Chapter 118: Under Surveillance

I pretended not to head to the third floor, instead continuing upward until I reached the fourth floor, where I finally exhaled in relief. After waiting for a while, I returned cautiously to the corner on the second floor. Descending the stairs, I was extremely careful, trying to make my footsteps as quiet as possible.

Peering cautiously around the corner on the second floor, I glanced at the door to the room. Sure enough, the narrow crack I had noticed before was now sealed shut. It seemed my suspicions were nearly accurate—the person inside was very likely one of the agents sent by the Old Ghost and his crew. No wonder they weren’t guarding outside; it was far safer to keep watch downstairs. No matter how I moved, I wouldn’t bypass the building’s main entrance unless I entered through a window. In that case, staking out the second floor was absolutely the safest choice.

What puzzled me most was how they had gotten into the room. Had they sneaked in secretly? The possibility seemed strong. However, I had no intention of entering the room to confront them. First, I didn’t know how many people were inside. Second, I wasn’t sure if they were armed. Lastly, such a move might alert them prematurely.

Still, the time I had spent preparing was clearly paying off. Suddenly, a clever idea struck me. I took out my phone and dialed 110—the emergency number in Beijing. The call was answered swiftly, and the response time was impressively fast. After waiting on the fourth floor for about seven or eight minutes, I heard the distinct sound of police sirens. I looked out the window and saw three officers quickly entering the building.

When I reported the incident, I told the dispatcher that a burglary was in progress at a neighbor’s home. When asked how I knew, I simply said I was their neighbor—which was true—and that the intruders had not entered through normal channels.

As expected, when the officers knocked on the door, no one answered for a long while. The police, experienced and methodical, seemed certain someone was inside. I then heard the unmistakable sound of locks being pried open. At that moment, I began descending the stairs and opened my own front door to enter.

I left my security door slightly ajar, listening intently to the sounds downstairs, eager to confirm whether the people in the room were indeed agents of the Old Ghost. Soon, the door opened, but strangely, the room appeared empty. I listened closely, catching a middle-aged officer’s voice:

“The lock on this security door has been tampered with. There are signs of a break-in. Looks like the burglars haven’t gone far!”

Hearing this, I hurried to the balcony. Sure enough, two men in black coats were briskly making their way toward a black Jetta parked below. It seemed they had escaped through the window. Jumping from the second floor was too easy. Indeed, those two men were sent to surveil me. With this realization, I felt a measure of reassurance. For now, I had not been fully monitored or controlled.

I exhaled deeply and stopped paying attention to the noise downstairs. The rest was now in the hands of the police. Turning back, I entered the study and resumed poring over some notes and documents my father had left behind. Though I had read most before, I wanted to review them once more.

After three or four hours, my eyes grew strained and sore. I stood and paced the room. Though no family remained here, this house was still home. No matter how time faded memories, the essence of home remained. Here, I felt a deep sense of peace.

I had long noticed how secure my home was. Now, I could imagine how cautious my father had been. Every window was fitted with reinforced security bars, thickened and riveted firmly—undeniable and unbreakable by ordinary means. The security door was specially reinforced, its lock cylinder unlike any standard lock. It was clearly unique. Moreover, our door was double-layered: one key opened two locks. If the first was not opened with the key, the second would automatically lock tight—only a cutting tool could breach it. Even our keys were distinct, broader and thicker than usual.

Before, I had never given this much thought, assuming my father’s measures were simply for family safety. Now, I understood the depth of his caution.

As evening approached, I took out my phone and dialed a number given to me by Black Sunglasses. He had said that if I ever needed to use the items in my possession, I should call this number. The owner of the line was trustworthy and secure. Although I wasn’t sure if Black Sunglasses was truly a friend, he had no reason to harm me. If he intended to, he would have done so long ago—there was no need to hold back now.

The “items” referred to the treasures we had recovered near the Lishui River. When I would return to Beijing next was uncertain—perhaps I would never return at all. Why? I gave a bitter smile and opened my palm to look at the deep red mole there. Time was running out.

My upcoming plans required substantial energy and funds. In today’s world, without money, many things were difficult to accomplish. Given my physical condition, hoarding wealth was pointless. I had no relatives, let alone heirs. Rather than leave my assets idle, it was wiser to exchange these treasures for money to fund the plans ahead. The remainder could be left to the Tomb Guardians—they were, after all, my family in this world, my only kin.

Speaking of family, I had tried to trace my maternal relatives but found nothing. As a child, I once asked my mother why I had no grandparents or uncles and aunts like other kids. She told me she was an orphan.

As I grew older and never met her family, I accepted her words. Even when I first met Wang Wenshan, I asked him the same question. He confirmed that on my mother’s university records, under relatives, it was listed as an orphanage.