Sand Sea Demon's Nest 8

Ever since we were caught in that violent black sandstorm at noon, and then chased the white camel into the ruins of this nameless desert town, I felt as if the entire place was shrouded in a mysterious veil, and I couldn't tell if danger lurked beneath it. Consequently, I maintained a high level of vigilance; even while everyone else rested, I dared not relax my guard.

When I suddenly saw the stone statue’s eye flicker, though I was a fair distance away and the light inside the dilapidated room was dim, I trusted my eyes were not deceiving me. I rose and walked over to inspect the giant-eyed stone figure by the wall.

The kerosene lamp hanging from the rafters swayed erratically, buffeted by the fierce wind whipping into the broken structure, its flickering light casting the room into alternating shadows and brightness. The pitch-black stone figure resembled a buried corpse, only its head exposed, the rest submerged in the yellow sands.

Upon closer inspection, I saw that clinging to the stone figure's eye was a large ant, about the size of a knuckle. Its body was jet black, but its tail was blood-red. When the lamp light struck it, it flashed a faint gleam, making it look from a distance as if the statue's eye itself was twinkling.

Seeing it was just an ant, I casually flicked it onto the ground, stepped on it, and heard a faint crunch. What struck me as odd was that this large ant’s body felt much harder than a common ant’s.

I glanced around. The broken room was drafty, and I couldn't tell where the ant had crawled in from. Shirley Yang walked over and asked what was wrong. I told her it was nothing, just an ant I had stepped on.

I woke up Fatty, who had been sound asleep, to stand watch. Then, I added some solid fuel to the fire, making the flames burn hotter, extinguished the kerosene lamp, and crawled into my sleeping bag.

Exhausted, I quickly fell asleep. I woke up past nine the next morning. The sandstorm had raged the entire night and had not yet stopped, though the wind was significantly weaker than before. This devilish sandstorm was finally drawing to a close.

Another large section of the ancient city ruins had sunk into the yellow sand; very little remained above ground. Two more storms of this magnitude, and this nameless city would likely vanish into the desert. But even if buried completely, it didn't mean it would be lost forever. More than half of the Taklamakan is shifting desert; as the strong winds move the sands, who knows how many years it might be before this city sees daylight again.

Hao Aiguo was directing the students in excavating the stone figure in the corner of the room; they had reached its thigh. Everyone gathered to watch, except for Anliman, who took advantage of the weakened wind to go check on the camels sheltered beneath the city wall.

I took out some dry rations from my bag, ate while watching them dig, and reflected that my reason for joining this archaeological team in the desert, besides hoping to find some large ancient tombs, was also to learn some excavation experience from these experts.

Fearing they might damage the carvings on the statue, they only used entrenching tools to dig away the outer layers of sand, then meticulously cleared the area with trowels and brushes—excavating a section, then clearing it, all while taking various records.

Professor Chen nodded and greeted me when he saw I was awake. He seemed to have recovered fully. He told me this exercise was primarily to give the students hands-on practice, to gain internship experience. While theoretical study is important, field practice is equally vital in archaeology. Only by observing, interacting, and working on-site frequently can one gain direct insight, which greatly accelerates the assimilation of theory.

Before long, the students had cleared down to the base of the statue. It was my first time seeing such a giant-eyed stone figure. The statue wore Hu costume, its arms hanging down, covered in intricate carvings that looked like some kind of Esoteric Buddhist scripture. Professor Chen mentioned that these inscriptions had never been deciphered. However, with the expansion of archaeological research in recent years, experts speculate they might be a form of symbols or codes, recording information related to ancient religions. As to why these symbols were carved onto the stone figures, it might be connected to sacrificial rites. Yet, related literature, murals, and historical records are completely absent; these remain mere conjectures.

Sati Peng, overhearing the professor’s explanation, asked deferentially, "Professor, the shape of this stone figure differs greatly from a normal human. I wonder if there's a possibility that an ancient religion existed that worshipped extraterrestrials. After encountering them, they might have regarded them as celestial gods and thus created these statues for worship. The symbols on these figures could be an alien language."

Hao Aiguo immediately reprimanded him: "Little Sa, you never apply yourself to your studies. I’ve told you so many times. You are a clever child; don't let your mind wander down crooked paths. How could you even bring up aliens? You must be serious when dealing with history and archaeology."

Professor Chen was not angry; instead, a benevolent smile touched his lips. "Having imagination isn't a bad thing, young man. An active mind is excellent. Unity and intensity, seriousness and liveliness—these are not contradictory. However, in our archaeology, in studying history, we must adhere to one principle: Bold hypothesis, cautious verification. Imagination must be built upon factual basis; imagination lacking evidence is unreliable. Let's take this giant-eyed statue as an example. Ancient people often used astronomical phenomena to judge fortune and misfortune. Every night, when they gazed at the stars, might they not have wished their eyes could see farther? When crafting the statue, might they have incorporated this desire? That possibility is quite high. Statues with elongated eyes have also been unearthed at Sanxingdui in Sichuan. Conservatively speaking, this very likely expresses an ancient yearning for exploration."

