In May in Xiangxi, the mountains are the perfect time for gathering medicinal herbs.

Su Xingyu crouched on a slope halfway up the mountain, holding a small herb hoe in her hand, carefully digging a seven-leaf one-stem flower out of a crevice between the rocks. Her movements were so gentle, as if she were soothing a sleeping child, for fear of damaging even a single root.

“Sister Xingyu—!”

A clear voice rang out from below the mountain—it was Xiao Miao, the girl next door. Xiao Miao was sixteen this year, and her voice was loud enough to carry all the way across the hilltop.

Su Xingyu didn’t even lift her head. “What is it?”

“Your phone’s ringing! It’s been ringing for ages!”

“Who’s calling?”

“I don’t know—just a strange number! It’s from Jiang City!”

Su Xingyu’s hands paused for a moment.

Jiang City?

She had no relatives or friends in Jiang City. She did have a few college classmates, but two years after graduation, most of their communication was via WeChat; very few people called her directly.

She put the seven-leaf one-stem flower, roots and soil intact, into her basket, shook the dirt off her hands, and started down the mountain path.

When she got home, her phone was vibrating on the table.

She glanced at the screen—a strange Jiang City number that had already rung three times.

She pressed the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Hello, may I speak with Ms. Su Xingyu?” A middle-aged man’s voice came through the line, polite to an almost deliberate degree.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Well, I’m with the Fu Group… You probably don’t know us, but your distant uncle, Mr. Fu Zhengyuan, would like you to come to Jiang City.”

Su Xingyu was taken aback.

“Mr. Fu Zhengyuan?”

“Yes, Mr. Fu said you’re his distant relative in Xiangxi—by kinship, you’re his… great-niece? He’ll explain the exact relationship when you get here.”

Su Xingyu held the phone a little farther away, looked at the number on the screen, then brought it back to her ear.

“I don’t have any distant uncles. Did you dial the wrong number?”

“No, no, it’s really you. Mr. Fu said your grandfather was Su Daogong, a well-known—uh—elder in Xiangxi. Back in his youth, he received a favor from your grandfather and has never forgotten it. Now that he’s getting old, he’d like to meet the descendants of an old friend.”

Su Xingyu’s expression shifted.

Her grandfather was indeed known as “Su Daogong,” but outside Xiangxi, not many people knew that title. The fact that the caller could mention it meant they weren’t just making things up.

“What does he want with me?”

There was a pause on the other end, as if the caller was weighing his words.

“Well… Mr. Fu said he’d like you to come to the city… stay for a while. And, uh, help him with a little favor.”

“A favor?”

“Just… his grandson—he’s twenty-eight and still unmarried. Mr. Fu wants you to come… to take a look at him.”

Su Xingyu’s eyebrows shot up.

“A look?”

“Yes, just… meet him. If you think he’s a good match…”

“Wait,” Su Xingyu interrupted, “are you trying to set me up?”

The voice on the other end sounded distinctly awkward. “Well… you could say that. Mr. Fu said as long as you’re willing to come, we can work out anything. He’ll cover your travel expenses, provide food and lodging, and even give you—”

Su Xingyu hung up the phone.

She placed the phone on the table, stared at it, and shook her head.

“Crazy,” she muttered.

A distant uncle? Setting someone up? Isn’t this exactly the kind of scam people talk about online—tricking you into going to the city only to sell you off? Back in college, her advisor had repeatedly warned students about fraud.

The phone rang again.

Still the same number.

She didn’t answer.

The phone rang for a while, then stopped. Then it rang again. Still no answer.

By the third ring, she simply rejected the call and added the number to her blacklist.

“Scammers these days really are getting more and more outrageous,” she said, tossing the phone aside and turning her attention to the herbs she’d gathered today.

The seven-leaf one-stem flowers needed to be air-dried in the shade, the Polygonatum rhizomes sliced, and the Ganoderma brushed to remove the spore powder on the surface. She worked methodically, each step precise and efficient.

She’d learned this whole routine since she was a child.

When her grandfather was still alive, every spring and summer they would go up the mountain to gather herbs. She’d started tagging along when she was five or six—her grandfather would dig ahead, and she’d carry the basket behind him. When he got tired, he’d carry her on his back, telling her stories as he went—the spirits of the mountains, the water ghosts of the rivers, the immortals in the sky, and those karmic retribution tales she only half-understood.

End of Chapter 3: The Scam Call