123: Chapter 123 Gold Under the Wutong Tree

The next morning at 8:30 AM.

Jiang Chen woke up naturally.

The curtains had excellent blackout properties; only a sliver of grayish-white daylight seeped in from the edges of the bedroom, like a faint brushstroke cutting a slit into the dark backdrop.

He rolled onto his side and picked up his phone from the nightstand. The light from the screen illuminated his face, clearly highlighting the sleepiness that hadn't yet fully faded.

Jiang Chen swiped his thumb to unlock the interface, leaned against the headboard, and began reading line by line.

[Today's Intel: No. 17 Wutong Lane, Old City District, south of the city. A two-story brick-and-wood building constructed in the 20th year of the Republic. The owner is surnamed Liu, seventy-three years old, living alone.

The house has been listed on second-hand housing platforms for nearly two years with an asking price of 2.4 million. Due to its age and severe woodworm infestation, it has remained ignored to this day, but a cache of gold is hidden within this building.

In the late 1940s, before the local wealthy merchant Chen Zhongyan left the mainland, he hid the family's gold in various locations throughout the city in batches.

The batch at No. 17 Wutong Lane is not hidden inside the building, but buried under the old Wutong tree in the backyard, against the northeast corner of the courtyard wall, two meters west of the tree roots, at a depth of about 1.2 meters.

The Chen family lived in this residence briefly for three months back then and buried it overnight before leaving. The gold container is a cast-iron box with inner and outer layers; the gap is filled with tung oil and lime for waterproofing and moisture protection.

The box contains thirty-two gold bars, each weighing approximately 370 grams with a purity of over 97%. They are standard 'Little Yellow Croaker' minted by the British HSBC on the Shanghai Bund at that time.

The burial location is very deliberate—against the courtyard wall, with a Wutong tree planted above it. The tree was transplanted, not original; the pit was dug deep during transplantation, and the gold bar box was pressed beneath the root ball.

Even if someone renovated the yard later, they wouldn't easily dig beneath the tree roots. Seventy-plus years have passed, and the Wutong tree has grown from the thickness of an arm to needing two people to hug it.

The canopy covers most of the yard, and the roots spread and intertwine underground, tightly wrapping the iron box within the root system as if a hand were clutching it.

In a family letter sent from Hong Kong in the 1980s by Chen Zhongyan's second son, Chen Shuheng, there was an obscure instruction: 'In the backyard of the old residence on Wutong Lane, the tree is large and the roots are deep; the ancestral relics sleep beneath the roots. If Brother finds it convenient, he may go and check.'

This letter was later suppressed by Chen Shuheng's distant nephew in Shanghai, Chen Guodong. Chen Guodong passed away three years ago, and the contents of the letter were never shared.

His belongings were sold as scrap paper by his daughter last year, and several old letters eventually flowed into the collectors' market without causing any stir.

Old Mr. Liu has no particular attachment to this residence. His father bought the house for four hundred yuan in the sixties, and three generations have lived there. The Wutong tree in the yard has grown larger and larger, even cracking the courtyard walls in several places.

Old Mr. Liu's son dislikes the old house for its lack of an elevator and heating, and the yard attracts mosquitoes. He has been urging his father to sell for a long time, but every time someone comes to view the house, they see that massive Wutong tree blocking the sky, notice the ground and walls cracked by the roots, shake their heads, and leave.

Purchase the property at the market price of 2.4 million. After obtaining the gold, the house can be held or resold. The thirty-two 'Little Yellow Croaker' can be sold in batches through collection channels. Estimated net profit: over 50 million.]

Fifty million.

Three days.

Buried under the roots of the Wutong tree.

Jiang Chen read this piece of intel twice, scrutinizing every single word.

Then he rolled out of bed, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open with a flourish.

Looking out from the twenty-first floor, the river surface shimmered with a grayish-blue luster in the morning light. The glass curtain walls of the office buildings on the opposite bank reflected large patches of white light. The entire city was slowly waking up beneath his feet.

His gaze crossed the river, looking toward the direction of the Old City District in the south.

Those dusty gray rooftops loomed indistinctly in the morning mist, like old relics submerged at the bottom of the water.

2.4 million—he could produce that now.

Three days—from buying the house to digging up the roots, three days was enough.

Jiang Chen stood by the window for a while, then turned to go wash up.

As cold water splashed onto his face, his thoughts became completely clear.

He dried his face and picked up his phone. He wasn't in a hurry to message Lu Zheng; instead, he first opened the second-hand housing platform.

No. 17 Wutong Lane, 2.4 million, listed for nearly two years.

The few photos on the page were taken very haphazardly.

Old wooden stairs, a living room with poor lighting, and the large Wutong tree in the backyard almost occupied the entire frame, completely blocking out the sky.

He scrolled down two pages and found the contact number left by the owner, a local number.

Jiang Chen glanced at the time in the top left corner of the screen.

8:47.

