I work as a security guard at a cemetery, and I overhear the dead chatting about getting rich quick.

Just as dawn broke, the cell phone in the guard booth rang.

Uncle Zhao is a light sleeper.

He opened his eyes after the bell rang twice.

Uncle Zhao reached for his phone, answered it without even looking at it.

"Feed?"

The person on the other end of the phone was a woman, and she sounded very anxious.

"Is this Grandpa Zhao Jianguo? You must be Zhao Lele's grandfather?"

Uncle Zhao sat up abruptly.

"Yes, it's me. What's wrong, Lele?"

Zhao Lele, his grandson.

At six years old, just starting first grade, he lost a front tooth, has a lisp, and often calls "Grandpa" "Yeye".

Uncle Zhao usually complains that he's noisy, but his phone's photo album is full of pictures of that kid.

It was chaotic on the other end of the phone; there were sounds of wind, and someone was saying, "Excuse me, excuse me."

"My child fell at school and hit his head on the steps. He's being taken to the city hospital. We can't reach his mother by phone. Your phone number is on the registration form, so please come as soon as possible."

Uncle Zhao had already stepped into his shoes.

Is it serious or not?

"He's awake now, but he's bleeding from his head. The doctor said a family member must be present."

"Who sent it?"

"It was given to you by your school teacher, please hurry."

The phone hangs up.

Uncle Zhao froze for two seconds, then immediately called his daughter-in-law.

No one answered.

He called his son again.

No one answered.

"Those two bastards."

Uncle Zhao cursed and walked towards the door without even putting on his coat properly.

Even the desk lamp in the security booth wasn't turned off.

It's very damp outside Qingshan Cemetery.

It had rained last night, and the ground was still wet. The sky was gray, and the rows of tombstones in the cemetery were indistinct, making it look even quieter than usual.

There was a car parked at the entrance.

The driver rolled down the car window.

"Mr. Zhao? To the city hospital?"

Uncle Zhao frowned.

"Who called the car?"

The driver glanced at his phone: "Your license plate ends in 8637. Aren't you Mr. Zhao?"

Uncle Zhao looked down at his phone.

Sure enough, a trip reminder popped up on the screen.

He couldn't remember if he had accidentally clicked something in his panic.

At times like these, people's minds are most easily confused.

Without thinking twice, he opened the car door and got in.

Not long after the car drove off, Uncle Zhao called his daughter-in-law again.

Still no one answered.

He opened the family group chat.

There was a photo in the group chat ten minutes ago.

It was posted by my daughter-in-law.

Soy milk, steamed buns, eggs.

Caption: I overslept today and almost missed my class.

Uncle Zhao stared at the message, his finger slowly coming to a stop.

If Lele just fell at the school gate, would she still be in the mood to hand out breakfast?

He looked up at the driver.

"Sir, can I see your order details on your phone?"

The driver didn't say anything.

The car didn't slow down.

Uncle Zhao turned off his phone and leaned back in his chair.

"I said, show me the form."

The driver then spoke, "Mr. Zhao, we'll be there soon."

"Where to?"

The driver did not answer.

The car turned onto a side road.

The side road was lined with closed auto repair shops and warehouses, their roller shutters covered in rainwater stains. A black minivan was parked ahead, its lights off.

The car slowly pulled over to the side of the road.

Uncle Zhao looked at the car, and his face gradually darkened.

He reached out to pull the car door open.

It's locked.

The driver got out of the car, went around to the back, and opened the door.

"Master Zhao, let's get another car."

Uncle Zhao remained seated.

"I'll take your grandpa's place."

The driver wasn't angry; he simply took a step back.

Two men got out of the black van.

He wore an ordinary jacket and ordinary pants, and he looked ordinary too. No tattoos, no gold chains, and no one was carrying a steel pipe.

One of them took out his phone, opened a video, and handed it to Uncle Zhao.

In the video, Zhao Lele is standing at the school gate, carrying a small schoolbag, and eating a steamed bun with her head down.

