Song of the Setting Sun (Part One)

In recent days, the inn had become unusually busy, thanks to Shuimei’s partnership with the town’s only travel agency, which had brought in two “Sunset Red” senior tour groups.

The itinerary for these groups was exceedingly simple:

Day One: Breakfast—climb the mountains to admire the country’s beautiful landscape—lunch—visit the medicinal herb plantation and experience the wonders of Shennong’s hundred herbs—dinner—complimentary health lecture.

Day Two: Breakfast—another mountain walk to marvel at the scenery—visit a villager’s home to experience authentic rural life and mountain cuisine—dinner—complimentary wellness class.

Day Three: Breakfast—up-close meeting with a traditional Chinese medicine doctor, free pulse diagnosis on site—lunch—then return home by bus.

After reading the itinerary, He Lingyu asked curiously, “Do we really have a medicinal herb plantation here? Where is it?”

Shuimei admitted she didn’t know either, but Uncle Zhao remembered. “Isn’t it that little farm we pass on the way back from town? I saw they’ve changed the gate to a traditional Chinese style.”

Speaking of that little farm, both He Lingyu and Shuimei recalled it. Over a decade ago, when “QQ Farm” and “Kaixin.com” were popular, someone leased a plot at the foot of the mountain to start a small farm, hoping to attract city dwellers to come and plant vegetables in their leisure time.

The idea was good, but reality was harsh.

The place was over a hundred li from the county seat, not to mention the city. The nearest place was the small town, and half the townspeople were from rural backgrounds themselves. If they wanted to farm, they could just go back home or turn a patch of ground beneath their building into a vegetable garden. Why pay to rent land here?

So, the little farm changed owners again and again. Later, it became a kennel, then a pet training camp, and a few years ago, a nursery. But locals still habitually called it the “little farm.”

If the little farm was now the medicinal herb plantation, then the nearby farmhouse inns must be the villagers’ homes “offering a taste of rural life.”

Sure enough, both tour groups arrived as scheduled—one with thirty people all wearing red caps, the other with twenty-five in yellow caps.

After breakfast on the first day, the tour guides led the elders for a mountain walk. In truth, it was just a gentle stroll near the inn; after all, the youngest among them was sixty, the oldest seventy-eight, so their stamina was limited.

The red-capped group returned first, all in high spirits. An old lady approached He Lingyu and asked, “Young lady, are you a local?”

He Lingyu smiled and shook her head. “No.”

“Then where are you from?” the old lady pressed.

“I’m from Sichuan,” He Lingyu replied.

“Sichuan, huh? Why aren’t you working there instead of here? Let me tell you, for work you should go to a big city; a small place like this isn’t good, and it’s hard to find a partner. You look young—did you go to university?”

He Lingyu wanted to say she'd already graduated, but decided to play along for the old lady’s sake. “No, I left school after junior high and started working.”

“Oh my, working since junior high—must be tough at home. All the more reason to find a good husband. Listen, girl, studying isn’t as important for women as marrying well. I have a niece with a doctorate, and guess what? She’s over thirty and still single—a spinster! Her life is over, don’t you agree?”

He Lingyu managed a smile more pained than tears.

Just then another old lady approached. “What’s this? The young lady’s looking for a husband? How old are you? Where’s your household registration from?”

He Lingyu...

By the time afternoon came and the red and yellow caps had gone to the herb plantation, He Lingyu was sprawled on the lobby sofa, staring at the ceiling, utterly exhausted.

Spinach sauntered over, grinning, and tossed her a stick of gum. “One of the grannies tried to set me up today. Seems I’m in demand. How about you?”

He Lingyu ignored him, stuffed the gum in her mouth, and tossed the wrapper back at him.

She habitually picked up her phone and checked her Moments, eyes widening in disbelief.

Second Brother: Scored a free private jet ride—amazing!

Big Boss: A perfectly decent trip, ruined by a pig.

Yang Fan: About to start a new journey. I’ll try my best—go me!

He Lingyu couldn’t help laughing. Second Brother was Xu Yuanfang, Big Boss was her employer and major client, Si Kai. Yang Fan was Si Kai’s assistant.

She replied to Xu Yuanfang: Where are you flying to?

He answered quickly: SKY is heading to the inn, I’m going to J City—on the way.

He Lingyu mused how different it was flying private—you could even surf the internet.

Only after a moment did she realize—Si Kai was coming to the inn?

J City was the nearest city with an airport to their little town.

He Lingyu leaped off the sofa. “Sister Shuimei, the Big Boss is coming to inspect us!”

Shuimei had just checked her Moments as well, frowning deeply. “He’s just making trouble. Why come now?”

Spinach snorted. “When you’re rich, you can do whatever you want.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the front desk phone rang. He Lingyu rushed to answer it, and a stern voice said, “Is this Shuimei Inn? This is the Town Police Station.”

He Lingyu froze, covering the receiver, and whispered to Shuimei, “It’s the police, and they don’t sound happy.”

Shuimei paused, took the receiver from He Lingyu, and replied gently, “Hello, I’m the manager here. How can I help you?”

Whatever was said, Shuimei kept agreeing, then hung up, looking bewildered.

“Sister Shuimei, what’s wrong?” He Lingyu and Spinach asked in unison.

“The police said a dozen tourists have suddenly become mentally unstable. They want us to cooperate with an inspection and not let any guests leave before the officers arrive.” Shuimei’s face was clouded with confusion.

Indeed, a dozen tourists losing their minds at once—neither Shuimei nor He Lingyu, who had lived two lives, had ever heard of such a thing.

Shuimei called both tour guides, but one phone was off, the other went unanswered.

Uncle Zhao pulled down the rolling shutter. Except for Xiao Tao, who was at school in town, everyone was gathered in the lobby, exchanging uneasy glances.

Just then, a guest from the second floor came down the stairs, suitcase in hand. He Lingyu quickly got up. “Are you checking out?”

The guest was a woman in her early forties, who had checked in the day before. It was the middle of the afternoon—a strange time to check out.

He Lingyu remembered her name, rare and unforgettable: Shan Guang—Shining Light.

Shining Light inclined her head slightly. “Yes, I’d like to check out.”