Chapter 78: 4341951009

After talking for quite a while, He Yu finally gave in. He asked, “You want to investigate the Five Masters? That’s not going to be easy. Especially Tian Yuqing and Chen Si, those two are the trickiest of the bunch. If they team up to come after you, you won’t even know how you died. Who do you plan to ask for help?”

That question hit right at my blind spot. When it came to industry insiders and backdoor dealings, I was completely out of my depth. Everyone always said the Eight-Foot Dragon was incredibly gifted, but no one ever mentioned that his grandson had inherited that gift. In this line of work, if you don’t have the knack, no one will come looking for you. If you want people to seek you out, you have to prove your skills in feng shui are sharp and accurate.

“You’ve been in this business longer than I have, and you know more people. Think carefully—who would be the right person for us to approach?” I leaned forward slightly on the sofa across from He Yu.

He Yu slumped into the couch with a sigh, and just like that, we both fell silent. The quiet stretched on for nearly half an hour.

Just as I was about to drift off, He Yu finally sat up slowly and said, “You know, I just went over it in my head, and I really do know someone who could help.”

I snapped awake and motioned for him to continue. He cleared his throat and went on, “This guy’s name is Qiao Sangui, in his early fifties. Folks in the underworld call him Old One-Eye. He started taking jobs in Guangdong when he was just twenty. Back then, he was just a low-level thug, full of hot air and constantly getting beat up. But he had a wide network of connections. Later, he started working as an informant for the third master of the Liu Family, and that’s when he added the ‘San’—meaning ‘three’—to his name. About a decade ago, he was riding high. The Liu Family’s access to inside information back then had a lot to do with him. I can’t vouch for everyone, but if you want to find out where your Fourth Brother is, he’s your best bet.”

I frowned. “The Liu Family? If we go to him, won’t he report back to Liu Wan? Wouldn’t that blow our cover completely?”

Before I even finished speaking, He Yu raised a finger and waved it side to side with an annoyingly smug look. “Ah, dear Gan, this just proves how much you still have to learn.”

I raised my hand to smack him, and he quickly changed his tone.

“Alright, alright, no more teasing. You don’t know this, but Old One-Eye’s been independent for years. After Liu Sanshui disappeared, he tried to take over the turf and went head-to-head with Yu Jingzi. But Yu Jingzi’s Liu Sanshui’s own daughter, and she’s ruthless. You think she’d just hand over her father’s territory? She set him up and wiped out the little patch of land he had left. Forced him to flee all the way to some remote mountain village in Yunnan, where he’s been hiding ever since.”

“Old One-Eye’s in Yunnan?” I asked. “You sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure! The guy’s infamous. We’ll definitely be able to track him down. But there’s something important you need to understand,” He Yu’s expression turned serious. “Are you sure you want to go to him? Old One-Eye isn’t like Hou Jinshan, who’s just a cowardly money-grubber. Hou Jinshan’s all about the cash—he doesn’t even count as a real member of the Tomb-Raiding Faction. He’s not even close to the Five Masters, just a shady businessman at best. But Old One-Eye? He’s genuinely vicious. If you get involved with him, it means you’re in this business for good. You get what I’m saying?”

I thought to myself, is this guy really that terrifying? But I couldn’t let go of the box. It wasn’t just about the mechanisms inside—it was about the riddles it brought with it.

If Tian Xiao had been involved in that secret project back in 1951, and aside from the Lu Family’s mysterious movements, the other families had practically banded together, then the business entanglements must’ve been incredibly complicated. Maybe all of it had something to do with my grandfather too.

Unable to sleep in the middle of the night, I returned to my room and sat at my desk, pulling out my sketchbook to draw the Nieyao Ghost Market Map. I’d only seen it once, so I had to rely on memory, using a pencil to roughly sketch the layout, trying to replicate every detail as accurately as I could—even though I knew it was nearly impossible.

During the hours I’d spent talking with He Yu, I kept thinking about my grandfather. Because of that 1951 project, I couldn’t help but keep linking things back to him. And beyond that, I started remembering things from my childhood.

Back when I was in high school, my grandfather suddenly announced he was going on a long trip. He told my mom to come back and take care of me. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, and that month was both joyful and suffocating. I couldn’t relax doing anything, and even calling her “Mom” felt awkward. That’s why it stuck in my memory so clearly.

And it was after that trip that my grandfather’s health started to decline. But no matter how many times I asked where he’d gone, he always brushed me off with vague answers.

Looking back now, it really was strange.

I zoned out for quite a while. When I finally moved, I nearly knocked over the teacup beside me. I quickly caught it before it could spill on my papers. But when I looked back at the sketch, I noticed something odd—a line of numbers written in pencil in the corner of the page.

I often sketch while thinking. It’s a habit of mine. I get so lost in thought that I don’t even realize what I’m drawing. But today felt different. I had subconsciously written a string of numbers, as if my hand had moved on its own through muscle memory.

4341951009.

Wait a second—4341951009? Why did that number sound so familiar?

I repeated it silently in my head: “4341951009. The project’s name was the Nine-Ring Project.”

The moment the memory clicked, a chill shot down my spine. That number—it was the project team code Tian Xiaoqi had once revealed to me for the Nine-Ring Project!

The 1951 project… 4341951.

My god, could it be that the project from 1951 is the same one Fourth Brother is working on now?

But how is that even possible? It’s 2003 now. What kind of project could last for half a century? That just doesn’t make sense. And if 1951 really is a year, then what do the numbers 434 before it and 009 after it mean?

That’s just a guess, though. It’s not even what’s bothering me the most right now. What really has me shaken is—why did I instinctively write down that string of numbers in the first place?!

I’ve never been good with numbers. Since I was a kid, I’ve had no sensitivity to them. I barely pay attention when I hear them, let alone try to memorize them. So how could something I never consciously remembered turn into muscle memory? How could my hand write it out on its own while I was zoning out?

Anyone with a bit of common sense knows that muscle memory and brain memory aren’t the same thing. Simply put, to form true muscle memory, you need repeated physical practice—a movement done over and over again. But I’m sure that was the first time I ever heard those numbers. There’s no way I could’ve practiced them before.

I couldn’t make any sense of it, so I quickly grabbed an eraser and rubbed the numbers off the paper. My hand was shaking as I did it, because another possibility had just occurred to me.

Could it be a hint?

What if that “first time hearing it” wasn’t actually the first time? What if it only felt like the first time to me?

The more I thought about it, the more far-fetched it seemed. Pulling something like that off would require an enormous effort.

They’d have to implant the memory in me without my awareness. And not just that—the memory couldn’t surface until I consciously heard the numbers for the “first time.” Only then would my brain and fingers start working together to bring that information out without me even realizing it. But if someone went to all that trouble just to make me notice it, then what?

Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk up to me and say, “Gan Ji, you should pay attention to this sequence of numbers”? Or do it like last time—send me an anonymous letter. Quicker, simpler, and way less effort.

Still, no matter how I try to reason it away, this whole thing is a knot I can’t untangle. I put down my pen and picked up my phone, moving the cursor to a contact name.

Logically speaking, Fourth Brother and I are still young. If Grandpa had something serious going on, he’d usually call my mom to discuss it. So asking her for help would be the most straightforward route. But I hesitated.

Not for any particular reason. It’s just that I almost never ask her for help. Making that call would be a huge mental hurdle for me.

After thinking it over, I closed the phone and slipped it back into my pocket.

Forget it. I’ll handle this myself.