Changdong's luggage was minimal—he had only one carry-on bag, which was even more worn than the one he brought when he first arrived. It looked strangely forlorn as Xiao He watched him step out at the door and couldn’t help but double-check: “Uncle Dong, please take a moment to look around again—don't leave anything behind.” This remark reminded Changdong, so he went back to the backstage area and pulled out a stage box. In pre-liberation times, even small traveling shadow puppetry troupes with modest operations managed to pack all their props into just two stage boxes, which were carefully balanced on a pole, serving as their entire household possessions. Changdong said: “I’m a quiet person with few hobbies. I’ll keep this stage box—when I have time, I can carve wooden figures and practice threading the strings to pass the time.” The stage box wasn’t particularly valuable, so Xiao He gladly accepted it as a personal gesture. As he escorted Changdong to the street corner, he politely said: “Uncle Dong, whenever you want to return, just give us a call.” Changdong replied: “Thank you.” He then walked silently toward the intersection, one hand holding his bag and the other cradling the stage box. The box was heavier than the bag, pressing down on one shoulder. Xiao He sighed, feeling that Changdong’s return seemed increasingly unlikely. — Changdong took a taxi to the northern suburban neighborhood—the area was a mid-sized urban village slated for demolition due to financial shortfalls from developers. Construction had stalled and resumed repeatedly, leaving half of the buildings in ruins while others remained standing; when wind blew, dust filled the air, making it hard to breathe—basically no one lived there anymore. Guided by memory, Changdong stopped at a well-located building and used his key to open an automatic roller door, pushing it upward with force. Dust cascaded down, instantly turning gray strands on his hair; sunlight poured in, stirring the dust into swirling motion. A mid-size SUV was parked inside the room. Changdong walked over to the vehicle—on the outside rearview mirror, a dried rose had been inserted and now blackened at the edges. He gently brushed it with his fingers, sending brittle fragments floating into the air. This car had been gifted by Kongyang several years prior. After receiving it, Changdong spent nearly half of its purchase price on modifications: the Gobi Desert wasn’t a country road—it was prone to sinking, and Lop Nur featured vast expanses of salt crusts that could severely damage tires, making them appear as though gnawed by dogs. He installed anti-roll bars, raised the vehicle’s body height, replaced it with all-terrain heavy-duty tires, and added an electric winch—each modification enhanced its functionality but made it somewhat unrefined in appearance. Kongyang found it unsightly and remarked that practicality was all that mattered to Changdong. Among the many sleek and stylish vehicles on the road—particularly the Land Rover and Hummer models—that could attract admiration from women, for Changdong, the car was a tool: it had to be reliable enough to save his life in emergencies. Its very existence was thus a matter of luck—the time when “Black Camellia” disappeared, a major automotive sponsor provided advertising support, which required them to use their own vehicles and not allow independent operations. After Kongyang passed away, Changdong sold off his assets and kept this vehicle sealed here—hoping it might one day come in handy. The car’s surface was now covered with dust. Changdong wiped it gently with his hands before standing at the rear cabin area to open it slowly. A strong plastic scent filled the air—the inside contained a bundle of thick black PVC body bags, totaling eighteen, arranged neatly, plus another bag of miscellaneous items—some belonging to him, others to Kongyang. Changdong shifted the body bags slightly to make room for the stage box. He didn’t know whether Fei Tang had watched the video all the way through; at 4 minutes and 12 seconds—the moment he was struck by bricks and blood poured from his mouth—he strained to speak, saying: “I’ll be fine.” How could such a scene possibly indicate anything? Xiao He, watching from her seat in the restaurant, had noticed how she moved with grace and ease. Her hands were steady as she sliced through thick olive-shaped, green-skinned watermelons—each piece cut effortlessly, like slicing tofu—with a straight-handled knife that was about one foot long. The skin of the melons was especially thick, requiring effort from even men to slice; yet she managed it with ease and precision. Her appearance helped—her business was far better than those nearby stalls. At noon, she visited a nearby restaurant, ordered a boxed lunch, sat on a fold-out mat, and used a spoon to eat slowly. A stray dog approached, tail wagging—it received a piece of beef from the box. In the afternoon, as the crowd thinned out and temperatures dropped, she wrapped up in her army-green cotton jacket and opened a magazine—typical local lifestyle magazines with exposed female covers. By late evening, Changdong was certain he could no longer observe much more. So he approached the server to request payment. The woman at the counter displayed an air of coldness—she had delivered meals several times without smiling. Initially, Changdong thought this was just a local habit; only when it came time for billing did he realize otherwise. After receiving his money, she glanced once at the figure outside through the glass window and then walked away with a dismissive tone: “You’ve watched her all day—so beautiful, isn’t it? Just another food vendor, isn’t she?” — Over three days, Changdong traveled to that town in the border region of Menggan Province. The town was home to both Mongolian and Han populations—now largely Hanized. From here, driving toward either Tengger or Badanjing Desert wasn't far. In recent years, several Western Xia archaeological sites had been discovered nearby, transforming the town into a new hot destination on the northwestern tourism route—though infrastructure still lagged behind, leading to disorganized and often chaotic conditions when visitor numbers increased. Changdong purchased a winter coat—he had come in mid-October to November, where people dressed in cotton layers during morning hours and wore light garments by afternoon; even with two blankets at night, one still felt chilly. Upon arriving in the town, he observed that tourism development brought significant growth: roads outside the bus station now matched those of a small city—offering everything from convenience stores to auto parts shops and fast-food chains. However, due to poor planning, there were constant inconsistencies between old and new developments—the moment you turned a corner, asphalt could suddenly give way to dirt paths; stray dogs searched for food by the roadside; when wind blew, dust settled on aging trees near the street edges; small restaurants had only a few tables with stained, colorful plastic drapes hanging at their entrances. Changdong checked into a hotel and bought a new map of that town's city layout—originally planning to explore every part of it—but his good fortune was evident: within just over half an hour of arrival, he spotted Fei Tang. She had set up her stall on a dirt road at a junction along the highway, opening her vehicle’s rear door and arranging a small stand filled with watermelons harvested from local farms—now in season for late-maturing varieties. The roadside featured one after another of such specialty stalls. Changdong could not believe Fei Tang was truly a fruit vendor. He entered a nearby fast-casual restaurant, choosing a window seat to keep an eye on her activities throughout the day. From morning until afternoon, he ordered snacks and beverages repeatedly—yet Fei Tang remained consistently engaged in selling watermelons. She carried a thick board with a straight-handled, one-foot-long cutting knife placed upon it. The melon skins were thick and olive-shaped; even men found them difficult to slice—but she handled them effortlessly, slicing each piece with smooth, confident motions—like cutting tofu. Her natural beauty certainly helped—her business consistently outperformed nearby stands. At noon, she purchased a boxed lunch from the nearby restaurant and sat on a mat, using a spoon to eat slowly. A stray dog approached and received a chunk of beef from her box. In the afternoon as the crowd thinned and temperatures dropped, she wrapped up in her army-green cotton jacket and opened a lifestyle magazine—cover featuring women wearing revealing outfits. By late evening, Changdong was certain he would no longer be able to observe anything further. So he asked the server to take his order. The young woman at the counter had an air of disapproval; she delivered meals several times without a smile. Initially, Changdong thought this merely reflected local service habits—only when it came time for billing did he realize otherwise. After receiving his payment, she glanced once through the glass window at Fei Tang and then walked away with a dismissive tone: “You’ve watched her all day—so beautiful, isn’t it? Just another food vendor, isn’t she?”