Chapter 228: The Cursed River

However, discovery was one thing—the placer gold content at this river mouth was very low, basically worthless for mining.

The expedition was standing on a river-mouth alluvial fan, where the current had already slowed considerably.

Placer gold is heavy and sinks before silt does, so it is mainly distributed in the middle and upper reaches of a river.

Lieutenant Montero therefore firmly believed that the true River of Gold lay further upstream.

He gave the order: "Everyone, pack your rations and supplies—we're going into the mountains with me!"

Little Val rose from the river, carefully wrapped the few more grains of placer gold he had panned in a piece of silk, and tucked it close against his body. Then he came out of the water and looked upstream.

Before his eyes stood a majestic mountain range, shrouded in clouds and mist, stretching beyond sight from east to west.

At the center of the range, a great river cut through it like a blade, forming a canyon of sheer ten-thousand-ren cliffs—deep, strange, and utterly precipitous.

The weather was overcast today, which made the canyon seem even more profound and eerie, and Little Val could not help feeling a trace of dread.

The lieutenant added: "Everyone, make sure your weapons are ready—especially gunpowder. Bring extra."

Under the lieutenant's orders, the expedition split into three parts: the rear party stayed at the river mouth, the middle party advanced four or five days' journey ahead to set up camp, and the vanguard pressed on along the river valley until they found the source of the gold sand.

The River of Gold's current was extremely swift, and razor-sharp reefs as keen as blades were densely scattered throughout—boating was out of the question.

The expedition therefore had no choice but to bring ten mules to haul their supplies into the canyon.

The lower valley was somewhat more open, and the path along the river could fit three men walking abreast. Dense broadleaf forests lined the way, thick with all manner of vines. The broad leaves of the trees nearly blotted out the sky entirely, making the valley seem all the more gloomy.

The expedition advanced up the valley in a long snake formation. The surging River of Gold constantly carried moisture into the air, and the humidity in the valley was appalling. After half a day of walking, their clothes were plastered to their bodies, mixed with sweat—stuffy and hot, utterly miserable.

"Tie your trouser legs tight! Watch your footing!" Lieutenant Montero's voice came from the front of the column.

"Smack!" The man in front of Little Val slapped his own neck hard, then held out his palm—it was covered in blood and the mangled remains of a mosquito. "Damn this cursed place!" the man swore.

The valley teemed with every kind of mosquito and insect. Though the expedition members were sweltering, they never dared expose so much as a sliver of skin.

Traveling through the valley, they could barely see the sun, and could only tell the time by the faint glimmer of sunlight on the river's surface.

Around dusk, the lieutenant ordered camp to be set.

Camping by the river was extremely dangerous, but with sheer cliffs on both sides, there was no other choice—and sentries were posted in rotation.

Some of the men took their muskets and shot a few handsome pheasants for dinner.

Little Val noticed that the pheasants' feathers were a blue-purple hue. In the darkness they looked pitch black, but in the light they shimmered with iridescent splendor, dazzling to behold.

All along the way, most of the vegetation, birds, and beasts were unfamiliar species, making one marvel at the greatness of God's creation.

The pheasant tasted excellent—much like ordinary chicken, but with a slight gamey tang.

That night, people kept getting up, running outside the tent to vomit and have diarrhea. Between that and the damp heat, no one got any proper rest.

In the morning, when everyone rose and began packing their gear, they discovered that one of the men had been dead for some time.

Vomit still clung to the corners of his mouth, and his body gave off a foul stench.

Little Val recognized him—this was the man who had walked ahead of him yesterday and been bitten by a mosquito.

Lieutenant Montero ordered the dead man buried, and they piled river stones into a simple grave mound, with two branches lashed into a crude cross.

After a brief prayer, they continued on their way.

They walked on like this for five or six days. The valley grew ever steeper, flanked by nearly vertical marble cliffs. The sky narrowed to a single thread above. The riverbed became increasingly rugged, strewn with deep pools and whirlpools, and small waterfalls could be seen frequently.

