Chapter 14: Impersonation

Chapter 14: Impersonation

I left Xisai Mountain in low spirits, went to Nanxun Town, and stayed for three days.

Spent that time visiting people and offices, tracking down a few of our family’s old neighbors.

They all remembered Old Mrs. Wang—my grandma, Wang Chunyan. They looked at the photo on my phone and confirmed it was her.

But one detail stood out: my parents. The neighbors said they went to Malken early on, only rushed back when Old Mrs. Wang died to bury her, then left again.

If that’s true, when did I come back to Huaxia?

Did my parents really die in the war?

Malken had been destroyed. Even if my parents had not died in the war, it was hard to imagine they had survived the catastrophe that wiped out the country.

And what about Gu Qiutang?

He must have some connection to my family. Why else would Grandma entrust me to him after all these years? He was a big-time businessman.

But he wouldn’t tell me anything. Made me find every answer myself. If you just explained, wouldn’t I understand?

On the way back to Pingdu, I thought about it all and got nowhere.

What confused me most: if AI is so dangerous, why are tech companies in Lanqi Garden still using it? Still thriving? Didn’t the UN ban further AI development? I could ask Gu Qiutang about that later.

While changing trains at the metro station on my way to Lanqi Garden, I suddenly thought of Xuanhong. Over a month ago, he was taken right here. Still a mystery to me.

Then some wire in my head crossed. I really wanted to see that stretch of ruins the taxi driver took me to. All those strange people who came out—were they really trying to rob me?

After I called the police, a police drone arrived almost immediately. It scared them all off. They seemed terrified of the police.

I left the station, hailed another taxi, told the driver where I wanted to go. Didn’t even know the place’s name, but from my description alone he understood.

He dropped me off outside the ruins, leaving me to walk in by myself.

This time I came with questions, so I worked up my nerve.

The ruined street was still gloomy, silent, lifeless.

I walked up to a broken house and knocked. No answer.

Just as I was about to leave, a pair of large eyes looked out through the broken window of the dark house. Gave me a start.

“Who are you looking for?”

A girl’s voice.

“Looking for a young guy with yellow hair.”

“My brother? He’s not here.”

“Are you sick?”

I couldn’t see her, but my sensing power still picked up that something was wrong with her lungs. From her thoughts, I could sense the pain in her lungs.

Probably tuberculosis.

“How did you know?”

She coughed a few times.

“Might be tuberculosis. Not hard to treat—antibiotic injections can cure it. Why haven’t you gotten treatment?”

“Are you a doctor? My brother said he’d find one, but he’s been looking forever. Did he send you?”

“No, just passing through. You didn’t answer—why not go to a hospital?”

“Can’t afford it. Lots of people here are sick. Not just me. I know my brother might be earning dirty money, but it’s to get me treatment.”

While we talked through the wall, an old man appeared behind me.

Held a bamboo staff, just stared. Hadn’t even noticed him arrive. Only saw him when I turned.

“Are you Master Xuanhong?” he suddenly asked.

“No, I’m just passing by.”

“No. You’re Master Xuanhong. We have your photo. You finally came. We’ve been waiting.”

Then he shouted toward the ruins.

“Master Xuanhong is here! Master Xuanhong is here!”

People emerged from nowhere.

Men, women, old, young.

Surrounded me immediately. The old man knelt right there in the street. Left me completely lost, no idea what to do.

Never expected this.

I was only curious. I’m really not Xuanhong.

Wanted desperately to explain. But too many people crowded around, layer after layer, all talking at once, bowing. Every one of them carried suffering but looked so devout. Even if I said I wasn’t Xuanhong, who would I explain it to?

The girl I’d been talking to came out of the dark house.

About twelve or thirteen, messy hair, frail. Stared at me with huge black eyes. Those eyes, so full of longing—I couldn’t say I wasn’t Xuanhong.

I steeled myself and made a bold decision. Pulled the blue-gray kasaya the monk from Mumen Temple gave me out of my pack, put it on, and put on the Buddhist prayer beads.

Maybe because of the robe, the crowd quieted. Pressed their palms together, lowered their heads.

I did the same and silently recited a passage of scripture.

Could actually do that. After all, I had a genuine ordination certificate. Half a monk, at least.

After the simple ritual, I touched the girl’s head gently, clasped the old man’s hand. Step by step, I walked toward the crowd, performing the Abhaya Mudra, hoping the Dharma’s power would comfort them and ease their fear.

