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Chapter 122: Dayin Jianghu, To Be Continued (Extra 6)

Chen Jian sat at the front desk, checking the room reservations on the computer while resting his hand down to stroke Mogu, who sat beside his chair.

More than half the rooms were booked. Honestly, there was no real need to check this information over and over, but he still liked looking at it whenever he had a spare moment. It brought a sense of satisfaction, and a sense of security.

The security of being able to make money.

Today was Chen Jian’s day off, but his days off were basically spent around the guesthouse anyway, turning himself into a utility screw—heading wherever he was needed. Right now, he was covering for Hu Pan while she ate breakfast.

Hu Pan ate faster than usual, however, hurrying over while still chewing on the last bite of a flatbread.

“I’ll take over,” Hu Pan said. “A small tour group is checking in shortly—seven rooms. They already called to say they’d arrive around eight.”

“Can’t I handle it?” Chen Jian stood up and yielded the chair to her.

“You’re not as fast as me,” Hu Pan swallowed her last bite and wiped her hands. “Oh, right, there’s another thing: Liu Wu helped us edit the pilot teaser. Once he sends it over, I’ll drop it in our group chat. Take a look.”

“Pilot teaser?” Chen Jian paused. “It’s a web skit that only lasts a couple of minutes, and it gets a pilot teaser? Even calling it a trailer seems like making a mountain out of a molehill, doesn’t it?”

“Feels more like a trailer to me. He’s still cutting the rest of the footage, but it’ll be ready soon. Liu Wu just likes using fancy terms like ‘pilot.’ Isn’t that how everyone talks nowadays? Yesterday, someone even called asking who the ‘chief curator’ of our guesthouse was—I almost didn’t understand what they meant,” Hu Pan said.

“You’re the Chief Front Desk Curator,” Chen Jian said.

“Chen Erhu is the Chief Fire Safety Curator,” Hu Pan said. “Sanbing is the Chief Public Security Curator, Lao Wu is the Chief Sanitation Curator, and Lao Si…”

“Is the Enforcer,” Chen Jian said.

“Ahahaha!” Hu Pan burst into loud laughter.

Just then, Lao Si, the Enforcer, strolled past holding a carton of milk and gave her a look. “What are you laughing like that for?”

“He says you’re the enforcer,” Hu Pan said.

“Who could beat Boss Shan in a fight?” Lao Si said.

“He’s what you call a martial arts master,” Hu Pan said. “Not the same title as you.”

Lao Si clicked his tongue, sipping his milk as he walked away.

Chen Jian originally wanted to stay at the front desk to give Hu Pan a hand—seven rooms meant over a dozen people—but Sanbing finished his breakfast and planted himself right by the counter.

Chen Jian had no choice but to step away.

Around eight o’clock, while he was tidying the message board in the courtyard, a group of people walked into the yard. The small tour group had arrived, and he blinked in surprise.

They were a bunch of college students.

Yet they weren’t cheerful goofballs like Liu Wu and his friends.

Aside from regular travel backpacks, each of them carried or slung an art supply box in their hands or over their shoulders…

“What are those for?” Chen Jian couldn’t help asking.

“Ignorant, aren’t you?” the Chief Sanitation Curator, currently sweeping the ground, remarked. “They’re painters here for plein-air sketching. Those boxes hold their supplies.”

“Oh,” Chen Jian glanced at Lao Wu. “Pretty knowledgeable, aren’t you?”

“Tingting told me. She used to love drawing, but her family circumstances didn’t allow it…” Lao Wu watched the students filing into the lobby. “Wonder how she’s doing now.”

“Did she block your number?” Chen Jian asked.

“No,” Lao Wu said. “But when I message her, she doesn’t really reply much.”

“Did she hide her Moments from you?” Chen Jian asked again.

Lao Wu glared at him and only answered after a moment: “No.”

“So?” Chen Jian looked back at him.

