Chapter 39: Main Text Chapter Thirty-nine: Secret Language

Main Text Chapter Thirty-nine: Secret Language

In the darkness, Shirley Yang took out a spare flashlight; upon shining it, she saw two people sitting cross-legged beside the stone coffin — they were two desiccated corpses.

One old, one young; the remains had turned dark brown, the old man's beard on his chin was still faintly discernible, he was wrapped in animal hide, the other looked like a child; both were sitting cross-legged, as if guarding this strange stone chest.

After I saw clearly, I let out a breath and said to Pangzi: "Don't go mentioning rice dumplings out of the blue, you'll scare people to death — these two are clearly almost turned to stone; at the very least they've been dead for several thousand years. Damn, this place is actually a tomb."

Shirley Yang glared at me and snapped: "All right, Lao Hu, still trying to hide it from you? You two are clearly tomb raiders."

My heart gave a jolt; I thought, uh-oh, did we slip up? How could an American understand "rice dumpling"? Fortunately Professor Chen is unconscious and didn't hear; Ye Yixin also seems half-conscious, so they couldn't have heard our conversation.

I hurried to explain: "Didn't I tell you? I'm just an amateur enthusiast researching feng shui and astrology, not a tomb raider. Don't go slandering people for no reason; my and Pangzi's reputations are excellent—back home we were known throughout the surrounding villages as kind-hearted. I'm a veteran, and Pangzi, back in his unit, was repeatedly honored as a labor model March 8th Red Banner."

Pangzi, hearing me fluster and get the last sentence wrong, hurriedly corrected himself, trying to change the subject: "Don't listen to nonsense — he's the one who's the March 8th Red Banner; I'm in the Youth Shock Brigade, ashamed, ashamed, all thanks to the Party and the people's training. Look at this stone coffin — it's also strange; what is it meant to hold?"

Shirley Yang did not respond to our words, suddenly saying: "Set the platter hanging a thousand gold, the sea child hexagram rings. Hook, grab, kick the pole — invert the dipper, pour the top elemental good; the month's lure, distant color, package not up."

Others couldn't understand her words, but I heard them crystal clear; this is the "secret language" of grave robbing, because our line of work consists of shady dealings, just like the underworld has its own slang — there, kidnapping women is called "opening a strip", smuggling goods is called "carrying blue", selling children is called "moving stones", thieves are called "Buddha masters", and so on; we tomb robbers are called "grave robbers", each trade has its own rules and jargon for mutual communication. Back in the Republican era, my grandfather specialized in finding yin graves and treasure sites for people; he was one of the few nationally renowned feng shui masters, and he had even acquainted himself with a familiar Gold-plucking Colonel, so he knew these procedures inside out — talking about the grave robbers' secret language was as familiar to him as our hometown dialect.

Shirley Yang had just heard my few lines of secret language; roughly it means: "Your mind is evil, you don't speak the truth in words — looking at you, you're a skilled tomb raider with nimble hands and feet; such deeds cannot escape my eyes."

Taken aback by her sudden question, I didn't think much; generally, when peers call one an expert, one modestly downsizes oneself, so I blurted: "No elemental good, carrying firewood on the mountain and burning it below — dare I ask, exalted elemental good, where have you divided the mountain husk, and how many hill gates have you dismantled?"

Shirley Yang replied: "One river has two banks' scenery; likewise, carrying firewood on the mountain and burning it below, the partridge separates the mountain husk, the hawk dismantles the hill gates, having often climbed the treasure hall, nowhere to find the dragon tower."

Having exchanged the set phrases, I was both startled and remorseful — damn, I've fallen for this American girl's trick; this doesn't mean I'm admitting to being a grave‑robbing tomb raider, does it? Yet it's also strange: those lengthy set phrases of grave‑robbing secret language were barely known before the liberation, and after the liberation they were basically lost; even someone like Da Jin Ya's father, who had spent many years as a semi‑professional tomb robber, knew only a few terms. I really can't imagine these phrases coming from the mouth of a young American woman — if I hadn't heard them face‑to‑face, I couldn't believe it; could I have actually met a fellow practitioner?

Moreover, hearing her secret language, she too inherited the skill, but she only has manual dexterity and doesn't know how to read feng shui, locate graves, or feel pulses; this must not be admitted, so I'll keep playing dumb: "These few lines are a text we learned in elementary school; I never expected that American elementary textbooks would also… also have such a remarkable coincidence."

Seeing me stubbornly refuse to admit it, Shirley Yang said: "Forget it; this isn't the place to talk. If we manage to get out alive, I hope we can have a serious conversation."

Feeling as if pardoned, I sprang to my feet and looked around for an exit, secretly calculating: "If we can get back, I'll make sure you can't find me — humph, worst case I'll return to my hometown and stay out of Beijing." But then I thought: "No way, she hasn't paid us yet; this is really thorny… what could she be after? Surely it's not really that she's taken a liking to Lao Hu, as Pangzi suggested; otherwise she might be planning to report and expose us — unlikely. Or could it be that her ancestors really were Gold‑plucking Colonels? In that case we'd be a match made in heaven."

While I was lost in thought, Pangzi and Shirley Yang had already paced the small tomb chamber several times; overhead and underfoot, front and back, nothing but black stone, with a few tiny cracks here and there — all too narrow to serve as an exit.

Just then Professor Chen shouted awake, his mind muddled — he would cry then laugh, nobody recognized him; we had no medicine, could do nothing for him, so we just let him thrash about in his madness.

Finally our gaze fell on the large stone chest between the two desiccated bodies; even if it held any funerary goods, it would be useless to us, who are as good as dead.

Pangzi patted the stone coffin and said: "Who knows which two poor souls this little tomb holds; besides the animal hides they wear, there isn't even a decent burial offering, and I doubt there's anything valuable inside."

Shirley Yang examined the carvings on the stone coffin, then looked up and said: "Do you still remember what I said about the Record of the Western Regions of the Great Tang? It mentioned Zhage lama Mountain."

I said: "I recall, they also said it was a divine mountain burying two sages — but it couldn't be this old man and child, could it? This tomb is too shabby, not fitting the status of sages." I had wanted to add that I've seen many ancient grand tombs; this stone‑mountain‑interior grave simply violates feng shui theory — there's a deadly pit below, how could anyone be buried above it? But saying that would expose my identity, so I only got halfway through before swallowing the rest.

Shirley Yang said: "Those buried in this tomb are not sages; the child is the sage's disciple or son, called a prophet, and the old man is his servant."

I wondered: "How do you know that? Is that what the carvings on the stone coffin say? Does it contain anything else?"

Shirley Yang summoned me and Pangzi to look at the stone coffin: "The dozens of carvings on this stone chest form an ancient prophecy; the composition is simple, the symbols' traits are very clear, I think I can decipher part of it."

The more I listened, the more curious I became: "What does the prophecy say? Does it mention where the hidden passage of this stone chamber is?"

Shirley Yang shook her head: "No, the prophecy isn't very reliable either; the prophet said that after his death no one would ever come to this tomb — until one day, four people would accidentally open this stone coffin."

Pangzi counted: "One, two, three, four, five — we're five people total. Could it be that Professor Chen's madness doesn't count as a person? Evidently the prophet's predictions are off; he's probably just a charlatan deceiving the world for fame."

I stared at the remaining four people and said: "If the prophet isn't a liar, then this prophecy might not be about us; but there's another possibility… among us there is someone who is not human."