Daxiong slapped my shoulder and laughed, "Well, I'll be damned, I never figured this woman had a coy side to her. Comrade Xiao Chuan, seize the opportunity!"

I shoved him away, snapping, "What nonsense is that? I let that last bit of rambling go, don't push your luck."

Liang Qian kept walking, covering about thirty or forty meters before stopping. She glanced back at us without a word, then started climbing up a ladder.

Seeing that she had found an exit, we followed. Daxiong grumbled resentfully, but clearly, he was weary of the cursed place too, trailing up behind us with complaints.

Climbing the ladder led us onto a broad road paved with yellow sand. On either side stood some collapsed shacks, and directly ahead of us loomed countless towering Yardang pillars.

Daxiong clicked his tongue. "So this blasted sinkhole was dug right in the middle of the Yardang cluster. No wonder it wasn't completely devoid of tourists, yet no one ever discovered this place."

Liang Qian remained silent, continuing down the main path.

I knew for certain we could walk out this way because I spotted pieces of wrecked cars scattered along the roadside. Clearly, this road used to be passable by vehicles, and if cars could get out, so could we.

We walked in silence along the wide road until the sky began to brighten. At first, there were large toppled stones and signs of previous human construction along the path, but later, it narrowed down to just the wide gaps between the Yardang formations. Even if someone stumbled upon this place now, they would never suspect there had once been a road here.

Liang Qian began marking the stones, partly to avoid getting lost in the completely natural labyrinth of the Yardangs, and partly to serve as markers for our return.

We walked on among the Yardangs for perhaps another two hours. Just as I was starting to believe we were hopelessly lost, the cluster of stones suddenly vanished, and the vast, desolate desert opened before us. Rolling heat waves shimmered over the yellow sand, emitting a unique, dry scent.

After quickly orienting ourselves, we were overjoyed to discover that this stretch of Yardangs was the very formation we had camped near. The spot where we emerged was not far from our camp.

By the time we reached the camp, I was exhausted, parched, and starving. My legs ached, my limbs felt weak, and my fatigue was absolute.

However, the people at the camp were just waking up, moving about with towels and washbasins. Not far off, Boss Wu’s men were busy starting a fire to cook breakfast.

For some reason, I never felt like Boss Wu’s crew were genuine tomb raiders. They acted more like cooks, diligently preparing food when necessary, and otherwise maintaining a complete silence.

*Sitting with Boss Wu, still poring over the notebook, suddenly struck me as faintly comical. These two looked more like they were on vacation than like us, having just survived a brush with death.

*Looking up and seeing us return from the exterior of the camp, looking dusty and grim, they looked momentarily puzzled before walking over to ask where we had been.

Daxiong and I gave Boss Wu and *a rough account of what happened. Both of them listened with utter astonishment.

Boss Wu then arranged for the team doctor to disinfect my wound, wrap it, and instructed me to rest well.

Boss Wu informed me that the Singaporean scientists found the heat too oppressive and would be resting here for a day to study the structure and age of the Yardang formations. This gave us a much-needed break as well. He added that he would send men to investigate the sinkhole, suggesting it might have a connection to the ancient tomb we were seeking.

Hearing this brought a measure of relief. The injury hadn't felt so severe back at the research station, but now that I was finally relaxed, the pain in my arm was intense, and my whole body felt limp.

Given my current physical state, I certainly couldn't handle any more strenuous activity. Being able to sleep for a day sounded like a true blessing.

Upon returning to the camp, Liang Qian hadn't spoken again. I considered showing her the bronze plaque but decided against it, feeling it was inappropriate. Instead, I forced down some food and immediately retreated to my tent, falling into a deep sleep.

I slept wonderfully, but perhaps because my mind was preoccupied with my grandfather’s affairs, I drifted into a dream about my childhood, living in that small courtyard house.

Back then, my grandfather was the pride of our entire family. As a researcher at the Academy of Sciences, everyone near and far knew our family had a great scientist.

I, along with the other children from across the street, loved playing under the big tree in the yard. Every time Grandpa returned from work on his bicycle, he would bring candy for all the children in the courtyard, which is why every child called him Grandpa.

Being young and spoiled, I forbade the other children from calling him Grandpa because he was my Grandpa. This often led to fights, and I would get spanked by my parents when I got home. Then, Grandpa would always step in to soothe me, letting me ride on his shoulders, taking me out for treats, and assuring me that he was my Grandpa, and mine alone.

When I dreamt of that benevolent face again, of the old man cycling in the twilight, I woke to find hot tears streaming down my face.

"Grandpa, where are you now? What are you doing..." I sighed softly, wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes.

Then I heard a soft, wavering sound outside the tent, like someone was weeping.

Curiously, I peeked through a gap in the canvas. It was still dark, and I had no idea how long I had slept.

Checking my phone, I saw that I had slept for an entire day and night; it was already the morning of the third day, past ten o'clock.

I muttered to myself, "Wait, it should be bright out by now. Why is it still dark?"

I quickly pulled on my clothes, just as a rustling sound came from behind the tent, like someone was splashing water against the canvas.

Startled, I scrambled out.

The sight nearly killed me. Outside, a furious gale was howling, whipping up countless grains of sand that danced wildly in the air, resembling the charge of ten thousand stampeding horses. Occasionally, fragments of rock were mixed in. All I could hear was a strange, mournful whoosh, and an overwhelming darkness enveloped everything.

The wind knocked me off balance, filling my mouth, eyes, and nostrils with sand. I frantically grabbed the iron stake securing the tent, turned my head, and struggled back inside.

"What a massive sandstorm..." Shaken, I spat out the sand and rinsed my eyes with water from my canteen.

I knew this wasn't the peak of the storm—a July sandstorm could lift a truck into the sky. In a short while, this tent wouldn't stand a chance. I immediately put on my goggles, wrapped my scarf tightly around my head and mouth, pulled on my leather gloves, grabbed my walking stick, slung my backpack with water and food, and dashed out.

The moment I cleared the tent flap, I heard a series of sharp cracking noises erupting behind me. Almost instinctively, I ducked my head, just as several basketball-sized stones whistled over my head. Turning back, I saw my tent crushed under a pile of rocks. Had I woken up a moment later, I would certainly have been finished.

Stunned, I crouched low and navigated through the camp. Many tents had already collapsed, and I had no idea if anyone was still inside, but there was absolutely no one else around me.

Puzzled as to where everyone had gone, I realized no one could answer me. It was as if many things had happened during the day, causing everyone to vanish.

Driven by the instinct for survival, I exerted every effort to move toward the Yardang cluster, knowing the massive stones could offer some shelter from the wind and sand.

The closer I moved toward the stone formations, the more intense a strange, eerie sound became. I recognized it as the sound of the 'Devil's City' being scoured by the wind. Sometimes it sounded like the wailing cries of old women and children displaced by war; other times, like the roars of wolves, leopards, or tigers; and occasionally, like the harsh shouts of hellish jailers escorting lost souls.

I finally understood why people said the sounds of the Devil's City could shake the soul—these noises were truly bizarre, sparking endless, terrifying imaginations.

I moved laboriously, but I was still knocked down every so often by the scouring winds. Any fall sent me rolling a considerable distance. Fortunately, I had my collapsible walking stick, which I could use to brace myself, regain my footing, and struggle back up.