“She started working,” Lao Wu said. “In a little clothing boutique.”

“Isn’t that great then? She’s doing well now,” Chen Jian said.

“You don’t get it,” Lao Wu let out a long sigh, his eyes turning melancholic. “I don’t mean ‘how’ in that sense, it’s…”

“When life has a steady footing, things slowly get better,” Chen Jian said. “No matter what kind of ‘how,’ it’ll be fine.”

“Maybe,” Lao Wu murmured faintly.

“Next time we film, have Panpan give you a different role,” Chen Jian headed inside. “Feels like you can’t snap out of character.”

Stepping inside, he nearly collided with a guest walking out.

“Sorry,” Chen Jian quickly stepped aside and apologized.

“No worries. Good timing, I wanted to ask you something,” the guest said. “You’re pretty familiar with the mountain trails, right?”

Chen Jian glanced at him and realized it was Kou Chen—the tag-along friend who had come with Captain Huo.

What left a deep impression on Chen Jian was the guy’s gear; according to the trendy Sun Nana, it was more expensive than anyone else’s, and quite significantly so.

Yet right now, standing before Chen Jian in high-end gear, Captain Huo and his team had already set off nearly two hours ago.

“Mr. Kou,” Chen Jian said, “didn’t you head out with Captain Huo and the others?”

“Overslept,” Kou Chen yawned. “Took me half an hour just to pack my bag… There’s only the last route left today, do you know which one it is?”

Even if I knew, I wouldn’t dare tell you.

If someone who takes half an hour to pack goes up alone and something happens, what then?

“Well…” Chen Jian hesitated. “I roughly know…”

“It’s fine, just tell me where the trailhead is,” Kou Chen said. “Huo Ran and the others leave markers anyway. I’ll just follow them.”

“It’s a bit hard to explain clearly,” Chen Jian looked around. “Sanbing!”

“Here!” Sanbing jogged over from the front desk.

“Have Erhu help with check-ins for a bit,” Chen Jian said. “Take Mr. Kou over to the trail Captain Huo’s team took today—the one past Massage Chen’s woods.”

“Got it,” Sanbing nodded.

“Sanbing will take you on his motorcycle,” Chen Jian told Kou Chen.

“Isn’t that too much trouble?” Kou Chen looked at Sanbing.

“No trouble at all, bro,” Sanbing pulled out his bike key. “Takes ten minutes tops. Taking you there saves you time too.”

Kou Chen looked at Sanbing’s motorcycle, feeling slightly embarrassed, but still asked bluntly: “How long has it been since you washed this bike?”

“Once you’re in the mountains, falling on your ass a couple of times will make you dirtier than this bike,” Sanbing swung a leg over. “Let’s go, bro.”

Kou Chen sighed and climbed on.

When the bike bounced over the courtyard threshold, a flashlight fell out of Kou Chen’s pack.

…So even half an hour wasn’t enough to pack properly.

Just as Chen Jian was about to shout, Kou Chen tossed back: “Keep it! I’ve got a spare!”

After the bike drove off, Chen Jian still felt uneasy, so he called Huo Ran to let him know Kou Chen was heading into the mountains.

“I left markers for him,” Huo Ran said. “Let him follow them.”

“Yeah,” Chen Jian prudently added, “it takes about ten minutes to get there, so you can gauge the timing.”

“Thanks,” Huo Ran chuckled.

“You’re welcome,” Chen Jian smiled as well.

“Busy, Manager Chen?” Shan Yu’s voice drifted right behind the back of his head.

“Whoa,” Chen Jian jumped, turning around to see Shan Yu holding a cup of coffee. “What’s up, Boss Shan?”

“Let’s visit your house,” Shan Yu held a camera in his hand. “Take some photos. In a few days, we’ll arrange for people to come rebuild it. Let’s keep a souvenir.”

Your house.

My house.

Chen Jian’s house.

