Yu Lanchuan dropped Yu Yan off on his way back. By the time he reached home, it was nearly ten at night. The door to the little brat's room stayed closed; maybe he was asleep or maybe he was still sulking.

Tsk, teenagers.

Yu Lanchuan couldn't be bothered to deal with him. He kept thinking that when he was at that age, he was already much more matured.

He looked at his own shirt in the full-length mirror, his heart hurting like it was sliced with a knife. If only a few buttons had popped off, he could still sew them back on. But on the area over his chest, there was a finger length tear along the fabric grain. With his sewing skills, there was definitely no way to salvage it.

Why did you have to show off? Yu Lanchuan, who regularly reflected on his actions, faced the mirror and interrogated himself with a grave face. Even if you're so cool that you break the universe, is it worth doing that in front of a salted fish? Can it pay for one round of dry cleaning? You really have nothing better to do!

Perhaps to complement Master Lan's "royal self-recrimination," especially the last line, his stomach let out a long and winding growl.

It was only then that Yu Lanchuan realised that he hadn't had the time to eat dinner. Listlessly, he took off his torn shirt and handily stuffed it into a trash bag, then dug out his phone to call for food delivery.

The mobile payments were linked to his bank card. Once he paid, he received an automatic reminder of his bank account balance. Face-to-face with the balance amount that popped out, Yu Lanchuan didn't dare take a closer look. He only glanced at it, and his heart and stomach immediately turned ice-cold.

And so, he miserly picked up his torn shirt again, planning to cut it up to use as wiping cloths.

Of course, he wouldn't save much this way. But "being frugal" itself was like an anesthetic; it could numb a person's psychology just a little to the pain of being poor.

Mudpool Backlane's Boss Meng knew his granduncle. In honour of that old man, Boss Meng had told him some honest truths.

Apparently, that group of porcelain scammers were not locals. They knew some barehanded martial arts and the old lady was the most powerful among them. They had come to Yanning and used some unconventional jianghu techniques to cheat and swindle their way everywhere. They purposely targeted young people who obviously looked like "soft persimmons" that yielded easily once pressed.

In recent years, personal safety education was conducted in a way that was more practical. Everyone understood that their own lives were more important than money. Up to now, all their victims had been quite cooperative; once they saw that something was wrong, they would meekly accept their bad luck. One party handed over their money while the other party released their victim. It could be considered peaceful and harmonious, and they had not done anything that resulted in physical fighting.

The old denizens of Mudpool Backlane preferred to avoid unnecessary trouble whenever possible, so no one had spoken up.

Boss Meng had added Yu Yan on WeChat and agreed to report any clues he might find later on to this police comrade at any time. For the moment, this was all that could be done for this matter.

He still had to wait another half an hour for the food delivery. Yu Lanchuan turned on his laptop and prepared to work.

After this little excursion, more than ten unread items had popped up in his WeChat and his email. This world seemed to be transparent, everything visible, and everyone bound to a data terminal without a single thread on their body. Every kind of information bombarded them twenty-four hours a day without a second's pause, making it such that even if there was no static noise right beside their ears, they would still feel that life was very cacophonous.

His mind straying endlessly far, Yu Lanchuan thought that the ancient times were much better. All the great heroes went into seclusion for any reason at all, hiding themselves in some random nook in the mountains, and no one could find them.

...But that said — one couldn't bring their phones with them when going into seclusion so that meant no calling for food delivery. That was also a problem.

Facing the reports that he would have to spend the night reviewing, he spaced out for a while. His mind was like a theatre stage and his heart could not calm down, so he got up and changed into loose-fitting workout clothes, then went to the balcony for a couple of rounds of bare-handed martial arts practice.

This martial arts style had seven forms and was adapted from swordplay techniques — his balcony was too small and he couldn't properly practise the sword. His swordsmanship had been personally taught to him by his granduncle, step by meticulous step. It was called the Seven Secret Arts of the Han Jiang and it stressed on "An abundance of honesty; with moderateness and openness," requiring one to have the bearing of a gentleman.

In the past, Granduncle had always grumbled that "Chinese martial arts is wide-ranging and profound. It's a shame that not much is passed down." Yu Lanchuan had never mulled over how much knowledge had been lost; he had always treated the Seven Secret Sword Arts as a workout technique to keep in shape. Whenever he felt agitated or weary, whenever he felt unwell anywhere whether in heart or in body, he would go through the forms a couple of times. After sweating it out, he would always feel better.

When Granduncle was around fifteen or sixteen years old, the Japanese invaded and he had joined the anti-Japanese association formed by civilians. He had fought on the battlefield and was wounded by shrapnel from exploding artillery shells. Since then, he lost the ability to have children and thus, treated the single descendent his younger brother had as his own. The old man's body was robust; every year, he told other people that he was still young, only sixty-nine years old. Even after being in his "sixties" for more than a decade, there had actually been people who still believed him.

