Chapter 26: The Monk's Journey to the West
After nearly four hours of flight, the plane landed at Kakeshiku Airport around eight o'clock in the evening.
At eight o'clock in the evening in Yishijiang, the sky was still bright, the sun seemingly forgetting to retire, slanting low in the western sky. Sunlight bathed the vast Gobi Desert and grasslands. A gentle breeze swayed the grass gently. Smoke rose from the nomads' yurts, blending with the sunset glow. Herds of cattle and sheep strolled leisurely back to their pens, occasionally echoing the long calls of herders.
His former student, Maitiwuzi, deputy director of the Bazakeyi Police Station in Kakeshiku City, received him warmly. After a simple dinner and settling Jifeng to rest, the two agreed that Maitiwuzi would pick him up early the next morning to go to the Municipal Bureau to discuss the case.
Ji Feng didn't tell him that he had been suspended, as he thought this was the most appropriate approach. Furthermore, he had prepared for the worst and had already secretly formulated his own Plan B.
The connection on the second day went very smoothly, except that the Xinjiang police were a little surprised that Jifeng came to Xinjiang alone to pursue the fugitive.
After the two sides exchanged information, Ji Feng naturally joined the gun case task force. However, seeking greater freedom, he politely declined the position of deputy team leader. In his speeches, he repeatedly mentioned that he was Maitiwuzi's teacher, but never mentioned the deputy captain position. The Yishijiang police simply regarded him as a modest and low-key deputy team leader. Ji Feng knew that even without the "empty title" of deputy team leader, the Yishijiang police would still respect his opinions.
At the task force's first case analysis meeting, both parties determined a multi-pronged and detailed plan of pursuit and interception, and agreed that if Lan Renxuan was still in Yishijiang, he would be unable to escape.
To ensure independent investigation, Ji Feng politely declined the office space offered to him by the Criminal Investigation Division and the police station, citing the need to avoid causing trouble for the local police. He insisted on using his hotel room as a makeshift office. Unable to persuade him, the Yishijiang police had no choice but to comply.
With relatively relaxed time and space, and no management-subordinate relationship with the Ishjiang police, he really found the feeling of a private detective, a feeling that was impossible to have in Lan Valley or the academy.
During the day, he used his deductive reasoning skills to visit every household where Lan Renxuan might be. In the evening, he would go to the police station or use online meetings to sort out the information that had been gathered by the task force through various channels, sifting out valuable clues. The next day, he would follow these clues and conduct on-site investigations.
After all, this is the northwestern frontier, and the high latitudes have long since unleashed their chill. Although winter is still a month away, every nightfall, the chill penetrates like a fine needle, often plummeting to below zero. The large temperature difference between day and night plunges the world into a momentary silence. All is still, as if even time has frozen in this boundless stillness. Only the whispering of my heartbeat is audible, like a drumbeat in the dark night, beating out the rhythm of loneliness.
Sitting alone in a small frontier hut under the dim light, I felt an unprecedented tranquility. My once fiery and stubborn heart now seemed to be immersed in a cold pond in late autumn, slowly sinking to the bottom, leaving only a slow and clear beating.
He had never felt anything like it before—a profound clarity, an almost otherworldly clarity. It was strangely strange, yet breathtakingly beautiful, like moonlight slipping silently into a deep well, illuminating the gloomy depths. He gently closed his eyes, letting this moment of tranquility seep into his heart like dew, nourishing his long-parched soul.
He never drank, but tonight he was enjoying a drink. He didn't want to disturb his students, who had already established families and careers. He preferred the company of a solitary figure, raising a glass to share the cold night, letting his thoughts wander like the wind through the wilderness. Outside, there was a biting cold, a dead silence. Inside, a single lamp, a pot of wine, and a few simple dishes, yet they created a world of their own, warm and tranquil.
