In the darkness, Shirley Yang produced a spare flashlight, its beam revealing two figures seated cross-legged beside the stone coffer: two desiccated corpses.

One was old, one young, both remains having long since turned a deep shade of brown. The old man’s beard was still vaguely discernible on his jaw, and he was wrapped in sheepskin. The other appeared to be a small child. They sat facing each other, seemingly guarding this strange stone box.

Once I saw clearly, I let out a breath and said to Fatty, "Stop bringing up 'Zongzi' every chance you get; it's terrifying enough without you scaring people to death! These two are practically fossils; they must have been dead for thousands of years. Damn it, this place is actually a tomb chamber."

Shirley Yang shot me a glare and snapped angrily, "Oh, you old Hu, still trying to hide things from me? You two are clearly grave robbers."

My heart plummeted. Not good, did we let something slip? I wondered. Could she, an American, even understand "Zongzi"? Thankfully, Professor Chen was unconscious and hadn't heard anything, and Ye Yixin also seemed to be in a semi-comatose state—neither capable of overhearing our conversation.

I hurriedly tried to explain, "I told you, I only study Feng Shui and astrology as a hobby; I’m not a grave robber. Don't go around falsely accusing people; Fatty and I have excellent reputations. Back in our hometown, we were known as the most honest and decent folks in ten villages. I’m an old soldier, and Fatty was always recognized as a model worker and a 'March 8th Red Banner Holder' at his unit."

Fatty heard me mix up the last part in my agitation and quickly corrected me, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere: "Don't listen to his nonsense; he's the one who should be a 'March 8th Red Banner Holder.' I was part of the Youth Commando Squad. Shameful, shameful, we were both nurtured well by the Party and the people! But look at this stone coffer; it's quite peculiar. What is it meant to hold?"

Shirley Yang ignored our chatter and suddenly stated, "The leveler hangs the thousand pieces of gold, the Haizi hexagram sounds. Hook grips, kick poles, sinking the mound, stuffing the top, Yuanliang, the moon summons the distant colors, none of it wraps up."

Others wouldn't have understood her words, but I grasped them perfectly. This was the "Chundian" of the Daodou (tomb raiding). Since our line of work is something that cannot see the light of day, we have our own secret jargon, just like the underworld has its slang. In the underworld, trafficking women is called 'opening the strip,' smuggling goods is 'carrying the green,' kidnapping children is 'moving the stone,' and a petty thief is a 'Buddha master,' and so on. Tomb raiding is called Daodou, and we all have our specific codes and hidden terms for inter-professional communication. Back in the Republic of China era, my grandfather specialized in finding auspicious burial sites and treasure locations for people; he was one of the few renowned Feng Shui masters in the entire country. He also befriended a familiar Mojin Xiaowei (Grave Robber Captain), making him intimately familiar with these secrets. He spoke the Daodou Chundian more fluently than the dialect of our hometown.

The few lines of Chundian Shirley Yang had just recited to me roughly meant: "Your intentions are dark, and your words don't match the truth. I can tell you're a highly skilled master of grave robbing; nothing escapes my eyes."

Startled by her sudden challenge, I didn't think twice. Generally, when one is called a master by a peer, they are expected to feign humility. So, I blurted out, "No Yuanliang, just carrying firewood up the mountain to burn below. May I ask this supreme Yuanliang, where have you divided the Shan Jia (mountain tortoise shell), and how many Qiumen (mound doors) have you disassembled?"

Shirley Yang immediately replied, "One river has two banks of scenery; both carry firewood up the mountain to burn below. The partridge divides the Shan Jia, the hawk unlocks the Qiumen. Have you often ascended the treasure hall, yet found no Dragon Tower to seek?"

