Volume One: The Graveyard of Eight Coffins Chapter 30: The Bone Flute

I thought for a moment—truth be told, I had never actually seen the Moktorra myself, nor was I certain if it was really in that underground parking lot. I’d only ever heard Xiao mention it. So there was no good way to start the story in the middle; it would just be too confusing.

The man before me, Professor Ma Su, was clearly ravenous for information, like a beast catching sight of prey. I wondered if all scholars became like this when faced with something that piqued their interest.

Seeing my hesitation, Ma Su seemed to realize he was getting carried away. He waved it off, saying, “Don’t mind me. I’ve studied paleontology and rare species for many years—these things are more precious to me than my own life. So naturally, when you mentioned the Moktorra, I couldn’t help but be interested.”

Later, I would learn Ma Su was truly an academic madman. He’d been married once when he was young, but his wife, unable to endure his obsessive focus on research and the neglect she suffered, eventually divorced him. They’d had no children, and after that, Ma Su remained single. Despite being a leading figure in paleontology and ancient architecture, he cared little for fame or fortune. Much of his published work bore his students’ names, so many of them became better known than him.

After hearing him out, I nodded and asked, “Professor Ma, do you believe in feng shui?”

He answered without the slightest hesitation, “I do.”

I pressed on, “Do you believe in spirits and ghosts?”

“I do,” he said again.

His answer surprised me. In my mind, scientists were typically the last people to believe in such things. Was Ma Su really such an anomaly?

Noticing my astonishment, Ma Su explained, “Feng shui and ghosts—these are just different labels. In ancient times, deities were invoked in rituals, and people entrusted their hopes for good weather to the gods. Feng shui is reflected in many famous ancient structures—it’s not all superstition. The wisdom of our ancestors is something we modern people still haven’t fully unraveled. As for ghosts, they’re a kind of spirit, an energy that exists beyond normal understanding after death. Whether you call it a ghost or a spirit is up to you. So there’s no need to get hung up on the terminology; it’s all about your own interpretation…”

Ma Su went on at length, using a lot of academic jargon that might as well have been a foreign tongue to me.

But suddenly, I had an idea. Given Ma Su’s evident expertise, if I told him everything, perhaps he could help me rescue Third Uncle and Liang Yue. After all, if the Moktorra was somewhere in that underground parking lot, and he was keen to find it, saving them could happen along the way.

So I told him the story of Tianyou Square and what Xiao had said about the Moktorra.

To my surprise, Ma Su showed little reaction to the mention of the Moktorra. Instead, he became much more interested in the eerie flute sound.

When I finished, he asked directly, “So you’re saying that this flute music can seduce the mind and control corpses?”

I nodded. “That’s the impression I got. I almost jumped off the building because of it, and I saw corpses moving and attacking people. There was definitely flute music at the time. If it wasn’t just a coincidence, then it must have been the flute controlling the corpses.”

Ma Su fell into deep thought.

He paced back and forth in the room, easily fifty times or more, until I grew dizzy watching him. At last, he stopped abruptly, a look of excitement on his face, and muttered to himself, “Could it be the human bone flute?”

I was startled and quickly asked, “What’s a human bone flute?”

Ma Su waved his hand. “Wait here a moment, we’re heading to Tianyou Square right away.”

I glanced out the window. It was nearly dusk. I reminded him, “Professor Ma, it’ll be almost an hour’s drive, and it’ll be dark by the time we get there. That place…”

But Ma Su seemed not to hear me, totally lost in his own world. He turned, opened a nearby door, and went inside.

Not wanting to intrude, I waited outside.

There was a window between the rooms, the curtain drawn except for a narrow gap.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I peered through the slit.

Inside was something like a laboratory, with bottles and jars on the tables and cabinets, filled with specimens of animals and plants.

I glanced around, fascinated by these unfamiliar specimens, recognizing almost none of them. Once again, I felt how limited my own knowledge was.

As I looked, my eye caught a glass jar at the edge of a table, apparently newly placed and not with the others.

Inside was none other than a Moktorra. I was certain it was the very same plant Third Uncle and I had carried out of that abandoned building. The leaves had all been burned away, leaving only charred stalks and dead branches. We’d tried to burn it, but someone had rushed out from the shadows and snatched it away. From the back, that person had looked just like Professor Ma, though neither Third Uncle nor I had been certain. We’d intended to ask him about it later, but events swept us away to Tianyou Group and the matter was forgotten.