The steamed bun was too big; when he took a bite, his cheeks puffed out.

His mother was standing next to him, talking to the teacher at the door with her head down.

The child is fine.

Nothing's wrong.

Uncle Zhao stared at the video, his eyes slowly turning cold.

The man took the phone back.

"Master Zhao, the child is doing well."

Uncle Zhao looked at him.

The man then said, "If you cooperate, he will be fine."

The voice was not loud.

It's even more terrifying than having a knife held to your throat.

Uncle Zhao didn't shout or make a scene.

He looked at both ends of the side road.

no one.

He's lived for almost sixty years and knows when cursing is effective and when it will only make him look like a joke.

He got out of the car and climbed into the minivan on his own.

As he boarded the bus, someone reached out to help him.

Uncle Zhao shook him off.

"roll."

The man wasn't annoyed and helped him close the door.

The van was very clean.

There was no smell of smoke at all, and the seats were covered with disposable cushions.

Uncle Zhao sat in the back row and sneered.

"The service was quite attentive."

The person in the passenger seat turned around.

He was in his thirties, wearing a white shirt and glasses, looking like a white-collar worker who had just come out of an office building.

"Master Zhao, please don't be nervous. We just want to ask you a few questions."

Uncle Zhao looked at him.

"You used my grandson to deceive me just to ask a few questions?"

The man in the white shirt said, "Don't worry, as long as you cooperate, we won't harm the child."

"If you dare touch him, I'll haunt you even as a ghost."

The car was silent for a second.

The man in the white shirt didn't smile.

"It would be best if none of us went that far."

Uncle Zhao didn't say anything more.

The van didn't go to the remote countryside, nor did it go into the basement.

It drove into the back gate of a sanatorium in the west of the city.

There was someone waiting at the door, wearing a white shirt and a name tag that read "Logistics".

Uncle Zhao followed them inside.

The corridor is spacious.

The floor was polished to a shine.

Landscape paintings hung on the walls, and the air smelled of disinfectant. As I passed a room, an elderly woman was having her blood pressure taken, and a nurse was quietly coaxing her not to move.

Everything was as normal as if it were real.

Uncle Zhao felt even more depressed.

These people aren't street thugs.

They are organized, disciplined, and have a visible identity.

That's the real problem.

The innermost room on the second floor.

Once the door was closed, the sounds outside disappeared.

There was a table and three chairs in the room.

There is a camera in the corner.

On the table were bottled water, tissues, and a small machine with a blue screen.

Uncle Zhao glanced at it.

"A lie detector test?"

The young man sitting opposite smiled.

"Auxiliary equipment".

Uncle Zhao pulled out a chair and sat down.

The chair leg dragged on the ground with a screeching sound.

"Stop using fancy words with me. Ask me."

The young man placed a stack of documents on the table.

A photocopy of your ID card.

Staff files of Qingshan Cemetery.

Night shift schedule.

Patrol log.

Bank card transaction history.

When Uncle Zhao saw the page about the flowing water, his eyelids twitched slightly.

The young man was not missed.

He marked several numbers with a pen.

"Three years ago, it was 28,000."

Two years ago, it was 46,000.

"Last year, it was 9,500."

"At the beginning of this year, it was 12,000."

He looked up.

"Master Zhao, your salary isn't high, but your side income is quite stable."

Uncle Zhao remained expressionless.

"Can't I collect and sell recyclables for money?"

"OK."

The young man then pulled out a few more photos.

Nanqiao Secondhand Market.

At the entrance of a small auction house.

Uncle Zhao, with his hat pulled down and a cloth bag in his hand, came out from the doorway.

The photos aren't very clear, but they're enough to identify the people in them.

The young man pushed the photo over.

"Sometimes your junk can actually be quite valuable."

Uncle Zhao didn't even look at it.

"Is it illegal for an old person to have two lucky breaks?"

"Of course it's not illegal."

The young man's tone remained polite throughout.

