Chapter 22: Birthday Celebration

Before Old Sun left, he took only one piece of bronze ware, saying it was a sample to show people. This time was different—dozens of bronzes had been stolen, and those without enough strength simply couldn’t handle them all.

Wang, the leader, wanted to deal with everything at once, quickly convert the goods into cash, and leave as soon as possible.

Unexpectedly, several days passed without any news, leaving our team on edge, worried that something had gone wrong, or that Old Sun had been caught.

During these days, Sun the Third rarely went out. He locked himself in the hotel room, drawing something on blank sheets of paper every day. I saw it a few times—at a glance, it was clear the lines on the paper depicted the stone door of the underground palace. Sun the Third had experience opening such stone doors before, but one this large and heavy left him utterly helpless.

I knew his obsession with the sealing stone was a form of self-deception and consolation. Something we together struggled to open—did he really think his older brother could push it open alone?

He was hysterical.

To put it plainly, it was like someone with only ten yuan in their pocket going to the most expensive brand-name clothing store. The staff couldn’t just kick them out, so the person kept trying on clothes they couldn’t afford. Sun the Third was in exactly that state, and we didn’t know how to reason with him.

On the third day, I went to see Li Jing because I suddenly remembered it was her birthday. I wasn’t sure if her family still had debt collectors coming around. Since I was just sitting around in the hotel doing nothing, I decided to help Li Jing celebrate her birthday and bring her a gift.

At that time, portable cassette players were very popular—the kind with a plastic box that played tapes. Today's youngsters have never used them. Back then, if you had one, you’d show it off deliberately, holding the half-kilogram device in one hand with the earphone cord exposed. You’d be the coolest guy around and catch plenty of girls’ attention.

Two songs were especially popular then: one was Sammi Cheng’s “Eyebrow Dancing,” with a catchy beat that got under your skin.

The other was “The Girl Across Looks Over,” sung by Richie Ren. Later hits like “The Mouse Loves Rice” and “Praying to Buddha” wouldn’t emerge for years.

I spent several hundred yuan at a music store to buy a Sony portable cassette player, of course with tapes—these were truly expensive back then, and the Japanese made a fortune selling them.

All this money came from the leader’s budget. I hadn’t spent it all and saved some, which I truly regretted.

In the year 2000, the “Funeral Love” subculture was booming—shamatic hairstyles paired with ripped jeans looked utterly ridiculous, yet Li Jing was strangely interested in these things.

When I arrived, Li Jing’s mother had gone to work at the river management office, leaving Li Jing alone at home.

“Here, Li Jing, happy birthday. May you grow more beautiful,” I said as soon as I entered, handing her the cassette player.

“Thank you,” Li Jing blushed as she accepted it. For a moment, the atmosphere grew awkward between us—we both thought about that night at the small hotel when I ran off in fear.

After a short silence, Li Jing suddenly looked up at me. “Yun Feng, you go to No. 1 High School, right? I’m working on some math problems I can’t solve. Could you help me? My mom said you could tutor me when you have time.”

My face darkened at once.

I didn’t know any math formulas, and I wasn’t even a student at No. 1 High School—I had lied to her. I couldn’t solve those equations. I could tomb-rob, but that wasn’t something I could teach her.

Taking the worksheet, I stared at the strange symbols and squiggles. Sweat broke out on my forehead—I had no idea what any of it meant.

She handed me a pen. “How do you do it, Yun Feng? Write down the steps for me.”

I remember scribbling something on the paper, but I forgot exactly what—probably a circle here and a square there, just random doodles.

Li Jing stared at my ‘masterpiece’ with her mouth wide open, confused. She asked what method that was.

I lied, “That’s from a later course you haven’t studied yet. Once you learn it, you’ll understand.”

As we chatted, two of Li Jing’s classmates came to celebrate her birthday—two boys. One had his hair dyed completely red except for a tuft in front dyed yellow, and he wore chain-decorated pants—a true shamatic youth.

“Li Jing, happy birthday,” the yellow-haired boy said, smiling as he handed her a small cake.

Li Jing took it gratefully. “Thank you so much, Wang Qiang, for buying me a cake.”

The yellow-haired boy puffed on the tuft of hair in front of his forehead. “No big deal, small fry, it’s nothing.”

Looking at this boy about my age, I was filled with rage.

That damn cake cost no more than thirty yuan. My Sony cassette player had cost over eight hundred. Li Jing hadn’t even mentioned the expense when I gave her the player—so what was that cheap cake compared to it?

“Come on, I’ll arrange it. Let’s go to the Star Hotel by our school gate. I’ve booked a table for you, Xiao Jing,” the yellow-haired boy said smugly, looking at me with satisfaction.

“Thank you, Wang Qiang. I haven’t eaten yet either. Let’s go, Yun Feng,” Li Jing said, pulling my arm.

Seeing this, the yellow-haired boy grew a little displeased and kept shooting me glances.

The Star Hotel was right opposite No. 3 High School, mainly serving school officials and wealthy students—considered a luxury hotel locally and, among students, second only to KFC.

Wang Qiang had really spent a lot to impress Li Jing. Later, I guessed that meal cost him a whole week’s allowance.

During ordering, something amusing happened that I want to share with you. I swear, it was just like the skit “No Problem with Money” by Xiao Shenyang.

At the start of ordering, Wang Qiang asked for a plate of garlic scallops, but the waiter said, “Sorry, scallops sold out today.”

Wang Qiang frowned and said, “Then a plate of poached chicken.” The waiter replied, “Sorry, the market was closed today, no chicken available.”

Wang Qiang slammed the menu. “Then what do you have at the Star Hotel?”

The waiter smiled, “We have authentic home-style dishes.”

So we ordered home-style dishes: spicy and sour shredded potatoes, Mapo tofu, Kung Pao chicken, braised eggplant, and scrambled eggs with chives, plus three bottles of Jianlibao soda.

There were four of us, but obviously Wang Qiang didn’t buy me a Jianlibao.

“Here’s to Xiao Jing’s birthday!” Wang Qiang raised his glass to toast Li Jing as the food arrived.

“Yun Feng, drink mine,” Li Jing offered me her bottle.

“No thanks, if I want one I’ll buy it myself,” I pushed it back to her.

As we whispered, Wang Qiang sneered, “Hey, kid, look at the ragged clothes you’re wearing and that lame hairstyle. Have you ever even drunk Jianlibao? Ha ha.”

His eyes turned cold, and I was about to stand up angrily.

At that moment, a familiar voice came from the restaurant entrance.

“Yun Feng? What are you doing here? You looked pale just now. What’s wrong?”

Seeing the approaching group, I quickly stood up from my seat.

“Nothing, Sister Yu. I’m just having dinner with friends.”