Chapter 72.4: Homecoming

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t buy it.

He figured the real reason Liangliang-ge insisted on delivering the bamboo slip personally was so he’d have an excuse to come to Nantong again.

Then, following the logic of “since I’m already here,” he could come up with a new excuse to justify heading down into the river once more.

“Liangliang-ge, are you staying here tonight?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then are you heading to another city overnight?”

“Mm… not exactly.”

Li Zhuiyuan looked at him.

Xue Liangliang sighed, a helpless expression on his face. “Ah, it’s not like I have a choice. I’m already here.”

“Mm.”

Who was it again, back during the negotiations, that fought so hard to reduce how often they went down into the river? Once every few years, wasn’t it?

Now look at him—every spare moment, he was running to Nantong, and every time he came, he dove straight into the river.

“Oh, right—Little Yuan, I remember during our last phone call you said there’s a huge secret buried in Fengdu Ghost City. Do you still plan to go there someday?”

“Yeah, but not until I’m older. Do you want to come too, Liangliang-ge?”

“Of course. You better call me when the time comes. But you’ve got to grow up fast. And once you do, don’t wait too long. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?”

Xue Liangliang shrugged. “Otherwise, the Ghost City might be underwater.”

“I see. Got it.”

“Remember…”

“I understand, Liangliang-ge. I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Heh, then I’ll be off.”

After Xue Liangliang left, Li Zhuiyuan returned to his room and began examining the bamboo slip.

The bamboo itself could only hold so much text, so there wasn’t a lot written on it. What it recorded weren’t events or techniques, but locations.

There were nine locations in total, but Li Zhuiyuan could only confirm three of them.

The problem was, the bamboo slip was written during the Spring and Autumn period, and possibly copied from something even older. The place names bore no resemblance to modern terms. Some of them were still hotly debated among historians to this day—not to mention geological changes over time.

Of the three he could identify, one was that mysterious seafloor location visited by the masked man and Zheng Haiyang’s parents.

Another was Fengdu Ghost City.

The third appeared to be in the highlands near modern-day Nyingchi.

Li Zhuiyuan copied down the contents of the bamboo slip. Since he’d be heading to Beijing soon, he planned to ask some of the retired grandparents in the residential compound for help verifying the other locations.

Aside from the bamboo slip, Xue Liangliang had brought him a whole stack of professional books, as well as designs and blueprints packed into what could only be described as burlap sacks.

Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t help feeling moved. Even while eager to return to the field, Liangliang-ge had still taken the time to prepare all this for him. That couldn’t have been easy.

Since he was only flying to Beijing for the competition and would return quickly, Li Sanjiang wasn’t too worried. If not for the fact that Little Yuanhou was originally from Beijing, he might’ve suggested stretching out the trip to turn it into a government-funded vacation.

Accompanied by Wu Xinhang and Teacher Yan, Li Zhuiyuan arrived in Beijing and checked into the hotel designated by the competition organizers.

Early the next morning, Li Zhuiyuan was already up, though the exam wouldn’t start until the afternoon.

Wu Xinhang asked with concern, “Little Yuan, are you nervous?”

Li Zhuiyuan shook his head and pulled out his breakfast voucher. “It’s time for breakfast.”

In the hotel restaurant, there were plenty of similar teacher-student pairs, as well as members of the competition team.

The hotel had thoughtfully prepared authentic Beijing-style mung bean juice. Many of the out-of-town visitors went to try it.

Li Zhuiyuan sipped hot milk as he watched Principal Wu and Teacher Yan pick up their bowls, lower their heads with anticipation, take a sip—and promptly spit it out.

Even so, Wu Xinhang and Teacher Yan didn’t immediately condemn the drink. They thought maybe they just weren’t drinking it correctly.

They each took another sip, this time forcing it down. But the aftertaste made both their eyes squint and their faces wrinkle up.

Wu Xinhang couldn’t help asking, “Little Yuan, is this mung bean juice really authentic?”

Li Zhuiyuan nodded. “It’s authentic.”

