trembled all over, not for herself, but for the boy she had raised through hardship — who she thought had finally escaped misfortune.
Xie Jing pushed her gently. “Grandma, remember what I said.”
Then he slipped out of the alley.
She took a few tottering steps forward, dropping the basket entirely. Then, suddenly resolute, she turned back, gritting her teeth. If she couldn’t run, she would at least stand before her Jing’er — take the blow, take the bullet if needed.
If they were to die, they’d die together.
Footnotes:
[1] Yongle porcelains are exquisite ceramics from China’s Ming Dynasty (1403-1424), known for their innovation, especially the “sweet white” (tian bai), underglaze blue, and red-glazed wares, reflecting imperial taste, multicultural influence (Tibetan Buddhism, Islamic art), and peak craftsmanship at Jingdezhen. Key types include serene sweet white with hidden decorations, vibrant blue-and-white often featuring foreign motifs like arabesques, and rich red glazes, with many unique forms like monk’s cap ewers made for rituals.
