CHAPTER 277: CHAPTER 84: THE "FAKE EMPRESS" ON THE DRAGON CHAIR

Like the old man, an aged cushion, dingy and unnoticed by either sanitation workers or scrap collectors.

Su Ziceng had no intention of picking it up. Perhaps it was because it was so worn out that the old man hadn’t taken it with him.

As fireworks burst in the sky again behind him, Su Ziceng hurriedly beckoned Pello to turn back and watch. Pello didn’t immediately turn his head; instead, he squatted down and picked up the cushion.

Underneath the cushion, several layers had been stitched together with black thread. Touching it, the filling was not just ordinary cotton. The surface, worn from years of friction and use, had lost its original appearance. Ordinary people couldn’t tell, but by touch, Pello could sense that the cushion was made of bear skin.

The bear skin from the bears of Siberia, to be exact, not the bears from Z country. After decades, the bearskin that remained un-worn-through could only be from a Siberian bear. Was the old man a veteran who had been to the former Soviet Union? Pello shook off the dew from the cushion, pondering thoughtfully.

Under the New Year’s fireworks, Su Ziceng looked up, her face glowing beautifully in the light of the fireworks.

"Did you pick it up?" Su Ziceng noticed the cushion in Pello’s hand.

Pello handed the cushion to Su Ziceng. It seemed to start to thaw, and the temperature dropped a few degrees. Su Ziceng, who had dressed lightly, involuntarily drew her hands close to her body, her nose turning red from the cold. The cushion temporarily served as a pillow and unexpectedly warmed her hands, "You can’t tell, but this thing is quite useful."

Upon touching the cushion, Su Ziceng immediately recognized its extraordinary nature – it was thick, the patches on the back were skillfully sewn, indicating the cushion’s owner treasured it greatly. It seems that it was right for Pello to pick it up.

"What was the surname of the old man we heard about earlier in the teahouse?" Near the exit of Jiefang Square, people were constantly bumping into them. Pello protected Su Ziceng, leading her out.

"Mr. Deng," recalled Su Ziceng. The tea master from that area seemed to be from the Northwest, his heavy accent made it somewhat confusing to her, and it must have been even harder for Pello, who had learned proper Z country language, to understand.

"Deng?" Pello mulled it over, "Is there a way to contact him?" A veteran who had been to the Soviet Union, using such a fine cushion, all the pieces of information gathered could possibly point to a direction.

"We met by chance, no information was exchanged," Su Ziceng said with a bit of regret, thinking it a pity. Although she had only met the old man briefly, they had hit it off well, and she didn’t know if there would ever be a chance to meet him again.

"Then let’s keep this cushion well; it may come in handy someday," Pello said as he pulled her out of the crowd without letting go of her hand until they were well clear.

For the remaining days in Bianjing City, their time was mostly spent in leisure and fun, with no serious business accomplished.

On the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, Pello announced he was visiting local friends, and the two parted ways. Su Ziceng tried going to Jiefang Square but did not encounter Mr. Deng again. However, she did notice some positive signs – shops on the streets had begun to open their doors gradually, and she tried her luck by searching for the street recommended by Mr. Deng.

The street "Green Hedge Tiles," located in the old city area, Mr. Deng had said this street was the only one not cleared out after the liberation. The alley was difficult to navigate, the street narrow. When the Japanese army entered the city, they didn’t get to this area, and later, the Cultural Revolution’s household raids also missed this place.

Perhaps because it was well-hidden, this street, with a name like that of a woman, retained the architectural style of the late Qing dynasty and the Republic of China. There wasn’t a single tall building; all were courtyards and bungalows scattered about.

The road was so narrow that only two or three people could walk side by side. Thus, taxis had to stop at the entrance to the alley.

Su Ziceng’s purpose for being here was not to visit the courtyards hidden under the snow or the various buildings that preserved the style of the Republic of China, but instead, she was looking for an institute at the entrance of the alley, marked "National Key Folklore Research Institute."

The name had quite a lofty ring to it, but Su Ziceng understood that such establishments hidden in small alleys were often of dubious repute. Moreover, this institute, even on such official holidays, had its doors wide open, admitting several movers and shakers.

"Be careful, this is a pear wood chair used by Yuan Shikai," a middle-aged man around fifty, dragging out his words, shouted.