Chen Jian hadn’t heard this phrasing referring specifically to his family’s house in a very long time.

Over these past years, whenever “your house” or “my house” was brought up, it basically referred to two people: Chen Jian and his dad.

When Shan Yu uttered the words “your house,” Chen Jian felt as though he had been wrapped in a blanket warmed by the sun.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Returning to “his house” from the guesthouse was actually very close, but for all this time, other than visiting his mom’s grave, he rarely went there.

Riding the motorcycle with Shan Yu into the village, even the wind against his face felt warm.

Meeting a few fellow villagers along the way, everyone asked the exact same thing upon seeing Chen Jian:

“Heading home?”

“Going to check on your old house?”

“Chen Jian, going home?”

Yes.

Indeed.

Chen Jian nodded with a smile.

The old house was just as it had always been—perhaps a bit older. But with spring arriving, thick patches of green sprouts grew over the damaged foundation and walls, looking different from how it appeared in winter.

Shan Yu stood beside him by the front entrance, watching for a long time.

“Go on inside,” Shan Yu raised the camera. “I’ll take a few shots.”

“Where did you get the camera?” Chen Jian turned to ask as he walked in.

Shan Yu pressed the shutter: “Bought by the company. Needed for work.”

Chen Jian smiled and stepped through the doorway.

The door frame had half fallen away, and the door couldn’t be closed anymore. Because the doors and windows were all gone, the lighting inside was actually quite good. Chen Jian walked over to lean against the window, gazing out.

Shan Yu clicked the shutter again.

“Doesn’t this look like a horror movie?” Chen Jian asked.

A dilapidated old house beside the mountain woods, with a figure standing by the window.

“With someone else, maybe,” Shan Yu looked at him through the viewfinder. “With a handsome guy standing there, it’s an art film.”

Chen Jian laughed.

Taking photos was Shan Yu’s job. After wandering inside for a bit, Chen Jian came out and sat on a broken section of the courtyard wall, watching Shan Yu circle the house.

Front, back, left, right—he photographed it all, went inside to shoot, and even went up to the second floor to take a few panoramic shots of the surroundings.

“The view from your place is pretty nice,” Shan Yu said, looking down from the second-floor balcony. “Making it a woodland restaurant would work. First floor for business, second floor for living.”

“If that really works,” Chen Jian said, “my dad can move back.”

“If we want to, we will. It won’t cost much anyway. If the road to South Mountain can be developed, why not here?” Shan Yu said. “We can set up a few themed spots in the village—by the water, by the mountain, by the woods, a complete set. We can even find partners to share the costs.”

“Who?” Chen Jian asked. “He Liang and his crowd?”

“Yeah,” Shan Yu turned and walked downstairs. “They’ve been looking for suitable spots in the village.”

“He won’t be able to close a deal,” Chen Jian said immediately. “The village isn’t that modernized; they only trust Director Lu and big corporations. Outside miscellaneous bosses like them will have a hard time negotiating.”

“Which is why cooperating with him lets us set the terms,” Shan Yu said.

“What terms?” Chen Jian instantly grew wary. Shan Yu wouldn’t act recklessly on major matters, but whether a few agritourism diners counted as a “major matter” to him was hard to say.

“Relax, I’m a legitimate businessman now,” Shan Yu said. “A bit shady, sure, but nothing outrageous.”

“You’d better be,” Chen Jian said.

His phone chimed with a group message.

Hu Pan had posted a video in the chat.

“Holy crap, it’s sent,” Chen Jian said. “Wanna watch?”

“What?” Shan Yu walked over.

“The pilot teaser… edited by Liu Wu,” Chen Jian said.

“Where is it?” Shan Yu asked.

“In the group,” Chen Jian said.

“Which group?” Shan Yu leaned against the half-wall beside him.

“…The Dayin group,” Chen Jian glanced at his phone. This group included all Dayin staff, except Boss Shan.

