Qin XiaoHu parked the sidecar motorcycle at the main gate of the forest farm and waved at Chen Mo. "You go in first. I'm going to settle the group of kids in the horse carriage, and I'll come find you later."
Chen Mo nodded, watching Qin XiaoHu's motorcycle vanish into the night before turning toward the forest farm gate.
A man wrapped in a cotton-padded coat emerged from the guard booth. He was about thirty years old, with a square face, thick eyebrows, and large eyes, holding an enamel mug in his hand. This was Wu Fang, an old employee of the forest farm.
"Are you the new arrival?" Wu Fang looked Chen Mo up and down. "That girl Shen Hong mentioned to me that you'd be arriving tonight."
Chen Mo gave a grunt of acknowledgment and followed Wu Fang inside. The lights inside the forest farm were dim, with several rows of brick houses scattered about, and the roar of logging machinery could be heard in the distance.
After walking a short way, Chen Mo suddenly saw a figure swaying on an open space ahead. It was an old man with white hair and beard, dressed entirely in black—black jacket, black trousers, black shoes, black socks—standing out starkly against the snow. The old man’s arms were held in an empty embrace, moving slowly, as if practicing some kind of martial art.
"Who is that?" Chen Mo asked.
Wu Fang lowered his voice, his expression somewhat peculiar. "Don't you know? This forest farm is a bit special. Some of the people inside might have been here for decades; their backgrounds are unclear. Anyway, we just do our own jobs well, and that's that."
Chen Mo’s heart stirred, and he took a few more glances at the old man.
"What kind of martial art is this?" he asked.
Wu Fang looked as well. Seeing the old man’s slow, feeble movements, he curled his lip and said, "What kind of nonsense is this? I reckon he'd have trouble even swatting a fly."
Chen Mo did not respond, merely observing quietly.
The old man had a long face, bald eyebrows, an aquiline nose, and eyes like blades—a naturally fierce appearance. But the more Chen Mo looked, the stranger it seemed. At that moment, it was freezing cold; as he and Wu Fang spoke, their breath turned to frost, and white vapour poured from their mouths and noses. Yet, the old man seemed as if he were not breathing at all.
There was something odd here.
Chen Mo narrowed his eyes, silently noting this discovery in his mind.