Hearing this, I couldn't help but marvel. The professor truly had depth. He didn't suppress people with platitudes. Compared to Professor Chen's level, Hao Aiguo fell far short.

Professor Chen continued, "What you mentioned about aliens isn't impossible. Mentioning aliens doesn't automatically imply the science fiction concocted in foreign novels. In fact, the earliest records of extraterrestrials appear in ancient Chinese notes and murals. As early as 7,500 years ago, murals of primitive tribes at Helan Mountain depict astronauts wearing spacesuits, emerging from a large disc, while surrounding animals and residents flee in disarray. It’s unlikely that humans back then could have imagined such things purely from fantasy. That is likely a documentary mural recording a major disaster or event. Similar instances are recorded on bronze vessels from the Zhou-Xia period, and in certain ancient texts..."

Just then, Anliman jumped back in through the hole in the roof, braving the wind and sand. He informed everyone that the storm was nearly over; within half an hour, the sky would clear, all thanks to Allah’s protection. The sand was almost swallowing the outer city walls. If the wind blew for another two hours, we would all be buried alive today.

The group, which had been worried—though the wind had lessened, they didn't know when it would stop—was completely reassured by Anliman’s words. The students focused on listening to Professor Chen lecture. I brewed a pot of tea over the fire, planning for us to set off after everyone had a drink.

Just as the tea reached a boil, the few people gathered around the giant-eyed stone statue suddenly screamed in unison and scrambled backward. Some shouted, "Ah... so many big ants!" Others yelled, "Ow! There are some over here too!"

I rushed to look. The sand beneath the statue’s feet was bulging into a massive mound, and countless large ants erupted like a fountain. Someone tried to smash them with a shovel, crushing hundreds in one swipe, but thousands more poured out of the sand simultaneously. They were a dense, swarming mass that made one's scalp crawl.

At first, we thought the students had dug into an anthill while excavating the sand. But we quickly realized that wasn't the case. Over a dozen large holes appeared in the ground, and more and more ants crawled out of them—each one pitch black with a red tail, a striking red-and-black pattern, like a countless tide breaking a dam.

Anliman took one look, turned tail, and ran outside. Fatty and the others tried to use their entrenching tools to swat them, but in that instant, the ants were too numerous to strike effectively.

Shirley Yang, a photographer for National Geographic who had traveled widely and seen much, shouted anxiously to the group, "Everyone, quickly climb out onto the roof! These are desert army ants! If you move too slowly, you'll be picked clean to the bone!"

Tens of thousands of desert army ants already filled half the room, with more emerging ceaselessly from below. They weren't just coming from the ground; they poured from the rafters and cracks in the walls. Professor Chen, Ye Yixin, and a few others were so stunned by the horrific sight that their legs went weak; they couldn't move a single step.

Sand Sea Demon's Nest 9

Not just the intellectuals, but even Fatty and I felt our whole bodies tremble. These desert army ants were terrifying. Perhaps the human skeleton found in the room earlier was their handiwork—no wonder not a shred of flesh remained.

I struggled to calm myself and surveyed those around me. I noticed old Anliman had already fled first again. Damn that sly old fox; he runs at the first sign of danger, despite swearing just yesterday that he would share fortunes and hardships with us.

With no time to curse the old rogue Anliman, and seeing that swatting with the entrenching tools could no longer hold back the tide-like swarm of desert army ants, I kicked over the fire heating the tea, poured out nearly half a canister of solid fuel, creating a wall of fire across the room. The ants that hit the flames were immediately scorched, slightly slowing the advance of the desert army ants.

There were too many of them, and they charged the fire wall without hesitation, trying to extinguish the flames with sheer numbers. Fortunately, the solid fuel burned fiercely, but it was only a matter of time before the swarm would smother it.

Using this brief window, we grabbed whatever luggage and gear we could carry and hauled ourselves out of the broken room. The wind and sand outside had subsided considerably. We saw hundreds of wild goats, wild camels, desert wolves, sand rats, and hyenas darting wildly through the ruins of the ancient city. Not just the large room we were just in, but many places were spewing forth patches of desert army ants. Some animals that moved a bit too slowly were instantly covered by the swarm.

Desert army ants secrete large amounts of formic acid. Tens of thousands biting together—even an elephant couldn't withstand it. Several desert wolves and wild goats collapsed, and after the ants passed, only piles of white bones remained.

There must have been tens of millions of desert army ants in this city; it seemed the entire ruin was one gigantic nest. We were trapped on the roof, able only to swing our entrenching tools to sweep away the ants climbing up.

Below, near the outer city wall, Anliman was frantically untying the ropes binding the camels. I threw my rifle to Fatty: "Shoot his hat."

