Chapter 47

In the desert without water, it's like a living person having their blood drained; everyone is at a loss, sitting in place in a daze.

Suddenly, Anliman let out a loud "Ao!" shout: "The envoy of Hu Da." I saw a white shadow appear not far from us on a sand dune; I thought I was seeing things from thirst and hunger, so I quickly rubbed my eyes and looked carefully.

It turned out to be the white camel we had seen before reaching Ye Ye City, leisurely strolling on the dunes, slowly heading west.

Old Anliman was overjoyed, unable to speak clearly: the appearance of the white camel in the cursed black desert means the ancient curse has vanished, Hu Da has reclaimed this desert, and following his envoy will surely lead us to water.

I don't know if what he says is true or false; last time he said travelers who see a white camel in the desert will have a safe and auspicious journey, and now he says the desert's curse has disappeared—but at this moment, I'd rather believe it than not, and following the white camel might truly lead us to water.

I quickly gathered the camels and followed behind the white one; that tall white camel walked unhurriedly under the blazing sun for three or four hours, then we crossed a long sand ridge, and indeed a small pool of water appeared.

Some sand reeds grew around the pool; the water wasn't clear, possibly containing minor minerals, drinkable for animals but not directly for humans.

The camels rushed to drink; Shirley Yang found some disinfectant tablets, first filtered the water through a purifier, then added the tablets before distributing it to everyone.

This pool might be a tributary of the Zidu Underground River; due to nighttime desert shifts, some of this relatively shallow groundwater seeped out.

Anliman, however, said this is the best proof the curse has lifted—before, this desert had no surface water at all, so this pool must be a divine sign from Hu Da.

We lit a fire by the pool and roasted some dough cakes; I didn't tell them about how, when I last climbed the mountain peak, my back felt as if grabbed by a ghost—this matter seems half-real, half-illusion, tormented by the corpse-scented konjac, I can't tell truth from falsehood anymore, let alone speak of this final event, including our entire experience in Jingjue Ancient City and the ghost cave—reality and illusion have long lost any clear boundary.

When Pangzi and I discussed our ordeal in the Zagelama Mountains, it felt like a suffocating nightmare; Pangzi said: "That dog-tail flower is damn powerful—maybe we never even entered Jingjue Ancient City; all of this could be an illusion conjured by that ghost flower."

Shirley Yang, who had been mostly silent, interjected: "No, now that we're out of danger and can reflect calmly, the traits of the corpse-scented konjac illusion are still quite clear—it can only use memories already in our minds, but cannot create things we've never seen; the queen's coffin, the ghost cave, the sage's tomb, the prophecies—these are all real; we'd seen the black snake before, and the prophecy stone carvings that lure us into mutual slaughter—the first layer stone casket is genuine, because we'd seen the first layer's prophecy, so the corpse-scented konjac could only create illusions on the second layer."

I told Shirley Yang: "True heroes see things similarly—I think the same, but I wasn't sure, so I never said it; should we now discuss how to get out of the desert?"

Shirley Yang said: "Then we'll have to trouble Old Man Anliman—he's a living map of the desert; let's hear his opinion first."

Seeing the boss speak, Anliman drew in the sand: this area is roughly where we are now; heading south leads to the Niya ruins, far away, all desert—we might not reach Niya even with enough water; east is Lop Nur, with desert in between and endless Gobi plains beyond; north is the direction we came from, namely Ye Ye City—but having gone deep into the desert's heart, returning won't be easy.

Looking now, east, south, and north are all impassable; the only option left is west—straight west leads to the Tarim River, the largest inland river in the desert; from our current position, if we move quickly, we can reach the confluence of the Tarim, Yarkand, and Hotan rivers in about ten days; once there, it's easy—just replenish with fresh water, then continue west another six or seven days, and we'll be near Aksu, where there are troops and oil fields—we can ask for their help.

Our water shortage is now resolved, enough to last about ten days; we still have some food; in the desert, water matters more than food—if we truly have nothing to eat, we can still eat camel.

After slowly filtering and storing the water from the sand pit—which took a full day—we finally set out as planned; along the way, we inevitably faced hunger and thirst, wind and sun, dawn camping and night marching, until on the twelfth day we reached the Tarim River, then continued west, and on the third day encountered oil workers hunting yellow sheep in the desert—at that time, Professor Chen barely had a breath left.

