Chapter 91

Main Text Chapter 92 Stone Monument Shop

Old Liu said Professor Sun and them had just gone there for half a day; Stone Monument Shop is not far from Ancient Field County Town, but that place is remote—people who haven't been there might not be able to find it. I'll find someone to take you there. So I called over a simple-minded kid about ten years old from the street; that's his grandson, who normally lives with his parents in River South and comes to Ancient Field County to play every summer vacation. Stone Monument Shop is close to the county town; this kid often goes there to play.

Old Liu greeted the kid: "Er Xiao, stop fooling around; take your uncle and aunt to the Stone Monument Shop—they want to find Professor Sun of the archaeological team."

Er Xiao's head was shaved into a melon-rind cut; he might have just finished a fight with other kids, his whole body covered in dirt, dragging a line of green snot that almost flowed like a river; seeing Old Liu ask him to guide us, he led me and Shirley Yang to the Stone Monument Shop.

The road to the Stone Monument Shop was indeed difficult to traverse, nothing but rugged, uneven goat-trail paths. Er Xiao told us it wasn't far—just that the road was hard to walk; after passing the highest slope ahead, we would arrive.

Shirley Yang saw the child was too dirty to bear, so she took out a handkerchief to wipe his runny nose and asked him gently: "What's your name? What's your surname?"

Er Xiao wiped his nose and replied: "My nickname is Er Xiao, my surname is Wang—Wang Er Xiao."

Upon hearing the kid's interesting name, I joked with him: "You're called Wang Er Xiao? You little rascal, are you trying to lead us into an ambush like the Japanese devils?"

Wang Er Xiao said foolishly: "Uncle, what's an ambush? And hey, what's that woman to you? How come she's so pretty?"

I glanced sideways and saw Shirley Yang walking behind, then quietly told Er Xiao: "What's good-looking or not? You little brat, at your age you should behave better—she's my wife, she has a bad temper and won't let anyone else look at her; you'd better not provoke her."

Shirley Yang walked behind; although I spoke softly, she still caught the latter half of my sentence upwind and asked: "Old Hu, who did you just say not to provoke?"

I quickly patted Wang Er Xiao's head and told Shirley Yang: "I just said this little brat is mischievous, knowing at such a tiny age to admire pretty girls. These kids nowadays—don't get me started—few are like I was as a child, from childhood full of ambition and clever schemes……"

Before I finished speaking, a rural sturdy man with a white sheepskin towel wrapped around his head stepped out from behind the hill, a belt around his waist, holding a stick in his hand, and shouted at us: "Stop! What business do you have with flower girls? Are you Japanese?"

I was startled by him, and though we were in a mountain gully, in broad daylight could there still be bandits cutting off the road? I quickly shielded Er Xiao and Shirley Yang behind me and said to the man: "Elder, don't misunderstand—we're our own people. We're not the Japanese army; we're the Eighth Route Army work team."

The old villager with a white towel wrapped around his head sized us up from head to toe: "What Eighth Route Army? I don't think you're good people." Then he grabbed his stick and chased us away, saying this place was under militia martial law and no one was allowed to enter.

I thought, what kind of martial law is this in peacetime with no war, and besides, I've never heard of militia enforcing it with wooden sticks—this bastard's gone mad. So I rolled up my sleeves, intending to snatch the stick from his hand to prevent this rash farmer from hurting anyone.

I was about to go over and confront him, but I didn't expect that the man who claimed to be the platoon leader of the Stone Monument Shop militia actually knew Er Xiao among us three. It turned out Er Xiao often played with his son, so neither side came to blows; we just stood there and talked.

The militia platoon leader was clumsy-spoken and thick-tongued, with a heavy rural accent; after talking with us for a while, I finally understood roughly what was going on. Actually, the name Stone Monument Shop comes from a nameless stone monument nearby; that monument is extremely tall, standing straight, and no one knows which dynasty it dates back to; wind and rain have blurred the characters on it beyond recognition.

Speaking of Stone Monument Shop, what's most famous isn't that broken stone monument but an old-brand coffin shop in the village. Within a ten-li radius, including Ancient Field County Town, this is the only coffin shop, because all other coffin businesses can't compare to it. Legend has it that when this old coffin shop first opened, the proprietor was a skilled carpenter, and it started out as a woodworking workshop.

Once, this carpenter master made a coffin for a family; the coffin had just been finished but not yet lacquered—according to the rules, it still needed eighteen coats of lacquer—at the time this semi-finished coffin was placed in his carpentry shop. In the evening, the carpenter master sat in the main hall, drank a few cups of old liquor, and thinking that business was poor, after more than a month he had taken on this job, feeling inevitably frustrated; he patted the coffin, sighing long and short, the wine took effect, and without realizing it he fell asleep lying on the coffin.