He slowly raised his glass, his gaze piercing the glass wall, gazing out at the cool, bright moon outside. Moonlight filtered through the glass, refracting tiny specks of light in the wine, like stars falling into the glass, gently rippling. The aroma of alcohol quietly dissipated, the initial throat-burning, pungent flavor slowly evaporating with wisps of subtle fragrance. The wine itself became bland and flavorless, as if it were no longer a strong drink, but a pool of warm, clear water, gentle and silent, yet possessing its own power.
At this moment, he has turned into that glass of clear water - not competing or showing off, but with infinite tolerance, he soothes the noise of the world; it is tolerant and goes with the flow, gentle and kind, but can penetrate rocks and break mountains.
He once took root on a cliff face, using the motto "Don't block my sun." Like a stubborn thuja tree, it stands tall, unyielding under the scorching sun, the fierce wind, and the blizzard, stubbornly reaching toward the sky. Even a thousand years after its death, its withered branches still stand alone against the wind and snow, enduring the baptism of rain, snow, wind, and frost alone.
He once believed that running was progress, and shouting was strength. But now, this lonely soul under the solitary lamp truly understood: true progress is sometimes precisely stillness; true strength is often born in the depths of silence, like a creeping underground fire, silent but blazing.
His fingertips hovered over the phone screen for a long time, as if carrying a heavy weight. Finally, he gently tapped the four characters: "Monk's Journey to the West." The moment he submitted the text, a snowflake fell from his heart, light and silent, yet calming his entire soul, like a lake finally at peace. He raised his head and drank it all in one gulp. The warmth in his throat slowly spread, like the first melting of spring snow, a trickle seeping into the frozen soil, awakening dormant life.
It turns out that "quiet" is like this - you can hear the rhythm of your own heartbeat and feel the subtle sound of blood flowing in your veins; "slow" is like a pendulum, neither fast nor slow, steady and firm, never stopping.
Gazing at the remaining liquid at the bottom of the cup, he suddenly felt a sudden enlightenment, as if he finally understood baijiu. Countless times before, he had secretly wondered: why did this bitter liquid delight heroes and heroes, make scholars lose their way, and make the wise and talented people intoxicated?
At forty, he finally understood the allure of this nectar, the ultimate experience he'd pursued for half his life—the exhilarating feeling of suddenly unburdened by a heavy burden after grappling with perseverance, the indescribable lightness and freedom of accumulating strength to unleash. It was the bitterness and spiciness that washed over his taste buds, followed by a gentle, sweet aftertaste that lingered in his throat, layer upon layer, leaving a lingering aftertaste. It was the clarity and excitement of the moment, relentlessly climbing to the summit, soaring through the clouds. The ultimate in beauty was the profound tranquility that followed the ultimate intoxication, the feeling of body and mind as light as a feather, drifting in the wind, free from all worries and obstacles.
He set down his wine glass, his fingers slowly tracing the rough surface of the wooden table. The crisscrossing lines resembled the lines of a palm worn over years. All that once piercing resentment, frustration, anger, and helplessness now took on a strange aura in his memory, no longer sharp, but rather a gentler quality. Just like this strong liquor, the initial burning sensation had long since faded, leaving behind a mellow, lingering sweetness.
The alcohol slowly flowed through his veins, bringing a slight dizziness but also a remarkable clarity. He squinted his eyes, as if he could see himself stumbling forward in the wind and snow—alone, struggling, yet never stopping. The anger and resentment he had felt then had long since dissipated, replaced by a calmness as peaceful as plain water, a sweetness after bitterness, a composure after enduring countless hardships.
Outside the window, a bright moon quietly climbed over the withered branches, casting its pure light across his thin face, like frost and snow. He took a deep breath, letting the biting cold of the northern border fill his lungs, the piercing chill piercing his heart. Yet, in that moment, he felt incredibly alive—his heartbeat was strong, his breathing clear, his soul limpid.
He woke up in the morning, chilled. He woke up groggy, the room reeking of alcohol. He opened the window, a gust of cool air sending a chill through him. A burp seemed to expel all the alcohol from last night, and his mind instantly calmed.