“I’m not in that group,” Shan Yu said.

“It’s Dayin’s group,” Chen Jian cleared his throat. “Aren’t you part of Qijian Company?”

“Fine,” Shan Yu nodded. “Then kick Manager Sun out.”

“Manager Sun… sometimes still oversees Dayin’s guest room operations,” Chen Jian said.

“I’m still Dayin’s boss!” Shan Yu clicked his tongue.

“You gave your office to me,” Chen Jian said.

“Oh?” Shan Yu looked at him.

Chen Jian laughed: “Should I pull you into the group then?”

“Forget it,” Shan Yu sat beside him. “The moment you pull me in, you’ll turn around and create another group without me… Just play the video.”

Chen Jian tapped the video.

The cover was pretty cool—pitch black, where one could vaguely make out the mysterious Shan Yu in a black coat, black hat, and black mask.

Filled with deep love for his cousin, Liu Wu had photoshopped the only visible facial feature: Shan Yu’s eyes looked exceptionally gorgeous.

The opening showed Mogu sprinting along a mountain path before sitting down. The frame shrunk into a circle, leaving only Mogu’s head, whereupon Mogu yawned inside the circle.

Freeze frame.

Beneath the circle were four letters: HYDY.

“‘Hao Ya Da Ya’ (Fine, hit me then)?” Shan Yu muttered. “What the hell is that?”

“Aren’t you cute. It’s ‘Hong Ye Da Yin’ (Red Leaf Dayin),” Chen Jian looked at him, somewhat speechless. “Liu Wu came up with it on the spot; we can change it later.”

“Pretty good,” Shan Yu nodded.

After the intro, the screen went black. Then a flash of lightning streaked across, accompanied by rolling thunder, as a figure in white… draped in a white bedsheet ran from far to near.

Sanbing’s face suddenly emerged from the darkness, illuminated by a flashlight in his hand.

A column of vertical subtitles introduced his identity and name:

Secret Agent: Chen Sanbing.

“This is the place,” Chen Sanbing stared resolutely at the camera. “The intel is accurate.”

With a turn of his head, the camera panned up, and the Dayin signboard illuminated mid-air.

Along with the signboard, background music and voices erupted simultaneously:

“Welcome to Dayin!”

“How many in your party, honored guests? Staying the night or stopping for a meal?”

…

Then Sanbing gave a dramatic toss of his bedsheet, stepping in dainty quick-steps through the courtyard gate.

Immediately following was a crash of thunder, and Chen Sanbing let out an “Ahhh!”

Then collapsed to the ground.

“Struck dead by lightning right on his entrance?” Shan Yu asked.

“No idea,” Chen Jian suppressed his laughter.

Three figures appeared, draped in bedsheets over their heads, around their waists, and pillowcases tied around their arms.

Subtitles appeared:

Chief Guard: Chen Hu.

Left Guard: Liu A’si.

Right Guard: Chen Xiaowu.

“Hmph!” Chen Hu, with the sheet over his head, grunted darkly. “A secret agent indeed!”

“How could he tell?” Shan Yu asked.

“Drag him out and bury him,” Chen Hu said.

“No finishing blow?” Shan Yu asked.

Chen Xiaowu (sheet around waist) and Liu A’si (pillowcase on arm) hopped over, dragging Chen Sanbing out the gate.

As Sanbing was dragged out, his legs kicked twice against the ground—unclear whether he was acting out a struggle or breaking character to help Erhu and the others drag him.

“Burying him alive?” Shan Yu said.

Chen Jian laughed so hard his hands trembled.

With a transition, the shot cut indoors. Ambient dialogue rose gradually, and the lighting brightened.

“Hello guest, your soybean juice!” Hu Pan appeared carrying a tray with a cup of coffee on it.

Subtitles lit up:

Bartender: Hu Mianbao (Hu Bread).

Hu Mianbao walked into the café, setting the coffee in front of a guest.