In Buddhism, the Abhaya Mudra means using compassion and wisdom to make all beings fearless.

As I performed the mudra, I quietly infused it with the calm in my own mind and projected that feeling outward through my sensing power.

Gradually, the crowd seemed to receive some kind of power. Their grave expressions softened; color returned to their faces, which grew peaceful and relaxed. Through those changes, I could sense their hopes.

I badly wanted to help the girl.

What she’d said moved me. Through my sensing power, I felt it as if it were happening to me. But I wasn’t a doctor. Couldn’t use my ability to save her.

I looked up and spotted Yellow Hair rushing over. I signaled him over and told him to take the girl to a hospital as soon as possible and get a CT scan to confirm the diagnosis.

Holding her hand, I said to the old man and Yellow Hair, “This child may have tuberculosis. Untreated, it can be fatal. But it’s not hard to treat. If you can’t get her to a hospital, buy antibiotics and follow the instructions on the package. Injections should cure it.”

I pulled out my salary from that month—a little over ten thousand yuan—and handed it to Yellow Hair. His dirty hands trembled as he took the money. Tears in his eyes, he gave me a deep bow.

The crowd was moved. One by one, they pressed their palms together and bowed.

Looking down at them, I suddenly spotted the driver from that day. Signaled him over too.

He’d been hiding behind the crowd, only half his face showing, but I caught him.

He looked ill at ease, probably embarrassed about having offended me before.

He came over, pressed his palms together, and bent slightly. “Master, my surname is Lu. My name is Lu Ruixin. This is my father, Lu Linfeng.”

Pointed at the old man. Then gave me a discreet little wink. That tiny gesture drained away half the lofty composure I was putting on.

Lu Ruixin gestured for me to follow. The old man eagerly led the way.

We reached a newer building by the street. Lu Ruixin went in first. Lu Linfeng told the crowd not to follow but came in himself.

Inside was a hall. Large but dark.

Lu Ruixin hurried to open the curtains. A little sunlight came in.

Finally could see.

Meditation cushions filled the hall, a few chairs. Looked like a meditation room, reasonably clean.

At the front center stood a red chair—probably reserved for an eminent monk teaching the Dharma. Five meters away, an incense altar with sticks burning. On the wall behind the chair hung a huge portrait. Didn’t need to get close to see it was Xuanhong.

Seeing his portrait was like seeing myself.

Who was this guy? Why did so many people worship him?

Suddenly really wanted to know his story. At least, I felt he wasn’t bad—not like the fake Gao Minjun. Otherwise these poor people wouldn’t believe in him, follow him.

Lu Ruixin looked around. Seeing no one else, he pushed me into a chair, then dropped to his knees.

I quickly stood up.

Since my act had already fallen apart in front of him, I didn’t want to keep pretending.

Seeing me stand, he looked afraid I’d leave and blocked my way.

“Master, please sit down. Hear me out first. What happened before was entirely my fault. I’m truly sorry. I know you’re not Xuanhong. That day at Huokou Metro Station, just like you, I saw Master Xuanhong being taken away by the Sweepers. I had gone there to pick him up. He’d promised my father he would come help everyone here. People were so excited they couldn’t sleep all night. They started waiting for him first thing in the morning. Ah…”

Ignoring Lu Linfeng’s astonished look, he helped me back into the chair. Only after I sat down did he seem slightly reassured. Then he continued.

“Then, by sheer coincidence, you got into my cab. When I saw that you looked exactly like him, I had a bad idea: I thought I could have you stand in for him for a while so everyone wouldn’t be heartbroken. My fault for not explaining first. Didn’t dare. Afraid you’d refuse, so I forced you over.”

Seeing I wasn’t angry, he went on.

“Originally, I wanted to get out first and explain things to my father—he’s the neighborhood head here. But I scared you. You called the police. When everyone saw I brought the master but he wouldn’t get out, they thought even Buddha had abandoned them and that all hope of carrying on was gone. They wanted to kill me. I knew I’d ruined everything and couldn’t explain it, so I stopped trying and kept the truth hidden until now. You coming this time basically saved my life. Since you’re here and everyone already sees you as Master Xuanhong, why not keep playing the role? Give them a little hope.”

Got it. He wanted me to impersonate Xuanhong.

But why should I?