Finding someone isn’t hard these days—identity information is fully interconnected nationwide: as long as the name is genuine, the surname matches, and you have a contact in the police system, it’s done in minutes. Changdong asked Xiao He to help, and Xiao He had a childhood friend at the municipal bureau—it was just a small effort. The response came quickly: there are five or six people named Ye Liuxi nationwide, but most don’t match either age or gender criteria. None of them come close to Changdong’s description—no one even comes close, let alone makes a tentative fit. This wasn’t surprising at all. Finding someone named Ye Liuxi wouldn’t be easy—too easy would lack challenge; yet it wouldn’t be hard either, since Changdong had personally reached out and simply set up five hurdles without clearly explaining her situation. A normal person wouldn't do that. Since the identity records didn’t reveal a match, the most effective next step was to review surveillance footage—an action outside of routine police responsibilities—so Changdong didn’t press further on it. Over the past two years, Changdong has felt like still water—his social connections have dwindled to zero, and he rarely leaves his home. Yet over the last few days, first he had to step in unexpectedly, then he started arranging people for others—he now feels as though the still waters are beginning to ripple, which has made Xiao He more conscious of a potential crisis: from the very start, Changdong has been acting as a temporary fix, like an on-call employee. Their partnership could easily dissolve at any moment. It was time to make contingency plans. Throughout the day, Xiao He had been reaching out to various people, even calling Hua County in Weinan—known as the “home of shadow puppetry”—to find anyone who might step in temporarily. By the end of the day, he felt overwhelmed—several potential candidates were worse than Changdong, demanding steep fees. With a bit of hope, Xiao He decided to visit Changdong and check whether this was just his own overthinking—or perhaps Changdong truly didn’t have any interest in continuing. After dinner with his girlfriend, Xiao He hurried back to the Huimin Street area. The theater wasn’t open; the entire alley lacked lights. Seeing other businesses bustling with activity, Xiao He felt a wave of frustration. As he opened the door and walked through the dark theater, he noticed the restroom at the far end was lit—its door slightly ajar, with the sound of running water coming from inside. Xiao He pushed the door open to greet someone: “Mr. Chang… ah!” His foot caught on a step near the entrance—he stumbled and sat down, scrambling to catch hold of something, accidentally knocking over the trash can beside the door. The area was now messy. Changdong frowned at him: “What’s wrong?” Xiao He stood up awkwardly, steadying himself against his side while smiling with embarrassment: “Nothing—just had a little episode.” He had grown accustomed to Changdong’s slightly hunched posture and white hair—he hadn’t expected to see someone standing at the sink in a sleek black sports outfit, wearing a baseball cap that shaded his face completely—it felt like an intruder had entered. Changdong turned off the tap, wiped his face with a paper towel, then lowered his eyes without looking into the mirror. Xiao He tried to keep a cheerful tone: “Mr. Chang, you look really energetic—how about going somewhere? Should I give you a ride? I’ve left something here so I came to pick it up.” Changdong folded the paper towel and tossed it into the now-upside-down trash can: “I have an appointment outside.” Xiao He instinctively stepped aside, watching as Changdong walked away—then realized he hadn’t asked any questions. Unconsciously, he felt relieved, and bent down to clean up the scattered garbage. As he was busy, suddenly Changdong’s voice came from behind: “Xiao He?” He turned around: “Ah?” Changdong had returned—the hallway was dimly lit, his cap low, hands tucked into his pockets—like a silhouette standing upright in the corridor. “You’re looking for someone to cover for you,” he said simply. Habits of always wearing others’ faces suddenly felt like being stripped bare—within just a few minutes from the Huimin Street end to the street corner, the air had become thick with unspoken words. Xiao He now felt awkward in every gesture. On the way back, Xiao He had wanted to press Changdong about his recent experiences—but Changdong spoke little, and what he said didn’t allow for further conversation. Meanwhile, on their group chat “Antique Enthusiasts,” the discussion was lively and heated. Quickly shifting focus, Xiao He began to talk with confidence: “Today I received a real gem—do you know what it is? A piece of jade known as the ‘Jade Disk’!” Changdong