Love on the Turquoise Land

She spoke with unusual fluency: "After your father passed away, we quickly brought you to live with Yunyun. After the funeral, we went to handle the things at your house. Back then, security wasn’t great—when we got there, the lock had already been broken by thieves, and the place was turned upside down."

Nie Yun kept her head down, shoveling rice into her mouth, while Nie Dongyang shifted awkwardly in his seat.

Auntie continued her monologue: "You might think all your family’s money ended up in your uncle’s hands, but that’s really not the case. Take your house, for example—back then, property wasn’t worth much. It sold for just over 100,000, not even two months of your current earnings."

How creative—comparing prices from back then to now.

"As for that money, after covering funeral expenses, there wasn’t much left. You stayed with us for over a year, didn’t you? Food, clothes—it all cost money. And over the years, your father’s grave needed upkeep too. After all the twists and turns, we even had to chip in extra. We’re family, so we shouldn’t bring this up, but I don’t want you to misunderstand us. That’s why I’m making it clear, so you don’t hold any grudges."

Nie Jiuluo said, "Oh, I see."

Then she smiled. "Never mind, I was just saying."

After the family dinner, Nie Jiuluo declined Nie Dongyang’s offer to drive her back to the hotel, saying she hadn’t been back in so long that she just wanted to take a walk.

She left the upscale neighborhood where the Nie family lived and stepped onto the bustling pedestrian walkway, walking faster and faster until the click of her heels sounded like triumphant drumbeats.

She took out the jade necklace she had acquired and put it on without a care, as if crowning herself.

The pendant felt cool against her skin at first but soon warmed, like a soft kiss pressed against her heart from afar.

...

After walking a while longer, she found the surroundings vaguely familiar. Glancing diagonally ahead, she saw the entrance to a residential complex filled with high-rises.

Now she remembered—no wonder it felt familiar. She had been here just yesterday. Zhan Jing, the man who had followed her for two blocks, lived here.

It was around the same time as yesterday, so he should be getting off work from the foot massage parlor soon. If he saw her again, would his face turn pale with fright?

Almost mischievously, she slowed her pace. After all, she was in a good mood today and had nothing urgent to attend to.

Sure enough, before long, the hunched figure of Zhan Jing appeared around the street corner, exuding an air of meekness and caution as he carried a takeout dinner in his hand.

Nie Jiuluo crossed the street diagonally toward him. "Hey!"

Just as she expected, the moment Zhan Jing saw her, he must have thought she had come to confront him. His legs turned to jelly, too weak to run. Pressing his back against the compound wall, he raised the takeout bag to shield his face. "No, miss, I’m sorry, I’m really not a pervert, I really mistook you for someone else, please don’t make a scene..."

A grown man, cowering like this—Nie Jiuluo almost pitied him. "What are you so afraid of? I’m just passing by."

From her tone, she didn’t seem to be here to cause trouble.

But Zhan Jing, once bitten, twice shy, peered at her fearfully through the gaps in the plastic bag handles. She wore a faint, pitying smile, as if trying not to intimidate him, even stepping back as she spoke. The streetlight cast a glow on her youthful, smooth face, and beneath her delicate collarbone swayed a shimmering emerald pendant.That was a piece of jadeite—a full-green, glass-grade jadeite carved into the shape of an auspicious persimmon, with a miniature peanut crafted in white gold dangling beside it, symbolizing "good things (persimmon) will happen (peanut)."

To be honest, jadeite carved into persimmon shapes was rare, let alone one of full-green glass quality, and even more so with a tiny peanut pendant.

Zhan Jing's mind went blank, and he blurted out, "Hey, hey."

Nie Jiuluo was about to leave but stopped at his call: "What is it?"

Zhan Jing swallowed hard twice, not even daring to point directly, instead timidly gesturing toward her necklace from a distance: "Your jadeite... do you know someone with the surname... surname Pei?"

This was truly unexpected.

Nie Jiuluo stared at him for a long moment: "You mean Pei Ke?"

The veins at Zhan Jing's temples throbbed: "You know her? Are you her..."

"She's my mother."

Zhan Jing clutched the plastic bag in his hand tightly, as if waking from a dream: "No... no wonder. I thought you looked a bit like her, so it really is... then, you're Xi Xi?"

Xi Xi—that name was only used here. Her original name was Nie Xi, but later, feeling that life should start anew, she changed it—not by much, just embedding her birthday into it. September 4th: Nie Jiuluo. The name was incredibly convenient for friends—no one would ever mix up her birthday, as it was right there in her name.

She asked, "Who are you?"

Zhan Jing avoided the question: "Xi Xi, do you know... where your mother is?"

How absurd. It seemed this man wasn’t just reclusive—his thought process was downright abnormal. Nie Jiuluo replied, "She's been dead for a long time."

She had no interest in reminiscing with someone unhinged and turned to leave.

But Zhan Jing hurried after her: "No, Xi Xi, she's been locked up by your father! You have to save her!"

Utterly ridiculous. Nie Jiuluo was both repulsed and amused: "How would you know that?"

Zhan Jing was stumped. After a pause, he said, "I've dreamed several times of her crying in a dungeon..."

With that kind of imagination, he should be writing scripts. Nie Jiuluo was blunt: "Who the hell are you? If anyone should be receiving dreams, it should be me, not you. Besides, my father's been dead for almost twenty years!"

Zhan Jing seemed to realize this only now. His lips trembled before he dropped another bombshell: "It was your father! Your father killed your mother!"

For fuck's sake...

