Chapter 119: The First Puzzle

At this moment, the entire underground palace was plunged into extreme darkness; looking up, wherever the flashlight beam fell, the eyes of every downward-gazing arhat were fixed on Chenpi A'si, and as the light shifted, their pupils flashed a ferocious expression, instantly making the atmosphere extremely eerie.

Chenpi A'si cursed those bald monks under his breath again, thinking they must have done this on purpose, but at this point he had no time to worry about that. He searched around a few more times but still found no missing statue.

A flash of insight struck him, and he gradually understood what the problem was; he moved his flashlight toward the white-faced sky-gazing arhat whose eyes he had smashed.

Only this one arhat statue was clearly different from the others—the problem must lie here.

Perhaps someone had pushed down one of the arhats from above and replaced it with that white-faced sky-gazing arhat with its head pointing upward, which was why that one differed so greatly from the rest.

But who the hell would be so bored as to do that? And to accurately know the spot where he would descend and align the statue's head with his landing point—it couldn't be done by anyone outside the trade, could it?

Could he be making a second visit? Had someone already been here and set up this thing to mock him? Chenpi A'si shone his flashlight on the chubby white-faced sky-gazing arhat, then weighed the heavy eight-tiered treasure casket in his hand. If someone had already been here, why wouldn't they have taken this thing away? Impossible—tomb raiders never leave empty-handed. He must be overthinking; this was a trap set by those bald monks to lead them astray.

Chenpi A'si calmed himself down. At his age, after all this exertion, he was reaching his limit. He coughed a few times and was about to move the flashlight beam away from the arhat to look around and see the easiest way back.

At that moment, a horrifying scene occurred.

Just as the flashlight beam moved away from the arhat, Chenpi A'si suddenly saw that pale white face twist around.

The flashlight moved too fast, and the scene vanished instantly, but Chenpi A'si had seen it clearly—he wasn't the type to doubt his own eyes. His mind exploded, and he almost fell to the ground. In a flash he let out a loud roar to bolster his courage and at the same time spun his hand, flinging iron pellets like a machine gun.

Relying on his memory of the moment, he fired off more than a dozen pellets, which ricocheted everywhere above his head. Thinking that the demonic white-faced arhat had leapt down, he panicked and lost his composure, pulling out an old pistol he had hidden away in his early years.

He was truly terrified. He hadn't used that gun for years after Liberation, and he never dared to take it out lightly. Now that he had pulled it out, knowing it was useless, he still used it to steady his nerves—he was so disoriented he couldn't find north.

After decades of grave robbing, encountering the occasional zombie was already rare. Even my grandfather would have found such a scene hard to handle. Though Chenpi A'si was a veteran among veterans, most of his experience came from life-and-death situations with people; when faced with something beyond his comprehension, he still panicked.

In his panic, he spotted an inconspicuous low stone door on one side. Climbing back up through the tunnel was impossible—better find a way to run! He ducked and crawled into the low door, which led to a stone chamber. A huge mound of earth-yellow wasp nest grew from the wall across the room; it was enormous, and he had no idea what had originally been placed in the chamber. After a few steps, his foot got caught in the nest and he fell flat on his face, sending the flashlight flying far away. He didn't bother to pick it up; hugging the box, he dashed forward.

The structure of the pagoda underground palace couldn't be too complicated. After a few steps, he vaguely saw the exit of the stone chamber, and a few faint flames appeared ahead—probably from the campfire he had lit outside. Overjoyed, he stumbled over the wasp nest toward the firelight.

Past the stone chamber was a corridor about ten meters long. At the end was the formal entrance of the underground palace. The firelight was very faint, and the exit seemed blocked by something. Gritting his teeth, he stepped unsteadily onto god knows what, until finally the ground began to rise. He ran another dozen steps, his head swimming, and reached the firelight, only to crash into something. He heard a clatter of falling objects, then burst through and tumbled to the ground.

Outside, flames blazed. He stood up and looked around; to his surprise, he had crashed out of a broken wall. The hidden entrance to the pagoda underground palace was actually inside a wall. As he marveled, several Miao knives were pressed against his neck, and the thing in his hand was taken away.

Chenpi A'si was at the limit of his strength and couldn't resist. Seeing the situation was bad, he stumbled a few steps until someone kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. He looked up and saw the Miao youths he had tricked down there, holding torches and surrounding him. Their leader glared at him with some anger, apparently having found nothing after searching around and realizing he had been deceived.

Chenpi A'si knew he was in trouble. Back then, committing an offense in Miao territory meant facing vigilante justice; his situation was extremely dire.

The Miao leader examined the treasure casket taken from Chenpi A'si, then looked at the dark hole in the broken wall. Realizing what had happened, his face showed disgust. He made a gesture covering both eyes to one of the Miao men and spoke a few words in the Miao language.

Chenpi A'si was panting heavily—not faked—but to lull the others, he exaggerated his condition and kept coughing. When he saw the Miao man's gesture, his heart went cold. Having lived in Guangxi for so many years, he knew that meant they were going to gouge out his eyes.

The designated Miao nodded, bent down to pick a sharp blade of grass, and squatted before him, asking questions in Miao. Chenpi A'si kept waving his hands, pretending he was too out of breath to speak. Seeing how exhausted he was, the Miao exchanged glances, unsure what to do. A few others, curious about the place he had come out of, lit torches and peered inside.