The terrain grew rougher along the way, until the path had almost vanished entirely. The expedition often had to scramble on all fours, climbing over the cliff faces.

The mules could go no further.

The lieutenant therefore established the middle party's camp at a relatively flat spot in the river's middle reaches.

This camp would serve as a vital staging point for the vanguard's return.

According to the original arrangement, Little Val was also supposed to stay with the middle party—but in recent days, the expedition had been losing men every single day.

Deaths from malaria, deaths from poisoning, deaths from falls and head injuries—every kind of death imaginable.

And the so-called "source of the River of Gold" was still nowhere in sight.

This gradually sapped the expedition's morale, and some of the men had already begun whispering that the river was cursed.

Especially yesterday—as the expedition crossed a stretch of flat ground, a man suddenly twisted his ankle, let out a muffled grunt, and toppled into the river. In an instant he was gone, never surfacing again.

The men around him stared blankly at the scene, utterly stunned—no one dared to try and save him.

Under these circumstances, Little Val still felt it was safer to stay close to the lieutenant.

Seeing that Little Val wanted to follow him, Lieutenant Montero simply smiled gently and agreed.

The vanguard numbered only twenty men. After streamlining the group and abandoning much of their heavy baggage, they made much better time.

After another five days of travel, the vegetation in the valley had changed noticeably. The broadleaf forests had almost entirely vanished, replaced by conifers such as hinoki cypress and red cypress.

Along the riverbed, enormous blocks of marble lay scattered everywhere—the smaller ones stood as tall as a man, while the larger ones were the size of two or three horses.

Gazing up at the towering cliffs above, the origin of these boulders could not have been clearer.

The expedition members could not help feeling their scalps prickle.

After another day's march, the River of Gold gained a tributary. At the junction where the tributary met the main channel lay a broad terrace—an absolutely perfect campsite.

Seeing this, the men could not help letting out cheers.

Lieutenant Montero said: "Tonight we'll—"

"Boom!" Before he could finish, a tremendous roar came from deep in the valley.

Every man's expression froze instantly. They all looked toward the depths of the valley, but saw only gray cliff faces and jagged crags—nothing out of the ordinary, save for a great flock of unknown waterfowl startled into the sky.

"Lieutenant... what was that just now?" Little Val asked worriedly.

The boom had been so loud that the ground itself trembled—only the blast of a gunpowder magazine exploding could compare.

The lieutenant licked his parched lips and forced a smile: "Just an ordinary rockslide. All right, hurry up and set up camp."

He gave the order for the party to rest for a day on the terrace. The terrain here was relatively gentle, the river not particularly deep, and there were two channels to boot—so they could take this time to pan for gold in both waterways and decide which direction to head next.

"Lieutenant, gold! There's gold here!"

Soon, one of his men raised his pan high in the air, his face alight with excitement as he shouted.

"There's some in this stream too!" In the tributaries, others also found gold.

Judging from the containers everyone held, the gold they panned was clearly more abundant than at the river mouth.

Lieutenant Montero speculated that upstream of the Gold River, there must be a large gold mine—the placer gold being what the stream had carried down over the years as it flowed past the deposit.

"Lieutenant, please come take a look at this!"

Just as he was envisioning the gold mine upstream, one of his men called out to him—and from the tone of voice, it was probably not good news.

Montero went over at once and saw the man crouching on the ground. Before him lay an abandoned campfire pit, with a few bones of some unknown animal scattered around it—judging by their size, they should be pig bones.

Along the way, they had indeed seen from a distance mountain deer and wild boar drinking at the water's edge.

"These are traces of natives!" the man said.

Montero's eyes lit up. He gave the order: "If you see any natives, you must capture one to serve as a guide. As for the means... you may be rough." "Yes sir!" the man acknowledged.