Now, seeing the Moktorra here, I was momentarily dumbfounded.

Just then, Ma Su emerged from the room, dressed and carrying a leather bag. Noticing me staring inside, he came over and peered through the curtain as well.

Realizing he was behind me, I quickly backed away.

Ma Su saw what I’d been looking at and understood at once. He didn’t mind, and said frankly, “Sorry, that Moktorra was indeed snatched from you. The plant is so rare, it would have been a pity to let it burn. I didn’t have time to explain, so I had to resort to that. Not very scholarly of me, I know. You must think I’m a joke…”

It was clear Ma Su’s passion for academia was beyond imagining. Thinking back on how he’d grabbed the plant, I found it almost endearing. With someone like him, what could I say?

I quickly waved it off. “Professor Ma, Third Uncle and I only wanted to destroy it to prevent future trouble. If you can keep it safe, we’re more than happy to hand it over.”

Ma Su nodded. “I understand. This plant is extremely precious, with high academic and medicinal value. There’s nothing evil about it in itself—it was just used for dark purposes, and now it’s lost its power. It can’t be revived. Here it’s just a specimen. That’s why I was so excited to hear there might be another Moktorra.”

In the short time I’d spent with Ma Su, I found him to be a curious old man. His behavior could seem odd, but his motives always led back to scholarship. In that sense, his mind was simple—no matter what he did, you couldn’t really resent him.

Without further delay, Ma Su was more impatient than I was, urging me out of the building and hurrying me along.

Driving from Shenzhen to the neighboring city, I was grateful for the simple route, needing no GPS. Ma Su sat beside me, silent for most of the journey, lost in thought.

I remembered his strong reaction to the words “human bone flute” in his office. As I drove, I asked, “Professor Ma, what exactly is a human bone flute? You seemed very interested.”

Ma Su leaned back in the passenger seat, and instead of answering directly, he murmured, “How can a nation’s song go silent? Beneath the moon, the dead play the flute…”

“What?” I asked, not understanding.

He explained, “A human bone flute is a type of bone flute, both a ritual instrument and an art piece. There’s a Tibetan name for it, called ‘Gangdong.’ It’s usually made from the shinbone of a sixteen-year-old girl, sometimes wrapped in silver or copper. The sound it produces is sharp and piercing, like a young girl weeping—truly terrifying…”

A chill ran down my spine. A flute made from a girl’s leg bone was horrifying enough. Yet, the flute music I’d heard in the basement and on the rooftop hadn’t always been sharp and piercing—it was often deep and low.

Before I could ask, Ma Su continued, “The Taklamakan, the Sea of Death. This world-famous desert was, a thousand years ago, a flourishing region, home to many ancient kingdoms like Tilan, Loulan, and Niya. Legend says that in 1118, a monk of Tilan crafted a mysterious human bone flute for the king. The king, a lover of music, was so taken with it that he ordered all other instruments silenced throughout the land. But each night, when the king played the flute, someone would die. The deaths mounted, from palace to city beyond. In the end, even the king himself was claimed, and the kingdom perished. Yet beneath the moon, the sharp, piercing sound of the bone flute persisted. It was not the living who played, but the countless vengeful spirits weeping through it. Thus, the saying: ‘How can a nation’s song go silent? Beneath the moon, the dead play the flute.’”

Hearing this, I couldn’t help but ask, “Professor Ma, do you mean the flute I heard was made from a girl’s leg bone?”

Ma Su shook his head. “The human bone flute comes from that legend, and indeed is made from human bone. It’s said that flutes made from different people’s bones produce different sounds and have different effects. What makes the human bone flute so uncanny isn’t just the material, but that the spirit of the deceased is bound to it. Only then does the flute hold its power. From your account, the bone flute at Tianyou Square can entrance the mind and control corpses. I’m certain the spirit attached to it must be ancient, not a modern soul.”

“Not a modern soul?” As I mulled over Ma Su’s words, a sudden realization struck me. I slammed on the brakes, and Ma Su was nearly thrown forward, saved only by his seatbelt.

(End of chapter)