Fatty raised the rifle without hesitation and pulled the trigger toward Anliman. With a crack, Anliman's leather hat was blown off. He flinched, turned his head to look at us on the roof.

I shouted at him, "Old man, if you dare run, the second shot hits your backside. Hu Da certainly won't object."

Anliman waved his hands repeatedly, signaling he wouldn't run. But the ground below was already covered in desert army ants. We couldn't get down yet, and staying on the roof wasn't a solution. As we were debating what to do, a section of the ruined wall suddenly collapsed, and an ant the size of a calf crawled out.

It was the queen, bearing six pairs of large, translucent wings. Perhaps the sandstorm had disturbed the queen hidden deep within the nest; they were preparing to migrate.

Seeing the imposing presence of the queen, the faces of the archaeological team members paled. Shirley Yang shouted, "Kill the leader first! Shoot it now!"

Fatty patted the sporting rifle in his hand and stamped his foot anxiously. "This caliber is too small—damn it, it won't take it down!" Despite his words, he fired, shooting all the remaining bullets in the magazine at the queen.

I took off the scarf I used for wind protection, wrapped all the remaining solid fuel inside it, and used my lighter to ignite one corner, creating an improvised firebomb which I hurled down onto the queen.

The tactic proved astonishingly effective. The fire, aided by the wind, enveloped the massive body of the queen. In pain, the queen thrashed and rolled in the sand, causing the fire to spread even larger. This compressed fuel could burn for over ten minutes with just a small amount, let alone nearly half a canister, about a kilogram. As the fire grew, the surrounding desert army ants panicked, rushing toward the queen in a frenzy, hoping their numbers could smother the flames.

Seeing my opportunity, I beckoned the others, grabbed my entrenching tool, and jumped down from the broken room first, scattering the isolated ants. The large man, Chu Jian, carried Professor Chen on his back, while Hao Aiguo and Ye Yixin supported each other. Fatty brought up the rear. The entire group rushed through the breach.

By then, Anliman had secured the frightened herd of camels. Everyone scrambled onto their mounts and urged the caravan out of the city. Various wild beasts darted past us; usually, such encounters meant life or death, but now no one cared about anyone else—we all fled for our lives.

After the camel train had galloped several hundred meters, I looked back. The dilapidated ruins of the ancient city were no longer visible. Countless desert army ants churned like boiling red-black seawater, swarming up from underground. However, as long as we weren't encircled by the main column, we were safe.

Anliman explained that he intended to get out first to untie the camels, lest the ant swarm consume them, leaving us unable to flee. He wasn't abandoning us to save himself.

Fatty didn't believe him, pointing his thumb at the rifle on his back: "Don't try to explain to me later; explain it to this gun."

Anliman’s reasoning seemed plausible enough, and we couldn't definitively prove he had abandoned everyone to flee alone. We still needed him in the desert for many more stops. I didn't want to fall out with him now, so I stopped Fatty from pressing the issue further.

I said to Anliman, "We saw the auspicious white camels together in the desert, and we escaped the siege of the desert army ants—these are all the will of Hu Da. He regards us as brothers, all devout believers, so we trust you. Hu Da will punish those who betray their friends and brothers."

Anliman quickly agreed, "Praise be to Allah, Hu Da is the one true God. As for us, we are the very best of friends and brothers, and the True Lord will certainly protect us."

This moderately eventful but ultimately safe interlude seemed over. Who knew what further troubles awaited us beyond the depths of the Sand Sea of Xiye Ancient City? I still needed to find a way to persuade Professor Chen and his team to turn back.

We were less than half a day's journey from the ruins of Xiye Ancient City. The wind had stopped, and the sun, like a fiery ball, hung suspended in the sky. The most crucial thing when traveling the desert is maintaining sufficient water supply. Traveling during the day is generally taboo, but we had ample water. We could replenish our supply of clean water in Xiye City, so we pressed on through the searing midday sun.

The desert by day presented a different spectacle. In ancient times, the orogeny of the Himalayas formed the Tarim Basin, making the entire topography of Xinjiang resemble a large bowl filled with golden yellow sand. Our caravan of nine people and nineteen camels was utterly insignificant—its scale less than one ten-thousandth of a single grain of sand in that bowl.

The great desert stretched endlessly. Without the long trail of footprints behind us, we wouldn't even feel that we were constantly moving forward. I truly admired those explorers who ventured into the desert and Gobi alone. Perhaps only by walking so solitarily between heaven and earth can they experience the true meaning of life. Admire them as I might, I had no intention of doing that in my lifetime; collective life suited me better.

Sati Peng and the others were very curious, asking Shirley Yang about the desert army ants as we walked. Shirley Yang had never seen them firsthand, only the villages they had plundered, where people and livestock were gnawed down to bare bones—a truly gruesome sight.

The reason this swarm was called army ants was due to their high level of organization and discipline, composed mainly of soldier ants. If compared to a human army, apart from mobility and firepower, the coordination and organization of a well-trained human force were simply incomparable to that of the desert army ants.

