The Lost Tomb Vol. 8

Chapter 72: Grandpa's Past

The name that popped up hadn't appeared on my phone for a long time. Just a moment ago, I thought that I wouldn't be surprised no matter whose name jumped out, but this one person made me extremely surprised.

In fact, it wasn't a name, but a title.

"Grandpa"!

The name shown on the phone was the number used before my grandfather had died. No one had called since he was buried and I didn't think about it, but unexpectedly the phone hadn't been disconnected.

I paced back and forth in the yard, thinking "Damn it, this seems really close to the core." I was moving in the right direction, but I still didn't understand what these people were doing.

I thought about it, continued dialing the number, and put the phone to my ear. I didn't know what I would hear, but I was actually looking forward to it, no matter what the sound was.

"Sorry, the number you dialed cannot be reached."

I put down my phone, thinking that Grandpa's phone must've run out of battery. There may still be some money on it, because Old Dog Wu was very rich in his last days. My Uncle Three gave grandpa a phone card, which could be enough for several years, so there was no reason the phone would be disconnected. However, there probably wasn't anyone to charge the phone itself.

My grandmother isn't the type of person worn out by love. She's lived a very smart life and isn't too sad about my grandfather's death so I didn't want to disturb her now.

This house was rented by grandpa, and it had been rented for nineteen years.

I didn't want to think about the possibility any more. I dialed the landlord's phone again and told him that I had contacted the tenant and would give both their accounts 500 yuan each month. The tenant told me to directly ask the landlord to type up a proof of his previous payment to the intermediary.

The landlord was very enthusiastic and probably knew that he could collect another 500 yuan a month, so he quickly told me his account information. I lit a cigarette, jumped over the wall, asked my staff to find some people who could pry open the door, and at the same time I looked for a friend from the bank to inquire about the account holder that had been paying the rent.

At first, my friend was very hesitant on the phone, but when I said I would give him a good fee and told him that I only needed the account number of the payer, he soon agreed. Soon the account number was sent, and I entered it in an ATM, waiting as the name corresponding to the account popped up.

I stared at the ATM's screen for half a day.

It was my grandfather's name.

Maybe grandpa had used direct deposit.

I went back to the street and almost got hit by a truck when crossing the sidewalk. I ignored all this and went to a cafe to find a place to sit down, finding myself unable to think.

What was going on here? Did grandpa dig that basement?

Grandpa rented a house nearby, dug a basement, and then spied on his son?

Grandpa wasn't so abnormal, right? The impression I had of him since I had basically been born was that he lived in his own world and memories. In his later years, all he had in mind was a cup of tea, a few dogs, and an old woman to hold hands with while walking along the west lake.

Nineteen years ago, however... as I thought of this number, I kept wondering, "What was grandpa like nineteen years ago?"

A lot of fragmentary information flashed through my mind, and I thought of some ambiguous words that my Uncle Two had said to me, implying that they knew that Uncle Three was a fake.