Chapter 16: Seven Stars: Small Hand

Over the years, dealing in antiques and rubbings, I've picked up a lot of experience reading people. In this business, your eye is everything—you need to know how to judge objects and people alike. One look at this fatty and I could tell he wasn't a solid guy. To get information out of someone like that, buttering him up is useless; you have to rile him up. So I pretended not to believe him at all and said, "You talk as if it's all true. If you really knew, would you be stumbling around here like a headless fly?"

The fatty took the bait. He shone his flashlight at my face and said, "Kid, you don't believe me? Before I came, I spent a solid month preparing. Do you know what that King Lu Shang was? Do you know what 'borrowing ghost soldiers' means? Do you know what the Ghost Seal is used for?" Seeing I didn't answer, he grinned smugly. "I'll tell you. This King Lu Shang—putting it nicely, he was a general. But honestly, he was just like us: a grave robber."

I suddenly remembered Third Uncle saying something similar, but I couldn't quite grasp how they could tell. The fatty went on: "But he was way more impressive than us. He grave-robbed his way to becoming a king. The silk manuscript records that most of King Lu Shang's troops rested during the day and marched at night. Often, an entire unit would vanish, then suddenly reappear somewhere else. And the places they passed through were frequently described as 'tombs broken and ruined; when asked, they said the ghost soldiers had all come out.' Tell me, as materialists, how could we believe in ghost soldiers? They must have been digging up graves everywhere. If someone found a disturbed tomb, they'd say King Lu Shang had borrowed the tomb owner's soul, and the story of borrowing ghost soldiers spread. People back then were superstitious, so it got blown out of proportion."

I wasn't entirely convinced. "Are you drawing that conclusion from just this information? That seems a bit rash."

The fatty shot me a glare, annoyed that I'd interrupted. "Of course there's more evidence. The most direct proof is the Seven Suspicious Coffins. Historically, grave robbers were the first to use them. Having plundered countless tombs, they feared the same fate after death, so they used their experience to set up this decoy coffin trick. They believed that no matter how clever the trap, it couldn't stop another grave robber. The only way was to make them hesitate and unable to act! Of these seven coffins, only one holds the real body. The other six, if opened by mistake, are almost certain death—either crossbows or black magic inside. After the Song dynasty, this trick was refined by skilled craftsmen, but since it came from a disreputable trade, ordinary people thought it unlucky, and placing seven coffins in one tomb was too expensive."

Seeing how knowledgeable this fatty was despite his rough appearance, I began to respect him. But he didn't seem finished, so I asked, "So is there a way to tell which coffin is the real one?" He patted me, gleeful at my changed attitude. "Kid, you're eager to learn. Let me follow Confucius's example and teach tirelessly. Listen up—there is a way to distinguish the Seven Suspicious Coffins! But we have our rules. Most grave robbers who encounter seven coffins kowtow and retreat, and the ancestors won't blame them. In the old chaotic times, some hill-movers had no choice but to break the rules. A wise man came up with a method: use two crowbars to lift one corner of the coffin, drill a small hole in the bottom, then probe with an iron hook to see what comes out. That way, you can tell what's inside."

I couldn't help but marvel that the battle of wits between grave robbers and designers could fill a book. The fatty suddenly leaned in mysteriously and said, "But these seven stone coffins here are probably all fakes. This whole King Lu tomb might be fake too."

He shined his signal flare toward the stone passage we had fallen from to check for anything crawling over, then continued: "At first I couldn't figure it out, but when I fell into this stone maze, I suddenly realized this is a Western Zhou tomb." I was startled. "You mean this isn't a workers' escape tunnel?"

Panzi cursed from the corner: "I told you earlier—how could this be an escape tunnel? Have you ever seen anyone dig an escape tunnel like a maze? Who'd have that kind of mood?" I was baffled, feeling like something was there but not quite grasping it. "How could anyone bury themselves on top of someone else's tomb? Wouldn't that curse their descendants?"

The fatty rubbed his mouth and said, "You're a grave robber, so you know about feng shui. We grave robbers don't give a damn about it. Aside from guiding us to tombs, I don't see what other use feng shui has. It's a scholarly field, but it's ancient knowledge—dead people's knowledge—nothing to do with us fine socialist youth." He patted his chest. "And burying yourself in someone else's tomb—feng shui has a term for it, something like... hiding dragon cave or something. Don't bother with these shallow names. The point is, if your fate aligns and you set things up right, it's entirely possible. So King Lu Shang's coffin must be hidden inside this Western Zhou tomb—no doubt about it!"

