Chapter Thirteen: Xiaowei's Decision

Passing through a series of familiar streets, we soon arrived at a high-end teahouse. The height of summer had quietly faded away, and the harsh sun had begun to draw back its rays. Sometimes, I truly enjoyed the feeling of sunlight warming my skin—soothing and gentle. Compared to the eerie presence of ghosts and supernatural happenings, to be able to strive for life openly under the sun was indeed a blessing.

As I entered the teahouse, even from a distance I could hear Old Zhao shouting, “Hu with your two ten-thousand! Hahaha, pay up, pay up!”

Pushing open the half-closed door to the private room, I saw four people inside, busily playing mahjong. Old Zhao stood up to greet me and handed me a cigarette, which I accepted before launching into introductions: “Boss Zhang, let me introduce you. This is Brother Wang, the supplier of medical equipment to most of the hospitals in our city. In the world of pharmaceuticals, when Brother Wang speaks, no one dares claim second place!”

Old Zhao gestured toward Brother Wang. I looked closely—this Boss Wang appeared to be in his forties, hair slicked back in a deft style, a string of agate beads wrapped around his wrist. Most people wouldn't notice, but having grown up immersed in the subtle teachings of the occult, I recognized it instantly: the agate beads had been consecrated, densely engraved with Buddhist scriptures. As for the exact text, I was too far away to make it out clearly.

“A man of discernment,” I thought to myself. “The medical field is rife with negative energies; scriptures dispel them, agate nourishes. Truly the mark of an expert.”

Old Zhao continued, “This is Boss Zhang, heir to the art of Yin-Yang Embroidery. I’ve told you all about it before—I've experienced it myself! If anyone dares call it a scam again, I’ll fall out with them!” He joked jovially with the two bosses. Boss Wang rose to shake my hand, and as his sleeve lifted, I caught a glimpse of a small tattoo shaped like a Buddha—none other than a piece of Yin-Yang Embroidery.

Yin-Yang Embroidery has always been passed down to just one successor at a time. Could this have come from my grandfather’s own hand? The design was tiny, and Boss Wang gripped my hand warmly, going on about his recent bad luck at cards and promising to look after my business in the future. I agreed politely, feeling it inappropriate to keep staring at the tattoo on his arm.

“This other gentleman is Mr. Li, a property developer in your business district. I brought you together today because your shop is too remote, too small. When a prime spot opens up, Mr. Li will contact you directly and help you relocate!” Old Zhao, perhaps tipsy from dinner, his face flushed, shook Li’s hand and gave my shoulder an encouraging pat.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Li! My business relies on people who understand the craft to spread the word. I’ll be counting on both of you for support,” I said, smiling deferentially.

“Come now, Brother Zhang, your skills are legendary! Old Zhao told me even the fox spirits can’t best you!” he laughed.

“You flatter me, truly.” Sitting among these powerful men, I was more nervous than if I were holding a jar of vengeful spirits. With a fifth player at the mahjong table, Old Zhao insisted we all go sing at a nightclub. Unable to refuse, we obliged.

Inside the nightclub, the music, the clamor, the rattle of dice, and the shouts of people playing drinking games all mingled together. Everyone seemed to be releasing their pent-up stress and desires. Xiao Wei and I had never been to such a place before, and I found it deeply unsettling.

I much preferred listening to cross-talk, storytelling, or opera in peace. At the very least, I'd rather stay home playing games than come to such a raucous venue. Glancing at Xiao Wei, I noticed for the first time a yearning for wealth and desire in his eyes. I knew that after a month spent with Old Zhao, he had seen a side of extravagance and indulgence that we children from narrow alleyways could never have imagined.

Xiao Wei stood up and pulled me toward the restroom. Outside the private room, his face turned serious. “Brother Xu, I want to follow Boss Wang.”

I couldn’t quite explain how I felt, especially after seeing the Yin-Yang Embroidery on Boss Wang’s wrist. I couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t as straightforward as he seemed.

“Brother Xu, you know my family situation. My mother was gone from early on, my father’s an incurable drunk. I grew up with the kids from the neighborhood, and even the poorest of them went off to college. Only the two of us stayed behind. But you’re different—you have a family business to inherit. Me, I don’t want to spend my life just watching your shop or running deliveries. I want to forge my own path and earn the life I desire with my own hands.”

I stared into his eyes, realizing for the first time that although we’d shared meals and days together, our chosen paths in life had diverged completely. A wave of sadness washed over me. “Yes, Xiao Wei, I’m happy for you. Boss Wang’s business is huge. You’re good with words, but you must look after yourself.”

He laughed, “When I’ve made my fortune, I’ll rent you the biggest tattoo parlor in Wanda Plaza! I’ll hire a dozen artists, and you can enjoy the good life without ever dealing with those spirits again.”

My eyes stung. Everyone has their own ambitions. As a brother, all I could do was wish him success and hope he would reach his dreams soon.

“Boss Zhang, rest assured! Xiao Wei is with me now! I promise, he’ll eat well, drink well, and never suffer any hardship!” Boss Wang staggered out of the room with a beer bottle, clapping me on the back.

I said nothing, taking the bottle from his hand and downing it in one go. Xiao Wei told me he was moving into Boss Wang’s company dorm—spacious and comfortable. No more late-night food deliveries, no more asking me to leave the door unlocked, no more braving the wind and sun for a living.

After a couple of beers and a heart-to-heart, I threw my arm around Xiao Wei’s neck and, emboldened by the alcohol, declared, “Brother, let me give you a tattoo to ensure smooth sailing on your road to fortune!”

That night, the liquor flowed recklessly. We danced with the nightclub girls, lost ourselves in the music, sweat, dim and flickering lights, the DJ’s shouts, the girls’ bare skin onstage. My consciousness began to blur. Perhaps this was the life of wanton luxury—so dizzying, so intoxicating.