The party rested on the terrace for a night. The next morning, before dawn had even broken, many men were already heading to the river to pan for gold.

After all, this was a rare chance to get rich—no one wanted to miss it.

The weather today was overcast, the river water bitingly cold, and it had risen slightly, its current running much faster as well.

Still, spurred on by the lure of gold, this bit of hardship was bearable.

"Boom—!" A clap of thunder sounded.

Montero gazed at the sky but saw no sign of any lightning. A sense of foreboding gradually welled up in his heart.

Among the gold panners, someone's foot slipped and he fell into the river. Fortunately, his position was close to the bank—startled by the icy water, he scrambled back to his feet, cursing: "Damn it, the water seems deeper than before?"

"What's that sound?" One of the panners straightened up and said.

The men held their breath and listened. Faintly, a rumbling sound reached their ears—like rolling muffled thunder, but far softer than thunder, and far more rapid.

On the terrace, Montero heard the sound too. His expression changed drastically, all color draining from his face. He shouted desperately to his men: "Come back! Come back now!"

The rumbling grew ever clearer, easily drowning out Montero's voice.

Everyone looked upstream and saw a black wall sweeping down through the valley.

"Flash flood!" someone shouted, then flung away his gold-panning dish and sprinted toward the terrace.

But though the flood crest had not yet arrived, the river's current had already become extremely swift. The gold panners could only take small steps, and with any carelessness they were knocked off their feet by the flow. Some reached out to pull up their fallen companions.

Montero roared in desperation: "There's no time! Come back!"

The next second, the rumbling reached its climax. A pitch-black flood crest rolled over the river channel with devastating, irresistible force.

Boulders taller than a man were pushed around like pebbles, colliding with one another and smashing into pieces. The flood crest was filled with crushed rock and mud, its surface covered in a thick layer of timber and branches—it had become almost semi-solid.

From the moment the flash flood was spotted to the moment they were swallowed by it, less than five minutes had passed.

Below the terrace, the water level surged by five or six meters.

More than a dozen gold panners vanished without a trace, just like those boulders and branches.

"It's over..." Lieutenant Montero's body ran cold, trembling all over.

The middle squad's campsite was on low ground—there was absolutely no way it could withstand a flood like this. They were all finished...

Even the camp downstream could hardly hope to escape.

There had been no rain in the valley at all—where on earth had this flash flood come from?

Could it really be, as the men had said, that this was cursed gold?

The flood surged on without cease. Under the overcast sky, the waterway's color was nearly indistinguishable from pure black.

Amid the flood, the terrace seemed like a lone boat adrift in a storm.

Witnessing such a cataclysm of heaven and earth, the men all turned ashen. There was nothing they could do but pull out their crucifixes and pray.

The expedition was trapped by the flood for three days.

Three days later, the flood gradually receded, and the river channel returned to its original level.

A fierce argument broke out among the expedition members over whether to turn back or press on.

This flash flood had claimed fourteen expedition members without leaving a trace of their bodies—only seven remained of the forward squad.

As for the middle squad, they had likely been wiped out to the last man...

With losses so heavy and this valley so eerie, all the survivors were seized by the urge to retreat.

But Lieutenant Montero, seeing himself drawing ever closer to the source of the Gold River, was hardly willing to turn back.

If he returned empty-handed like this, having squandered so much in supplies and men for nothing—

would the Commodore still support another expedition?

When would he, Montero, ever discover the source of the Gold River?

Exploration had always been a gamble of nine deaths to one life. For the sake of this great discovery, a few sacrifices were worth it.

And so Montero overruled all objections, using his prestige, coaxing and cajoling with promises, to push forward for three more days.

If nothing was found after three days, they would turn back the way they came.

The forward squad's provisions had not been enough to last this long to begin with, but with more than a dozen men dead in the flood, their rations had actually become plentiful.

The remaining men, trusting Montero on the one hand and thinking of the gold so close at hand on the other, nodded in agreement.

