Volume Two: The Gate of Sacrifice …… For a long period in the hospital, my mind was filled only with the image of myself constantly struggling in the water. The rugged underground river was pitch black, endless. The water was alternately bone-chillingly cold and scalding hot. Zhuoma Yangjin, Old Li, and I were desperately holding hands, the surging current slamming us against sharp, angular stones, pouring sand into our mouths, noses, and ears…

It was a nightmare; once I woke up, it was over. After enduring such perilous conditions, hadn’t we survived? I could only comfort myself this way. It truly had to be treated as just a nightmare; I didn't have the courage to recall what happened those days.

Almost every night, my dreams were haunted by deserters carrying the faceless figures of the Qing chasing me. In less than half a month, I wasted away to skin and bones. Old Li stayed with me at the General Military Hospital. He was slightly better off; occasionally, he still had the spirit to visit me, always urging me to eat more, saying a man getting as thin as I was amounted to a tragedy.

I had no appetite. The moment I picked up a bowl, I would think of the Faceless Wang Weicheng, the desiccated corpse, the zombies, and those dense rows of Qing soldier corpses, and finally, that faceless Qing official. No one could eat after thinking about such disgusting and terrifying things. At least, I couldn't.

Old Li and I had a silent understanding: we never mentioned those events in front of each other again. We didn't even dare to ask about the whereabouts of Section Chief Wang and Clerk Liu, pretending not to know, not remembering that such people existed. As for how we managed to get out of that tomb's undercurrent, it was an unspeakable nightmare for both of us; we never uttered a word about it. Nor did I see Zhuoma Yangjin. I only remember passing out just as I was about to see sunlight while drifting in the underground river. At that time, Zhuoma Yangjin was biting her lip, desperately clutching my hand, her eyes full of despair…

Around noon that day, perhaps the twentieth day since I was hospitalized.

The sun shone warmly through the window onto the pale, grayish-white bedsheets. Bored, I was playing Tetris on my phone. I had regained some strength; I could have gone to chat with Old Li. But I couldn't be bothered, or perhaps, I subconsciously refused any contact with people connected to what happened at Qiangbake Mountain.

My heart felt hollow, as if something had been lost, yet simultaneously full—so full that I didn't want to engage with or let anything else into my heart. Under such a mindset, my Tetris scores were abysmal. After playing for a while, I grew impatient, tossed the phone aside, and prepared for a short rest.

However, a sweet, petite nurse walked toward me with a smile. I couldn't help but perk up and smiled back, ready to strike up a conversation with her.

"Luo Lian, right?" The little nurse, beaming, efficiently adjusted my bed to a half-reclining position and said kindly, "Someone is here to see you. Your condition is good now; you can talk for a while... but be careful not to overdo it; you are still a patient."

Only then did I notice someone following behind the nurse: a man in his early forties, his face etched with composure and world-weariness, wearing black-framed glasses, about 1.75 meters tall, dressed in a black woolen overcoat. I took a cursory glance at him, leaned my head back, and drawled, "Sorry, I don't know you." Talking to an irrelevant man was a waste of energy; I'd rather flirt with the nurse in that time.

But the nurse quickly left me to attend to other patients. The man, seeing the nurse depart, didn't seem bothered by my arrogance and rudeness. He gave me a polite smile, extended both hands holding a business card, and said, "I am Xu Zhiwu. I look forward to your guidance."

I took the card. His title wasn't small—something about being an expert in the Guge Kingdom research, Tibetan folk religion research, and so on. An expert? Why would an expert seek out an obscure nobody like me with no academic insight? Still, since he was so courteous, I couldn't be overly dismissive.

"So you are Expert Xu Zhiwu. Please sit," I replied with equal politeness.

"It's merely an undeserved reputation. Luo Lian, you can just call me by my name. I came specifically to find you." Xu Zhiwu sat down unceremoniously by my bedside.

"Came specifically to find me?" I found that strange. What fame did I have?

"It's like this: I have a friend who happens to work in your military region, and he told me about your situation…" Xu Zhiwu cleared his throat, "I suppose I don't need to say it, you already know…"

"Stop, stop right there…" Hearing that, I felt something was wrong and interrupted Xu Zhiwu without ceremony, "My situation? What situation could I possibly have? I don't know anything; don't ask me." Many high-ranking officials had repeatedly questioned me about the events at Qiangbake Mountain. Telling them over and over was like replaying those terrifying experiences repeatedly; I was on the verge of a breakdown. Now, I didn't want to do anything but wish for an almighty eraser to completely wipe away this entire experience, lest I truly go insane.

Xu Zhiwu clearly noticed my poor state and quickly said, "No, this has nothing to do with that... I apologize for intruding. How about this: if you don't mind, I'll introduce myself first. If you find it interesting after listening, we can continue with what I meant to discuss earlier, how about that?"

I merely snorted noncommittally.

