We got back to the small flat we rented near Chongwenmen, the Fatty and I, and having drunk far too much, we slept in a drunken stupor until noon the next day.

Waking up, I lay on the bed, staring at the low, squat ceiling, my mind racing. This grave robbing business, it wasn't entirely unfamiliar territory for me. I was confident I could locate some of the larger imperial tombs. Money wasn't the most important thing; frankly, I didn't care if I had it or not. But life is full of contradictions, and right now, I desperately needed it.

My parents were cared for by the state; I had no family burdens. As long as I was fed, the whole family was fine. But what about my brothers who sacrificed themselves on the battlefield? Who would look after their parents? The cost of medicine and treatment, the tuition fees for their younger siblings—that meager pension wouldn't even keep them warm in the biting wind.

On the battlefield, it seemed everyone except me had an absolute reason not to die. Yet, I was the sole survivor. This life of mine was bought with the lives of many comrades. What should I be doing for them now?

Just then, the Fatty woke up too. He rubbed his eyes, saw me staring blankly at the ceiling, and said, "Old Hu, what are you thinking about? Even if you didn't say it, I know. Da Jin Ya's words yesterday got to you, right? I’m itching too. What are we going to do, brother? I’m just waiting for your word."

I took out the talisman Da Jin Ya had given us: "Fatty, don't think that bastard is any good. He's a businessman, and no one acts without a motive. This 'Gravedigger's Claw' was worn by Cao Cao's Mojin Xiaowei during the Three Kingdoms period. He wouldn't just give us something so valuable. He’s got his eye on our skills and wants a piece of the action."

The Fatty flared up: "Damn it, I knew he wasn't a good bird! I'll go to Panjiayuan later and rip that big gold tooth right out of his head and toss it in the latrine."

Despite those words, the two of us conferred and decided we should temporarily use each other without falling out. My personal flaw is being too impulsive, not considering the consequences. I thought the path of tomb robbing was viable. Chairman Mao said everything in the world has two sides—good can turn bad, and bad can turn good; that’s dialectics.

The tombs of emperors and generals hold countless treasures, but can we say those good things rightfully belong to the tomb occupants? Didn't they all extort and exploit the common people? What is taken from the people should be used for the people; how can we let them sleep forever underground with those bones? If we’re going to do it, we must do it big. Those common folk graves aren't interesting; most don't have anything valuable, and taking from the populace harms one's Yin De (merit/karma).

I once heard my grandfather recount the rules of the Mojin Xiaowei, which were vastly different from those of common grave robbers. Grave robbers dig randomly and take indiscriminately, acting without restraint—it doesn't matter if it's a loyal official or a renowned general, a courtier or a commoner; they have no code. Even the rules they might have formulated themselves are just peasant guesswork, completely off the mark.

When Mojin Xiaowei worked, upon breaking into a grand tomb, they would light a candle in the main burial chamber, placing it in the southeast corner. Then they would open the coffin and begin looting the gold. The most valuable items are often on the deceased's body. Tombs of nobility or higher often have the deceased with a pearl in their mouth, covered in gold and jade, a protective jade on their chest, and an auspicious jade in hand—some even have gems stuffed in their rectums. When taking things, they must not damage the remains, moving lightly from head to toe. Finally, they must leave one or two treasures behind for the deceased. During this process, if the candle in the southeast corner went out, they had to return everything they had taken, kowtow three times respectfully, and retreat the way they came.

This was because legend said some tombs were haunted. As to why those ghosts didn't enter the cycle of reincarnation and remained in the tomb for centuries, that's hard to say—perhaps they couldn't let go of their earthly wealth and status, watching over their treasures even after death. If they encountered such a person who valued wealth over life, they shouldn't force the issue.

In the end, the Fatty and I decided: Damn it all, we’re going to be Mojin Xiaowei. As for whether our conscience troubles us, we'll just say the dog ate half of it—no, that’s not right either. Let's look at it from another angle. It’s the eighties now; isn't dedication promoted everywhere? It’s time those exploitative royalty and nobility made some contribution. But these dead ghosts have very low political awareness; don't expect them to crawl out and offer it up themselves. We’ll just take the trouble to do it for them—levy a tax on these feudal ruling classes, sweep up the golden pieces, and redistribute the wealth, busy dividing land and fields.

The strategic direction was set; the specific tactical goals and implementation still needed careful discussion.

In Henan, Hunan, and Shaanxi—the provinces where grave robbing was most prevalent—it was getting harder to find large tombs. Moreover, operating where there were many people made things inconvenient, requiring cover like farming or building houses. If we were to do it, the best places were the deep forests and remote areas rarely trod by man.

Speaking of tombs in the deep mountains and old forests, the foremost one I had seen was the one at Niuxin Mountain. I was too young when I was sent down for re-education; I knew nothing then. With my current experience, I judge that tomb must predate the Northern Song Dynasty. In the prosperous Tang Dynasty, it was fashionable to use mountains as mausoleums, a trend that continued into the early Song Dynasty. After the Southern Song, the nation’s strength waned, and no imperial mausoleum dared to undertake such a massive engineering project again.

The Fatty asked, "Didn't you say Niuxin Mountain was haunted? Can't we find one that isn't? We can handle bears or wild men, but we don't know what to do if we run into a ghost."

I said, first, there are no ghosts in this world. What I told you last time might have been a hallucination on my part. Second, this is our first operation; we don't necessarily have to start blasting open a mountain. Remember how many families in Yanzi's village had antiques? We could go and collect a few to sell, saving us the exhausting effort of excavating.

That day, we split up to prepare. The Fatty went to dispose of the remaining tape recordings, while I went to the antique market to buy some essential tools: flashlights, gloves, masks, candles, rope, and a canteen. What made me unexpectedly ecstatic was finding two German engineer shovels. Holding the shovels in my hands felt like reuniting with old friends.

These engineer shovels were standard issue for German mountain assault divisions during World War II. Many were captured by the Soviets, and some flowed into China during the Sino-Soviet friendship period. The German shovels were very light, could be folded and hung from the waist, and the steel edge was excellent. Forget digging earth or rock; in a dangerous situation, you could swing it like a weapon—it could cleave an enemy’s head in half with one blow.

The only regret was not finding a gas mask. Back when the entire country was preparing for the "Three Defenses," many Type 60 gas masks were distributed to the civilian population, and they occasionally appeared in used markets. Today, by chance, I couldn't find one; we’ll have to look for it later. There were still a few other things missing, but those could wait until we reached Ganggangyingzi.

In total, we spent over fifteen hundred yuan, mainly because those two shovels were so expensive—six hundred each, and the price wouldn't budge. In the end, I only had six yuan left. This was trouble—no money for train tickets!

Luckily, the Fatty sold all his tapes and we terminated the lease on our flat, selling the tricycle. That brought in just enough for round-trip travel expenses. We rushed off that night to buy train tickets. I was not yet eighteen when I left that place; it had been over ten years since I returned. The thought of seeing the familiar faces of my fellow villagers again stirred excitement in both of us.

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