Once the discussion was concluded, the party took enough rations, traveled light, and hid the remaining supplies nearby on the terrace.

On the very night they continued forward, two more men died—from high fevers brought on by festering wounds.

The remaining five pressed on along the valley. The flash flood had completely reshaped the valley's terrain.

The gravel and sand beaches that had lined the river were now covered in thick, loose earth, rock, and silt. Unstable shoals were everywhere, and neither the valley floor nor the surrounding cliffs bore a trace of vegetation.

Walking through it was like walking through the ruins left after Judgment Day—the world had become an empty void.

Three days later, a lone, abrupt hill appeared in the valley, and the river was flowing down from that very hill.

Was there any place that looked more like the source of a river than this?

Lieutenant Montero seized the silver crucifix hanging on his chest, kissed it fiercely, and with a great laugh, scrambled up the hill on all fours.

After finally climbing to the top of the hill, he froze.

The other team members could only see his back, and thinking Lieutenant Montero had spotted a gold mine, they scrambled up in wild joy.

But they too became as if possessed, frozen in place on the hilltop.

"What's going on, what did you see?"

Little Val, bringing up the rear, looked at the others and felt both fear and curiosity, so he called out to ask.

No one answered him.

Little Val's fear reached its peak. He was terrified that if he took one look, he too would be turned to stone, but in the end he couldn't resist his curiosity, and finally climbed up the low hill to gaze ahead.

In an instant, his hair stood on end, his pupils dilated, and his heart stopped.

There on the hilltop was no gold mine, no river channel, no riverbank—not even a path down the mountain.

What appeared before them was a bottomless deep pool stretching beyond sight, flanked by sheer cliffs on both sides.

The water level of the deep pool was extremely high, nearly level with the top of the low hill.

"This..." Little Val was stunned. He had never seen such a bizarre sight.

"This is a barrier lake!" Among the team members, someone was already speaking with a sob in his voice.

This was the cause of that mountain torrent—massive collapses of rock from the mountain had blocked the river, forming a barrier lake.

When this natural dam could no longer withstand the water pressure, the water in the deep pool poured down, creating a flash flood.

After the flood passed, the dam was not completely washed away, forming a second blockage.

Judging from the current water level of the deep pool, the second dam breach was not far off...

And after the second breach, the chain reaction might even form a third blockage.

And along the entire river channel, almost only that terrace could escape the flood...

In other words, seeing this barrier lake meant that no one could make it out alive...

Even if they turned around and headed back right now, they might not even make it to that terrace.

"This can't be, how could this happen..." Montero clutched his hair in agony, all his strength seeming to drain away as he sank weakly to his knees, then began digging at the mud and sand of the dam with his bare hands.

"The gold mine must be right underneath! Dig! This is the river of gold, the shining land of 'Dorado'—there must be a gold mine!" Seeing this, the other crew members were scared out of their wits and grabbed Lieutenant Montero up.

Someone punched him in the face, knocking the lieutenant to the ground. He tumbled down the dam like a kite with a snapped string.

The dam of the barrier lake was extremely fragile—even the slightest external force could trigger a breach.

The moment everyone saw the barrier lake, they all understood that it would be hard to walk out of the river valley alive, but that didn't mean they were prepared to drown immediately. As long as there was a glimmer of hope, everyone would still try to walk out.

"Damn madman!" The team member who had punched the lieutenant shook his fist, then said to the others, "Everyone head back the way we came. Be careful on the way down—whatever you do, don't fall!"

The group carefully descended the mountain, retracing their steps back toward that terrace.

As they passed the slumped Lieutenant Montero, no one stepped forward to help.

Along the way, too many had died, and Lieutenant Montero's prestige had been nearly spent.

Besides, when people are trapped in a death trap, they need someone to blame, and everyone tacitly blamed this lieutenant who was obsessed with gold.

What a load of bullshit, calling himself an explorer!

