Zhou Huan and Shi Bingyuan looked up at the patterns on the ceiling. Unwittingly, a drop of something brilliantly white and glistening seemed to fall from the ceiling mural, landing squarely on Zhou Huan's forehead. An intense chill seeped from the center of his brow into his very marrow. "How desolate!"

"Master, what's wrong?" Shi Bingyuan felt a pang of worry seeing Zhou Huan's inexplicable expression; after all, he was his master, and such concern was natural.

Zhou Huan gently wiped the bead of moisture from his forehead and said faintly, "Bingyuan, don't you feel this inexplicable sorrow? This feeling seems utterly unprecedented. What is happening?"

Without a word, Shi Bingyuan darted to Zhou Huan's side, facing him directly to assess his condition. Zhou Huan's eyes were filled with waves of sympathy and emotion, yet his gaze was fixed straight ahead, as if he hadn't noticed Shi Bingyuan's approach at all. Shi Bingyuan waved his hand in front of Zhou Huan's eyes twice. "Master, are you feeling unwell?"

"I am fine. These things must be some kind of foreign curse. It also feels like a blessing of sorts. This subtle sensation here is truly difficult to grasp; in any case, it is quite targeted," Zhou Huan replied to Shi Bingyuan. "Don't worry about me; I'm fine. I keep wondering how to resolve this whole affair: a female corpse missing its hands, an abandoned tomb chamber, bundles of incomprehensible Persian script—it’s truly dizzying. I genuinely don't know what to do."

Hearing Zhou Huan speak so coherently and with a clear mind, Shi Bingyuan finally relaxed. The tension on his face dissolved into a series of slight smiles. "Master, I think we truly need to start by investigating this curse."

"No, let's do this instead. There are several things that need doing now. First, we must watch the archaeological team constantly to see what they are doing, particularly that man surnamed Long; we must learn about his family history. Second, we need to investigate the history of this place, ideally restoring the scene to the era of the War of Resistance. Third, I absolutely must restore this place." Zhou Huan paused here, knowing that even if he explained, others simply wouldn't grasp the whole picture.

Shi Bingyuan was quite surprised, but relying on his understanding, he turned back to ask Zhou Huan, "Master, you want to restore this place?"

"Yes!"

"That sounds like it will cost a great deal of money, and it requires approval signatures from the national cultural relics protection agencies, along with the full cooperation of those archaeologists to restore this site." Although Shi Bingyuan didn't fully grasp Zhou Huan's ultimate purpose for the restoration, the facts remained: such an environment needed restoration to recapture the shadows of the past, enabling them to find the remains of the crippled Old Huang that Zhou Huan was so determined to locate.

Just then, an old acquaintance of Zhou Huan's entered from the tomb entrance. Upon seeing Zhou Huan, he greeted him enthusiastically, "Master Zhou, you wish to restore this place? We call the shots here, haven't you forgotten? I developed this area, didn't I?"

The speaker was Old Mr. Wang. From the beginning of the story until now, Old Wang had always been Zhou Huan’s benefactor, one might even call him a source of fortune. For reasons unknown, Old Wang felt an inherent affinity for Zhou Huan. Whether it was reopening the Fushou Hall or assisting with any of Zhou Huan's other needs, Old Wang would exert his utmost effort to help. Thus, over time, their relationship grew closer, much like that of a father and son. Yet, Zhou Huan respected Old Mr. Wang's character, while Old Mr. Wang held for Zhou Huan a feeling of gratitude, coupled with respect born from his generous heart.

Hearing the voice, Zhou Huan felt an intense wave of helplessness because he knew this land had been purchased by Old Wang. That was precisely why he wanted to use his own methods to invest reasonably in restoring the tomb's original appearance. He never expected Old Wang to arrive at this precise moment.

"Mr. Wang, what brings you here today?" Zhou Huan offered a polite greeting.