That night the carpenter master dreamed that inside the coffin there was a lump of freezing ice, making his whole body tremble as if he had fallen into an ice cellar. Suddenly a sharp knocking on the door woke him; opening it, he saw that a family in the same village had someone die during the night and had come to him to order a coffin. It was rare to finish one job and immediately get another; the carpenter master was secretly delighted but couldn't show it, since he was making a coffin for a funeral—he had to appear solemn out of sympathy for the deceased villager. He then casually patted that semi-finished coffin, collected the deposit, and got to work.

Just as the sun rose to its zenith, the carpenter master was rushing to make a coffin when someone else came to order a coffin. This is really strange—normally only about ten people die a year in the village, yet in this short span two people have died one after another.

The carpenter thought more and more that something was off; recalling his dream from the night, he wondered whether those people had died because he had slapped the coffin with his hand. So he tried patting that semi-finished coffin again. Before dark, sure enough, someone else died.

The carpenter was both startled and delighted—startled because he didn't know what was going on, why slapping the coffin would cause someone nearby to die; delighted because now he needn't worry about lack of business. This carpenter, who had always been terrified of poverty, at this point couldn't care less about others' lives—why would he pass up a money-making opportunity just because the dead were unrelated? Of course he wouldn't. Seeing he had too much work to handle, he went overnight to other coffin shops and bought several ready-made coffins to bring back.

From then on, the carpenter master's shop completely turned into a coffin shop. Moreover he discovered a secret: when pounding this coffin, the harder he struck, the farther away the deceased would be. This corpse money was easy to make; the more he earned, the greedier his heart became, swallowing up all nearby coffin shops—just two blows on that semi-finished coffin and he'd be counting cash.

But he didn't dare keep pounding it nonstop—who knows what's really going on in there. This secret had never been leaked by him; however, there's no airtight wall, so these matters still became known to everyone. Yet such hearsay is hard to substantiate and lacks evidence, so there was no way to sue him; instead, everyone who saw him avoided him like the plague, keeping their distance.

Eventually he never even married; not long ago this former little carpenter, now the old boss of the coffin shop, died at home. When people found his corpse, it was already rotting and stinking to high heaven. Around here he was the only coffin shop; the shop's coffins had all been sold, leaving only that semi-finished coffin placed in the hall. Villagers recalled those rumors and felt anxious, but the village committee couldn't ignore it—they couldn't let the coffin shop boss rot at home; with the hot weather, if a corpse plague broke out it would be disastrous. Although they had carried out cremation at the time, the rural belief in earth burial remains deeply rooted. So the village head summoned a few brave militiamen, wrapped the body in a straw bag, and prepared to bury it in the coffin.

Unexpectedly, as soon as they moved the coffin wood aside, they discovered a fine crack in the ground beneath it. The crack was deep; placing a hand on it, they felt a cool draft blowing out. Below seemed to be a large hole. Those curious people pried open the ground's bricks and stones, finding indeed a cave underneath, and inside the air was biting cold.

The militia platoon leader volunteered to go down and investigate, having people lower him in a basket. Not long after descending he frantically shook the rope to be pulled back up, the trip frightening him nearly to wetting his pants. He said below were all large blue-green bricks laid, there was a stone bed, and on it lay a stone box—not large, flat and level, with many strange characters carved on top; the platoon leader casually picked up the stone box. Everyone opened the box and saw inside six blood‑red unknown jade beasts. According to the platoon leader, there might be another layer beneath the cave, but it was too dark and gloomy to dare go further.

Because there were village cadres present, the villagers showed high awareness and immediately notified the Ancient Field County archaeological team. Upon hearing the news, Professor Sun realized the discovery might be of great significance, didn't dare delay, and immediately led people over.

In such a rural place, nothing major happens all year, so the news spread quickly, and even people from the county town rushed over to see the spectacle. To maintain order, Professor Sun had the village militia stop outsiders from entering to gawk. Since the cave's scope, scale, and background were still unclear, if it were damaged the loss would be irreparable. Therefore the militia platoon leader took a chicken feather as a command token, stationed people at each entrance to set up checkpoints, declared the village under martial law, and thus detained me and Shirley Yang for questioning.

Having heard the militia platoon leader's words, I knew that dealing with these petty local forces couldn't be done by force; I needed to say nice things and give him some benefits to gain entry to find Professor Sun. So I told the platoon leader: "Comrade platoon leader, we're acquaintances of Professor Sun; we really have urgent business seeing him—please do us a favor." I then slipped him five dollars.

The militia platoon leader took the money, hadn't yet had time to see the denomination clearly, when suddenly a villager came and hailed him, saying that the old cadre who had come with the archaeological team was dead.