The guest was an older gentleman. He picked up the “soybean juice,” took a sniff, and slapped his thigh: “Fine juice!”

A small line of text appeared at the bottom: All guests appearing in this skit have provided explicit consent.

“Pretty thorough,” Chen Jian said.

“Guests actually agreed to play along?” Shan Yu said. “Might as well arrange for them to film some cleaning scenes.”

“Too ruthless, Boss,” Chen Jian said.

Hu Mianbao’s costume was far more sophisticated than the bedsheet crew: she wore a shawl draped over her head, tied into a floral knot like a bridal headdress.

The camera followed Hu Mianbao to the kitchen entrance.

“Today’s food is truly delicious,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Repeated praises don’t count,” someone turned out from the kitchen, wearing a silk scarf tied around her head and brandishing two cleavers. “You’re the third one. I remember in my heart.”

The white subtitles turned blood red:

Cook: Zhao Fangfang.

“The only real name,” Shan Yu noted.

“They’ve tracked us down,” Hu Mianbao placed the tray on the counter.

“There is no escaping it,” Zhao Fangfang said somberly, dropping a green bell pepper onto the tray. “This day was bound to come sooner or later. It seems I am fated never to achieve my dream…”

“Does this bell pepper have symbolic meaning?” Shan Yu asked.

“It expresses Liu Wu’s homesickness,” Chen Jian said.

“He doesn’t eat spicy food; whose hometown is he longing for?” Shan Yu said.

“No!” Hu Mianbao smashed her fist onto the bell pepper.

The next second was a cut to the bell pepper shattered into scattered pieces.

“It expresses Hu Mianbao’s profound internal martial power,” Chen Jian corrected himself.

“We will definitely fulfill your dream,” Hu Mianbao said.

“Who goes there!” Zhao Fangfang raised her blades, staring toward the main entrance.

The camera whipped over with a whoosh.

Chen Jian walked in through the courtyard gate, swept a cool glance across the lens, and walked offscreen.

The subtitles reverted to white font:

Shopkeeper: Chen Diandian (Dian-dian).

“Why do I have parentheses in mine?” Chen Jian asked.

“Pretty cool,” Shan Yu said. “When was this shot taken?”

“No idea,” Chen Jian said. “Panpan filmed me at least seven or eight times, day and night. Don’t know which take she used…”

“Does he know?” Zhao Fangfang asked.

“Rest assured,” Hu Mianbao said. “As long as he is here, we are safe.”

“Oho,” Shan Yu murmured.

The scene shifted again, from night to day.

A panning shot clearly showed the small path outside Dayin’s entrance.

Draped in his bedsheet, Chen Sanbing woke from his stupor, sprawled against the courtyard wall.

“Didn’t they bury him?” Chen Jian asked.

“If you don’t deliver a finishing blow, corpses reanimate,” Shan Yu said.

“I will not…” Chen Sanbing propped one hand against the wall and clutched his chest, struggling to stand, wobbling unsteadily, “…be killed so easily!”

With a fling of his hand, sending the bedsheet billowing, he stepped into the courtyard once more.

A dark silhouette appeared—black trench coat, black mask, and a black hat covering the last of his facial features.

Unlike before, no character subtitle appeared.

Chen Jian thought that if there were one, it would probably be:

Mysterious Figure: Shan Banban.

Shan Heihei (Shan Black-black).

Shan in Black.

…

The man in black said nothing, simply swinging the baseball bat in his hands fiercely toward the camera.

The bat spun toward the lens, a dull thud sounded as if hitting something, and it spun right back into the man’s hands.

The screen cut to black, leaving only a blood-curdling scream from Chen Sanbing:

“Aaaargh!”

“Dead again?” Shan Yu said.

Liu Wu’s script definitely harbored personal grudges.

Then, bold characters emerged from the darkness:

Dayin Jianghu, To Be Continued.

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