He lived his later years in a very carefree manner. His retirement fund in hand, he drove his rundown off-road vehicle on a self-drive tour everywhere. Whenever he felt that a place was good, he would stay there for a period of time. In recent years, his whereabouts had been increasingly unclear. None of his close friends could locate him. It was nearly two years since Yu Lanchuan last saw him.

Granduncle had wide connections and dared to take on problems. In his whole life, he had been public-spirited. Anyone who came from far to ask for help, regardless of whether he knew them or not, he would not mind the trouble. If that old man was in Yanning right now, he would find that group of porcelain scammers even if he had to dig a meter into the ground, and he would see if they were bad by nature or if they had encountered some kind of difficulty.

Yu Lanchuan had spent his entire youth growing up by the old man's side. During the few years when he was the most chuuni, he had hoped to grow up to become someone like that old man. Head touching the sky, feet on the ground, half a bowl of erguotou raised in a toast to all corners of the world, sleeves billowing in the wind, and nothing in the world that he could not handle.

But ideals and reality were hundreds and thousands of light years apart. Just look at all the university students that were failing advanced mathematics until they no longer wanted to live — when they were young, how many of them had said that they wanted to be scientists when they grow up?

Yu Lanchuan's chuuni period came and went like the wind. After he recovered from this "sickness," he lived a conventional life of sitting for the university entrance exams, going abroad to study, then getting promoted at work and having his salary increased. By the time he came back to himself, he had already spent a good number of years galloping at top speed on this path that went counter to his ideals.

When this trifling thing called "ideals" was too far away, it would automatically collapse into a fantastical daydream.

Furthermore, how could he be like the old man?

It was totally impractical.

After all, the old man had a pension and also did not have a house loan.

After two rounds of practice, his whole body seemed to have lightened by two pounds. Yu Lanchuan pushed open the windows on the balcony and leaned against the window frame to let the wind dry his sweat.

Maybe it was going to rain. An earthy smell was slowly rising in the air, damp and moist.

Back in that year when the old man taught him, on one hand it was to play with him and on the other hand, it was because the old man was afraid that prolonged sitting would be bad for the body so he teased Yu Lanchuan into getting up and exercising his limbs. The old man didn't count on training him into anything noteworthy because Yu Lanchuan didn't seem like a person with persistence. In addition, The Seven Secret Arts of Han Jiang didn't seem to suit his aura. Which of the eight words "An abundance of honesty; with moderateness and openness," punctuation included, was in any way related to Director Yu? In any case, Granduncle couldn't tell.

Who would have thought that once he started training, he would train for fifteen years.

Right then, his phone rang. Yu Lanchuan thought his food was here and picked up without thinking.

"Hello? May I know if this is Mr. Yu, Yu Lanchuan?"

Yu Lanchuan said, "Yeah, just come up. I'll open the door for you."

For some reason, the other person paused a while, then said an "I'm sorry" before continuing to ask, "May I ask if Mr. Yu Huaide is your relative?"

Yu Lanchuan stared blankly. His chest tightened for no reason — Yu Huaide was his granduncle.

"He's my grandfather. What's the matter?"

"Um… Sir, please accept my condolences."

At the end of last year, the old Mr. Yu Huaide had gone to Sichuan. There was a saying about the place, "Enter not when young, leave not when old^[1]." When the old man got there, he fell in love with the place and decided to stay there for a long time. For half a year, he enjoyed himself thoroughly in Sichuan, roaming east and west, enjoying the flavours of the region. Then, he felt that he had played enough and it was about time, so he looked for a valley with beautiful scenery. He went there and snapped a few photos, then put his will and his belongings into his camera bag. He sat down beside a creek, took off his shoes, dipped his feet into the clear waters of the creek, rested a while, and just like that, he departed from this life. Three days later, a few self-driving tourists finally found him.

He lived like a legend, and also died like one.

Yu Lanchuan put down his phone, his mind blank. For a moment, he could not regain his wits.

Right then, the muffled sound of thunder came from far away, rumbling as it rolled near. The wind rose on its heels and in just a flash, the heavy rain that could not be contained poured down without warning.

Gan Qing and her night owl roommate dashed into the subway station at the last second and were lucky not to be drenched like drowned rats.

The night owl roommate had run until she was sweating all over. Tendrils of long hair stuck to her face and she panted like she was recovering from a huge shock.

Gan Qing didn't usually take the subway — it was more expensive than the bus. Once they entered, she quickly analysed the route map on the wall. The night owl roommate had contacted a friend and was taking Gan Qing along to seek shelter. The friend's house was a bit far out, they had to go across the city. They had to take the subway, and even change lines.