Little Val's conscience wouldn't allow him to leave the lieutenant, who was covered in injuries from the fall, so he helped him up.

The lieutenant's expression was extremely complex and twisted as he smiled and thanked Little Val.

There was blood in that smile, which made Little Val's heart pound with terror.

The five survivors walked toward the terrace almost day and night, only lighting a fire and resting in the pitch-black depths of the night.

After walking for two straight days, with only half a day's journey remaining in sight, everyone felt encouraged.

Late at night, it was too dark in the river valley, so they had no choice but to set up camp and rest.

In the middle of deep sleep, Little Val heard a soft thud, and then some scorching hot liquid splashed onto his face.

He groggily opened his eyes and saw a ghostly face right in front of him, coldly staring at him.

Little Val was scared out of his wits. He wanted to scream, but opening his throat produced no sound at all; he wanted to run, but every muscle in his body was rigid and he couldn't move an inch.

Suddenly, that ghostly face smiled.

Only then did Little Val see clearly that the person before him was Lieutenant Montero. His face was covered in blood, which was dripping down onto Little Val's body. On the lieutenant's hands and body there was even more blood, and the silver cross was dyed completely red. The air was thick with the cloying, coppery smell of blood.

Little Val looked around him and saw that of the other three companions, two had daggers buried in their chests, and the third had his throat slit, blood bubbling out of it like a broken bellows.

That man's face was full of resentment and shock. He struggled for a long time before finally breathing his last.

All three companions had died in their sleep.

Little Val felt as if he had fallen overboard into the sea, wrapped in icy fear. His mouth was dry, his fingertips trembled, and even the muscles in his arms and legs were convulsing.

Lieutenant Montero sat on the ground and said calmly, "Don't worry. You don't eat much, and the dried rations left on the terrace are more than enough. We'll definitely make it out."

Little Val suddenly understood why the lieutenant had done this.

The barrier lake would breach multiple times. Walking from the terrace out of the river valley would take at least ten days to half a month.

If a flash flood struck during that time, they would surely die.

So the best approach was to wait on the terrace until two or three waves of flooding had passed. By then, the barrier lake would most likely no longer be so dangerous, and their chances of survival would greatly increase.

But the problem was that the dried rations on the terrace were only enough for five people for about ten days.

To survive, they needed to reduce the number of mouths to feed.

Things having come to this, Little Val had no choice but to trust the lieutenant.

At daybreak, he and the lieutenant gathered the camp's supplies and set out immediately.

The barrier lake could burst at any moment, and neither of them brought up burying the dead, leaving their three companions to rot in the wilderness.

Half a day later, the two returned to the terrace, both letting out a sigh of relief.

Little Val plopped down onto the ground and took off his shoes, a sour, rank odor spreading through the air.

His waterlogged, wrinkled soles were covered in blisters, and the slightest touch sent piercing pain through him.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant?" Little Val was picking at his blisters when he suddenly realized the lieutenant had vanished. He scrambled to his feet and searched around, his voice tinged with panic. Cruel as the lieutenant had been—slaughtering the other three companions—in this hellish river valley, he was the only person Little Val could rely on. Finding nothing after searching all around, Little Val's voice was already thick with tears.

Finally, behind a large thicket of cypress trees, Little Val spotted a vague figure. Judging by the clothing, it was the lieutenant.

The lieutenant stood with his back to him, frozen in place like he'd lost his soul, not moving a muscle.

It was the same look he'd had when he first saw the barrier lake.

Little Val ventured cautiously: "Lieutenant, are you alright?"

He noticed that this place was where they had stored their supplies.

"Hahaha..."

As Little Val drew closer, the lieutenant's low, suppressed laughter reached his ears.

"Lieutenant, what's wrong with you? Don't scare me!" Little Val sobbed.

Montero ignored him, his laughter growing more sinister—impossible to tell whether it was laughter or weeping.