As we walked and talked, the sand dunes beneath our feet rose and fell with unprecedented undulation. Anliman said these dense dunes concealed ancient cities swallowed by the sand. He led us up the highest dune and pointed south, telling us that our next stop, the ruins of Xiye Ancient City, lay there.

I raised my binoculars and looked south, and a stretch of oasis in the heart of the sand sea came into full view.

Sand Sea Demon's Nest 10

In the desert, an oasis is like a green jewel set upon a golden platter. From afar, the ruins of a black city stood within it.

The ruins of Xiye City were remarkably well-preserved. This city was relatively newer, destroyed by war only toward the end of the Tang Dynasty, after which it lay abandoned until the early 19th century, when German explorers discovered it and looted most of the art-valuable relics, such as murals and statues.

The empty city remained in the desert. The oldest ancient channel of the Peacock River ended here. Because the city has always had underground water sources running through it year-round, it became a vital resupply point for travelers in the desert.

The camel train descended the great sand dune and slowly advanced toward the oasis. Anliman and I agreed that once we reached Xiye City, we should rest for two days before heading into the Black Desert. Once inside, turning back would be difficult. The camels had been frightened recently and were carrying heavy supplies; they needed ample time to recover their strength before setting off again.

This suited my wishes perfectly. I desperately hoped to delay for a few days so I could find an excuse to persuade the archaeology team to return home. Let them forget about finding the Jingjue Ancient City; they could just dig a couple of pits nearby and mess around. Lately, I felt increasingly out of my depth. Walking deeper into the desert would inevitably lead to major trouble, and I doubted we would be as lucky as we had been on previous occasions.

I slowed my camel’s pace and rode alongside Professor Chen. I said to him, "Professor, once we reach Xiye City, how about we rest for three or five, maybe six days before leaving? Anliman says the camels are exhausted; if we don't let them rest enough, we’ll have to switch to walking, using 'Number 11.'"

Professor Chen looked confused and asked, "What... Number 11? How do we 'drive' that?"

I replied, "Professor, how can you not know about Number 11? It means walking on two legs." As I spoke, I mimicked walking with my two fingers: "Isn't this Number 11?"

Professor Chen burst out laughing. "Brother Hu, you and your novel phrases! You’re quite amusing. Alright, we will rest and recuperate here for a few days. I also want a proper look at the ruins of this famous city."

From the sand dune, the oasis didn't seem far, yet it took us a full three hours to reach it. The city walls were built of black stone, severely damaged and weathered in some places, but the main citadel in the center was quite sturdy, faintly retaining a glimpse of its former splendor. Oil workers, exploration teams, and geological survey teams passing through usually lodged in the main citadel, barricading the entrance with stones to ward off wolf attacks.

Since the mid-1970s, vigorous wolf culling campaigns had been conducted across Inner Mongolia, Xinjiang, and Tibet, causing large wolf packs to become entirely extinct. Only a few stragglers or solitary wolves remained, none of which posed a significant threat.

What’s more, since there were so many of us, and we were armed, we naturally weren’t worried about wolves. It was the windy season, and no one else would venture here besides us. So, we found a spacious house in the main city, lit a campfire, and started preparing food and tea.

Anliman and I located the ancient well in the city. Legend claimed it had never run dry for thousands of years. Anliman attributed it to a miracle from Hu Da, a notion I neither confirmed nor denied. I used a leather bucket to draw up a pail of water. The well was deep; we let down nearly sixty meters of rope before hearing the splash. I took the first drink after it was hauled up—icy cold, piercing straight to the core. The burning heat from being scorched by the poisonous sun in the desert vanished instantly, bringing an indescribable sense of comfort.

We tethered the nineteen camels near the well and let them drink their fill. Then, we brought out salt and bean cakes for them to eat. After that, I carried two large buckets of well water back to the house where the archaeological team was resting.

Everyone was utterly exhausted, collapsed on the floor and snoring loudly. Some still had half a biscuit clenched in their mouths, having fallen asleep mid-chew. I didn't disturb them; they’d suffered enough these past few days.

After boiling a large pot of water, I woke Professor Chen and the others one by one, forcing them to soak their feet in the hot water and then tending to their blisters, popping each one.

Only after all that was done did I finally sleep, drifting into a deep slumber for a full day and night. My fatigued body finally recovered. That evening, the whole group gathered around, listening to Fatty boast.

Fatty was eloquent, painting vivid pictures of the sheer abundance of the forests in Northeast China—the delicious wild delicacies, unlike this desert, which was nothing but sand and more sand, whipped by relentless wind. He griped that even a piece of desert gazelle tasted gritty with sand particles. He especially raved about the Greater and Lesser Khingan Mountains, claiming they had every delicacy imaginable. He quoted an old saying: "With a stick, you knock down a roe deer; with a ladle, you scoop up fish; pheasants fly right into your cooking pot." Could they even imagine the free-spirited life of a hunter?

