Chapter Two: The Canvas in the Basement and the Approaching Boots
The hotel's wooden door was jammed tight with an old cabinet. Gu Kai pressed his ear against the panel, hearing soldiers' boots clanging across the stone pavement outside—thud, thud, thud—each step stomping right on his heartbeat.
Aji was still curled up in the corner, arms wrapped around his head, shoulders trembling. Old Mu stood by the window, lifting a corner of the curtain. His brows knotted into a hard lump.
"They've started searching house by house," Old Mu whispered, voice low and tight. "Ira's men brought dogs—trained to sniff out strangers. Just now they kicked in Auntie Wang's door at the alley. All because she had a relative visiting from the next town."
Gu Kai clutched his copy of The Thirty-Six Stratagems, fingertips brushing the cover. His grandfather's words echoed again: Think your way through, don't just charge head-on. He sucked in a deep breath, forcing his nerves steady.
"Uncle Mu," he whispered, "do Ira's men recognize locals? Like if you're dressed ragged, speaking the dialect—would they still check?"
Old Mu's eyes lit up. He spun and headed for the stairwell. "Wait here. I've got an idea."
Moments later, he came back hauling a bundle of gray canvas, edges still caked with dirt and water stains—normally used for scrubbing the hotel floors. "This is the same cloth herders use. Same color as the soil out on the steppe. Ira's men have rough eyes. Might just fool them."
The word herder made Aji snap his head up. He scrubbed his tears away, voice quivering: "I—I can speak the herders' tongue! I'll teach Brother Kai how to say 'hungry' and 'looking for my dad.' They won't suspect a thing!"
He grabbed Gu Kai's arm, sounding out carefully: "Tama means hungry. Aba means father. Put them together—tama… aba. But you gotta say it slow, like you're not too bright."
Gu Kai repeated it twice, his tongue twisting. Inwardly he grumbled: This dialect is tougher than the company's so-called "closed-loop thinking."
As he racked his brain for ways to look more "local," his gaze fell on the neon-green sunhat sticking out of his backpack. The brim glowed under the dim yellow lamp—way too obvious. If the soldiers saw it, he'd be done.
"Gotta hide this thing." Gu Kai yanked the hat out, turning it over. Finally, he shoved it into the canvas lining, wrapped the cloth around his waist twice, and tied it off with rope—shaping it into a loose "herder's robe."
Old Mu adjusted the collar, mussed up his hair, and smeared soot on his face. "Looks more like you've been baked in the wind and sun. You're skinny already—hunch your back a bit, no one will take a second look."
Just then—CRASH! A door next door shattered. The blacksmith's shop. Soldiers barked: "Everyone out! Search! Check carefully—don't let any yellow-skins slip through!"
Gu Kai's heart leapt into his throat. Old Mu shoved him toward the basement stairs. "Quick, down! There's a vent down there—you'll hear what's happening outside. If they come in, hide behind the junk pile by the vent."
Aji darted after him, clutching two unsold avocados. "Brother Kai, take these! If you get hungry—eat."
The basement was damp and dark, lit only by a single kerosene lamp swinging from a beam. Piles of old furniture and empty barrels cluttered the corners. Gu Kai crouched by the vent, every thud of boots above pounding louder, every bang of rifle butts on neighbors' doors rattling his bones.
"Next house! This one—the 'Grassland Inn'!" a rough voice barked.
Gu Kai's gut clenched. He patted the canvas around his waist, making sure the sunhat stayed hidden, and whispered Aji's words again: tama… aba.
BANG! The hotel door shuddered as soldiers kicked it. The cabinet slid half an inch. Old Mu's voice rang out, dripping with forced panic: "O-officers, what's the matter? This is just a small inn, no outsiders here!"
"Cut the crap! Open up—we're searching!" Boots scraped, the cabinet squealed aside, and a squad burst into the lobby.
Through the vent slats, Gu Kai saw soldiers in camouflage sweeping the room with rifles, gun butts smacking tables and chairs, the clang echoing painfully.
"Boss, what's that basement for?" one soldier asked, eyeing the stairwell.
Old Mu rushed to block the way. "Just storage—junk we got no space for. Damp, dark. No one down there."
"Move!" The soldier shoved him aside and started down.
Beside Gu Kai, Aji shook like a leaf. Gu Kai clapped a hand over his mouth, pointing to the empty barrels by the vent. Together they wriggled inside, dragging burlap sacks over them—leaving a narrow crack to watch through.
The kerosene lamp cast its glow down the steps. The soldier's boots clomped closer, the air thick with sweat and gunpowder. He circled the basement, gave one barrel a hard kick. Gu Kai's throat locked tight—if the barrel toppled, they were finished.
"What's in here?" The soldier bent, grabbing at the sack.
Old Mu's voice boomed from above, frantic: "O-officer! That's my brew—still fermenting. Sour as hell. Don't dirty your hands!" He shoved a half-pack of cigarettes into the soldier's palm—the same pack Gu Kai hadn't finished earlier. Old Mu had kept it, never expecting it'd save them now.
The soldier weighed the smokes, then kicked the barrel again halfheartedly. He grunted: "Fine. But if you're hiding foreigners, your head's on the line." He stomped off, cursing under his breath: "Dump like this—what yellow-skins would hole up here? Waste of time."
Only when the boots faded did Old Mu dash down, yanking the sack away. "It's okay. They're gone."
Gu Kai crawled out, back drenched in cold sweat. His hand checked the canvas at his waist—the sunhat was still hidden.
Aji clutched his avocados, hands trembling, but he forced a grin. "Brother Kai—you played it perfectly. They didn't catch on!"
Gu Kai took one, bit into it. Bitter with a trace of sweetness. His first bite of food since arriving in Locheng—and it tasted like life itself.
Old Mu perched on a busted chair, lit a cigarette, and exhaled slow. "Ira's men won't stop here. They'll search again. We can't stay long." He paused, eyes narrowing. "I heard them talking—said Ira's granary is running out. Three days' supply at most. They're desperate to nab foreigners so no one sneaks word out that they're starving."
Something clicked in Gu Kai's mind. He looked down at The Thirty-Six Stratagems, flipping to the page "Crossing the Sea Under Camouflage." In the margin, his grandfather's note read: Hide in plain sight, blunt their edge.
And suddenly he knew—hiding wasn't enough. To escape this alley alive, he had to blend in. The key lay in that dirty canvas robe… and that clumsy phrase, tama… aba.
Outside, the sky darkened. Gunfire still cracked in bursts, stray dogs barking into the night. Gu Kai pulled the kerosene lamp closer, slicing a few slits into the canvas to make it look even more tattered. Meanwhile, Aji taught him the full line: "I'm a herder, looking for my father."
Old Mu stuffed some bread and water into a pack. "At midnight, I'll take you out the back. There's a tunnel—it leads outside the city, onto the steppe. Herders camp there. Safer than here."
Gu Kai fingered the canvas at his waist, glanced at The Thirty-Six Stratagems in his bag. The panic in his chest began to ebb. He understood—this was only the first step. More dangers waited ahead.
But he wasn't the same Gu Kai who once slammed his badge down in an office cubicle. Not anymore.
He had to live. For himself—and for the two people who had risked everything to help him.
The kerosene light flickered over their faces. Outside, the bootsteps faded into the distance. But Gu Kai knew—the real trial was just beginning.