Little Val, tears streaming down his face, slowly shuffled to the lieutenant's side from seven or eight paces away, trying to see his expression.

Montero's head was slightly bowed, his face hideously contorted, tears streaming from his eyes while his mouth kept grinning without stop.

Little Val noticed with astonishment that half the camp's supplies were gone.

In the place where the supplies had been sat a crude cloth pouch, about half a palm in size, its opening untied.

The lieutenant was cackling wildly at whatever was inside the pouch.

"Just like the journal... I found it, hahaha... I found it!" Montero muttered.

Little Val stepped forward two paces, trying to see what was in the pouch.

Unexpectedly, Montero's body gave a violent shudder, as if he'd only just noticed Little Val, and he snarled: "Don't come closer! This is mine!" Little Val halted, sobbing: "Lieutenant..."

"I'm not a lieutenant anymore!" Montero sneered. "I am the great explorer Juan de Montero! I found the River of Gold, and it's right here! Look, this is the proof!"

As he spoke, the lieutenant held out the cloth pouch, its opening untied.

Little Val leaned in, trying to peer inside.

The pouch was suddenly yanked shut. Montero's face twisted in fury as he shrieked: "What are you doing! This is mine! Stay away from my gold!" Even as he spoke, he rested his hand on the sword hilt at his waist.

Startled, Little Val stumbled back two steps and fell to the ground, weeping: "Lieutenant, what's wrong with you?"

"Damn it! I'm an explorer!" Montero stepped forward, his face flushed red, veins bulging, as if he might draw his sword at any moment. "Yes, yes. Your Excellency the Explorer!" Tears and snot smeared all over Little Val's face.

"Haha." Montero's face suddenly broke into a beaming smile, and he said cordially: "Remember the 'silent trade,' old Juan?"

Old Juan was the name of another team member—a man whose throat Montero himself had slit just half a day earlier.

In his dying moments, his eyes had stared straight at the lieutenant. That scene, Little Val would never forget for the rest of his life.

Hearing the lieutenant bring up that name again, Little Val felt as if he could hear once more that gurgling, bubbling sound of breathing through blood.

Little Val didn't answer, and the lieutenant's expression gradually turned cold, his gaze sizing up Little Val's throat.

Seeing this, Little Val hurriedly said: "It's me, Little Val, Lieu—Your Excellency the Explorer! I remember you spoke of the silent trade."

A smile crept back onto the lieutenant's face, looking immensely pleased with himself: "Right, right, right! This is the proof!"

As he spoke, he showed off the cloth pouch again.

Little Val had learned his lesson by now and didn't dare look inside.

The lieutenant was very satisfied with his behavior. Having said this, he stood up and headed toward the tributary beside the terrace.

"Your Excellency the Explorer, where are you going?" Little Val asked urgently.

"Don't you understand yet? It's right here, upstream of the tributary!" Montero spoke at a rapid pace without slowing his steps, and soon jumped down from the terrace, striding toward the tributary's river valley.

Little Val hurried after him: "Wait for me..."

Lieutenant Montero suddenly stopped, turned around, and said with a grim expression: "You want to compete with me?"

Little Val was terrified—he had never seen such an expression on the lieutenant's face: "No, Lieutenant, I..."

"You stay here!" Montero said icily. "It's mine! No one can take it from me!"

Little Val stood frozen in place.

Montero turned and strode quickly toward the river valley, his pace extremely fast, as if he had become a different person in an instant.

By the time Little Val snapped back to his senses, the lieutenant was already dozens of paces away.

Little Val shouted: "Lieutenant, take some rations!"

Montero's body paused. He turned back, showed off the cloth pouch in his hand, and laughed: "No need. The Doromen are nearby. I'm about to find it!"

With that he continued forward, but after a few steps turned back again and said: "Little one, if you live to reach Europe, you'll hear my story! The great explorer Montero, and his expedition to the River of Gold! Hahaha..."

With that, Montero lingered no more, and in a few twists and turns, vanished into the river valley.