The younger students, inexperienced as they were, were captivated by Fatty’s tales. Sa Dipeng adjusted his glasses and asked curiously, "Brother Wang, what is ‘knocking down a roe deer with a stick’? Do you really use a club?"

Fatty replied, "Specs, since you seem eager to learn, I’ll enlighten you. It means walking in the deep mountains, taking a stick, swinging it casually, and smashing a roe deer. In the river, you can catch big fat fish just by blindly scooping with a ladle. It just means the resources are incredibly rich."

Shirley Yang scoffed, clearly unimpressed by Fatty’s bragging. "The desert has its merits too. The variety of flora and fauna here isn't any less than in the forest. Moreover, although the Taklamakan Desert is at the lowest point of the basin, in a sense, this place represents a pinnacle of ancient civilization. What else do you have in the forest besides wild deer and bears?"

Fearing they might start a real fight, I quickly said there were ladies in the room and that the two of us should step out for a smoke. As I spoke, I pulled Fatty outside.

The moon above was like a perfect painting, and the stars dotted the sky like jewels, casting the earth in a silver sheen. I lit a cigarette for Fatty and advised him to be more tolerant of Shirley Yang. Fatty grumbled that of course, he wouldn't stoop to her level. Americans didn't understand propriety, but we shouldn't follow suit, especially since she was a woman. If she were a man, he’d have already twisted her head off to use as a soccer ball.

I laughed. "Exactly, exactly. What kind of man are you? You could piss a hole right through concrete. You must be magnanimous and not twist Shirley Yang’s head off, or who will we claim our wages from? Twenty thousand US dollars—that’s no small sum."

After a few jokes, I tilted my head back and blew a smoke ring. In the sky, I noticed the Great Gate star, the Left Guard star, and the Right Bi star—three stars shining brightly, forming a perfect equilateral triangle, with the Sun star and the Moon star appearing precisely at the center. What a fortuitous alignment of Qian Jia Xuan Jin auspicious stars.

I had never seriously studied celestial feng shui before; I only crammed the basics to earn some money from the archaeology team. Now, seeing this, the contents of the Celestial Volume in the secret arts of feng shui immediately flashed through my mind.

I hurried back inside, grabbed the compass, and rushed to the top of the watchtower. Aligning it with the constellations above, I confirmed that this location blessed by the auspicious stars was precisely where the ancient well stood. This was my first practical application of celestial feng shui, and I felt uncertain, but I was fairly sure I hadn't misread it. My copy of the Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Secret Art of Feng Shui was no common trinket. That meant there had to be an ancient tomb near this underground water vein. While tombs were sometimes built near water sources, wasn't this too close?

Regardless, this was a major discovery. I had to tell the archaeology team. Hopefully, they would find something here, and if they were satisfied with their findings, they might not insist on entering the Black Desert.

Sand Sea Demon’s Nest 11

Professor Chen was overjoyed and eagerly rushed to the well with the students, making ready to descend and investigate. The wellhead railing and the windlass had been replaced recently; the originals had long since been destroyed at some unknown time.

Anliman stopped them. "This is a holy well. Hu Da does not permit ordinary people to enter."

Hao Aiguo pulled Anliman aside and gave him a lengthy discourse on archaeological policy: excavating ancient tombs was for better preservation, ensuring that this cultural wealth was left to the people. Tomb robbing in Xinjiang was rampant, with even foreigners sneaking in to steal. If the government didn't step in to protect these sites, all these priceless treasures would be lost.

Shirley Yang and I conferred. The well was very deep; we could rig a double-locked safety harness to lower someone down to see what was inside.

It had to be me going down. Although there was a water vein below, I dared not be careless. I put on my gas mask, checked my flashlight, whistle, entrenching tool, and dagger. Secretly, I tucked in a Black Donkey Hoof charm and a Tomb-Raid Talisman. I tested the strength of the rope, agreed on a communication plan: if I shook the flashlight three times upward, the people above would stop lowering the rope; shaking it twice more meant they should pull me up. To prevent accidents, I also brought a whistle; if the flashlight beam couldn't be seen, I would use the whistle to signal.

By this time, Hao Aiguo had successfully persuaded Anliman. Chu Jian, Fatty, and Anliman were responsible for managing the rope as I began to descend slowly from the well mouth.

It was night. Aside from the beam of my flashlight, everything was pitch black. I couldn't even see the well opening clearly when looking up. The deeper I went, the colder the desert night air became, compounded by the high humidity in the well, sending a chill deep into my bones.

The well walls were slippery, making footing difficult. Legend held that this ancient well predated the West Night City by far—the well came first, and then the city was built around it. Suddenly, a gust of cold wind blew past. I quickly shined my flashlight and saw a stone door set into the well wall.

I signaled upward—whistling and flashing the light. I wasn't too far from the opening, only about fifteen meters down. If I spoke loudly, those above could hear me. They acknowledged the signal and immediately stopped letting out more rope. I was suspended just slightly below the stone door.

