Chapter 182

I glanced at Shirley Yang and the others; Shirley Yang shrugged helplessly, while Pangzi didn't care at all, thinking the more people the livelier. Da Jin Ya gave me a furtive grin, meaning these bundles were now our responsibility.

I thought, damn it, Port Nong must be planning a family vacation—wife, kids, and bodyguards all accounted for. I was trying to come up with an excuse to dissuade Ming Shu, because too many people just cause chaos, and going with this many guarantees trouble.

At that moment, Ming Shu had already brought out the rest of the team members and introduced them one by one to both sides. His wife, Han Shuna, we all knew—she was a very charming woman, no wonder Ming Shu was utterly smitten by her. Da Jin Ya blurted out calling her "Ming Auntie," but Han Shuna quickly said not to call her that, it made her sound old. Anyway, you all just call each other randomly—no seniority involved—so let's just keep it simple, as before.

Ming Shu then introduced his adopted daughter, Axiang—a timid little girl, possibly under twenty, who wouldn't dare speak to strangers. Ming Shu said Axiang was his most capable assistant, able to detect anything unclean.

Curious, I asked how that worked—did the girl have a "Yin-Yang Eye" or had she opened her "Heavenly Eye"?

Ming Shu proudly told us that in the United States there was a large sect called "Scientology," founded by L. Ron Hubbard. Many social elites and upper-class figures worldwide were followers, believing in 《Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health》. Axiang's biological parents were among them. When she was just born, they placed her in a sealed glass cover with air purification equipment, isolated from the outside world, until she turned two. This avoided air pollution and effects, making her nerves extremely sensitive, able to sense things normal people cannot.

Axiang later became an orphan, and Ming Shu adopted her. She had saved his life more than once, and he treasured her like the pearl in his palm—especially when dealing with yin-heavy things like dried corpses and coffins, he always kept her close.

Shirley Yang told me on the side that Ming Shu wasn't talking nonsense—America really did have this sect. Her father, Yang Xuanwei, was also deeply obsessed, having spent vast amounts of money and time on it. This girl named Axiang might help us. But it's best not to bring her to Tibet—even healthy people struggle with altitude sickness, and her frail body would likely suffer an accident.

I couldn't interfere with Ming Shu's choice of who to bring, so I quietly told Shirley Yang: it seems Ming Shu is going all-in this time to dig glacial crystal corpses—he's betting his whole family's lives. He's dead set on it; advice won't work, not even good words could dissuade a dead man. Let's just take care of them as best we can and do our utmost. Whether they live or die, and whether they can bring back the glacial crystal corpse, depends on their fate.

Finally, Ming Shu introduced his bodyguard, "Peter Huang"—a Cambodian Chinese who fought guerrillas against the Viet Cong during Vietnam's invasion of Cambodia, then drifted from the Golden Triangle to the Malacca Strait to become a pirate, and after surviving a maritime disaster was rescued by Ming Shu's ship and became his bodyguard. He looked to be in his early forties, dark-skinned, unsmiling, eyes flashing with menace—clearly no pushover. Most striking was his build: completely unlike the typical scrawny Southeast Asian, he was extremely stocky, standing there like half an iron tower.

Pangzi grinned at Peter Huang and said to Ming Shu: "Name doesn't match reality—why not call him Pete Black instead? With us following you, what's there to worry about? You don't even need a bodyguard—you wouldn't lose a single hair."

Ming Shu said: "You fatty love joking—his surname is Huang, how could he be called Pete Black? Don't underestimate him; this man is utterly loyal to me, extremely ***, and has fought in real wars—he kills without blinking."

Pangzi told Ming Shu: "Tell him to knock it off already—what's so great about guerrilla tactics? Back in the day, Comrade Hu Bayi commanded an entire regular company, and me—you heard of my exploits, Pang Ye? I was a core member of the Northern Irish IRA..."

I stopped Pangzi from going on, telling Ming Shu that since the members and route were set, we should each go back and prepare separately—mainly, you all need to get checked at the hospital. If nothing's wrong, we move out in five days.

Ming Shu said OK—route and equipment would be fully handled by Hu Laodi; you say when to depart, and we depart then. After all, in this team, only Hu Laodi knows Tibet best.

I led Pangzi and the others in saying goodbye, then returned home and immediately began packing, preparing to go alone to Tibet ahead of the group, to the shores of "Lamla Co" to find the Iron Staff Lama and ask him to help find a guide familiar with Tibetan customs and geography—preferably a heaven-bestowed singer. If one person can't do both, two will do.

I entrusted the task of leading the team into Tibet to Shirley Yang. Though she hadn't been to the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, she had explored harsh environments like the Sahara, Taklamakan, and Amazon jungle—her mental strength and experience were solid. We discussed: Shirley Yang would lead the team to "Lion Spring River" to meet me there, traveling light. Supplies would be temporarily left in Beijing under Da Jin Ya's watch. Once we find clues to the stupa tomb between "Gangrinboqe" and "Sengge Zangbu" in the Guge ruins, Da Jin Ya will handle transporting the supplies to the designated location.

