Chapter Four: Pinpointing the Tomb

“Old Duan, you know these mountains better than anyone, and your legs are strong—you can keep up with them. Besides, if we crack this case, it’ll be a major triumph. You, Old Duan, could claim the top credit. Just think, what an honor that would be...”

“But...”

“That’s enough, Old Duan. No more buts. The Party is putting you to the test. Our roles in the revolution may differ, but all is for the Party’s victory. I must hurry down the mountain now.” Director Liu cut Old Duan off without listening to his protests.

Old Duan felt as if he’d swallowed bitter herbs—he had grievances but couldn’t voice them. His face flushed a dull purple, his mouth opened, but he found no words to argue.

Director Liu, not forgetting to offer a few perfunctory words about safety, grabbed his flashlight and sped down the mountain path on his heavy-duty bicycle.

Old Duan watched his figure fade into the darkness at the end of the narrow trail, the dim beam of the flashlight flickering like a will-o’-the-wisp.

The night wind had risen again. At some point, clouds had gathered overhead, blotting out the sky. The blackness of night pooled between the peaks.

No storms were seen in the rivers and lakes,
Alone, sword in hand, longing for a distant love,
Only a cup of coarse wine remained.

In the forested hills, several shadowy figures moved swiftly, exchanging places as they darted through the trees.

“Master, we let that one go back there. Why didn’t we just...” The man with the scar across his face made a slashing gesture at his throat.

The elder in black paused in thought before replying, “Eldest, your bloodlust is too strong. Unless utterly necessary, you must not take lives so lightly. Acting rashly will only alert our enemies...”

“Master is right, eldest brother. You’re always talking about killing—do you think you’re some kind of living King of Hell? We’re after fortune, not blood. As long as we move quickly and get the job done, even if they find out later, we’ll be long gone from this place. Isn’t that so, Master?” The gaunt man gave a few strange laughs, looking smug.

The scarred man snorted coldly at the fifth brother, his fists as big as sandbags clenching until his knuckles cracked.

Yet the black-robed elder felt a lingering unease. Moments ago, for no apparent reason, his heart had been seized by a sudden turmoil, a deep sense of foreboding rising from within. Guided by years of experience, his instincts warned him not to invite trouble—swift withdrawal was the wisest course.

“Master, look, it’s just ahead!” the fifth brother called out excitedly, pointing into the distance.

The elder signaled the group to halt, drew an ironwood compass from his robe, and took three strides from left to right, muttering under his breath, “The heavenly disc aligns with Renzi at the cycle’s end, Kun and Shen share the same palace, no life stirs, the twelve earthly branches merge into a wood formation...”

“Set!” A copper coin whistled through the air and planted itself upright into the earth about three inches away.

“Present the incense.”

The fifth brother quickly lit incense and candles, offering them at a sheltered spot in the northeast.

The elder put away his compass, straightened his garments, and knelt before the incense and candles. He burned a sheet of yellow joss paper, his expression reverent as he intoned, “Spirits of the earth, forgive our intrusion into your sacred ground. We offer incense and paper money—may you overlook our failings and grant us your protection. Let your supernatural power shield us; may all ghosts and demons quickly depart...”

With that, the group knelt and bowed in unison. The elder kept his gaze fixed on the burning joss paper, watching as the ashes glowed with tiny, intelligent sparks, curling and twisting. Strange script, like Sanskrit, slowly emerged in the ashes—its meaning obscure and impossible to decipher.

He scooped the ashes and incense into a coarse bowl, mixed them with wine, and shared the draught with the others.

“It’s done. Open the pit.”

Only after completing the ritual did the elder breathe a long sigh of relief and order his men to start digging where the coin had landed.

At last given the command, the men worked with barely suppressed excitement, pulling tools from their sacks. The scarred man marked the spot with a chisel; the fifth brother drove in with a Luoyang spade; the remaining two used crowbars and spades to assist—each knew his role, their teamwork seamless.

The elder leaned against a mound of earth, his brows furrowed, lost in thought. A sense of unease gnawed at him as he calculated and recalculated their next move.

After nearly three-quarters of an hour, the tunnel was nearly complete—just wide enough for a man to descend. The two helpers worked to widen the entrance further.

At some point, the scarred man had produced a black-and-white-feathered rooster from his sack, trussed it with rope, and tossed it down the hole.

This was an ancient folk technique. A strong rooster was thrown into the tomb first; after some time, it was pulled out. If the bird emerged unscathed, it signaled the air was safe and the tomb free of harmful spirits. The rooster, associated with yang energy, was believed to ward off evil and test for poisonous gases.

The impatient fifth brother hauled the bird back up—the rooster was lively as ever, showing no signs of distress. Only then did they breathe easy.

“Master, it’s good. Let’s get down there.”

“Eldest, fifth, you two come with me. Third and fourth, guard the entrance.”

With that, the selected men lowered themselves into the tomb, ropes tied about their waists. Third and fourth stood above, gripping their steel blades, eyes sweeping the darkness for danger.

Those entering the tomb each held a vermilion pill in their mouths to suppress their living yang energy, hoping to avoid disturbing the tomb’s yin and provoking a corpse to rise.

Fifth brother lit a candle in the tomb’s southeast corner. Only if the flame burned steady could they proceed—if it flickered out, it was an ill omen, a sign to withdraw immediately. “Never touch gold in the dark”—an iron rule passed down through generations.

“Eldest, come here! There’s something good!” The fifth brother’s excited shout echoed from a side chamber.

The scarred man hurried over.

But the elder’s attention was caught by a mural on the wall—a depiction of a general leading troops to pacify a foreign land. The figure was tall and robust, clad in a tiger-helmet and lion armor, wielding a longbow, fierce and unmatched, routing his enemies and taking countless heads, charging on horseback as his soldiers rallied beneath fluttering banners with the earth trembling beneath their feet.

Yet strangely, there was nothing in the tomb to indicate the identity or rank of the occupant—not even a basic inscription. This anomaly deeply troubled the elder. The tomb had side chambers on either side and a main chamber in the center, but was of modest size. In the middle stood the coffin, simply decorated. All that accompanied the dead were a few pottery jars and some rusted swords and spears—more reminiscent of early Tang than Han dynasty style.

Meanwhile, the scarred man and the fifth brother hurriedly stuffed several pottery pieces into their sacks, their eyes darting over every inch, terrified of missing any treasure.

“Eldest, fifth, get ready to open the coffin.”

The elder paid no mind to these small artifacts, his gaze fixed intently on the coffin, his voice urgent and tinged with excitement. The real treasures, if any, would be within.

The coffin was dark red, ancient in its lines, ironwood for the body, cypress for the lid.

“Lift!”

With a great heave, the eldest and fifth pried the lid off and set it aside.

The elder rushed forward, eyes glued to the contents.

Inside, the coffin’s inner panels had long since rotted away. The desiccated corpse, swathed tightly in brocade, left no gaps, and nothing else was inside.

The sight drained the light from the elder’s beady eyes. Unwilling to give up, he searched the coffin thoroughly, but found nothing.

The fifth brother, unable to restrain himself, leaped into the coffin with a corpse-binding chain, lashed it around the body’s back, looped the other end over himself, and with a mighty heave, hoisted the ancient corpse to a sitting position. With both hands free, he began to search the body, intent on prying loose any gold hidden within its mouth.