Chapter 14: Another Tale

Before we could even gather our wits, Master Zhang suddenly perked up again. “Let’s strike while the iron’s hot—go straight to the heart of the matter and show those demons our true power!”

Coming from the usually money-grubbing Zhang, this was quite surprising.

We pressed onward, entering yet another long corridor, but it was utterly empty—no belongings, no signs, nothing at all.

Still, our group continued deeper into the tomb, walking for several more minutes until finally reaching the end.

There lay a burial chamber, immaculately clean except for a single coffin placed in the center.

As I approached the coffin, a strange feeling crept over me.

It had been opened before.

“That’s it?” Master Zhang looked displeased. “After all this trekking, that’s all we find? Are you kidding me?”

“Let’s open it and see,” I said.

It was ironic that the entire ancient tomb contained only this one coffin. In life, the occupant had been a high official, enjoying wealth and honor; in death, they sought a burial grander than most. The tomb should have been filled with gold and jewels, yet it had clearly been looted.

Not even death could bring peace.

“This might not be a good idea,” Uncle Ba and the others hesitated. Opening a coffin was disrespectful to the dead and could bring misfortune. Rural folk tended to be serious about such matters.

“What’s the harm? They’re dead. Do you think they’d dare trouble me? I’ll transcend them eight times a day if they try!” Master Zhang snatched the entrenching tool from Uncle Ba and pried at the coffin.

Though sturdy once, the coffin had rotted over time.

After a few strikes, a hole appeared. Using the tool as a lever, Zhang quickly flipped the lid open.

He was clearly hoping to find some treasure inside.

But the moment the coffin was cracked open...

“Good heavens!” Zhang screamed and stumbled back several steps, his face pale with terror.

What could this mean?

Was there a clue inside the coffin?

I stepped forward and peered inside.

My expression soon froze.

Inside lay nothing extraordinary—a skeleton clad in a blue Zhongshan suit.

The tomb was at least several centuries old, yet the Zhongshan suit was a modern-era garment. How could the two be connected?

“Uncle Ba, come take a look!” I called.

Uncle Ba came over, and the moment he saw the skeleton, his face changed dramatically.

“It’s him!”

“So it was him!”

Without hesitation, Uncle Ba knelt down. “Third Great-Uncle, I mean no disrespect. Please do not hold this against me!”

He was nearly paralyzed with fear.

But who was this Third Great-Uncle?

I had grown up in the village but never heard any stories about this figure.

I felt I might be on the verge of uncovering a clue.

“Uncle Ba, don’t worry. With Master Zhang here, nothing bad will happen,” I said, glancing at the trembling Zhang to comfort him.

Though Zhang was a fraud, he could still calm people’s nerves.

“It’s him. He’s back. That’s why Dazhuang and Wangcai died. I understand now—it must be him...” Uncle Ba muttered incessantly, ignoring my words.

*Smack!*

I struck the back of Uncle Ba’s neck, knocking him out momentarily. I’d question him once he woke. If he kept babbling like this, he might lose his mind.

After rendering Uncle Ba unconscious, I turned to the other two elderly villagers who had come to help.

“You two are also elders here. Do you know who this Third Great-Uncle that Uncle Ba mentioned really is?”

They hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’ll pay—ten thousand each if you tell me,” Liu Qingya quickly offered.

Money moves people. They swallowed nervously, tempted to speak but also fearful.

“Don’t worry. Whatever you say won’t be shared outside,” I assured them.

“It’s not just about money,” one slowly began. “If we tell this, we’ll be branded traitors in the village. This all started with that flood...”

A flicker of memory crossed his eyes.

From him, I learned a different story.

That year, the Wei River basin was hit by a massive flood.

Miaodi Village lay beside the Wei River floodplain—a low-lying area.

While the floodplain was fertile and reliable for crops, especially when other areas suffered drought, it was vulnerable to flooding.

That year’s flood washed away all the village’s crops.

A grim reality set in: How would they survive?

Miaodi had over a hundred households, nearly five hundred people. If they couldn’t endure the flood’s aftermath, the entire village risked starvation.

Though the government provided relief, it was insufficient—barely enough for ten or fifteen days. How could they last until the next harvest?

Some villagers began to entertain risky ideas. Miaodi was close to the ancient capital—a city that had been the seat of thirteen dynasties.

Beneath it lay countless tombs of nobles and generals.

Digging up any tomb would uncover priceless treasures.

Many villagers suggested breaking into one of these tombs to retrieve some valuables.

Among them, Dazhuang was the most vocal.

But opposition arose. A senior figure in the village, the Third Great-Uncle, vehemently opposed the idea, warning that desecrating tombs would bring retribution.

He was highly respected and stubborn.

To prevent the digging, he sat at the village entrance for nights on end, forbidding anyone to leave.

Three or four days passed until one night, the Third Great-Uncle vanished without a trace.

Everyone in the village knew what had happened but dared not speak of it.

For all intents and purposes, it was as if he never existed.

Days later, Dazhuang and Wangcai used the pretext of patrolling the riverbank to locate an ancient tomb and looted its treasures.

The villagers managed to survive the disaster year thanks to those antiques.

Some who plundered the most not only exchanged the goods for food but also earned money.

They used the money to start small businesses in the ancient capital, which was full of opportunities.

As their wealth grew, they bought property in the city. Over time, as the capital underwent redevelopment, they became rich beyond measure and rarely returned to the village.

The story ended there.

Only then did I realize that those who left the village long ago were not unwilling to return—they were afraid to come back.