glanced at him. Xiao He noticed the moment, chuckled nervously: “Mr. Chang—I was just exaggerating. This guy said two days ago someone came to my shop to sell a crystal lion cup with a carved animal head—so I had to impress him!” He played the voice message for Changdong. Indeed, in the group chat, people were excitedly discussing various items: one person reported receiving a “Dream of the Prosperous River” scroll, another mentioned buying Wang Xizhi’s *Orchid Pavilion* manuscript for twenty thousand yuan. The person being questioned—once dismissed by everyone—now grew angry and shouted: “I’m telling you! I’ve seen it clearly—my senior staff member has checked it too—they haven’t missed a single item in decades!” Changdong nodded: “That sounds believable.” Xiao He scoffed: “The animal head cup is one of the most treasured pieces at Shaanxi Provincial Museum—it’s even listed as a museum piece with free access! If it were lost, it would make national news. Mr. Chang—how could that not be true?” Then came the friend who was just as slim as Xiao He—he had a tousled hairstyle and neat side parts, which matched his name: Qi Lianhai. After some time, Qi Lianhai pulled up the video from that day at the intersection to show Changdong: “Just watch it slowly—you’ll find the woman’s face clearly visible. The others I can handle.” Changdong watched carefully—having to identify one person at a time—and couldn’t move on quickly. Qi Lianhai, meanwhile, began chatting with him, also criticizing Changdong: “This friend of yours is simply uncivilized—I’ve helped him, yet he hasn’t smiled once at me.” Xiao He glanced over at the corner where Changdong sat—lowing his voice: “With over ten lives lost on his shoulders, how could he smile?” Qi Lianhai immediately became interested. Xiao He described vividly: two years ago, when Qi Lianhai’s team had selected a wrong campsite and was buried under sandstorms—the entire group was stranded; even his wife suffered losses. Later, family members of the victims blocked his office doors, treating him like an angry grandson—this story remained widely reported online. Qi Lianhai quickly pulled out his phone, searched for keywords, and after flipping through several pages, confirmed it—Xiao He then handed over the earphone cord so both could listen together. The video footage was grainy, with shaking images—but Changdong’s face was clearly recognizable as he knelt on the ground, being pulled by several middle-aged people who were crying and punching him, grabbing his hair and stomping on him. Qi Lianhai’s eyes sparkled: “That’s a strong scene!” Xiao He listened intently, then picked up a bag of opened potato chips, chewing them slowly: “After that—there are moments when people throw bricks at him. You see, this is human lives. Afterward, it was said he refused to leave his home even once.” Suddenly Changdong spoke from the front: “I found her.” Xiao He was startled—he quickly pulled out the earphones and gently pushed Qi Lianhai aside—mistakenly loosening the cord in the process—the woman’s voice now filled the room with intensity. “She lives with me, yet I never looked at her once when she passed away—I didn’t even get a coffin!” Qi Lianhai was stunned—he trembled, barely able to press his finger on the screen. Eventually, he closed it—his face turned crimson. Changdong said: “I’ve found her. I paused the video—there’s another vehicle that follows this route—I can now track its license plate.” Qi Lianhai felt relieved: “Then I’ll take over from here—that will be my responsibility.” He hurried off, leaving Xiao He to attend to Changdong. Xiao He now felt awkward as if he were the only one left—his words came out in stumbles—he had to keep pretending to enjoy his chips while quietly sending a message to Qi Lianhai: “Just find something simple and get him out of here—I can’t handle it much longer.” Qi Lianhai didn’t disappoint. He quickly pulled out a notepad and handed it over to Changdong. “The good news is that the surveillance cameras along nearby streets captured the license plate—after checking, I’ve identified the owner and have their phone number. But the owner doesn’t share the surname Liuxi—you can call them first. I’ll follow up tonight and let you know if anything new comes in.” Changdong took it. The owner’s name was Huang DeFu—he is 46 years old, living in a town near the border of Henan and Gansu provinces. On their way back, even though Changdong knew the chances were slim, he still called Huang DeFu. Huang DeFu’s answer surprised him: “The car—well—I don’t drive it myself. I rent it out to someone else.” “It seems like a person named Ye—but I can't recall the exact name—it was definitely a woman.” “You’re looking for her? Well, recently she has been selling watermelon on the street.”