The feeling of escaping death step by step from the desert's depths cannot be easily understood by those living in normal environments; from then on, I formed a habit: at home, when drinking water, no matter the cup size, I always gulp it down in one breath, not leaving a single drop.

Later, after returning to Beijing, I didn't see Shirley Yang for a while—perhaps she was busy finding doctors to treat Professor Chen, or perhaps arranging affairs for the deceased; this archaeological team lost many more people, and of course the relevant authorities would investigate; I feared being exposed as a corpse-raiding officer, so I avoided attention, spoke vaguely—after all, going into the desert for archaeology is inherently dangerous, but dying four people at once—one teacher, three students, and a professor driven mad—was already a major event at the time.

Stop idle chatter—let's say one day Pangzi found two sweet girls to go dancing and invited me too; I'd been having nightmares every night lately, my head ached, so I didn't go with them, lay alone in bed, when suddenly there was a knock at the door; I answered, got up from bed, silently cursing, "Old lady's—probably someone else coming to check on things."

I opened the door—lo and behold, it was Shirley Yang, whom I hadn't seen in days; I quickly invited her in and asked how she found this place; Shirley Yang said Da Jin Ya gave her the address.

I wondered: "You know Da Jin Ya?"

Shirley Yang said: "Well, sort of—not close, but my father used to love collecting antiques and did some business with him; Professor Chen and he were also acquaintances; today I came to find you to give you and Pangzi your money; in a few days I plan to take Professor Chen abroad for treatment, and during that time I still have some things to look into, so we probably won't meet again for a while."

I had long given up hope, but now hearing she'd give me money, it was a genuine surprise; on the surface I still had to act polite: "Going back to China? Is Old Professor Chen feeling better? I was just thinking of visiting him. You bringing up money—this seems inappropriate; we didn't really help you much, just caused you trouble, you Americans aren't exactly rich either, really—is it cash?"

Shirley Yang placed the money on the table: "The money is to be paid, as agreed beforehand… but… I hope you can promise me one thing."

I thought, Uh-oh, this girl probably wants revenge on me—maybe she'll dig up my old dirt again; I pondered a response, then blurted: "What could you possibly want from me? Looks like even rich people have worries—surely you're not thinking of having me help you spend money?"

Shirley Yang said: "Our elders are basically in the same line—my maternal grandfather hung up his hat, quit grave-robbing, because being a corpse-raiding officer severely damages one's yin virtue, and even the toughest fate can't avoid accidents; I hope you'll also stop this work from now on, don't do grave-robbing anymore; if the chance comes, you can come to America, I'll arrange for you…"

Hearing this, I felt my spirit falter—this American girl wants me to join her circle, follow her, and have Old Lao Hu—who once served as a company commander—live off others? What future could that bring? Worse, relying on a woman? After that, wouldn't I just have to obey her in everything? What meaning would life have then? So I interrupted her: "Good intentions, I appreciate them—but you only know one side, not the other. Corpse-raiding isn't a good profession, but Chairman Mao taught us that all things have two sides: good can turn bad, bad can turn good—this is dialectical materialism. Since you know I'm a grave-robber, I won't hide certain things from you: I have principles and a stance—I will never touch protected tombs or those already discovered; in deep mountains and old forests, there are countless undetected grand tombs and relics, filled with untold treasures—only those who understand feng shui and secret arts can find them; if we don't rob these graves, they might just sleep underground forever, never seeing the light of day again; also, natural erosion and environmental changes pose a huge threat to these undiscovered tombs—I see it in my eyes, feel it in my heart…"

Seeing me speak passionately, Shirley Yang sighed helplessly: "Alright, I meant well to advise you to turn back, but I didn't expect you to have such solid arguments—you argue for grave-robbing with righteous confidence; I doubt there's a second person in the world as skilled at sophistry as you. Since you're so principled, I can't help but look at you anew—what I just said counts as unsaid; this sum of money, I suppose you won't accept it…"

I quickly pressed my hand onto the paper bag holding the money: "Wait—let's treat this as a loan from you… and calculate interest according to the People's Bank of China's rates."

(Professor Chen, the Bottomless Ghost Cave, Shirley Yang and her mysterious background, the destination of the Sage Tribe—these will continue to unfold splendidly in the Yunnan chapter.)