Chapter 13: Lai San

2022-05-20

The wooden board shifted under my hand. I gave it a push, and there was Lin Shu, crouched in the narrow pit barely big enough for one person. Judging by the fresh dirt, it had just been dug. Stacks of cash were piled beside Lin Shu—at a glance, it looked like tens of thousands.

I grabbed Lin Shu’s arm and pulled him out, then covered the pit again with the board. “Found him,” I called out.

Lin Shu gave me a grateful look.

Suddenly a heart-wrenching shout rang out, “My child…!”

Lin Shu’s eyes turned red and tears streaked down his cheeks.

In his entire life, Lin Shu had only cried twice: once when he saw his grandmother’s severed hand—this made it the second.

Nothing in this world is truly black and white. If Lin Shu had left Longze City a little sooner, maybe he would’ve had more time to hide. I remembered someone I once knew—when they were finally caught, they’d been at the amusement park playing with their daughter.

Anyone with attachments has their own weaknesses.

Lin Shu wasn’t ready to die. I told him, if you want to keep your secret and give your grandmother a shield for a while longer, then you need to tell me everything you know. That was Lin Shu’s weakness—the people and things he cared about.

He gave up a name: Lai San.

Following Lin Shu’s lead, we quickly dug up Lai San’s file. His real name was Lai San, but people called him “Lai” because he was labeled a madman. Though only thirty-two, Lai San had already spent five years behind bars. The details of his very first arrest were worth sharing.

He was the youngest in the family—two older brothers, two older sisters. Their family had nothing. The brothers got by biting their nails from hunger, the sisters scavenged for food in the trash. Only Lai San had steamed buns with every meal. The youngest son always gets spoiled.

Eventually, the family decided to send Lai San to Shaolin Temple. His appetite had grown so large that his parents couldn’t feed him anymore. At least in Shaolin, he wouldn’t go hungry. For them, this was the best future they could give their son. Lai San ended up staying at Shaolin for fifteen years.

At eighteen, Lai San emerged from Shaolin, skills in hand, and began wandering the world. With the old saying “All martial arts under heaven come from Shaolin” in mind, Lai San went from school to school, challenging anyone he could find. Martial arts gyms, taekwondo clubs, boxing studios—he’d charge right in.

It doesn’t matter how strong you are; no martial artist is a match for a kitchen knife. These days, people practice for health, not to fight. But Lai San didn’t seem to carry any of Shaolin’s famed zen. In theory, the highest level of martial arts is never to fight at all.

Yet Lai San swept through every opponent, unstoppable.

Whenever he left, he’d bow and announce, “Thank you for the lesson. I’m Lai San from Shaolin.”

Watching his retreating back, people would whisper, “So the martial world never disappeared—it’s always been here, wherever people gather.”

Sometimes Lai San stared at his knife, other times at his hands. One day he asked himself, “Are they afraid of me, or are they really afraid of my knife?”

One day when the weather turned, Lai San wandered into a place bearing a sign in bold black letters: “Hua Shan Sect.”

He’d seen the Swordsman stories and knew the reputation of the Hua Shan Sect—they were famous for swordplay. Who knows how strong the legendary Nine Swords were these days? Lai San’s blood ran hot. In his year of wandering, he’d never come across a real renowned sect—now was his chance to show Hua Shan’s heroes what he was made of.

He shouted and charged inside, only to meet the one defeat that changed his life.

Later he’d say he honestly hadn’t noticed there were two more words after “Hua Shan Sect” on the sign.

When people found out why he did it, they burst out laughing. They put him in a cell for a few days and confiscated his knife. That was when Lai San lost his sense of purpose. He realized that forcing someone out of the martial world could be as easy as taking away their blade. He hadn’t been home in fifteen years, but when the thought crossed his mind, he realized—even now, he wouldn’t know where to go.

His parents had never expected him to come back. There was no food or drink at home. Why bother returning?

Without a knife, he had to get another, so he went to a shop and told the owner, “Give me your sharpest knife.”

The owner produced a kitchen knife. “This one’s top-notch,” he boasted. “It’ll slice anything—vegetables, melons, chickens, beast, or even the slimiest squid in the river. With this blade, you can rest easy. If it’s not sharp enough, you can cut me instead.”

The next day, the owner was found in a pool of blood inside the hardware store.

Lai San claimed that knife wasn’t as sharp as his old one, so he thought of the owner’s words and went back. Luckily, the man had survived—and for the first time, Lai San was locked up for real.

Whenever the owner retold the story, he’d shudder. When folks noticed the long scar down his chest and asked if he too was someone famous in the martial world, begging him for tales of those bloody old days, he’d just smile.

And then he’d say, “The biggest lesson I learned from this scar? Never brag again.”

That’s how Lai San lost another knife.

The second time he got arrested, it was from sheer hunger.

“Miss, have a heart,” he pleaded. “I have nothing—no car, no house, no money, no food or water. All I’ve got is this knife. Please, cut me some slack.”

Lai San always found new ways to stand out.

But one day, a cool-headed young woman snapped his photo and called the police.

That was Lai San’s second arrest.

Lin Shu and Lai San were once roommates.

Lin Shu had always seen himself as someone with solid willpower, but meeting Lai San made him realize there were plenty of people tougher than him in this world.

Before long, Lai San left.

A year later, Lin Shu left too.

Lin Shu made a living off a money-making gig from Lai San for the past three months, saving a chunk for his grandmother. Deep down, Lin Shu always knew he’d get caught—it was just a matter of time.

As for Lai San, he’d clearly fled Longze City—now who knows where he is. We handed off his case to another squad, marking the end of our assignment.

“Lai San’s quite the character,” I muttered, glancing at his file photo—a simple honest-looking farmer.

Team Leader Shao glanced my way. “Don’t worry. Sooner or later, Lai San’ll be in our hands.”