It wasn't too early; elderly people generally woke up early.

He dialed directly.

The phone rang a few times before someone picked up. It was an elderly man's voice with a slight local accent, carrying a hint of surprise.

This house had been listed for nearly two years; likely, no one had called this number in a long time.

"Hello?"

"Old Gentleman?"

Jiang Chen's tone was polite and steady. "I saw your house at No. 17 Wutong Lane on the platform and would like to schedule a time to come take a look. Would this afternoon be convenient for you?"

There was a pause on the other end, as if he hadn't expected someone to want to see the house so early in the morning.

"It's convenient, it's convenient. I'm home all day."

The old man's voice rose slightly, then immediately lowered again, carrying the caution of someone who had been ignored for years.

"But this house is very old. The wooden structure has woodworms, and the Wutong tree in the yard has cracked the walls. I'm telling you clearly first so you don't make a trip for nothing."

The corner of Jiang Chen's mouth twitched.

"I know, I saw it all in the photos. It's an old house; everything with some years on it is like that. I just want to see it in person, mainly to check the location and layout."

"Alright then, around what time will you arrive?"

"Two o'clock, No. 17 Wutong Lane. I'll be there on time."

"Good, good. I'll wait for you."

Hanging up the phone, Jiang Chen put it in his pocket and walked out of the bedroom.

The living room was very quiet.

He poured himself a glass of water and drank it slowly while leaning against the back of the sofa, visualizing the layout of that residence on Wutong Lane.

The intel was clear: backyard, old Wutong, northeast corner of the courtyard wall, two meters west of the roots.

He would take a look in person this afternoon, confirm the location, then negotiate the price and sign the contract.

Fifty million buried under the tree roots, waiting for him for over seventy years.

There was no rush for this moment, but every step had to be taken steadily.

After finishing the water, he set the glass on the coffee table and sent a message to Lu Zheng.

"What time will you arrive?"

The reply was almost instantaneous.

"Ten o'clock. I've picked everyone up."

Jiang Chen replied with a "Good," put the phone aside, and leaned back on the sofa to close his eyes for a while.

At five to ten, the doorbell rang.

Jiang Chen stood up, walked over, and opened the door.

Lu Zheng stood at the front, still wearing the same dark jacket from yesterday, his expression just as steady as when he had left last night.

Behind him stood five men.

The stances of the five were identical.

Feet slightly apart, weight on the balls of their feet, spines straight, and shoulders naturally relaxed.

It wasn't the kind of uprightness that was deliberately forced; it was a habit cultivated over many years, carved into their very bones.

The moment the door opened, their gazes fell on Jiang Chen simultaneously. It wasn't scrutiny, nor was it flattery; it was a gaze devoid of any superfluous emotion.

Quiet, direct, like they were waiting for an order.

Jiang Chen took half a step back.

"Come in."

The six men entered in single file.

Lu Zheng stood in the center of the living room, with the five men lined up behind him.

No one spoke, and no one even spared a glance at the room's furnishings.

Their attention was entirely on Jiang Chen, waiting for Lu Zheng to speak.

Lu Zheng turned sideways and introduced them one by one, starting from the far left.

"Zhang Heng."

The man on the far left gave a slight nod.

He wasn't very tall, but his shoulders were extremely broad. Standing there, he looked like a door plank. His palms were thick and large, his knuckles covered in calluses.

"He was a demolitions expert in the army. After discharging, he farmed in his hometown for two years."

"Zhao Yiming."

The second man was half a head taller than Zhang Heng, with a lean build and high cheekbones. His eyes held an alertness that seemed to be constantly observing his surroundings.

"A former scout. After discharging, he worked in an electronics factory in a neighboring province for three years."

"Liu Wei."

The third man was the sturdiest of the five. The muscular lines on his neck and forearms were visible even through his clothes.

"An assaulter. He opened an auto repair shop in his hometown."

"Sun Yi."

The fourth man wore glasses and looked the least like a soldier, but his stance was no different from the others.

"A signalman. After discharging, he got an electrician's certificate and worked on construction sites for two years."

"He Hai."

The last one was the one Lu Zheng mentioned who operated tower cranes in this city.

He was taller than everyone else, appearing to be nearly 1.9 meters. He had a large frame with no excess fat, standing there like an iron pillar driven into the ground.

"An engineer. He operated tower cranes in the army."

Jiang Chen's gaze swept across the faces of the five men in turn.

He met each person's eyes for a brief moment.

No one flinched, and no one deliberately stared back. It was a calm exchange of looks, as if they were telling him in the most direct way possible:

We are here.

Jiang Chen withdrew his gaze and looked at Lu Zheng.

Lu Zheng didn't say much more.

He turned around to face the five men.

"This is Mr. Jiang."

The five men's chins dropped less than an inch simultaneously.

It wasn't a bow; it was much stiffer than a bow.

It was a nod with a very small range of motion—curt and synchronized, as if completing some kind of handover in this manner.