Two days later, the mountain torrents erupted once more.

The river surged up five or six meters in an instant, the black water nearly washing over the terrace.

And the river valley where the lieutenant had gone was instantly swallowed by the flash flood.

Seven days after that, another torrent swept through, but this time on a much smaller scale.

Little Val guessed this meant the barrier lake upstream had disappeared.

Sure enough, in the week that followed, the river was very calm.

The lieutenant never returned, and the expedition's remaining rations were running low.

Little Val didn't want to wait any longer. He took all the rations, left the terrace, and cast one last look toward the river valley.

A strange thought surfaced in his mind: "If the barrier lake has been cleared, would walking upstream now give me a chance to find the gold mine? What would people say? Haha, the great explorer who discovered the River of Gold—Little Val!"

After laughing, a chill ran down Little Val's spine.

He inexplicably thought of the comrades who had died horribly, and the mad lieutenant.

Little Val glanced at the river valley where the lieutenant had departed, only to see it completely covered in silt, unrecognizable, with no sign of the lieutenant. Little Val tightened his pack and resolutely headed downstream, his longing to go home overwhelming.

Six days later, he reached the company's camp.

After the mountain torrents, this place had completely changed—not the slightest trace of human activity remained.

Little Val could only pray in his heart for the other team members as he continued downstream.

The closer he drew to the river mouth, the stronger his longing for freedom and home grew.

Finally, after seven days of walking fraught with peril but no real danger, he emerged from the river valley and immediately fell to his knees, weeping.

At the same time, a blade was silently pressed against Little Val's neck.

More than a month earlier, Chitan and the Siraya warriors had been searching for traces of the expedition along the eastern coast of Dongning Island.

At the river mouth that the local natives called "Liwu Creek," they found the Spaniards' camp.

After a skirmish of low intensity, the rear guard of the expedition was all taken prisoner by Chen Jiao.

Upon learning that two more groups of Spaniards had entered the river valley, Chen Jiao had wanted to go straight in and capture them, but the Siraya people stopped him.

According to them, the high mountains of Dongning Island were guarded by mountain spirits, and most who entered the mountains at will never returned.

Considering that the river valley's terrain was indeed extremely treacherous, it wasn't worth throwing his men's lives away.

So Chen Jiao left a small squad there to wait at the trap, while the main force returned to Chitan.

The squad waited for nearly a month and finally got Little Val.

That very day, he was bound hand and foot and sent to Chitan, where Chen Jiao personally interrogated him.

Because the story was too bizarre and involved a gold mine, Chen Jiao listened with his jaw dropped and dared not handle it on his own authority—he had the man sent by eagle ship to Nan'ao Island. During the time the Spanish expedition was searching for gold.

Lin Qian was in the middle of handling tax reform matters, busy beyond measure every day, and hearing this utterly bizarre story amid his hectic schedule counted as a diversion. After Little Val finished telling it from beginning to end.

Lin Qian asked: "Were you the only one from the expedition who survived?"

Little Val: "Many people are just missing—I never saw their bodies. May God bless them."

The guard escorting him said: "In that river valley, only he came out."

Lin Qian grew interested, leaned forward, and said in Spanish: "Your story has a huge flaw."

Little Val was baffled: "I don't understand your meaning, Your Excellency."

"That cloth sack. After the mountain torrents broke out, how would natives have rushed to the river valley to conduct some silent trade?"

Lin Qian stared into Little Val's eyes and said: "In my view, this story has another version—a much simpler one. You killed the lieutenant and the other three team members.

Quite a few people on your expedition were poisoned along the way, yet you came through unscathed. You most likely have some ability to identify poisons. In the story of the return trip from the barrier lake, you never once mentioned who did the cooking while camping.

You were the weakest in the team—surely such chores must have fallen to you, right?

You're a dead man walking anyway, so tell me honestly—did you kill the other four?"

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen