Zhou Huan paused, feeling his direct inquiry about Long Sheng was perhaps a bit reckless. Though he was keen to know the connection between Long the Translator and Long Sheng, and whether his vision might be a glimpse into actual history, he quickly moved to elaborate for Long Sheng: "It's just that I sense this tomb holds more than just that female corpse and what we’ve uncovered so far; there should be other artifacts of significant archaeological value." "I wasn't aware Master Zhou had such peculiar tastes, but whatever. Since Master Zhou wishes to see, I'll go home and find those things for you, but only after I've handled what’s in front of me," Long Sheng replied, a strange, forced smile flickering across his face. Zhou Huan nodded a greeting to Long Sheng.

He took one last look at the tombstone, then turned to leave. Suddenly, a car pulled up next to his own vehicle. Several people emerged, followed by two men in white lab coats. "Well, well, our Captain is here!

Master Zhou, come on, let me take you to meet our Captain!" Long Sheng abandoned his tools and eagerly pulled Zhou Huan toward the arriving vehicle. Once outside the excavation pit, the road seemed much smoother. Upon reaching the newcomers, Long Sheng immediately bowed. "Captain, why didn't you notify me beforehand that you were coming?

I should have prepared some tea and refreshments for you." "I tell you, Long Sheng, how many times must I say it? Stop with all that meaningless fuss. Look at you—your grandfather was a Japanese translator, and you’re carrying on that same affected style. It’s a blessing the Japs were kicked out, or who knows how much more conceited you’d be.

Thank goodness your father handed you over to me, or you'd have gone much further astray." This Captain appeared upright and principled, presenting himself as a genuine figure, yet he was accompanied by a doctor-like figure. This man had a particularly striking appearance: a birthmark resembling a scar sat near his eyebrow, he wore glasses, and his closely shaved beard left his skin looking distinctly bluish-gray. Zhou Huan had been scrutinizing the doctor. The doctor finally took the initiative, smiling at Zhou Huan.

"You must be Master Zhou. I am genuinely astonished. You had a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit last night, yet a simple bowl of congee cured you. I never knew such miracles could happen at your Fushou Hall." The doctor's voice instantly startled Zhou Huan.

It was the exact voice of the doctor he had heard upon waking that morning, and the timbre matched the voice of the scarred man he had seen in his vision. Could this person be...? Looking closer, the man did bear a striking resemblance to Scarface: the thick beard, the raspy voice, and that scar-like birthmark above his eyebrow—it was clearly indistinguishable from the markings on Scarface's face. "What is this doctor's name?" Eager to clarify the situation before him, Zhou Huan ignored the archaeology team's captain and disregarded the captain's words to Long Sheng.

He only wanted to know if this doctor was the Scarface from his dream. As Zhou Huan questioned, Long Sheng proactively introduced him: "Master Zhou, this is our Archaeology Captain, Qiao Zhongshi." Upon hearing the introduction, the Captain's expression shifted to one of unusual warmth, as if greeting a relative. He turned to Zhou Huan. "Ah, this must be the renowned Master Zhou Huan!

I first heard of you in the provincial capital when you took Shi Bingyuan and Hong Kun as your apprentices. Even then, I knew you were no ordinary man. My admiration for you is like..." "The ceaseless flow of the Yangtze River!" Long Sheng chimed in. Qiao Zhongshi was even more effusive than Long Sheng.

He had just disparaged Long Sheng’s grandfather as a Japanese collaborator and running dog. In Zhou Huan’s estimation, both men were cut from the same cloth; neither was reputable. He surmised that during the war against the Japanese, these two were likely collaborators. But then, Zhou Huan looked again at Long Sheng, suddenly recalling Long the Translator.

The two faces were nearly identical—one dead, one young. "You don't need to flatter me so. I asked how to address this doctor," Zhou Huan pressed. Qiao Zhongshi immediately pulled the doctor closer.

"I almost forgot! This is our Doctor Wang. I specifically invited him from the Municipal Hospital this time—he’s a surgical expert. His speed with a scalpel is absolutely unmatched; he's known throughout the city as Wang the Swift Blade, or even the 'Blade Maniac of the Operating Table'." This description only intensified Zhou Huan’s belief that the Scarface from his vision was closely related to this Doctor Wang, perhaps even family.

"I see. I was wondering where the female corpse is being kept now? I’d like to take a look," Zhou Huan suggested. Qiao Zhongshi readily agreed.

"No problem, I'll take you. As it happens, I need to take Doctor Wang to see the body as well. After the forensic examination, Doctor Wang will need to use modern scientific methods to analyze the female corpse, including a preliminary dissection, regarding many of the indicators." "Very well, I must come along. Since I drove here, how about we take a few more people?

Let’s bring some of your subordinates too. After all, in this entire discovery, the most valuable element is this female corpse. Every single part of her demands the utmost precision," Zhou Huan said, taking the liberty of assigning roles. This time, neither Qiao Zhongshi nor Long Sheng dared utter a sound.

Though both were clearly of the same ilk, they still managed to project an air of slick opportunism and carefree nonchalance. After the brief exchange, Qiao Zhongshi drove, with Zhou Huan following behind. They traveled to the temporary office of the archaeology team next to the city hospital. After ascending the two flights of stairs, they entered a large hall.

In the center sat a massive crystal sarcophagus. The woman, supposedly from the Han Dynasty, was identical to the one Zhou Huan had seen in his vision. This realization brought a sharp memory to Zhou Huan: everyone else died back then, only Long the Translator survived. This meant that only he and Long the Translator knew about the ring.

But what troubled Zhou Huan most was his nagging question: was the dream he entered while feverish a vision of the true past, or were the people he recognized now merely phantoms from his vision? Or perhaps it was a matter of past karma, that he had returned to the era of the Anti-Japanese War, and these people’s ancestors were involved in events with him when they were alive. "Master Zhou, what are you pondering? Come take a look.

Doctor Wang needs to assess the corpse and formulate a plan for dissecting it to examine the internal organs, and to determine why her exterior has not decomposed but remained perfectly preserved," Qiao Zhongshi prompted. "That... it's probably similar to the mummification method," Doctor Wang replied, his voice still raspy. Long Sheng interjected from the side, perhaps recalling too many documentaries about ancient Egypt: "Mummies always come with at least two curses for whoever unearths them.

Anyone who digs one up is bound to face misfortune." "As if your work in archaeology is so stable. Don't you handle relics buried for ages every day? How many of them weren't left behind in cursed tombs?" Qiao Zhongshi had a way to silence Long Sheng, and this remark left Long speechless. Zhou Huan gazed at the female corpse.

Having aged so drastically in just a few decades, it was a far cry from the delicate skin he remembered from his vision, likely due to environmental decay. "Oh, Captain, when Master Zhou and I found the tombstone, it was only half intact, which we couldn't explain. I need to consult some Persian—that is, current Islamic—Qur'anic teachings to understand some ancient Persian script. Otherwise, the writing on the female corpse's ceiling is completely incomprehensible," Long Sheng stated his request, implicitly asking the Captain and the leadership to buy him a Qur'an so he wouldn't have to spend his own money.

At that very moment, Zhou Huan’s mind flashed violently once more. The impression of the chaotic scene was still vividly etched in his mind. Though the people standing before him were descendants, not the originals, Zhou Huan’s greatest worry now wasn't about failing to find the ring. His deepest concern was that the Crimson Moon had reappeared, and even he had been affected by it.

Wasn't that obvious? Perhaps the Crimson Moon itself was some form of curse.