A perfect reciprocal exchange! I was both shocked and regretful. Damn it, I had walked right into this American girl’s trap; wasn't this equivalent to admitting I was a tomb-raiding Daodou thief? Yet, it was truly bizarre. Many of these lengthy Daodou Chundian couplets were not widely understood even before the Liberation; after the founding of the PRC, they were practically lost arts. Even a semi-professional raider like Big Gold Tooth’s father only knew a few terms. I truly couldn't fathom these lines coming from the mouth of such a young American woman. If I hadn't heard it in person, face-to-face, I wouldn't have believed it. Could I have actually run into a fellow practitioner?

Furthermore, judging by her Chundian, her skills were inherited, yet she seemed to lack the art of reading Feng Shui and identifying vital points and meridians. No, I absolutely could not admit this. I had to keep playing dumb. So, I said, "These few lines of poetry are from a textbook we studied in primary school. I never imagined American primary school textbooks would have such... poetic similarities."

Seeing my stubborn refusal to concede, Shirley Yang sighed and said, "Forget it. This is not the place for talk. If we manage to get out of here alive, I hope to have a serious conversation with you."

It was like being granted amnesty. I quickly stood up and looked around for an exit, calculating privately: If we get out, I’ll make sure she never finds me. Hmph, worst case scenario, I'll just go back to my hometown and stop hanging around Beijing. But then I reconsidered: No, she hasn't paid us yet. This situation is truly thorny... What is her real agenda? It couldn't be what Fatty suggested—that she’s taken a liking to Old Hu? Or perhaps she plans to report us. That’s unlikely. Could her ancestor really have been a Mojin Xiaowei? If so, that would make us a suitable match...

While I was lost in these musings, Fatty and Shirley Yang had already circled the small tomb chamber several times. Head up, feet down, front and back—all were just dark rock walls. There were a few cracks in some places, but they were too narrow to find a way out.

Just then, Professor Chen cried out and woke up. He was delirious, alternately weeping and laughing, recognizing no one. We had no medicine and no way to help him, so we could only let him rave on in his madness.

Finally, our gazes settled on the large stone coffer between the two desiccated corpses. But even if there were treasures inside, they were useless to us, who were facing certain death.

Fatty patted the stone coffer. "I wonder which two paupers are buried in this small chamber. Apart from the sheepskins they’re wearing, there isn't a single decent burial object. There probably isn't anything good inside this thing either."

Shirley Yang carefully examined the carvings on the coffer, then suddenly looked up at me and said, "Do you remember when I mentioned the Great Tang Records on the Western Regions? It mentioned Mount Zaglama."

I replied, "I remember. It sounded like a divine mountain where two ancient saints were buried. But it couldn't be these two—one old, one young. This tomb chamber is too simple; it doesn't fit the status of saints." I almost continued, saying that I had seen many ancient great tombs, and a burial chamber within a stone mountain completely violated Feng Shui principles—how could a person be buried above a cursed location at the base of the mountain? But saying that would risk exposing my identity, so I choked back the latter half of my thought.

Shirley Yang said, "The ones buried in this chamber are not the saints. This child is like a disciple or son of the saint, known as the Prophet. This old man is his servant."

I questioned her, "How do you know that? Do the carvings on this stone coffer say that? Is there any other information on it?"

Shirley Yang gestured for Fatty and me to look at the coffer together: "The dozens of patterns carved on this stone coffer form an ancient prophecy. The composition is simple, and the symbols are very distinct. I think I can understand part of it."

The more I listened, the stranger it became. "What does the prophecy say? Does it mention where the secret passage in this chamber is?"

Shirley Yang shook her head. "No. The prophecy doesn't seem very accurate either. The Prophet said that after his death, no one would come to this tomb chamber until one day, four people accidentally opened this stone coffer..."

Fatty counted: "One, two, three, four, five. There are five of us in total! Does that mean Professor Chen, since he’s gone mad, doesn't count as a person? It seems the Prophet was inaccurate in his predictions; he was likely just another charlatan fooling people."

I stared at the other four people and said, "If the Prophet wasn't a fraud, then this prophecy might not be about us. However, there is another possibility besides that... one of us here is not human."