After a few minutes of rest, Chenpi A'si noticed that the demonic white-faced arhat hadn't chased him out, which puzzled him. By then his strength had recovered somewhat. Seeing two Miao approach to pin down his hands, he knew if he didn't resist now, it would be over. Smirking, he suddenly produced a handful of iron pellets, jumped up, and in a single burst knocked out all the torches.

The Miao panicked. Chenpi A'si let out a cold laugh, his murderous intent rising. He kicked the Miao in front of him and simultaneously pulled out his pistol to kill. But just then, a cold wind swept past his hand, and he felt a chill. Touching it, he found his trigger finger was gone.

Chenpi A'si had never suffered such a loss before; he was terrified. But before he could react, another cold wind came. The last thing he saw was the Miao leader's calm eyes and the writhing koi tattoo on his body—that was the final sight he ever saw, because the next moment his two eyes were slashed blind. The Miao leader's native knife cut horizontally through his left eye, across the bridge of his nose, and out through his right eye, destroying both eyes instantly.

Old Hai said, "Those Miao men didn't kill him after all. They handed Chenpi A'si and the treasure casket over to the local militia. One of his comrades from the uprising happened to be in charge of the militia there and protected him, so he wasn't executed. But he lost his eyesight. Later the treasure casket was sent to a museum. When the people there heard about it, they sent someone to check the site—I don't know if they found anything. But when they opened the casket, the innermost layer held not a relic but this copper fish." He tapped the newspaper. "Strange, isn't it? At the time it was a huge scandal. When Fourth Master Chen found out, he cursed and said he had been tricked. The casket might have been opened generations ago and its contents swapped."

By now I had already downed a cup of wine while listening to Old Hai's story, and I was a bit tipsy. "What evidence did he have?" I asked.

Old Hai sucked on a snail as he said, "I don't know. Chenpi A'si later became a monk and stayed in Guangxi temples. I only got this information through old connections. Little brother, this intel wasn't cheap—don't forget to return the favor if you ever get any benefits."

I cursed inwardly, thinking this old guy wasn't being so generous for nothing; he just wanted to butter me up. Seeing he had no more news, I asked him about the auction he had come to Hangzhou for.

Old Hai finished the last snail, smacked his lips, and said, "Back then, things were a mess, and nobody knows where this fish ended up. And now, of all days, someone is putting it up for auction. I attend auctions regularly and have some reputation in the trade, so they sent me a handbook and an invitation. Look, the fish is on the auction list. I saw you were quite interested in it, so I got you an invitation too. It might be useless, but it's still good to see who wants to buy the fish."

I looked at the starting bid and laughed. Ten million—only a lunatic would buy it. I had two of these myself; if someone bought one, I'd have twenty million. These auction houses sure know how to hype themselves up. But they'd need someone to believe it first.

Old Hai's information was interesting, but not what I wanted to know. We fell silent, each lighting a cigarette and lost in our own thoughts. The waitress, seeing us lingering, came over to clear the dishes. I made some small talk, asking Old Hai how his business was doing. He said he'd like to go on one of my adventures to see the sights—I couldn't tell if he meant it. I told him to forget it; I wasn't planning to go underground again myself. An old bone like him shouldn't get involved, or he'd just be a burden to himself and to me.

I had had enough to drink. I took the invitation from him and told him to rest. That evening, Qin Haiting insisted on going out. As the host, I couldn't refuse, so I drove them around, ate some snacks, but the weather was too cold, so they went back to sleep early.

I drove home but didn't go upstairs. Suddenly I felt the emptiness of my home was desolate. I had never felt that way before, and I found it strange. Had these experiences aged me? The thought made me laugh. So I drove straight to Second Uncle's teahouse to have some evening tea.

In the teahouse, I drank tea while reading Grandpa's notes and thinking about what had happened. I felt completely confused. The main problem was that these three fish were not from the same dynasty, and their geographical locations were so far apart. Setting aside the purpose of these three fish, even the places where they were excavated didn't give me any clue to speculate on.

The ancients must have had a purpose in doing this; otherwise, the scale was too grand for an ordinary person to pull off. I thought it over and over, and felt the key was still not knowing what their purpose was. Once I knew the purpose, investigating would have much more direction.

If only Grandpa were still alive, I sighed. Or if Third Uncle were here, at least I'd have someone to discuss things with. Now I'm alone, and I'm really getting tired of thinking about these problems.

Suddenly I smelled something burning. I looked down and saw that in the borrowed magazine there was a Chinese tourist map. While thinking, I had been gesturing with my cigarette, and subconsciously burned three holes in it at those three locations. By the time I realized, it was too late. I quickly put out the cigarette, looked around to see if the waiter noticed my vandalism, and couldn't help but sigh with relief.

Although Second Uncle is my relative, he is very eccentric. If you damage his things, he will turn hostile. Especially the magazines here—every one is precious and part of his collection. If I ruined one, he would talk about it for years, nonstop.

I pretended nothing had happened and returned the magazine. As soon as I put it down, an old man took it and started flipping through it standing there. Worried he might discover the damage I caused, I didn't dare go far and sat down on a nearby sofa. I watched as the old man flipped to the page I had burned, looked at it, and couldn't help but let out an "hmm".

I thought, "Oh no, he's found me out," and was about to slip away when I heard him chuckle softly, "Who burned a feng shui pattern here? What a nuisance."