"Lin Ye is lucky. You're lucky too. It just so happens that you both work the night shift at Qingshan Cemetery."

Uncle Zhao paused for a moment, his hand resting on his knee.

Just for a moment.

The young man continued flipping through the documents.

"Abnormal records at night in recent years at Qingshan Cemetery".

"The surveillance system in the west area has malfunctioned multiple times."

"Patrol records are missing three times near the old drainage ditch on the back hill."

"And this too."

He pulled out a photocopy.

It was Uncle Zhao's own patrol log.

Four years ago, at 2:17 a.m.

Voices were heard in the western area, but no abnormalities were found during the patrol.

The handwriting is very messy.

"What is that voice?"

Uncle Zhao stared at the line of text.

It didn't move for a long time.

Young men don't rush them.

The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the machine's electrical current.

After a while, Uncle Zhao smiled.

"I'm old and hard of hearing, I must have misheard."

"Can someone who is hard of hearing still hear human voices?"

"People who are hard of hearing are not deaf."

The young man nodded.

"Then you can take three days off?"

"My back hurts."

"On the second day of your leave, you went to the Nanqiao Secondhand Market."

Uncle Zhao finally looked up.

"You guys have a lot of free time."

The young man said, "We're not busy. We've been working all night to investigate you."

Uncle Zhao leaned back in his chair and grinned.

"Then I feel quite proud."

The door opened at that moment.

A man walked in.

He was around fifty years old, wearing old cloth shoes, and holding a thermos in his hand.

He yawned as he entered, as if he had just woken up.

The young man immediately stood up.

"Master Lai".

Master Lai waved his hand.

"Take your seat."

He walked to the table and glanced at Uncle Zhao first.

Uncle Zhao also looked at him.

After looking at them for a few seconds, Uncle Zhao said, "You're different from them."

Mr. Lai unscrewed the thermos and blew on it.

"What's different?"

"They're like insurance salesmen."

Uncle Zhao raised his chin.

"You look like a fortune teller under a bridge."

The young man's expression changed.

Master Lai laughed.

"You were right, I really did have a street stall before."

Uncle Zhao snorted coldly.

"So you're doing pretty well now."

"It's alright, meals and accommodation are included."

As Master Lai spoke, he walked halfway around the room with his cup in his hand.

He didn't look at the documents, but instead looked at Uncle Zhao's hands and then at Uncle Zhao's eyes.

Finally, he placed the thermos on the table.

Stop beating around the bush.

The young man put down his pen.

Mr. Lai said, "Let's get to the point."

The young man's expression became more serious.

He gathered up the documents from before and looked at Uncle Zhao again.

"Zhao Jianguo".

"In recent years, while working the night shift in Qingshan, have you heard any sounds you shouldn't have?"

The room fell silent.

The sneer on Uncle Zhao's face slowly disappeared.

The small machine on the table flashed a blue light.

Mr. Lai stood to the side, gently tapping the lid of the thermos with his fingers.

one more time.

Uncle Zhao did not answer immediately.

He recalled a night many years ago.

It's windy in the west district, and there's a new grave under the old locust tree.

When he arrived there, he heard someone saying, "Don't let my second son take my Yuan Shikai silver dollar and sell it."

The next day, he went to the secondhand market and bought a broken cigarette box for 120 yuan.

There really was a Yuan Shikai silver dollar hidden in the cigarette box.

It later sold for 2,600.

That was the first time he felt that something was wrong with Qingshan Cemetery.

From then on, he never drank alcohol on the night shift again.

Uncle Zhao looked up at the young man.

Then I looked at Master Lai.

He suddenly smiled.

"That's a pretty strange question."

The young man didn't respond.

Uncle Zhao slowly took his hands off his knees and placed them on the table.

The knuckles are a bit white.

He asked, "If I said no, would you believe me?"

Mr. Lai picked up his thermos and took a sip.

Do you even believe it yourself?

Uncle Zhao's expression changed completely.