Old Mr. Wang walked slowly up to Zhou Huan, tilting his head back to look at the mural on the ceiling and the strange characters alongside him. "This place has always been mine. The year I was born, this was my home. It was only later occupied by a factory, and when that factory failed, I finally had money, so this place remained abandoned. This time, I mainly wanted to develop the area where I spent my childhood, turning ruins into prosperity."

"Oh? Truly?" Zhou Huan was naturally overjoyed by this news. He knew that if Old Mr. Wang had lived here, he would know the circumstances of the time. Even if the clues were otherwise useless, simply asking Old Mr. Wang when he was born would reveal when the place began to look the way it did.

Old Mr. Wang stated very seriously, "Of course. I was born and grew up here, but I never imagined I had spent so many years living on top of a tomb. Really, but now that I think about it, it’s no big deal; sooner or later, I'll be just like them." Saying this, Old Mr. Wang let out a hearty laugh.

Zhou Huan echoed the laughter with him, and then he began to discuss the history of the location in detail with Old Mr. Wang. As Zhou Huan anticipated, the stories Old Mr. Wang told about his family history and the scenes of this place made the old man quite animated. Although it didn't contain the exact information Zhou Huan sought, he patiently listened to Old Mr. Wang.

"Master Zhou, though, this tomb is quite sinister. When my family lived here, there was a household just one door down from ours. They had a child around my age. One day, he suddenly claimed to see the moon in the sky turn red. Afterward, the boy went mad and threw himself headfirst into a natural well on the mountain behind us. His family never even found the body, but from that day on, fewer and fewer people lived here, until the opening up and reform era when this place became a factory." What Old Mr. Wang recounted immediately drew Zhou Huan's intense attention.

"Then how did that factory fail?" Zhou Huan, showing great interest, pressed for details.

Seeing Zhou Huan so engaged, Old Mr. Wang hurried on: "That factory, when it was state-owned, produced everything—anything that could be made by hand. They changed types of mines and factories over the years, and eventually, this became a textile mill. But as soon as the textile mill was established, it coincided with the nationwide layoffs of state-owned enterprises, and the factories and mines here completely folded."

Zhou Huan realized Old Mr. Wang was recounting matters he already knew or didn't need to know. He steered the conversation toward events before his own birth. "Mr. Wang, do you know anything about the wartime period here?"

"How could I know about those things? Even if I did know, it would only be from what the elders told me." Old Mr. Wang stopped here, then observed Zhou Huan's eyes and complexion. "You're not trying to find out what this place used to be, are you? Does that have anything to do with what’s been happening here?"

"It certainly does. I am indeed trying to find that out; otherwise, I wouldn't have put you through the trouble of recalling your childhood memories." Zhou Huan was direct; if asked, he would naturally give a reasonable answer.

Old Mr. Wang replied, "Well, that's not easy to say. I know of three versions regarding what this place was before. The first says that this was once the estate of a prominent family that the Japanese seized; the entire family died, so someone later helped bury them. The second version is that this place used to be a mass grave; having a tomb chamber is normal. That family who suffered the innocent deaths—they were killed off strangely because their house was built right over someone's grave. The third version is that this was a Japanese garrison post at the time; what exactly they were doing there, nobody knows."

Hearing Old Mr. Wang, Zhou Huan was suddenly bewildered. Everything he said was partially true. Only the first version lacked concrete proof; he had experienced the latter two—it was indeed a burial ground, practically a mass grave, and behind it was a Japanese arsenal. But what exactly happened here during the period Zhou Huan was interested in? How did this tomb get buried underground? Who was the owner of this tomb, and what was their identity? And what was the deal with that Persian soul—did it have a close connection to the tomb's owner? Moreover, what was the deal with that Blind Liang that Old Cripple Huang mentioned?

This string of questions flooded Zhou Huan's mind once again. He decided to have his people investigate separately while he stayed here to slowly restore the scene based on his own memories.