LUO WENZHOU HAD SEARCHED Su Xiaolan’s entire “house” and come up empty-handed. He turned around to give Fei Du an exasperated look. “You’re not very reliable these days, huh, Fei-zong?”
Fei Du leaned carelessly against the wall of urns. “Can you finish your search before deciding whether I’m reliable or not?”
Then he reached inside the nook and pulled out Su Xiaolan’s urn. It was wrapped tightly in two layers of silk. As if undressing a lover, he flicked a light finger to easily remove the silk, which revealed a small, square hardwood box.
“You’re telling me to look inside…the urn.” Luo Wenzhou wasn’t sure what expression he should be wearing. He could only smile at Fei Du through gritted teeth. “You sure Xu Wenchao is as messed up as you?”
“You non-messed-up people have weird hang-ups about this kind of thing.” Fei Du stuffed Su Xiaolan’s urn into Luo Wenzhou’s arms. “You think this urn represents an ordinary person, but at the same time, you assign it extraordinary significance. You think it’s sacred, unlucky, untouchable, something that mustn’t be desecrated…no matter what kind of person the deceased was before she died.”