I couldn't take it anymore; when I went home for Chinese New Year, the family genealogy book ha

Jiang Chen squatted in front of the tin box and carefully took out the item wrapped in waterproof oil paper at the bottom.

It's lighter than I expected.

The oiled paper was wrapped in several layers and tied with a thin hemp rope in a tight knot. The hemp rope was so dry that it was brittle, and its color had changed from white to grayish-brown; it crumbled at the slightest touch.

Jiang Chen placed the oil paper package on the octagonal table, and using the light of a flashlight, he used his fingernails to hold the knot in the hemp rope and slowly untied it.

The rope was too brittle; it broke into several pieces with the slightest pull.

As the layers of oil paper were peeled off, the musty smell from years ago grew stronger with each layer removed.

Inside the innermost part were several letters.

The paper has yellowed and become brittle, with frayed edges and several small holes from insects. However, it is generally well-preserved, and the writing is not so blurred as to be illegible.

Jiang Chen picked up the top letter.

The envelope was an old-fashioned, vertical, long strip with a stamp affixed to the upper right corner.

The stamp depicts a person wearing a long gown, with the words "Republic of China Post" printed next to it, and a face value of "one cent".

Jiang Chen held the flashlight closer to see the recipient's location.

"To Mr. Jiang Wande"

The calligraphy, in running script and regular script, is sharp and vigorous; it's clearly written by someone who has been to school.

Next, check the sender's address.

"Nanyang Malaya, Malacca, Chinatown No. 17".

"Great-grandfather, come and take a look."

Jiang Wanshan was already standing behind Jiang Chen. He took out the pair of reading glasses hanging around his neck from the pocket of his Zhongshan suit and shakily put them on his nose.

The flashlight beam shone on the envelope.

The old man stared at the mailing address, completely frozen in place.

His lips moved, and he reached out a hand, his fingertips touching the envelope before pulling it back, as if afraid of tearing the paper.

"This is..." The old man's voice suddenly tightened.

"This is a letter sent back by my second great-grandfather who went to Southeast Asia back then!"

Jiang Chen's heart skipped a beat.

Go to Southeast Asia?

He grew up in the village and had occasionally heard the elders mention that someone from the Jiang family had gone to Southeast Asia to make a living in the past, and then disappeared without a trace. But no one ever knew the specifics.

"Great-grandfather, which generation is Second Great-Grandfather from?"

"He's a generation older than my grandfather." The old man's voice was hoarse. "He was my great-grandfather's own brother, the second oldest, named Jiang Fuhai. In the early 1920s, his family was so poor that they couldn't even afford to eat. He took seven or eight young men from the same village and boarded a dilapidated coal-carrying boat, sailing from Fujian to Southeast Asia."

The old man took off his reading glasses, wiped the lenses with his sleeve, and put them back on.

"We agreed before we left that we would come back and repair the ancestral hall once we made some money."

"And the result?"

"And once he left, he never came back." The old man's voice lowered. "In the past, he would still send letters back, but then the world went into chaos, the Japanese invaded, and the letters stopped. My grandfather talked about it his whole life, but he never received any news of his second brother before he died."

Jiang Chen opened the envelope and carefully pulled out the letter inside.

The letter paper was better preserved than the envelope; although the creases were brittle, the handwriting was still clear.

Traditional Chinese characters, written vertically, with neat and orderly brush calligraphy.

Jiang Chen read it aloud line by line.

"Elder Brother Wan De personally witnessed this—"

"My brother Fuhai has been in Southeast Asia for more than ten years. When he first arrived in Malaya, he was penniless and made a living by carrying goods at the dock. Later, with the help of a benefactor, he contracted a rubber plantation and gradually accumulated savings."

"My brother's rubber plantation has now expanded to 300 acres, producing tens of tons of rubber annually. He has also purchased six shops in Chinatown in Malacca, making a fortune every day. He has nothing to worry about."

"My brother married a woman surnamed Lin in Southeast Asia, and they had three sons. The eldest son is Yaozong, the second son is Yaozu, and the youngest son is Yaohua. All three sons are already in school and will surely bring honor to our family in the future."

"Considering that our ancestral hall has been in disrepair for many years, I am sending you a silver note of two hundred silver dollars. I hope you will repair it immediately upon receipt, without delay. Enclosed is a family photo."

"Although I have no worries about food and clothing here, I often dream of returning to my hometown. When the world is at peace, I will definitely bring my son back to pay homage to our ancestors."

"Your younger brother, Fuhai, kowtows. Autumn of the 25th year of the Republic of China."

After the last word was read, the secret room remained quiet for a while.

The flashlight beam shone on the letter paper, which was slightly yellowed, but the ink was deep and powerful.

The person who wrote this letter must have been eagerly anticipating returning home in glory.

The old man took the letter from Jiang Chen and, wearing his reading glasses, read it through again from beginning to end. His hands were trembling, his jaw was taut, and his Adam's apple bobbed several times.

"Two hundred silver dollars..." The old man's voice was hoarse. "Two hundred silver dollars in the twenty-fifth year of the Republic of China was enough to buy a courtyard house in the county town."

"Did you receive the silver notes?"

"Received." The old man pointed upwards. "The ancestral hall was renovated once before the Japanese came, and that's the money they used."

Jiang Chen opened the second letter.

The date is two years later than the first letter. It was the 27th year of the Republic of China.

The content has been greatly shortened.