Gan Qing deciphered the route map and said, "We have to move fast or we might not make it to the last train when we change lines. You-"

Before she could finish speaking, the night owl roommate let out a loud wail and started sobbing. Gan Qing was startled by this sudden flurry of noise and turned to look at her in surprise.

The girl's sobs were as sudden as the thunderstorm outside. There was no buffer time; from the get-go, she wailed until she forgot herself.

"Why am I so unlucky… Why the fuck won't they let me stay there… Why the fuck did they cut my pay! Why the fuck is it raining! Why the fuck am I on my period—!"

There was an echo in the subway station that took the word "period" and strengthened it until it was as mighty as the mountains and the rivers. The commuters going home late straggled past them, some lifting their heads to glance at them, some hurrying past with earphones stuffed in their ears, all of them not the least bit concerned.

Gan Qing asked, "Why don't I… help you… get some hot water?"

The night owl roommate held her stomach and squatted down. The large bag holding her belongings was thrown down at her feet. She had too many things and the zipper was pushed slightly open, revealing a dog plush toy from a claw machine. She glanced at it from the corner of her eye and tugged it out. Like she was venting her feelings, she hurled it to the ground and nearly tripped a passerby.

Gan Qing quickly apologised to the person and ran over in her slippers to pick up the little dog. She had just put it back when the night owl roommate pulled it out again, and again sent it flying. "Why aren't you letting me throw it! It's mine, I want to throw it!"

Gan Qing, "..."

She was out of patience.

For a while, she stood helplessly by the side, hands on her hips. Then, she walked over to a vending machine, dug out a few coins and bought a bottled hot drink. She patted her night owl roommate on the head and twisted open the cap on the bottle for her. "Here."

The night owl roommate choked on her sobs. She lifted her eyes from her knees and looked at Gan Qing, hiccuped, then reached out a hand and took the bottle sluggishly.

Gan Qing helped her carry her luggage. "Don't curl up. Stand up and walk around or your stomach will hurt."

The night owl roommate's ferocious sobbing died down. After a while, she sniffed and straggled to her feet.

"All right, don't cry anymore," Gan Qing said, calm and even. "See, even if it's raining, the two of us didn't get caught in it. Such a heavy rain won't last long. It should have stopped by the time we get out of the subway, so how are we unlucky? You even have such a considerate friend who's willing to take us in in the middle of the night. Is she your ex-schoolmate?"

The night owl roommate said, "No, she's my ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend."

Gan Qing, "..."

The night owl roommate continued to say, "My ex was a scumbag."

Gan Qing said, "...I can tell."

The night owl roommate took a sulky gulp of the hot drink, "You're much nicer than my ex."

Gan Qing vaguely sensed that those words were a compliment. Complimented in such a way that she had no way to reply, she could only sigh. "Let's go."

In the following week, Gan Qing slept on the floor of someone else's home while searching for a room everywhere.

The months of July and August every year was the peak season for rentals. The large batch of students newly graduated from universities needed a lodging place. On top of that, there was a not insignificant number of people like Gan Qing who had been thrown out and they were all looking for a cheap place to stay. For a moment, demand was high in the market and rental prices soared. Sometimes, after searching online for a long while, she would finally find one with a price that was still acceptable but once she called them, it would either have already been rented out or the landlord would want to increase the rent at the last minute.

And then, after one week, her night owl roommate finally could not persevere anymore. She left the coupons she had saved and the dog plushie with Gan Qing, and planned to return to her parents' house.

Once the night owl roommate left, Gan Qing felt that it wasn't appropriate for her to continue staying with the "ex-girlfriend" for free.

She closed the shop and got off work earlier, and went over to Tianyi Crayfish to help carry two crates of beer. She paced around a couple of times with nothing to do before finally walking over to the back kitchen in hesitation. "Uncle Meng… Previously, you said you were looking for someone to take care of the old lady, have you found a suitable person?"

At the same time this was happening, Yu Lanchuan finished taking care of matters after his granduncle's passing and returned to Yanning with the old man's ashes.

After getting off the airplane, he got a cab and told the driver, "Driver, go to Rongxian Street, No. 110 Courtyard."

He first needed to take the old man home.

———

The author has something to say:

About the skin on a person's hand being fine and gleaming like jade, it came from a rumour I've heard before. Apparently, when a Xing Yi Quan master's skills reach a certain level, the skin and flesh on their hands will become extremely fine and smooth. I don't know whether it's true or not, I've never practised Xing Yi Quan. In any case, we MMA practitioners' hands are quite rough.

Besides that, the entire setting in this story is something I came up with blindly, don't take it as a substitute for real life combat martial arts centers and martial arts schools.

T/N:

[1] Enter not when young, leave not when old - 少不入川，老不出蜀

This saying refers to the charms of Sichuan. One should not go there when young, lest they enjoy themselves so much that they never want to leave and work hard to be successful. Whereas the old would not want to leave the place because they naturally would want to spend their remaining days in comfort.