**Chapter 295: Wrongfully Accused, Kicked Off the Train**
The bronze case Zhou Yongxiang brought back—I only caught a glimpse of its contents. Inside was a roll of parchment, though what was written on it, I had no idea.
But less than half a year after Zhou obtained that parchment, he made a decision that left everyone stunned.
He donated his entire collection to a museum and then left for Tibet. From then on, I never saw him again.
Later, I heard from others that he’d been spotted at the Potala Palace.
But that’s a story for another time.
After helping Zhou Yongxiang open the bronze case, Yang Hanxue also left Guangling, and I set off on a journey to the Greater Khingan Mountains.
In my life, I’ve encountered many strange and inexplicable things—events I still don’t know how to explain or recount.
If I had to sum it all up in one sentence, I’d say this: **The world is far more complicated than it seems. What we know is just the tip of the iceberg.**
But back to the story.
After the Minor New Year, Fatty and I embarked on our trip to the Greater Khingan Mountains.
As for Wang Yang? Who knew where he’d run off to this time.
In the decades I’ve known him, he’s always been like this—appearing and disappearing like a ghost. You could never find him unless he wanted to be found.
No fixed phone number, no permanent address, not even regular contacts.
Sitting on the slow-moving green train, watching the scenery roll by, Fatty slurped down a cup of instant noodles and asked, *“Boss Xiang, what’s the big job this time?”*
I glanced at the stack of empty noodle cups beside him. *“How many is that now?”*
He grinned sheepishly. *“Fourth one… Not much else to eat on the train. And I get extra hungry in winter.”*
I shook my head. *“Who could afford to feed you? Even instant noodles would bankrupt a man.”*
*“Nah, come on, these things are cheap,”* he said, slurping loudly.
Done with the conversation, I stood up to smoke at the train’s connecting section.
When I got there, a few seasoned smokers were already puffing away. I lit my cigarette and joined them.
A man in his thirties beside me smiled and said, *“Hey, buddy, got a light?”*
I handed him my lighter. As he lit up, he glanced at my cigarette. *“You from the south?”*
*“Yeah.”*
*“Where you headed?”*
*“Mohe.”*
*“Business?”*
*“Visiting family,”* I said curtly.
Small talk on trains was common, but caution was second nature when traveling. No need to share too much.
Still, for some reason, this guy kept chatting—telling me he was visiting relatives and even enthusiastically recommending local Mohe delicacies.
Out of politeness, I humored him with occasional nods.
Then a girl in her twenties squeezed past us, lugging heavy bags. Clearly, she hadn’t gotten a seat and had to stand in the cramped space.
She waved away the smoke, covering her mouth as if the smell bothered her.
*“Hey, I’m heading back. Take it easy,”* the man who’d borrowed my lighter said, clapping me on the shoulder before leaving.
Just as I finished my smoke and turned to go, the girl suddenly grabbed my arm, glaring at me. *“Thief!”*
I was stunned. *“What?”*
Before I could react, she started shouting, *“Stop thief! Someone stole my wallet!”*
Her screams drew a crowd, including two train attendants.
The moment they arrived, she pointed at me. *“He stole my wallet!”*
*“What the hell are you talking about?”* I frowned. *“I didn’t take anything.”*
*“It was you! My wallet was just here, and now it’s gone!”*
I scoffed. *“So just because your wallet’s missing, it’s automatically me?”*
*“Who else? It was fine when I got here, but then—”* Her eyes suddenly widened. *“Oh! You’re working with that other guy!”*
*“What guy?”*
*“The one who just left! He bumped into me—he must’ve taken it, and you’re covering for him!”*
Her accusation sent a chill down my spine. I patted my pockets—only to find a hole in my jacket. My phone and cigarettes were gone.
Before I could explain, railway police arrived.
No matter what I said, the girl refused to believe me, adamant I was the thief.
The argument escalated until, at the next station, I was hauled off the train. At least I managed to tell the officers to notify Fatty.
Poor Fatty, still clueless, was dragged off too and taken to a nearby police station.
---
*“Officer, I’m not a thief,”* I insisted. *“I’m a victim here.”*
*“Walk me through what happened.”*
I recounted everything in detail. The officer, seemingly convinced I wasn’t lying, pulled up my records.
*“You’re here to visit someone? You’re from Guangling?”*
*“Yes.”*
*“Your record’s clean. But we need more details. Describe the man you talked to.”*
I dredged up my memory and gave a description.
Then I was left alone in the interrogation room for two or three hours.
When the officer returned, he uncuffed me and placed my missing phone and cigarettes on the table. *“These yours?”*
I stared at them. *“You caught the thief?”*
He nodded. *“Career pickpocket. He struck again right after you got off, but this time, he was caught red-handed. These were just returned. Check if anything’s missing.”*
I exhaled in relief. *“No, nothing’s gone. Thank you, Officer. Justice prevails.”*
*“What were you worried about?”* he said sternly. *“We don’t wrong the innocent. If you didn’t do it, you had nothing to fear.”*
*“Right, right.”*
Who’d have thought a quick smoke break would land me in such a mess?
Fatty had it worse—yanked off the train mid-noodle slurp. The image of him desperately signaling me while in cuffs was almost funny in hindsight.
---
*(Translation notes: Adjusted dialogue for natural flow, localized idioms (e.g., "沉冤昭雪" → "justice prevails"), and kept the bureaucratic tone of police interactions authentic. Humor in Fatty's portrayal preserved while maintaining the protagonist's exasperation.)*