Love on the Turquoise Land

The sky was completely dark now.

Inside the car, the front reading light was on, casting a dim, cold glow with a faint bluish fluorescence. The elevated road had few passing vehicles, and clusters of tall wild hemp surrounded the car, creating a profound sense of isolation from the world.

Yan Tuo had been turning the hand-press syringe over in his fingers for quite some time. The village called Banya left him puzzled—was it just his bad luck to stumble into a den of thieves? But if they had targeted him specifically...

It seemed absurd. He had never been to that village before, and this was his first time even visiting this city.

Nie Jiuluo sat silently beside him, motionless except for occasionally reaching over to fiddle with the spiral bracelet on her left wrist. The faint clinking of the bracelet’s links was barely audible.

The sound caught Yan Tuo’s attention. He glanced at her and asked, "What do you do for a living?"

Yan Tuo’s luck wasn’t entirely bad. Although the old man had inserted the syringe into the back of his neck, he hadn’t managed to inject much of the drug, allowing Yan Tuo to stay conscious long enough to hide himself and the car properly. Being caught by the villagers, passing out on the road, or being discovered by the police—none of those outcomes were acceptable.

So after getting the car back on the road, he deliberately chose remote routes without surveillance cameras and eventually settled on this patch of wild hemp. The tall stalks were dense enough to completely obscure the car. Once inside, he even took a few winding turns before stopping deep within the thicket.

Most drivers were in a hurry, coming and going without a second glance. Even if someone noticed signs of a "car crash" here, few would bother to investigate. And those who did were either genuinely helpful or harboring ill intentions.

At first, he thought he had encountered a good Samaritan. He had kept Nie Jiuluo with him because she had seen something she shouldn’t have. But upon reflection, this kind of passerby had appeared a little too frequently.

Especially after he was attacked—she was the first to find him. And her composure in the face of danger was unexpected. Lao Qian had left because of her excuse, but if she hadn’t acted so naturally, he wouldn’t have left so readily.

Appearances could be deceiving. Who was to say she wasn’t one of the hounds Banya Village had sent after him?

Nie Jiuluo said, "My phone has Weibo with real-name verification, as well as WeChat. It’s all there."

She didn’t think Yan Tuo was particularly vicious. A truly ruthless person would have shot them both and left their bodies in the wild hemp. The fact that he let Lao Qian go was, in a way, a signal of relative restraint.

Yan Tuo took out her phone, unlocked it with her face, and first checked her Weibo.

Unexpectedly, she was a sculptor—and a somewhat famous one at that. Her account had hundreds of thousands of followers. The posts were work-related, showcasing her pieces. Even as an outsider, Yan Tuo could tell her work had a distinct style: delicate yet eerie, warm yet laced with coldness, striking a perfect balance between the unconventional and the refined.

He clicked through the images one by one, occasionally zooming in. "You made all of these?"

Nie Jiuluo gave a soft hum of confirmation.

Yan Tuo fell silent for a moment, then suddenly reached for her hand.

Nie Jiuluo stiffened, instinctively pulling back, but she was too slow. His fingertips brushed lightly over her palm and trailed across her fingers—a barely-there touch, yet it sent a faint tingling sensation up her arm."Your hands aren't rough. Clay sculpting is manual work—usually leaves fingers coarse."

Nie Jiuluo slightly curled her fingers, cupping her palms: "With proper care and willingness to spend, hands don't have to get rough."

Fair point. Hands are a woman's second face. Nowadays, young women who can afford it rarely skimp on maintenance.

Yan Tuo continued scrolling through the Weibo feed. Sculpting was time-consuming, so her works were few. Just ten pages in, he'd already reached posts from two years ago.

Verified account, actual artworks—hard to fake.

He remarked, "The sculptures are quite beautiful."

Then he exited and clicked into WeChat. Nie Jiuluo frowned slightly, feeling her privacy intruded upon, but then reconsidered—it wasn't like there was anything truly private there anyway.

Nie Jiuluo had many WeChat contacts, mostly work-related, along with housekeeping, delivery, skincare, and nail services. A quick scan revealed plenty: her live-in housekeeper Sister Lu had last messaged the previous week asking whether to boil or stir-fry white shrimp; her yard had many flowers and trees tended by a gardener every two weeks for pest control; and one sculpture had been delayed for three years, with an exasperated Lao Cai complaining, "Three years! How can you keep dragging this out? Even having babies would've produced three or four by now."