I noticed Shirley Yang was thinner than when she returned from Yunnan, with some red threads in her eyes. We'd been mentally and physically exhausted, just back from Yunnan and already heading to Tibet—no ordinary person could endure this. I told Shirley Yang not to worry too much—Tibet isn't that dangerous; at least it doesn't have as many mosquitoes as Yunnan. Rest these few days before departure—time will eventually give us all the answers.

Shirley Yang said: "I'm not worried about whether Tibet is dangerous—I've been thinking these days: after the Bottomless Ghost Cave incident, what next? If you still want to keep doing your grave-robbing business, I absolutely won't agree—this line of work is too dangerous. Lao Hu, you should also plan for the future. Let's go back to America together?"

I said: What's the point of going to America? I don't speak the language, your coffee tastes like herbal medicine—I couldn't drink it every day. But since you insist I go, I have no choice—I'll stay a few years and see. If I can't adapt, I'll have to move back. What worries me most is Pangzi—leaving him alone in Beijing will surely cause trouble.

Pangzi said: "I say, Lao Hu, how are you talking?! You make it sound like you're more enlightened than me! The trouble you've caused is way more than mine—no need to be humble about that! If you're going to America, then I'm coming too! When we reach Commander Yang's turf, how could we not get you a vehicle? I think that Sheriff Hunt's car looks nice—definitely a Mercedes! I don't ask much—just give me a Benz like that to drive! Detroit, San Francisco—east and west coasts, we'll go take a look, unite with the American proletariat, workers of the world unite!"

I told him: "American cops don't drive German cars—and you don't even know that! With your quality, going to America is just going to cause trouble for the American people!"

After the three of us chatted and loosened up, I set out alone the next day, heading first for Tibet. In southern and central Tibet, between the Himalayas and Nyenqen Tanggula, lakes are scattered like stars—countless thousands. Any of moderate size are regarded as holy lakes by Tibetans; if there's snow on the shore, they're even more sacred beyond words. These lakes' names all contain "Co"—famous ones like "Angren Rinco," "Dangxiong Yungco," "Namco," "Zhari Namco," etc. —too many to list. Each has endless mysterious legends and an equally mysterious name. My old friend, the Iron Staff Lama, resides at the Fairy Lake, which is one of these many lakes.

After getting off the car at Nagqu, heading south there was no road—only walking. One could hire herdsmen's horses to ride. This isn't mountainous, but the altitude is nearly 4,500 meters. Under the herdsmen's guidance, I kept going south, arriving at the divergence point of the Puchang Zangbu—Zangbu meaning river.

This is the first time in my life I've penetrated deep into Tibet's interior. The plateau sunlight makes one dizzy; the sky is blue as if about to drip. My guide and horse handler, a young Tibetan named Wangdui, brought me to a highland and pointed to two jade-green lakes below, saying: "The larger one on the left is Yongma Zhuozha Co, the Dragon Palace Lake; the slightly smaller one on the right is Lamla Co, the Fairy Lake Suspended in the Sky."

At that time, the sky was clear, the lake water azure, reflecting snow peaks and white clouds, distant mountains faintly visible. In the 《Great Tang Records on the Western Regions》, the eminent monk Xuanzang, moved by this earthly beauty, named these two adjacent lakes "The Twin Jewels of the Western Paradise Jade Pool."

Since livestock cannot enter holy grounds, I and Wangdui found a gentle slope to descend and walked toward the lakeshore. Wangdui told me there's a legend: the lake bottom holds the palace of the "Broad Wealth Dragon King," gathering countless rare treasures; whoever has affinity, by circling the lake once and picking up a small fish, a pebble, or a feather from a waterbird, will receive the Dragon King's blessing—endless wealth in life.

But pilgrims prefer circling the Fairy Lake, because legend says its translucent waters are the tears of fairies—not only can they cleanse bodily impurities and ailments, but also purify the mind of greed, anger, laziness, and jealousy, making the heart pure. The snow-capped mountains facing the two lakes symbolize the boundless vastness of the Dharma.

I said to Wangdui: "Let's first purify the mind!" We circled the Fairy Lake, searching among the pilgrims for the Iron Staff Lama. The two of us walked around the lake—since we weren't there specifically for pilgrimage, we didn't need to kowtow at every step. Walking along the shore, we occasionally saw pilgrims' remains—they had already become one with the holy land.

In the distance, a hunched figure appeared in our view. From the prominent black dharma staff on his back, we could tell his identity—but his movements were strange, clearly not the usual way of circling the lake we'd seen; even the Tibetan Wangdui had never seen such motions, as if he were performing some mysterious sorcery.