"Brother: The Japanese army has occupied Malaya. My rubber plantation has been requisitioned, and my shops have been looted. I have taken my family and fled into the jungle. This letter was sent through various channels by overseas Chinese philanthropists. Whether it will reach its destination is uncertain. My family is still alive, so please do not worry. Fu Hai."

The third letter. 1941 (the 30th year of the Republic of China).

"Elder brother: I have taken refuge in a Chinese village on the outskirts of Malacca. My eldest son, Yaozong, is fifteen years old. He followed me to the mountains to fight as a guerrilla and killed two Japanese soldiers. The Chinese here are united and fight on despite the hardships. My rubber plantation has been burned to the ground, and all my wealth has been lost. But my three sons are still alive, and my wife is still alive. That is enough. I hope that your family will be safe. Fuhai."

The fourth letter was undated.

There were only a few lines of text, written in a hasty hand, as if it had been written in a very rushed manner.

"Elder brother, I fear I will not be able to return. If this letter arrives, please include my name and that of my three sons in the family genealogy. My bloodline is in Southeast Asia; I hope future generations will not forget that the roots of the Jiang family are in our homeland. Your brother, Fuhai, writes his last words."

Jiang Chen read all four letters and put them back on the table one by one.

The quiet in the enclosed room was almost oppressive.

The old man sat on the bench, his copper pipe resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, motionless.

He stared at the letters on the table for a long time.

"Great-Grandpa." Jiang Chen squatted down in front of the old man. "Second Great-Grandpa had three sons in Southeast Asia. The letter said their names—Jiang Yaozong, Jiang Yaozu, and Jiang Yaohua."

The old man nodded, his voice hoarse: "I know." "Not long after we received these letters, the Japanese invaded. Our own side was in chaos, and the whole family hid in this life-saving cave for several years. By the time we came out, we had completely lost contact with Southeast Asia."

"My grandfather asked around several times, but there was still no news."

"After liberation, this matter was gradually forgotten."

The old man's voice grew softer and softer until it sounded like he was talking to himself.

"The Jiang family has such a large bloodline overseas... I didn't know they had such a large branch."

Jiang Chen quickly flipped through the remaining envelopes. The first letter mentioned that a family photo had been attached, but the photo wasn't in the envelope; it was probably tucked away somewhere else in the oil paper package.

He felt around in the interlayer again and found a piece of cardboard.

I took it out and looked at it.

A black and white photograph, with yellowed and curled edges.

The photo shows a middle-aged man in a long robe, with a woman with her hair in a bun standing beside him. In front of the man are three little boys, the oldest looking about seven or eight years old, and the youngest being held in the woman's arms.

The background is the entrance to a shop. Above the door hangs a plaque that reads "Jiang Ji Trading Company".

The old man took the photo and wiped the dust off its surface with his sleeve.

He stared at the man in the long robe in the photo for a full half minute.

"He looks exactly like my great-grandfather."

Jiang Chen turned the photo over. There was a line of text written in pencil on the back.

"Taken in Malacca in 1935".

Jiang Chen stood up and carefully put away all the letters and photos.

"Great-grandfather, the letter mentioned that they settled in Chinatown in Malacca. Although my second great-grandfather later suffered misfortune, his three sons were still alive at that time. It's been almost a hundred years now, and they have multiplied and established a large family in Southeast Asia."

"Should we investigate this?"

The old man sighed and tapped his copper pipe against his knee.

"What's the point of searching? It's been almost a hundred years. The world is vast, separated by the entire Pacific Ocean. Where are we supposed to find them?"

"Maybe they've already changed their surname and forgotten their roots."

Jiang Chen put the oil paper package containing the letters and photos into the inside pocket of his jacket and patted it.

"Don't worry, sir."

"Technology is so advanced now. As long as they still belong to the Jiang family, as long as they haven't forgotten their roots—I could turn the entire Southeast Asia upside down and still find them."

The old man suddenly looked up at Jiang Chen.

A long-lost light shone in those cloudy old eyes.

"Brother Chen—are you telling the truth?"

"When have I ever lied to you?"

The old man's lips trembled slightly, and his copper pipe almost slipped off his lap. He quickly gripped it, his fingers turning white from clenching it.

"If... if we could really find our Second Great-Grandfather's lineage and have them recognized as our ancestors..."

The old man's voice suddenly became extremely hoarse.

"I can die in peace now."

Jiang Chen bent down, took the old man's arm with one hand, and helped him up from the bench.

"Please don't say things like that. Leave the search to me. You just stay home, take good care of yourself, and wait to be reunited with your family."

He helped the old man walk step by step up the stone steps.

"But there's something I need to take care of first."

"What's up?"

"We need to invite Uncle Baichuan over and thoroughly examine the family genealogy. These few letters alone are not enough; we need to find more specific clues."

"Hmm." The old man, leaning on his copper pipe, slowly made his way upstairs. "That old fellow Baichuan has a good memory; no one knows the family genealogy better than him."

When the two emerged from the secret passage, it was already pitch black outside.

Wang Dagou was still standing guard at the entrance of the ancestral hall, rubbing his hands and stamping his feet, his nose turning red from the cold.

Seeing Jiang Chen helping the old man out, they quickly went to greet him.

"Brother Chen! What's down there? You've been digging for ages!"

"I'll tell you later." Jiang Chen handed the old man over to Wang Dagou. "First, take Great-Grandpa back to rest. Then go to Uncle Baichuan's house and invite him to the village committee."

"Now?" Wang Dagou glanced at the sky. "It's almost eight o'clock."

"Now."

Jiang Chen patted the stack of letters in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"It's urgent."