Chapter Nine: No Return

The young monk Luo Ming spent three anxious days in the city. With nothing better to do, he developed a new pastime—wandering the antique street, hoping to learn something about the world of collectibles. Yet these antique dealers were masters of deception, and in the end, Luo Ming gained little and felt even more bewildered than before.

Having leapt headlong into this business, Luo Ming now found his mind in a constant fog. During his three days of aimless wandering, he’d only managed to get through to his “buddy” Hei Qi once, on the first day, exchanging a few words about their progress. Since then, Hei Qi had all but vanished—the next day, the phone simply said, “The number you’ve dialed is powered off,” or “Not in service.”

What was going on? The more Luo Ming thought about it, the more uneasy he became, unable to sit still. Only now did he realize just how unfamiliar he really was with Hei Qi. Had he been duped?

Still, he clung to a shred of hope. After all, Hei Qi was from the neighboring village—no matter how far a monk runs, he can’t escape the temple. So Luo Ming forced himself to wait another two days, but the situation remained unchanged.

For once, he forced himself to calm down and think things through. The more he considered it, the more wrong it seemed. Setting aside why Hei Qi had been so eager to work with someone he barely knew to make a fortune, there was the glaring fact that Hei Qi hadn’t put up a single cent. Who doesn’t want to get rich? What kind of person hands golden opportunities to someone else? Clearly, a few drinks had muddled his judgment at the time.

Though Luo Ming could be single-minded, he wasn’t stupid. He decided to call Hei Qi’s relatives, hoping to learn more about him. The news he got left him stunned—Hei Qi hadn’t really returned home in years, and when he did come back for the New Year, he’d disappear again by the first day. Hei Qi lived alone, his parents long dead, still unmarried and solitary.

Luo Ming slapped his forehead in regret, but what now? Clinging to his last hope, he visited the antique shops where they’d sourced their goods. This time, he wanted the truth, even if it revealed his own ignorance. He questioned the owners one by one, and the answer from one shopkeeper chilled him to the bone.

“Goods worth a few hundred yuan—what era do you think they’re from?” The shopkeeper, seeing Luo Ming’s miserable state, relented enough to answer, though his tone was laced with mockery for those outsiders dreaming of striking it rich in antiques.

Luo Ming scratched his head and swallowed hard. Normally, he’d have spat in the owner’s face.

“That man who came with me—have you seen him before?” he asked.

“Comes here all the time,” the shopkeeper replied without hesitation.

“What does he do, usually?” Luo Ming pressed.

The shopkeeper, sensing he was dealing with a victim, answered frankly, “You really don’t know? That guy is famous around here—he’s the king of junk on this street.”

He then asked with a sly grin, “He fooled you, didn’t he?”

Luo Ming’s face burned as if he’d downed two bottles of strong liquor. He stammered, “Fooled? Not exactly… I mean…”

The shopkeeper, having seen plenty like him, lost interest when Luo Ming refused to admit the truth and returned to his own business.

He’d only answered out of a sense of schadenfreude—the suffering of others was the only entertainment in his dull day. Luo Ming was left awkwardly standing in the doorway, unable to advance or retreat.

In the end, Luo Ming chose to report the matter to the police.

For someone often penniless, the sum of more than a hundred thousand was astronomical. With his mind blank and no one to turn to, Luo Ming could only do what seemed logical—go to the authorities.

But with no evidence, would the police believe him?

He didn’t even have a remittance slip—something that old Mr. Li, who trusted only cash his whole life, could never have foreseen.

The officer who received him was young, probably new to the job. Though his skin was darkened by work, his features were delicate. Over the past year, fraud cases had become the most frequent and the hardest to investigate. His main task was to take statements, rarely going into the field. The detection rate for fraud was among the lowest—little wonder such crimes were so rampant.

Still, the officer was friendly, patiently asking for every detail of Luo Ming’s ordeal and offering a few words of comfort. Usually, those behind the desk taking statements were cold, especially with fraud cases—it was easy to grow numb. But Luo Ming felt a bit reassured, though his chief concern was still his money.

“Officer, will I be able to get my money back?” he asked, barely able to contain himself.

“Don’t panic,” the officer replied calmly. “From your account, it sounds like you’ve been swindled, but it’s still a bit early to be sure.”

“What do you mean?” Luo Ming pressed.

“I mean, there’s no use getting anxious now,” the officer said bluntly, seeing Luo Ming’s impatience. “With the information you’ve provided, we can’t confirm you were actually defrauded, nor can we verify your story. The best thing would be for you to find this person and bring him here to confront us. Do you understand?”

He glanced at the statement and pointed out a basic issue: “This person’s surname is Hei?”

Luo Ming froze. “Ah? No, no, his surname is… is…” Suddenly, he was unsure. The neighboring village’s common surname was Lin, but Hei Qi wasn’t a native. What was his surname? Luo Ming truly didn’t know.

So he fumbled for his phone, retreating to a corner to make inquiries, nearly making the young officer laugh aloud.

The officer shook his head and returned to the paperwork. The statement was simple and the facts clear, but the format still took up two or three pages, mostly personal details. He glanced at Luo Ming’s address—Falling Water Village. As it happened, he had relatives there, which made him more willing to help. After all, few from that village ever made it to the city.

Having kin from the same place, the officer felt a faint, subconscious sympathy.

After more than ten minutes of calls, Luo Ming finally got the facts straight. He hurried back, only to find a long queue. The officer was taking another statement, so Luo Ming waited anxiously by the side. Fortunately, he didn’t have to line up again.

When the other complainant finally left in frustration, Luo Ming rushed to grab the chair, blurting out, “Su Qi, Su Qi! His surname is Su!”

His voice was so loud that the people nearby burst out laughing, leaving Luo Ming completely bewildered.

“Shu Qi?” The officer couldn’t help but laugh, struggling to compose himself as he wiped away tears of mirth.

“Yes, yes, it’s Su Qi,” Luo Ming declared solemnly. In his dialect, “Su” and “Shu” were indistinguishable.

The officer, doing his best to suppress laughter, waved off others trying to approach.

Luo Ming looked around, confused as to why, in his moment of distress, these city folk found him so amusing.

“That’s all we need. You can go for now—we’ll report to our superiors and contact you later,” the officer said with a smile.

Luo Ming, sensing this was his last hope, didn’t budge. “You must help me. If not, I won’t survive this—it’s too much money; it’ll be the death of me.” Not knowing what to say to make the police take him seriously, he could only invoke matters of life and death.

“Don’t worry. We’ll do our best, as long as your information is accurate,” the officer replied, as protocol demanded.

“It’s all accurate—absolutely accurate!” Luo Ming insisted, confident now that he’d confirmed the surname and even the name.

The officer quickly printed out the three-page statement, had Luo Ming sign and fingerprint each page, then stacked them neatly and tapped them straight.

“We’ll contact you as soon as there’s news. Next!”

“That’s all?” Luo Ming asked, doubtful.

The officer didn’t answer, only nodded.

Unwilling, Luo Ming finally stood up, glancing back three times before he shuffled out the station door.

Outside, he gazed up at the gleaming national emblem above, tempted again and again to rush back in, truly afraid the matter would be forgotten as trivial by those inside.