"Stay calm and don't act rashly." He calmed down and analyzed calmly: To avoid capture, Lan Renxuan must have minimized public appearances, perhaps even staying out at night. However, living in this world, navigating life, inevitably involves interacting with the outside world. This reminded him of a real-life example of the U.S. military tracking down terrorists by identifying their target through clothes drying outside a residence.
He pondered for a long time, thoroughly analyzing every aspect of life, including food, clothing, housing, transportation, and all the necessary external connections. He narrowed down several key areas: indispensable food delivery, express shopping, and rental housing. His next focus would be on every food delivery platform, express delivery company, and real estate agency.
However, after two weeks of investigations and visits, he rejected every seemingly suspicious clue. Could it be that Lan Renxuan wasn't in Yishijiang? No, he must be here—even though he couldn't find any flight information to enter Xinjiang, that was because he was deliberately hiding. His intuition told him that Lan Renxuan was hiding somewhere in Yishijiang, staring at him with a sinister and cunning gaze. He could feel that gaze.
Time passed quickly, and in a blink of an eye, it was winter in Yishijiang. The azure waters of the glacial lake were etched with ice from the first snowfall. The center still shimmered, while the shores had already formed translucent blue ice, reflecting faint blue bands in the sunlight, as if a whole sapphire had been broken and scattered across the lake. In the distance, the snow-capped mountains, clad in silver armor, swayed in the unfrozen water, creating a striking contrast with the pearl-like patterns formed beneath the ice by the nascent ice bubbles—bubbles released from the lake's bottom plants and then quickly frozen.
A chill drifted down the folds of the Kunling Mountains. As soon as I stepped out in the morning, my breath condensed into fine frost particles in the air, clinging to my eyelashes and instantly forming ice crystals. Migrating herds of horses trod across frozen streams, their hooves breaking the thin ice with a crisp crackling sound that blended with the soft tinkling of bells on their necks. The elderly Kazakh leader, wrapped in a sheepskin coat, had his snot running unnoticed, forming icicles that clung to the tip of his nose. Whips cracked against the snow, resounding with a resounding reverberation. Though the midday sun shone a blinding brilliance on the snow, it couldn't warm my fingertips, already frozen purple. When I touched the iron fence, my skin immediately clung to it.
Considering that Lan Renxuan had grown up in a comfortable environment and had never experienced such a harsh climate and survival test, Ji Feng had a vague speculation in his mind: he would most likely choose to sneak back to the mainland to avoid the extreme difficulties brought about by the bitter wind and snow.
At this moment, the Kakeshiku Criminal Investigation Detachment also received crucial information: according to the latest weather forecast, starting next week, Yishijiang will experience its annual extreme cold spell. Heavy snowfall lasting one to two months will force all flights to be grounded. Furthermore, railways and roads will be frozen and closed. If Lan Renxuan wanted to leave, this week would be practically his last chance.
As if he'd been given a shot of adrenaline, his spirits suddenly lifted. He immediately searched for all flights from Ishjiang to mainland China for the next week, his eyes gleaming with determination. He made a decisive decision: rush to the airport and wait for the deployment of surveillance!
At six in the morning at the airport, a chilly wind whirled fine snowflakes across the gray sky. Even the heating in the terminal seemed unable to withstand the bitter cold.
Ji Feng huddled in his down jacket, exhaling a puff of white air as the chill seeped through the seat into his bones. He stretched his stiff legs, squinting his eyes as he scanned the bustling crowd, his gaze constantly darting back and forth between the terminal's revolving door and the security checkpoint, his mind daring not to slack off for even a moment.
The airport announcements mechanically broadcast flight information, interspersed with the sounds of crying children and the scraping of luggage wheels. Ji Feng mused to himself that Lan Renxuan would definitely book his tickets online, perhaps even in disguise. Regardless, he must be eager to leave this frozen land.
Time slipped by, and the snow outside the window grew heavier, as if burying the entire world. The air was filled with a chill and heaviness. Ji Feng subconsciously rubbed his numb fingers, his heart determined, "You won't be able to hold out for much longer. You'll definitely leave within a week. I won't withdraw until you're here!"
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