“Really? Little Yuan, don’t you want to try a sip?”

Li Zhuiyuan shook his head. “No need. Judging from your expressions, I can already tell it’s the real deal.”

“What’s so good about this stuff?” Teacher Yan was baffled. “I’d rather switch careers and teach Chinese than drink this every morning.”

Li Zhuiyuan replied, “Actually, not many locals drink it either.”

Wu Xinhang asked, “Then how does it keep selling?”

Li Zhuiyuan: “They sell it to tourists.”

Wu Xinhang and Teacher Yan were left speechless.

Just then, an elderly man surrounded by three others passed by. They all wore competition team badges.

The old man spotted the boy, frowned, then walked over on his own.

“Little Yuan?”

Li Zhuiyuan stood up and looked at the man. “Professor Zhu.”

“You’re back in Beijing—wait, what are you doing here?”

“I came for the competition.”

“What competition?”

Li Zhuiyuan pointed to the badge on the old man’s chest.

Professor Zhu understood. His breath caught in his throat and didn’t come out for a long while. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “Ridiculous!”

Wu Xinhang and Teacher Yan stood up as well, introducing themselves and offering their business cards.

Professor Zhu gave a perfunctory response before sitting down beside them.

“What have you been doing these past six months?” he asked Li Zhuiyuan.

“Going to school.”

“High school?”

“Mm.”

And collecting Dead Sinkers.

Professor Zhu closed his eyes, forcibly suppressing his anger.

Because the old professor was sitting there, they started attracting attention. More people stopped by as they passed.

Soon, prominent figures began to gather. Wu Xinhang and Teacher Yan were quietly edged over to the next table.

Now, just among those seated, three professors had taught him before, not to mention several senior classmates.

When they learned Li Zhuiyuan had come to take the test, one of them laughed and cursed, “What the hell’s the point? Just give him the award now.”

The seniors weren’t here to take the test—they were part of the organizing committee.

Professor Zhu finally calmed down and suggested, “How about you skip the test? Let the competition team just give you an honorary award.”

Li Zhuiyuan looked toward the next table, where Principal Wu and Teacher Yan were sitting. Both nodded.

“No. I want to take it.”

Professor Zhu was about to explode when two other professors restrained him.

“Just this once,” they told the boy. “Only this once.”

Li Zhuiyuan nodded. “Okay.”

After that, the professors tried to persuade him to return to school. When they learned he’d already been admitted to Haihe University, they were stunned.

In the end, Li Zhuiyuan delivered a revised version of Liangliang-ge’s old line—something about “my future lies in the great southwest of our motherland.” That finally left them speechless.

The exam that afternoon went smoothly. Afterward, Li Zhuiyuan had Wu Xinhang and Teacher Yan take him by taxi to the residential compound.

The moment they entered, they were greeted with the joyful voices of the elders.

“Aiya, Little Yuan, where have you been all these months?”

“Isn’t that Little Yuan? Haha, long time no see—you’ve grown taller!”

Back then, Li Zhuiyuan had been the compound’s communal child, fed by many families. His relationship with the elders was excellent. Many treated him like their own grandson.

But soon, another piece of news spread from the elderly mouths:

“Little Yuan, did you come back with your mother?”

“Well, of course! I saw her return this morning.”

Li Lan… was back?

Li Zhuiyuan handed the bamboo slip transcript to a retired history professor surnamed Zhang and left his current contact info. The compound also had retirees from the classical Chinese and geography departments. Li Zhuiyuan believed Grandpa Zhang would know whom to call.

With his visit complete, he asked Wu Xinhang to take him away. He didn’t want to see Li Lan—and he was sure she didn’t want to see him either.

But he was wrong.

The moment he stepped out of Grandpa Zhang’s house, he saw Li Lan standing there in a brown trench coat.

Nearby, several elderly residents of the compound were watching, smiling kindly.

Li Lan gently brushed back her hair, her face warm and gentle. She bent down slightly, arms opening wide.

“Son, come to Mama. Mama missed you.”

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