Panzi snorted at that. "You? Of all people, you understand feng shui?"

The fatty flew into a rage: "What do you mean 'of all people'? If I didn't understand, how would I know so much?" Panzi burst out laughing, but the laughter hurt his wound. He clutched his stomach and said, "Where did you pick up all this nonsense? If you really know feng shui, lead us out of this maze! I've been circling for seven or eight tries and can't find the way." Hearing Panzi mention it reminded me of something. I asked, "By the way, why did you guys ditch me and run? You nearly scared me to death! Where are Third Uncle and the others?"

Panzi struggled to sit up straight. "I'm not too sure either. At the time, that young man was chasing that dead fatty. Third Uncle told me not to follow, but I thought if he was nervous, there had to be a good reason. Plus, there's something I never told you: I always felt that guy had ulterior motives for following us. I didn't trust him, so I went after him." He frowned, looking puzzled. "After a few minutes, I suddenly saw something in the tomb passage ahead. I shone my light, and it vanished in a flash. I got nervous and walked over to the spot. Then I saw it—wedged in a crack between the stones—something that looked like a human hand as long as a finger."

The fatty was startled. His mouth moved as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

Panzi recalled every detail. "So I leaned in to look. You know me—I can't control my curiosity. I'd even taste a piece of shit. Thinking back, I still get chills. That hand-like thing suddenly shot out and grabbed my throat. The strength was incredible—almost choked me to death. I didn't know what to do. Luckily, I had a military knife. I kicked and flailed while slashing at the hand. Its wrist was terrifyingly thin, barely thicker than its fingers. No idea where the strength came from. I cut a long gash, and it let go and slipped back into the wall crack." Panzi rubbed his neck. "I thought, damn, there must be something behind that wall. So I checked it out—knocked left, kicked right. Suddenly I hit something, and the whole floor gave way." He slapped the wall. "You know the rest. I fell into a stone chamber like this one, found the stone tunnel, and luckily my skills were good enough to jump back up after a while, or I might never have run into Little Third Master again."

"So you don't know what happened to Third Uncle and the others either?" I sighed. Panzi, obviously just learning they were missing, also looked worried. I turned to the fatty. "Dead fatty, how did you end up down here? Tell me the truth—did you stir up that ghost?" He said, "Hey, if you put it that way, I'm more wronged than Su San! When I got there, that old guy who appeared out of nowhere had already riled up the monster. The kid behind me saw it, yelled 'oh no,' and turned to run. I figured if I had to fight the monster, I might have a chance, but I hadn't finished the task assigned by the organization, so I ran too. After a while, I saw that young man in front of me. He told me to stop. Before I knew what was happening, he kicked the wall, and I fell. I thought he was saving me, but I didn't expect all those bugs down there. Damn it." He looked around nervously, as if afraid bugs would crawl out and bite him.

Panzi glanced at me and said, "See? That guy seems to know this tomb inside out. That's no small matter. Something's definitely wrong with him." I had always thought Poker-face was decent—when he was around, I felt safe. But Panzi's words made me reconsider. On this whole trip, he seemed to know too much, as if he could predict everything. I started to have doubts too. In my bag, I still had some compressed biscuits I'd found on Fatty. I realized we hadn't eaten in a while, so I took them out and we all had some. Panzi ate very little—he said if his intestines were punctured, the food would just leak out anyway, so we should save it for later since we didn't know when we'd get out. Hearing that, Fatty felt too embarrassed to eat much despite wanting to. I also told them what had happened to me, and gradually I began to relax.

We were silent for a while, then chatted about other things. Fatty said sitting around like this wasn't a solution, maybe we should try our luck in that stone tunnel. Panzi thought the same, so we decided to rest a bit more and then set off.

I was drowsy, dozing off. Half asleep, I suddenly saw Fatty making faces at me. I already thought this Fatty was very unreliable, a bit schizophrenic. I mean, who would think of putting a clay pot on their head to scare people in an ancient tomb? That kind of person either has too much guts or too little brain. Now, one of us was severely injured, three were missing, and under such circumstances, he still had the mood to make faces at me. If I had any strength left, I would have gone up and hit him.

But at this moment, I noticed that even Panzi was making faces at me. I thought: Huh, can mental illness be contagious? Then I saw the two of them constantly patting their left shoulders, their mouths moving as if saying, "Hand, hand!" I saw cold sweat on their foreheads and found it strange. So I looked at my own hand — nothing unusual. Could it be my shoulder? I casually turned my head and suddenly saw a small green hand resting on my shoulder.