Chapter 305: The Lost Tomb

In August, Hangzhou's climate is pleasant. Although summer temperatures have been rising in recent years, by the West Lake you can still feel the artistic conception of that line, "The shimmering water is fine on a sunny day."

I leaned back in the recliner at my shop, browsing through the materials I had organized over the past few months.

It had been over three months since I returned from Golmud, and I still seemed unable to recover. The final events had truly exceeded what I could bear; I never imagined things would end in such a state.

These three months, I could never escape the nightmare of that time. Every night I would dream, seeing countless scenes from what had happened.

But could I really break free? I truly doubted it. The pent-up frustration in my heart hadn't lessened one bit even as those secrets were unraveled.

"What others desperately try to conceal must be something you don't want to see. Therefore, pursuing others' secrets means you must bear the consequences of knowing them."

This was the insight I finally realized. But even Poker-face couldn't escape that fate, so what could I do? How many people can hold a bundle of questions in their hearts for a lifetime? After returning, I wrote down everything from the past year, starting from my grandfather's notes up to the present. One by one, event by event, detail by detail. Parts that were unclear at the time gradually became clear in my mind. The truth was just like this, and only this. Thinking back on my longing for those puzzles, the absurdity in my heart makes me sigh.

When I wrote the last word, I wondered when I could forget all this. I thought it was unlikely. But I knew that eventually, there would be a day when I forgot, just like Third Uncle's mask—worn too long, it can't be taken off. Time always changes things. Now I just hope that day comes sooner.

There are still many parts of the whole affair that I don't understand. For example, where is my real Third Uncle? What is Poker-face's true identity? Where did the missing Wenjin go? What exactly is the Ultimate? Who built that huge underground ruins? What identity did Wenjin and her group have, and what plan were they carrying out? These are still mysteries one after another. Originally, the latter concerned me the most, but from today's perspective, these questions no longer seem very important.

After Poker-face came back, we sent him to Peking University First Hospital for a full check-up. His body was basically fine, but he was still not fully conscious. We left him in the hospital and arranged for someone to take care of him. But this wasn't a long-term solution. I asked some people in Changsha to help me find out about Poker-face's background, but so far no one has replied to me.

Fatty said he had a way, but there was no reply either. It seems that understanding the things behind Poker-face is far harder than I thought. Now we can only hope he recovers soon and provides us with something useful. If not, then we'll have to take care of him for life. For him, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Few people have the chance to forget everything, and those lucky enough to forget desperately want to remember. This cycle is almost a paradox of human nature. Speaking privately, I'm not really afraid that he will never remember; rather, I'm afraid he'll remember something but not clearly.

Panzi was sent to the hospital. It was a miracle he survived; I always found it incredible. Actually, his injuries weren't severe, and he recovered quickly. Changsha was in chaos now. Panzi told me that when the old comrades were still around, even if Third Uncle was away, the situation could be controlled. But not anymore. When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter. Rumors were everywhere, and he didn't know what to do. Fortunately, Third Uncle's businesses had shrunk a lot after being contested by Chenpi A'si, otherwise it would be even harder to handle. He could only take things step by step. If it really didn't work out, he would have to disband the group. He had saved enough money over the years to not worry about food and clothing; maybe it was time to retire.

I told him to find a girl and start a family quickly, and stop worrying about Third Uncle's businesses. Third Uncle was getting old, and he had no children. This was bound to happen sooner or later. The dirt had accumulated for too long; we couldn't turn the tide on our own.

Panzi didn't react much. Third Uncle's fate was unknown; I think he would never rest easy and might keep searching forever. I could only wish him good luck.

When we parted, Fatty went back to Beijing. He was the one least affected; he went back to business as usual. According to Panzi, this guy was not only not shallow but also very deep. But I really couldn't see where his depth lay. Before leaving, Fatty said a conventional phrase: "The green hills remain, the blue waters flow; we'll meet again." He said it with deep feeling. If we hadn't spent so much time together, risking life and death, it would be hard to appreciate how subtle and poignant the meaning behind those clichés could be.

Zhaxi had said goodbye to us in Golmud. If not for him, we would never have made it out of the Tarim. So we wanted to raise some money for him. Zhaxi said that this matter was a karma for him; bringing us out alive was already due to the Buddha's protection, and he couldn't take our money. Later, I gave him my watch as a keepsake.

A-Ning was dead. I had lost contact with Jude Kao's company for now. I sent several emails to acquaintances, but they all bounced back. I don't know if they would continue. In any case, after this failure, that old devil should give up. If he still persisted, then he could only hope for the best.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Everyone's life seemed to have returned to normal. At that time, I had just returned to Hangzhou and continued my nine-to-five life as a small business owner. Sitting in that rattan chair, taking a nap, waking up, listlessly flipping through my grandfather's notes, I suddenly felt time flowing backward, as if a lifetime had passed.

Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly, and upon waking, didn't know if he was a man dreaming he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was a man. I used to think it was mysterious, but now I suddenly understood his feeling. I felt that everything from the past year was like a dream, flashing by in an instant, and yet I also felt I was still in the Snake Swamp. The leisurely scene before me might be a hallucination just before death.

Whichever it was, I was willing to accept it gladly. Sometimes, the end of a matter is more anticipated than the outcome itself.

However, deep in my heart, I knew very well that this matter was far from over. Even what I had experienced before was just the beginning.