Yan Tuo noted Lao Cai's precision—"three or four" accounted for the possibility of twins.

Just as he was about to speak, the phone vibrated—a new notification.

Not a text or WeChat message. Returning to the home screen, he saw she actually had a "burn-after-reading" app. Opening it, the sender was "Natou," the message folded into an envelope with no preview.

Nie Jiuluo noticed but stayed silent.

Yan Tuo opened it.

—Day 8. Paid respects to the third golden idol. Safe.

After ten seconds, the message auto-destructed, flames licking the screen so vividly one could almost smell the smoke.

"Who's this?"

"A friend," Nie Jiuluo replied.

"What kind of friend needs burn-after-reading instead of normal contact?"

Annoyed but holding back, she turned to Yan Tuo with a bright smile: "My boyfriend. Married. So we keep communication discreet, leaving no traces. He’s in the mountains worshipping golden idols for wealth, guided by a master. With the unpredictable conditions there, I asked him to check in daily—Mr. Yan, if you’re keeping me here to talk, let’s focus. Could you respect personal privacy?"

Yan Tuo replied flatly, "Just say you’re the other woman. No need for details."

You’re the one who asked for an explanation! Nie Jiuluo cut straight to it: "We’ve covered what needed discussing. Are you satisfied? Can I leave now?"

Yan Tuo remained calm. "Miss Nie, we’ve no grudge. I don’t want to harm you. But you saw something you shouldn’t have. Letting you go makes me uneasy."

Her response was swift: "I’m just an ordinary person who wants no trouble. I saw nothing and won’t talk."

"How do I guarantee that?"

"I can sign a statement."

Yan Tuo scoffed. "A statement? So if you break it, I can sue you?"It seemed that a written agreement was out of the question, and swearing oaths would likely be futile. Nie Jiuluo tossed the ball back to him, "Then what do you want?"

Yan Tuo answered off-topic, "Miss Nie, sculpting must take a lot of time and effort, right?"

Nie Jiuluo wasn’t sure what he was getting at and gave a noncommittal hum.

"Does it take half a year to finish one?"

"Depends. Could be longer or shorter."

"Does it pay well?"

What, was he thinking of joining the trade?

"Miss Nie, I haven’t decided what to do with you yet. How about this—stay at my place for a while? It won’t interfere with your work. Sculpting is sculpting, no matter where you do it."

Nie Jiuluo took a moment before replying, "House arrest, huh?"

"Don’t put it so harshly. I’ll buy whatever you sculpt—you take the commission, earn the money. I’ll cover your food, lodging, and pay you. I’m practically your benefactor. How is that house arrest?"

Nie Jiuluo’s tone was laced with sarcasm, "No contact with the outside world?"

"Aren’t you artists always isolating yourselves to focus on your work? No need for contact—less distraction."

Nie Jiuluo nearly laughed in exasperation. This Yan guy was quite the smooth talker, spinning silk out of thin air. He made kidnapping and house arrest sound positively poetic.

"Mr. Yan, I’m the kind of person who’s easy to invite but hard to send away."

"No problem. I’m good at sending people off. If you like, I can even send you all the way west."

With talk of "sending her west," any further protest would seem ungrateful. Besides, this was hardly a negotiation between equals. Nie Jiuluo leaned back against the seat and gazed ahead indifferently, "The gun’s in your hands. You call the shots."

Yan Tuo glanced at her. Her profile was aloof, every contour of her face radiating indifference. Her long eyelashes caught the faint light from the car’s ceiling, their tips glimmering.

Bringing her along was a burden.

But given her attitude, letting her go was a risk he couldn’t take.

Yan Tuo drove out of Yemadi and circled the area before settling on a family-run inn.

He chose it for its remote location and lack of business—calling it "lack of business" was generous, as there were no guests at all. When the car pulled in, only the dog tied at the gate barked a few times.

The inn itself was rudimentary: a large, self-built courtyard with an iron gate at the front and single-story houses enclosing the other three sides. The central yard was for parking.

Yan Tuo took the room in the farthest corner.