The cold wind was emanating from the crack in the stone door. I pushed it, feeling it was very thick. There were no locks or bolts. Although the gap was wide, I couldn't move it; I needed a crowbar to open it.

Seeing I couldn't get through, I gave the second signal, asking them to pull me up. I described the situation below in detail. Professor Chen was astonished. "Strange. This might not be a tomb, perhaps an underground passage. What kind of tomb is built right next to a well, with such a secretive tunnel leading out?"

Fatty volunteered instantly. "Who cares what it is? Guessing is pointless. We’ll know once we go in. Lower me down, and I'll pry that door open."

I said, "Forget it. If anyone goes down with the crowbar, it should be me. Fatty, you’re too heavy. If the rope snaps, we’ll have to fish you out of the well."

This time, we made a rope ladder so that once the stone door was open, anyone could climb down the ladder. In the end, the team decided to descend included Professor Chen, Shirley Yang, Sa Dipeng, and me—four people. Fatty and the others remained topside.

I went down first again, using the crowbar to lever the stone door. It seemed this door had been opened and closed frequently in the past, otherwise, there wouldn't be such a large gap. However, it likely hadn't been opened in the last few centuries. I couldn't get much leverage on the rope ladder and labored considerably to move the door.

Behind the stone door was a wide, well-structured passage made of brick and stone, pitch black and seemingly bottomless. I called down to Shirley Yang and the others above, and they were pulled down one by one into the passage.

Shirley Yang distributed some pills to everyone, claiming they prevented oxygen deprivation, and advised everyone to wear their gas masks. That way, venturing further in would be completely safe.

The four of us walked about fifty meters inward, passing two more stone doors. The last door was sealed tightly. The stone was carved with relief sculptures of unknown monstrous beasts, and the door crack was sealed with dried animal hides. We had to slice the hides off piece by piece with a flat shovel before we could open the door.

Reaching the end, we entered a spacious, dry stone chamber, roughly sixty to seventy meters long and wide, and three meters high. The four of us standing inside didn't feel crowded at all.

While the space was large, the atmosphere was far from relaxed. The floor was littered with white bones; there was hardly a clear spot to step. The bones looked mostly animal, extremely brittle, shattering with the slightest pressure. Dozens of wooden pillars stood around the edges, each bound with desiccated human skeletons. Judging by their size, they were all adult males.

Professor Chen, Shirley Yang, and I were seasoned enough that we only found the place eerie, not frightening. Only Sa Dipeng, confronted with so many mummies, was so scared he couldn't speak. He shadowed the professor everywhere, not daring to stray even a step away.

Shirley Yang examined the dried corpses and sighed. "How tragic. They must be sacrificial slaves or prisoners. So barbaric."

Professor Chen addressed us. "It appears this was a place for performing rites honoring a significant deceased person. This was a custom of the ancient Pumo culture. These individuals were criminals, tied up and left in the desert to die of thirst. Once completely dried out, they were placed here. Then, fresh animal blood was poured over these desiccated bodies. We should search; there must be a tomb chamber nearby."

We walked around, checking every surface. All four walls were solid stone. A few taps confirmed they were solid—no other spaces behind them.

It was Shirley Yang, ever meticulous, who discovered an issue with the chamber floor. I swept aside the bone fragments on the ground, revealing a large stone slab also bearing relief carvings. It had two large pull rings on either end.

I called Sa Dipeng over to help me lift the slab. Seeing him shaking violently, I couldn't help but laugh, so I told him to return the way we came to avoid him getting scared into wetting himself here, and to bring Hao Aiguo down to take his place, as he would certainly be interested in this bizarre tomb.

Sa Dipeng fled as if granted amnesty. Professor Chen looked both annoyed and amused. "Ah, this child. Too timid. He’s not cut out for archaeology."

Shirley Yang and I strained together to pull up the stone slab. We then tossed a cold flare down below, illuminating the space brightly. Beneath the floor was a tomb chamber almost the same size as the one above. In the center sat a square coffin. Calling it a coffin was a stretch, as it differed greatly from those in the interior regions—it had no decorative patterns and wasn't rectangular. It was perfectly square, more like a large box.

This form of tomb and coffin was unfamiliar not only to me but even to the erudite Professor Chen; he couldn't make sense of it. This was likely an ancient ethnic minority burial form, long lost, heavily influenced by Han culture but distorted, incorporating many of their own elements. It was exceedingly rare.

Just then, Hao Aiguo arrived with Chu Jian. The moment he saw the scene, his eyes lit up with excitement. He donned his gas mask and jumped down first, scrutinizing every corner. His excitement was palpable; I’d always assumed he was a serious, rigid man, but now he looked like an ecstatic child, almost hopping and scratching his head in delight.

We followed him down to the lower tomb chamber. Seeing the surroundings, we all gasped involuntarily: the four walls of the chamber were covered in exquisitely beautiful, colorful murals.