Xu Zhiwu looked at me earnestly, "Please, you must listen carefully to what I have to say, alright?"

I remained silent, and he began to tell his story:

"My grandfather, like me—no, perhaps I am like my grandfather—both specialized in studying Tibetan religions. My grandfather was obsessed with all aspects of Tibetan culture. When he was young, he personally went deep into the Tibetan region to experience life to gather firsthand material—that was around the late Qing Dynasty, about 1893."

"In 1893, my grandfather entered Tibet, carrying official documents obtained from the Sichuan Governor-General's Office the previous year, intending to visit the High Commissioner stationed in Tibet, Shengtai. Unexpectedly, before he could present the documents, he was informed that Shengtai had already died of illness in Renjingang, Tibet, while my grandfather was still on his way there. His original intention was to leverage Shengtai's special status to access things ordinary people couldn't. As it turned out, Shengtai died first."

"With Shengtai's death, many of his plans had to be abandoned. Helplessly, he began searching for people who had been close to Shengtai. Initially, his intent was just to use their introductions to access things concerning Tibet's upper echelon. To his surprise, after searching the entire city of Lhasa, he couldn't find a single one of Shengtai's personal guards. Rumor had it that Shengtai had at least a hundred personal guards! And no one saw them withdraw from Tibet!"

When I heard the phrase "at least a hundred personal guards," my heart suddenly thumped violently. "Were those guards Manchus, like Shengtai?" I asked.

"Yes. Of course," Xu Zhiwu replied, then immediately his eyes lit up as he asked, "Did you see these guards?"

I truly didn't want to wade into those murky waters again, so I shook my head, "I was just curious about the Manchu personal guard system."

Xu Zhiwu’s expression immediately dimmed, "I thought you might have seen them…"

Seeing that what he spoke of bore some resemblance to what I had witnessed, I was eager to know the truth and said, "Continue with what you were saying."

Xu Zhiwu then continued: "My grandfather searched all over Lhasa but couldn't find any definite news about Shengtai's personal guards after his death. Some said those Qing soldiers carried Shengtai's coffin back to the Northeast, while others said Shengtai was buried where he died, and all his personal guards committed suicide for their lord. In short, there were all sorts of theories. My grandfather grew suspicious. Think about it: a first-rank official of the highest degree from the Manchu banner, wearing the bright red finial, yet the Imperial Court only bestowed upon him the posthumous title of 'Gongqin' and made no further moves to announce his passing. Wasn't that clearly hiding something?"

Hearing the words "bright red finial," my heart skipped another beat, but I dared not voice my suspicion, dared not say anything... I could only pretend to be calm and listen to Xu Zhiwu continue:

"My grandfather became wary. He pretended to be an old acquaintance of Shengtai, claiming he felt pity that Shengtai died far from home in Tibet and couldn't be laid to rest in his ancestral land, so he wished to offer incense at his grave to comfort his spirit. By inquiring this way, someone—I don't know for what reason—finally told my grandfather that Shengtai had actually been sky-buried. However, one of his military officers committed suicide for his lord, and the court specially issued an order for him to be buried with high honors on the spot. But this officer's tomb site was also selected by Shengtai’s geomancy advisor during his lifetime, said to be a location with excellent feng shui. Fearing disruption, they adopted a secret burial method, so the exact location was unknown."

When he reached this point, my heart hammered "thump-thump." Wasn't he describing the tomb chamber I saw? The tombstone read, "Tomb of Chang Shuo, Canjiang (Assistant Commander)." Zhuoma Yangjin said that was a military officer under Shengtai. The faceless figure that emerged from the coffin—wasn't the garment he wore precisely the uniform of a first-rank official with the rank insignia of a crane on a bright red background?

I started to hesitate, unsure whether I should tell Xu Zhiwu about this. But hadn't Zhuoma Yangjin said that they must not let this matter spread, even if it meant death? Even when so many high-ranking officials asked about those days, I claimed my mind was foggy and I couldn't remember the details, never letting slip a single word. Forget it; I'd wait and see about this matter.

Xu Zhiwu, of course, didn't know how many thoughts had flashed through my mind in an instant. He adjusted his glasses and continued, "My grandfather was intimately familiar with the customs of various regions. As soon as he heard it was a secret burial, he immediately sensed something was wrong. This form of secretive interment was rarely used among northerners or Manchus. Especially for an official who received commendation and lavish burial orders from the Imperial Court—how could he be secretly interred!"

"My grandfather grew suspicious and, seizing opportunities for research, began to secretly investigate the matter..." Just as he reached this crucial point, Xu Zhiwu's phone rang with terrible timing. I was engrossed in the story and was startled by the sudden ringtone.

Xu Zhiwu smiled apologetically at me, got up, and moved aside to take the call. The moment he answered, ignoring that they were in a quiet sickroom, he shouted, "What! What did you say! Are you certain you found the Gold Eye Silver Pearls?"