Nie Jiuluo cooperated throughout. There was no chance of calling for help here. The only person she glimpsed was the elderly innkeeper, a hunched man in his sixties who coughed incessantly—hardly a match for Yan Tuo’s fists.

Yan Tuo first brought Nie Jiuluo into the room, restrained her hands behind her back, and cuffed her to a vertical, disused pipe in the bathroom corner. Then he climbed up to seal the high ventilation window before returning to the car for his luggage.

The ordinary luggage went into the room, but two items were brought into the bathroom: a canvas bag containing Sun Zhou and the suitcase that had been lying in the back seat.

The canvas bag made sense—after all, it held a person. But why bring the suitcase in too?

...

When Yan Tuo re-entered the bathroom, he had changed clothes: sand-colored waterproof mid-calf boots, black canvas training pants with a pair of full-finger gloves stuffed into the back pocket, and a black, round-neck, short-sleeved quick-dry T-shirt. Nie Jiuluo sat on the floor, and from her low angle, he loomed over her with an imposing presence.This didn't look like attire for "washing up and going to bed." Nie Jiuluo asked, "Going out?"

Yan Tuo gave an affirmative grunt, turning on the faucet to splash water on his face. The sink was shallow, causing water to constantly spill onto the floor. The already dirty tiles looked even more of a mess when wet.

Nie Jiuluo's mind raced with thoughts.

Him going out was naturally a good thing—with the kidnapper gone, the hostage would have a better chance of escaping. What she feared was him injecting her with something to knock her out... Maybe when he tried to drug her later, she could claim she'd been allergic to medical anesthetics since childhood and might even die from them?

He might not believe her, but he wouldn't dare take the risk, right? After all, it was a human life.

The sound of running water stopped.

Yan Tuo grabbed a towel to dry his hands, walking over to the suitcase as he did so. He knocked the toe of his boot against the side of the case. "You awake?"

It was a hard-shell framed suitcase, not zippered but with an aluminum clasp. The hard toe of his boot made a loud thud against it.

Nie Jiuluo's scalp prickled.

What did that mean? He was talking to the suitcase, asking if it was "awake"? Was there actually a person inside?

This emotionally deprived perverted man was truly something—one person stuffed in a duffel bag, another in a suitcase.

After a moment of silence, a faint scratching sound came from inside the case—the sound of nails scraping against the interior.

Yan Tuo crouched down, spun the combination lock, and then flung the lid open.

This time, Nie Jiuluo's scalp didn't just prickle—it practically spasmed.

Curled up inside the suitcase was a man. Though the case was large, it was still cramped for a full-grown adult—Nie Jiuluo couldn't even fathom how he'd contorted himself to fit. His flesh pressed tightly against all four sides, forcing his human shape into a rectangular form, like a melted aspic, with his head and feet not where they should be.

His face was buried, the back of his head facing upward as he let out a muffled grunt.

Yan Tuo said, "I've got things to do outside. Sun Zhou and this woman—keep an eye on them. Don’t let anything go wrong."

Nie Jiuluo's heart sank. She had thought Yan Tuo was transporting three people and that the suitcase held another hostage. But now it seemed this was his accomplice.

How creative—stashing his accomplice in a suitcase. She recalled the scene from the previous night at the hotel lobby when she'd been sketching and Yan Tuo had wheeled the suitcase in.

So at that time, there had been a person curled up inside. No wonder he'd kept it in the back seat—it really was a "precious item."

The man grunted again but still didn’t move.

Yan Tuo frowned, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. "You planning to live in there or what?"

The nudge sent the man into a shudder, his head desperately burrowing into the corner of the case.

Suspicion flickered in Yan Tuo's eyes. "Gou Ya, come out and talk."

Gou Ya mumbled, "The ride was bumpy, then the crash... I don’t feel good. Let me rest a bit longer."

Yan Tuo didn’t respond. He stared at the back of Gou Ya’s head. After a day sealed inside, the suitcase smelled faintly of blood and rot.

After a pause, he reached out, gripping the nape of Gou Ya’s neck, and forcibly yanked his head up.

Nie Jiuluo’s mind buzzed, and she nearly screamed.

This Gou Ya was the same ugly man she’d seen through the peephole earlier. But now, he looked different—his left eye socket had been gouged into a blackened, bloody hole.