Professor Chen became intensely animated upon seeing one particular painting. "This... the events depicted in this painting are related to the Jingjue Kingdom!"

What I was most eager to see were the valuable burial goods. This coffin was large; maybe there were good things inside. Although I couldn't take anything with them present, I could at least have a look. I felt this noble's tomb was far more lavish than that general's tomb at Black Wind Pass.

But Professor Chen was engrossed in studying the chamber murals and paid no attention to the central coffin. I had to wait patiently, listening as the Professor lectured Hao Aiguo and the others about the frescoes.

"These first few paintings indicate the tomb owner was a prince of Gu Mo when he lived. Gu Mo was a vassal state of Jingjue, constantly oppressed, forced to offer huge tributes of treasure, cattle, sheep, and slaves every year. He traveled to Jingjue three times to petition the Queen for freedom for his people, but he never managed to see her face."

"This painting probably depicts his refusal to yield. The brave prince, the incarnation of the Sun War God, sneaked into Jingjue alone to assassinate the wicked Queen, only to uncover a massive secret."

As I listened, I too became drawn in by the Professor's words. I was very curious what this secret could be. I walked over and joined Shirley Yang and the others, hanging on the Professor's explanations.

Professor Chen moved to the next mural and studied it intently for a long time. "This part is very strange. Look here: the prince is hiding in a corner, spying. The face of the Jingjue Queen, in all the murals, is always veiled. In this particular painting, we only see the Queen’s back. She lifts a corner of her veil with one hand, and the person opposite her—perhaps a slave or someone similar—turns into a shadow... and vanishes?"

I was confused and about to ask for clarification when Shirley Yang interjected, "That Queen is a... monster."

Sand Sea Demon’s Nest 12

"A monster?" Professor Chen paused slightly, then turned to Shirley. "Interesting. Tell us your theory."

Shirley Yang pointed to the mural. "The artist who painted these murals possessed superb skill; the composition is grand and expressive. It narrates the major events of the Prince of Pumo’s life. Although there is no textual annotation, the iconography is extremely distinct. We can gain direct impressions from the murals and clearly understand the events and figures depicted."

I watched closely as she analyzed the artwork. Indeed, as she said, the figures, clothing, architecture, and expressions were rendered with lifelike detail. Anyone familiar with Western Regions culture could grasp the historical context of the events recorded in the paintings just from this visual information.

Shirley Yang continued, "Professor, the panel you just mentioned is the most difficult to interpret among all the murals. Here, the Queen lifts the veil that always covers her face. The figure opposite her turns into dotted lines. All other figures in these murals are realistic; only the person who sees the true face of the Jingjue Queen turns into dotted lines, drawn only as a vague outline. From this single outline, we cannot determine the person's identity... we can only speculate that the dotted figure is a slave or perhaps an assassin—an enemy the Queen intended to eliminate."

I couldn't help but interrupt. "Miss Yang, are you suggesting... this person in the painting saw the Queen's face and simply ceased to exist?"

Shirley Yang replied, "Mr. Hu is close. If I were to phrase it, I would say that the moment the Queen's eyes fell upon this person, that person vanished."

I shook my head with a wry smile. "A living person? Gone with just one look? Vanished? That’s... that’s too unbelievable. To be honest, I find that hard to comprehend."

Professor Chen seemed to grasp Shirley Yang's meaning and signaled for her to continue.

Shirley Yang said, "Although this is speculation, it's not baseless. My father enjoyed reading a book called Records of the Western Regions of the Great Tang, written by the Tang Dynasty monk Xuanzang. I’ve read it several times. It documents many legends from the ancient Western Regions—some are myths, and many are true events. One section recounts the legend of a Desert Queen. Deep in the desert, there was a city inhabited by an ethnic minority originating from underground. They conquered the surrounding small kingdoms. After several centuries, the throne passed to the final Queen. Legend claims her eyes were a passage to the netherworld. If she merely glanced at her enemies, they would instantly disappear without a trace, never to return. Where they went, perhaps only those lost souls know. The Queen ruled with an iron fist, demanding that all neighboring peoples worship her as a true god. All who resisted were flayed alive. Perhaps her actions angered the true God, for the Queen fell ill with a strange affliction after only a few years and died."

The slaves feared the Queen the most. Upon her death, the slaves and the surrounding oppressed states formed an allied army and brutally sacked the Queen's royal city. As the alliance prepared to destroy the Queen's tomb, the heavens and earth changed color, and a terrifying sandstorm swallowed the royal city and the allied forces whole. The Queen's burial site and the countless treasures she amassed were buried beneath the sands. Centuries later, the shifting desert exposed the royal city once more. Travelers passing by who took even the smallest item from the city would trigger a desert storm—clouds of smoke would erupt, paths would be lost, and anyone who took the Queen's treasures could never leave.

