Chapter 12: The Ancient Tomb Beneath the River

"Master, what do you think is the root cause of all this?"

After breakfast, I went to the courtyard where Uncle Wangcai’s coffin was kept and asked.

"Cannot say, cannot say!" Master Zhang put on a mysterious air and shook his head. "Heavenly secrets must not be leaked. The more I say, the heavier the karmic backlash I will have to endure."

???

How did we get to "karmic backlash"? Is this guy a total fraud?

"What if I add some money?" I asked.

"Alas! In this world, not everything can be measured by money," Master Zhang sighed.

Just as I was starting to think he might actually have some skill, he continued, "However, since you are so sincere, I will reluctantly satisfy your request. But let it be clear, I am not doing this for the money."

Master Zhang held his head high, fell into deep thought, tapped his fingers, and muttered to himself, "The source, you say..."

As expected of a master; the moment money was mentioned, his interest peaked.

"Master Money-Grubber... ahem, Master Zhang, rumor has it there is an ancient tomb nearby. Do you think this could be related to it?" I guided him along.

"Yes, that's it—the ancient tomb. Once you get involved with such a place, the implications are massive," Master Money-Grubber agreed.

"Should we go take a look?" I asked.

"This... ancient tombs are full of evil spirits; the risk factor is quite high!" Master Zhang began to hedge again.

"I’ll add another twenty thousand yuan if you come with us," Liu Qingya, who was standing to the side, said quickly.

Seeing Liu Qingya’s reaction, she was clearly getting desperate. Why was this "Master Money-Grubber" so hesitant? He kept asking for more money every other minute. I decided to just offer the twenty thousand to save us from more trouble.

"No problem! Since you’ve said as much, the matter is settled!" Master Zhang patted his chest. "We should call a few more people—preferably a butcher or a blacksmith."

There was a pig butcher in Miaodi Village, but not a single blacksmith. Some say that butchers, being accustomed to taking life, easily attract malevolent spirits, but that is nonsense. Butchers often work with blades, and over time, they develop a certain aura of ferocity. Ghosts actually fear this aura, and besides, butchers are used to seeing blood, so they have stronger nerves.

As for blacksmiths, they forge weapons. While they don't kill, the weapons they craft might, so they inevitably accumulate some karma. However, blacksmiths are extremely rare in these peaceful times.

The pig butcher was nicknamed "Old Eight." I call him Uncle Eight; we aren't blood relatives, but in the same village, everyone is related in one way or another.

After rounding up the butcher and three other men, our group of six set off. Before leaving, I went home and packed the peach-wood swords my grandfather used to use into a large bag, which I carried on my back just in case.

To be honest, I didn't know much about the ancient tomb. The only things I knew were what Uncle Wangcai had told me, and I wasn't even sure how much of that was true.

The tomb by the Wei River was a fair distance from Miaodi Village. It took us a full hour to reach the site of a large crater. The area had flooded several times over the years, which had washed over the tomb more than once. When we arrived, most of the palace structure was buried under the earth.

Without digging any further, we climbed directly through a hole in the roof of the palace. There was a fair amount of loose dirt inside, so we could walk on solid ground. From the hole to the main hall, there was a sloped pile of earth. Following this slope, the six of us entered the inner sanctum.

It was a ruin; the walls were covered in thick spiderwebs. A wall had been rebuilt in the passage to the right, but due to years of neglect, it collapsed with a single push. I took out my flashlight, stepped over the broken bricks and rubble, and led the way into the passage.

A foul stench of rot hit us instantly—the air was stagnant. If I were to do this again, I’d have to be better prepared; at the very least, I’d need an oxygen tank, or the smell alone would knock someone out.

"Try this." Liu Qingya took a silk scarf from her pocket, tore it in half, and handed me a piece, gesturing for me to cover my nose.

"Forget it. The air is scarce enough as it is; if you cover your nose with a scarf, you’ll suffocate," I said, waving it away.

When Uncle Dazhuang and the others first came in, the tomb had just been opened and the air hadn't circulated. More than a decade later, even though a wall had been rebuilt, it wasn't sturdy, so there was some airflow. It might smell bad, but it wouldn't cause oxygen deprivation or dizziness.

The passage was pitch black, with my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. Occasionally, we could see dead rats and rotting snake carcasses along the walls. The foul odor likely came from these animal remains. The passage was deathly cold, though I couldn't sense any supernatural "evil" energy.

Several minutes later, we reached the end—or rather, the spot Uncle Wangcai claimed had collapsed.

"Start digging!" I ordered.

Uncle Eight the butcher and the three other men pulled out their military shovels and began to dig with great effort. Liu Qingya had paid them five hundred yuan each for their trouble; otherwise, even as relatives, they wouldn't have bothered.

Villagers are most skilled at working the land. Uncle Eight lit a cigarette and instructed the other three, "Dazhuang’s girl is paying us to work, so don't be lazy!"

"How could we?" the three men chuckled as they lifted their shovels and continued to work hard.

Just as I thought the collapsed area was quite large, a hole finally appeared ahead. Beyond the hole was more passage. I looked up at the ceiling; the stone slabs were perfectly intact. It looked like the earth here wasn't from a collapse at all. If it had been a collapse, the stone slabs above would have been buried under the debris.

Uncle Wangcai lied! I thought instinctively. The earth here had been moved in from outside to block the way, to prevent anyone from going further. As for why, I had no idea. We would just have to go in and see if we could find any clues.

A minute later, Uncle Eight and his men cleared enough of the dirt to allow one person through at a time. We entered the inner passage one by one. Perhaps because of the earthen barrier, the air from outside hadn't reached this far, and the oxygen was even thinner, replaced by a high concentration of carbon dioxide.

We slowed our pace, partly to let fresh air circulate and partly for safety. This riverbed tomb was centuries old; aside from the people who built it, no one knew exactly what lay inside.