Zhou Huan noticed something amiss with Long Sheng's ancestral dictionary, which immediately put him on high alert. During his experience in the illusion, he knew Long Sheng was the only other tomb raider besides himself who had survived. Why, then, was Long Sheng researching Persian incantations, especially when every single character matched those of the Scarlet Moon Demon Curse? The only logical conclusion was that Long Sheng must have suffered the curse's ill effects after those events, giving him time to study the dictionary afterward.

"Master Zhou, look at my old grandpa. He was a genuine hero fighting the Japanese devils back then. Later on, he single-handedly blew up a Japanese arsenal. See this medal the city awarded him?" As Long Sheng spoke, he pulled a medal from his pocket and handed it to Zhou Huan for inspection.

Zhou Huan took the medal and saw that it was indeed a War Merit decoration, proving that Translator Long had either reformed or had actively helped the nation fight the Japanese. Unable to press the matter further, Zhou Huan could only echo Long Sheng’s praise for the old man's service. Then Zhou Huan asked, "So what happened to your old man later on? Did he never come back here?"

"How would I know? I was busy having convulsions back then. Besides, my grandfather wouldn't have told me about these things. Oh, right, Grandpa had a habit of keeping a diary. Whether he wrote about this stuff, I couldn't say," Long Sheng replied, still harboring a slight hesitation.

Hearing this, Zhou Huan felt the matter become slightly simpler. If he had found this dictionary sooner, they wouldn't have gone through all this trouble. Anxious, Zhou Huan pressed Long Sheng, "Tell me quickly, where does your grandfather live?"

"Ah, my grandfather passed away long ago, but his old house is still standing. I don't know what state it’s in now. I guess we’ll have to go see."

"How do we get there?"

Long Sheng pondered for a long time. "I remember now. The route should be like this: the old path is unusable. We have to travel along the riverbank to Tiger Mountain, then loop back, finally entering Ma Shi Town. From a small path in the town, we cut across to Majia Village—that’s where my grandfather's former residence is."

Stars seemed to swirl around Zhou Huan's head; Long Sheng’s description left him utterly bewildered about the path. Finally, he said, "How about this: you tell me the immediate direction first."

"Head straight for the riverbank, then take a left." Following Long Sheng’s directions, Zhou Huan drove for nearly an hour before finally reaching the location. The roads were treacherous, slick with muddy clay, and this was the only viable route. Once in the village, Long Sheng directed him toward the base of a mountain. Halfway up the slope, nestled within a small courtyard, sat a modest house—it looked ancient and perfectly suited for an elderly person to inhabit.

"This is it. Come on, Master Zhou." Long Sheng got out of the car first. Zhou Huan followed, retrieved his backpack, and followed Long Sheng up the narrow mountain path toward the house.

On the mountainside, a patch of vibrant green grass shimmered darkly. On most of the path, the grass grew past the knees. The weather had turned chilly, and the damp grass was already beaded with dew. After just a few steps, a coolness seeped into their legs, wetting the trouser cuffs.

"How long did your grandfather live here?" Zhou Huan finally asked.

Long Sheng’s breathing was somewhat labored. Hearing Zhou Huan’s question, he replied, "I don't know the exact time, but Dad said he lived here for at least twenty or thirty years. Back during the War of Liberation, Dad had left the army and came here. He found this secluded spot to hide and avoid the fighting."

"So you never even met your grandfather?"

"No. My grandfather died a few years before I was born. This medal was passed down to me from my father. He said it was the pride of our Long family and that I should wear it always, as it might prove useful someday." Long Sheng’s words sounded naïve, yet thinking about it, he had a point. It was the honor of a man and the honor of a family; why not carry that glory with you?

As they spoke, the two ascended a short, steep incline. A few more steps brought them to Long Sheng's grandfather’s house. The courtyard walls were constructed from stones mortared with yellow earth. The main gate appeared to have been replaced at some later date with a large iron one, but this gate was now so rusted it was nearly crumbling. One half of the gate hung askew, creaking mournfully. Long Sheng gently braced the loose section, opening the other half.

"This place has probably been empty for twenty or thirty years. I’m thirty now!" Long Sheng chuckled, though in reality, he was recalling childhood visits with his father to clean the house and pay respects to his grandfather.

Before Zhou Huan could even step into the yard, the half-open iron gate let out a screech as rusted metal tore, and it swung sideways, crashing onto the ground and completely blocking the path. Zhou Huan glanced at the fallen gate and laughed, "Translator Long, it seems my arrival here wasn't welcome. Do you perhaps have something to hide?" As he spoke, Zhou Huan lifted his foot and kicked the heavy iron gate aside.

Hearing Zhou Huan speak like that, Long Sheng was first startled, then confused. "Master Zhou, you knew my grandfather..." He trailed off, realizing how strange that sounded. He shook his head. "No, that's impossible. You're at most a few years older than me; how could you have known my grandfather? But he really was a translator."

"Haha, then it's settled. Take me inside. I want to see my old friend!" Zhou Huan laughed heartily. Everything that happened in Zhou Huan's illusion felt as real as life; even Long Translator should know about those events. Without Zhou Huan's intervention back then, he would have surely been executed by the anti-Japanese forces instead of becoming a hero of the resistance.

Long Sheng found Zhou Huan's words increasingly incomprehensible. Unable to process it, he gently pushed open the house door. "Come in, Master Zhou. This was my grandfather's house; there might be things inside that can help you recall the past."

Frankly, all Zhou Huan could recall were the small matters he and Translator Long had dealt with. He didn't know anything about the old man's later heroic acts. What Zhou Huan truly wanted to know was whether Translator Long had any connection to that ring, for any man who saw that ring would be moved by desire. After all, Old Cripple Huang had died because of that very ring, the female corpse’s insertion into his chest—that was something an ordinary person couldn't endure. That was death for wealth.

Zhou Huan entered the small room, barely twenty square meters. There was an ancient, large huokang (heated brick bed), and upon it sat a small wooden table. On the table rested an old edition of the Xinhua Dictionary and a small booklet with flipped pages, looking very worn.

"Master Zhou, everything in this room belongs to my grandfather. You said you wanted to investigate our Long family's history; the items here should explain it. If these aren't enough, I can't help further, as I know too little. So, let's see if there’s anything useful among my grandfather's belongings. Feel free to look through everything, but one thing: please place everything back exactly as you found it when you're done. I'm going to the next room to start a fire and properly heat the kang; this room is too damp, and Grandpa’s things will be ruined." Saying this, Long Sheng set down his bag and turned to go outside to chop firewood.

Zhou Huan picked up the Xinhua Dictionary from the table. After a few glances, it seemed unremarkable. He then looked at the small booklet underneath it. This booklet was a notebook, meticulously recording lines of Persian script, followed by a large block of Chinese translation. After that came an entire volume copied by hand in Persian script. As Zhou Huan looked at these characters, they felt strangely familiar, as if he had seen this specific Persian script somewhere before.

Suddenly, Zhou Huan remembered: this was a handwritten copy of the Quran. Had Translator Long also studied the Quran back then? Why would he study the Quran? Had he truly come into contact with the Scarlet Moon Demon Curse, or had he genuinely attempted to dispel it? Otherwise, how could he have survived and lived so long? Zhou Huan sank into thought.

Long Sheng finally managed to get the fire going, and the room slowly began to warm up. Zhou Huan examined the Quran, flipping through it back and forth, but he could not find anything he was looking for.