If not for the man's age, Nie Jiuluo would have slapped him. She spat out "Psycho" and walked away.

Zhan Jing chased after her in desperation: "It's true! Your mother wanted a divorce, but your father refused. He said he'd take her on a trip, and after that, she never..."

With a thud, he slipped and fell hard to the ground. The round takeout box in his hand rolled far ahead, even passing Nie Jiuluo. She glanced at it coldly, nudged it aside with the tip of her boot, and sent it spinning in another direction.

Zhan Jing was badly hurt and couldn't get up immediately. Watching her walk further away, he was utterly despairing: "It's true! Xiao Ke said she'd be back soon. I went to your father to ask for her, and he beat me up..."

The more he spoke, the more heartbroken he became, ending in muffled sobs as he wiped his eyes.

But Nie Jiuluo was long gone.

Back at the hotel, the suffocating feeling in Nie Jiuluo's chest still wouldn't fade.It wasn’t because of Zhan Jing’s wild shouting about “locking her up” or “killing her.” Such nonsense went in one ear and out the other—she didn’t take it to heart at all.

What bothered her was that the long-held story of her parents’ deep, unbreakable love had suddenly been torn open, revealing a crack.

That Zhan Jing—what kind of person was he? Shabby in appearance, cowardly in nature—how could he possibly have any connection to her mother?

It was truly infuriating. She picked up her phone, intending to distract herself with a few rounds of the game "Doomsday Siege," but when she opened the app, she noticed a red notification on the self-destructing message app.

When had that arrived? She’d been so caught up in trivial matters that she hadn’t even noticed.

Nie Jiuluo tapped to open the message.

—Nie Er, before the 8th, Nanba Monkey Head.

This was clearly a mission assignment, but what the hell was “Nanba Monkey Head”? Still, with the words “Nanba” in it, did this mean another trip to southern Shaanxi?

At least the timing was flexible—the 8th was nearly a week away.

Something must have happened. Nie Jiuluo replied with two words: Call?

...

Half an hour later, Jiang Baichuan responded: I know what you want to ask. Video sent to your email. Watch it and you’ll understand. I’ll call you in ten minutes.

There was even a video? Nie Jiuluo immediately logged into her email. The message had been sent anonymously and was automatically filtered into the spam folder.

She clicked play.

The video was split into two parts. The first segment opened in Banya, the camera shaking violently as the person filming panted heavily—clearly chasing after something.

Soon, the person being chased came into view: Ma Hanzi, carrying a cane and humming a tune.

“I carry the load, you ride the horse…”

The cameraman barked at him, “Ma Hanzi, isn’t that Crippled Father’s cane? Where’d you get it?”

Ma Hanzi: “Just tossed out of a car.”

The cameraman snapped, “Hand it over!”

Ma Hanzi, resentful, reluctantly passed the cane over.

Then came a close-up of the cane—a well-used ashwood crutch, the underarm pad wrapped in old sheepskin, the grip polished smooth from years of use.

The second segment was filmed indoors. Ma Hanzi sat stiffly, legs together, hands properly on his knees, confessing earnestly.

“The invaders’ car drove up, I went to stop it, the door opened, and they just threw the cane out. Told me to pass a message to the village…”

The cameraman: “What message?”

“Said on the 8th, the Imperial Army wants to talk to the Eighth Route…”

The cameraman snapped, “Cut the theatrics! What were the exact words? Not a single word wrong!”

Ma Hanzi, displeased, grumbled for a moment before mimicking a harsh, aggressive tone: “Idiot! Take the cane. If anyone asks, tell them—come to Nanba Monkey Head on the 8th to collect the cripple.”

Then he switched back to his own voice, bewildered: “What monkey head? Sun Wukong?”

Finally, he even imitated the sound of the car driving away: “Vroom…”

Then he spread his hands—meaning: That’s it, not a word different.

The video ended there.

Nie Jiuluo couldn’t help but laugh. No wonder Ma Hanzi had started singing that altered Journey to the West lyric—it was the words “monkey head” that had triggered it.Ma Hanzi was considered one of their own. His father had died early, and his mother struggled to raise him alone. But when he was seven, he came down with a high fever. His mother didn’t take it seriously—she dug out an expired bag of cold medicine, made him take it, and bundled him under thick blankets to sweat it out. After a few rounds of this, the fever broke, but his brain had been fried in the process.

There was no future for him after that. His mother wept bitterly, then ran away.

From then on, Ma Hanzi became a village orphan, passed from household to household. Grateful for the kindness shown to him, he swore to protect Banya, fighting all sorts of battles for the village year after year. That said, his mind wasn’t completely gone—he could still pass along messages or relay information when needed, doing a decent enough job.

The day Xing Shen came to see her, he mentioned that "Crippled Father had gone missing." It seemed the other side hadn’t managed to extract anything from him and now wanted to leverage the fact that they had a hostage, setting the meeting for the eighth at "Southern Baboon Head."

No wonder they wanted her there. For something like this, you needed a blade to hold the field.

Would Yan Tuo show up? If they crossed paths again, could she beat him up?

Nie Jiuluo felt a thrill of excitement.

Truth be told, she wasn’t addicted to fighting, but when you met a worthy opponent, you always wanted to settle the score. They said three rounds decided the winner—so far, they were tied at one apiece. She’d taken him down with a sneak attack and a syringe; he’d countered with an ambush and near-drowning. Neither victory had been purely skill-based.

And besides, last time, she’d been the one to lose. That only stoked her desire to even the odds.

She had already envisioned the perfect victory for herself—