However, the book provided no explicit details about the location of this mysterious royal city, the wicked Queen, or the exact historical timeline. Seeing the murals in this tomb today, correlating them with that ancient legend, reveals so many similarities that it makes one wonder if these events weren't just folklore, but perhaps something that truly occurred in the sealed pages of history.

Shirley Yang directed our attention to the subsequent panels. "We are certain the Queen in the murals is the Jingjue Queen because of the Jingjue people's distinctive attire, architecture, and unique ornamentation—these are the strongest pieces of evidence. Professor, Mr. Hu, look at the later murals; they further confirm the reliability of my deduction. The meaning of these panels is very clear: the Prince's assassination attempt failed. After returning home, he continued to plot how to eliminate the Queen. It was then that the Prince encountered a diviner from a distant land. The diviner instructed the Prince to hide a special slow-acting poison inside a golden lamb offering and present it to the Queen. Sure enough, news soon arrived of the Queen's sudden death. Simultaneously, the Prince himself died prematurely from overwork. He was buried together with his beloved wife. The diviner designed a tomb and laid them to rest beneath the altar of the Holy Well."

So, the altar above was built first, and then this tomb chamber was constructed. The events depicted in these murals intertwined perfectly with the legend found in the book. Seeing that Shirley Yang, despite being a photographer, came from a respected line of archaeologists, Professor Chen felt profound satisfaction. Then, remembering his old friend who disappeared deep in the desert, his eyes welled up with tears again.

Shirley Yang told the Professor, "Please take care of your health, Sir, and don't be too sad. We have made significant gains this time; we’ve achieved a breakthrough in understanding the Jingjue relics. I am certain we will find the ancient city of Jingjue soon, and my late father will rest in peace knowing that."

I secretly groaned inwardly. I had hoped that finding an ancient tomb would convince them to turn back. Instead, the opposite had occurred. Seeing the situation now, persuading them was useless. I should have pretended I never saw anything in the first place.

I suddenly recalled Shirley Yang mentioning that the Queen of Jingjue was a demon, so I asked, "Miss Yang, if I remember correctly from your earlier discussion, you mentioned the Queen was the most beautiful woman in the Western Regions—other women paled in comparison, like stars before the sun. Why then say she was a demon? If she truly is a demon, wouldn't seeking out her tomb be tantamount to throwing our lives away?"

Shirley Yang replied, "These are all legends, combined with our own deductions; they aren't necessarily established fact. Archaeology works this way: legends, historical records, unearthed artifacts, and scholarly speculation—the more of this content we gather, the closer we get to the historical truth. However, all we can ever manage is an infinite approach to reality; no history can ever be perfectly reconstructed. In ancient times, humanity's understanding of the world was very limited. Phenomena that seem commonplace to us now would have been exaggerated into monsters, demons, or miracles back then. Even in this age of highly advanced science, some phenomena still defy explanation. I don't believe this is because gods or demons truly exist, but rather that the scope of scientific exploration is still not broad enough. In the years to come, I am certain we will find scientific explanations for all these lingering mysteries."

I asked again, "Then how should we understand the legend that the Queen of Jingjue could make people vanish with her eyes, considering our current level of science and civilization?"

Shirley Yang said, "Mr. Hu, I wonder if you’ve heard of a sensational incident in America. At a center for studying special phenomena and pathology in Kansas, there was a peculiar patient—a twelve-year-old boy who possessed a specific ability from childhood: if he stared intently at an object smaller than five centimeters in diameter for a prolonged period, the object would simply disappear, as if evaporated into the air. Neighbors viewed the boy as an anomaly, calling him a monster. His parents were deeply distressed and sought help from relevant government agencies to cure their child."

That’s astonishing; I’ve never heard of it. I know so little about things happening in China, let alone strange occurrences in America. What exactly was the nature of this condition? It sounds identical to that demon queen’s ability. Was the child ever cured?

Shirley Yang explained, "After extensive research, scientists discovered that the boy’s brainwaves were abnormal. His neural pathways and visual nerves generated a form of transferable energy that connected to an imaginary space (a space undetectable by current means). This kind of special ability occurs in about one in three billion humans. Eventually, one researcher devised a solution: they fitted the boy’s head with a magnetic helmet. After a year, his unique ability vanished. At one point, the US military planned to secretly transfer this child to a military research institute, but the plan was exposed, causing a massive public uproar. The military was forced to abandon their scheme."

Hearing this story, I still harbored doubts. That legendary, malevolent queen was likely far more complex than that American child. I wasn't afraid of dying, but if we really found the Queen's tomb and she somehow managed to banish us to some unknown dimension, what then? Well, I'll just have to take things one step at a time. If real danger arises, I’ll use forceful measures to bring them back. Who dares defy my orders? Damn it, I refuse to believe these intellectuals could ever overpower old Hu’s authority; they wouldn't dare rebel against me.

This lengthy conversation consumed a considerable amount of time; we had finished examining all the surrounding murals. I then asked Professor Chen for guidance: Should we still look inside the coffin?