In the desert, the absence of water felt like the lifeblood being drawn from a living body; everyone sat stunned, at a complete loss. Suddenly, An Liman let out a great cry, "Messenger of Hu Da!" On a nearby sand dune, a white shadow appeared. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me from thirst and hunger, so I quickly rubbed them and looked again, carefully. It was the white camel we had seen before arriving at Xiye City.

It was leisurely strolling on the crest of the dune, moving slowly toward the west. Old Man An Liman was beside himself with excitement, his speech becoming incoherent. The appearance of the white camel in the cursed Black Desert meant the ancient curse had vanished. Following the messenger of Hu Da, they were sure to find water.

I couldn't say if he was telling the truth or not. Last time, he said travelers who saw a white camel in the desert would have safe and auspicious journeys. Now he claimed the desert curse was gone. But at this moment, it was better to believe it than not; following the white camel might truly lead to water.

We immediately rounded up the camel herd and followed the white camel. That towering white camel walked at a steady pace under the scorching sun. After traveling for three or four hours, we rounded a long ridge of sand, and sure enough, a tiny pool of water appeared. Some Shannan trees grew around the pool.

The water wasn't clear, perhaps containing a small amount of minerals. Animals could drink it directly, but humans could not drink it raw. The camels rushed impatiently to drink. Shirley Yang found some purification tablets, first running the water through a filter, then adding the tablets before distributing it to everyone.

This pool might be a tributary of the Ziduan underground river. Due to the movement of the desert at night, a portion of this river water, closer to the surface, had seeped out. An Liman insisted this was the best proof that the curse had lifted. Previously, there was absolutely no surface water in this desert; this pool was definitely a miracle from Hu Da.

We built a small fire beside the pool and roasted some nang. I decided not to tell them about the sensation of something gripping my back like a ghost when I climbed the mountain peak last. The whole experience, muddied by the Shixiang Moyu (Corpse Scent Tuber), had blurred the lines between reality and illusion. In fact, including the entire ordeal in Jingjue Ancient City and the Ghost Cave, the boundary between real and illusory had long since dissolved.

When I discussed our encounter at Mount Zaghlama with Fatty, it felt like a suffocating nightmare. Fatty remarked, "That damn devil-blossom is truly potent. Maybe we never even entered Jingjue Ancient City; perhaps this was all an illusion created by that ghost flower." Shirley Yang, who had been quiet for a long time, interjected, "No. Now that we're safe and looking back, the characteristics of the Shixiang Moyu illusions are quite distinct.

It can only utilize memories already existing in our minds; it cannot conjure things we've never seen. The Queen's sarcophagus, the Ghost Cave, the Prophet's tomb chamber, the prophecies—these were all real. We had seen the black snake before. The prophetic stone carvings that lured us into killing each other—the one on the first layer of the stone casket was real because we had seen the prophecy on the first layer, which allowed the Shixiang Moyu to create an illusion on the second layer." I told Shirley Yang, "Great minds think alike; I thought the same thing, but I wasn't certain, so I never said it.

Should we discuss how to get out of the desert now?" Shirley Yang replied, "That will require bothering old Grandpa An Liman. He is a living map of the desert. We should listen to his advice first." Seeing the boss had spoken, An Liman drew a few lines in the sand. "This is roughly where we are now.

To the south is the Niya ruins, which is very far, all desert. Even if we replenish our water supply, we might not make it to Niya. To the east is Lop Nur, with desert on this side and endless Gobi on the other. To the north is the direction we came from—Xiye City—but since we are deep in the heart of the desert, returning is not easy." It seemed that East, South, and North were all difficult paths.

The only remaining direction was West. Going straight west leads to the Tarim River, the largest inland river in the desert. From our current location, traveling fast, it would take about ten days to reach the confluence of the Tarim, Yarkand, and Hotan rivers. Once there, it would be easier; after another water replenishment, traveling west for another six or seven days would put us near Aksu.

There are military units and oil fields in that vicinity where we can request help. Our most critical need, water, is replenished, enough to last about ten days. We still have some food. In the desert, water is more important than food; if necessary, we can eat the camels.

Filtering and storing the water from the pool took an entire day. Only then did we set out according to the plan. Along the way, we suffered the inevitable hunger, thirst, wind, sun, traveling by night and resting by day. Finally, on the twelfth day, we reached the Tarim River.

We continued west, and on the third day, we encountered oil field workers out hunting sheep. At that time, Professor Chen had only a breath left. The feeling of crawling back from the brink of death in the deep desert is not easily understood by those living in normal environments. Since then, I’ve developed a habit: at home, no matter how large the cup, I always drink the water in one gulp, leaving not a single drop.

Later, back in Beijing, I didn't see Shirley Yang for a while. Perhaps she was busy finding doctors for Professor Chen or handling the aftermath for those who perished. The archaeological team lost quite a few people this time, and the relevant authorities naturally had to investigate. Fearing exposure as a Mojin Xiaowei, I intentionally downplayed things, offering an incomplete account.

Entering the desert for archaeology always carries a high risk, but losing four people—one professor and three students—and driving one professor insane, was considered a major incident at the time. But let me digress. One day, Fatty found two pretty girls to go dancing and invited me along. I had been having nightmares every night for the past few days and had a bad headache, so I declined and lay alone in bed.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I called out and got up, cursing inwardly—damn it, probably someone coming to investigate the situation again. When I opened the door, it turned out to be Shirley Yang, whom I hadn't seen in days. I quickly invited her in and asked how she found me.

Shirley Yang said Da Jinya gave her the address. I asked in surprise, "You know Da Jinya?" Shirley Yang replied, "You could say I know him—not well. My father used to collect antiques and did some business with him. Professor Chen was also an acquaintance.

I came to find you today to give you and Fatty your money. In a couple of days, I plan to take Professor Chen abroad for treatment. During this time, I still have things to investigate, so we probably won't see each other for a while." I hadn't expected any money at all, so hearing she was going to pay was a pleasant surprise. Outwardly, I had to feign politeness: "You're returning to China?

Is Old Man Chen feeling better? I was just thinking of going to see him. You bringing up money, well, that’s too awkward. We didn't help much; we mostly caused trouble for you.

You Americans aren't exactly rolling in cash either, really. Is it in cash?" Shirley Yang placed the money on the table: "The money must be paid; we agreed beforehand. However... I hope you can agree to one thing." I felt a knot in my stomach.

Was this girl planning revenge? Perhaps she wanted to dig up my past again. While strategizing a response, I casually deflected: "What could you possibly need my help with? It seems even the wealthy have their worries.

You're not asking me to help you spend it, are you?" Shirley Yang said, "Your family and mine, our elders, could be considered peers in the same trade. My maternal grandfather quit the tomb-raiding business because being a Mojin Xiaowei severely depletes one's karmic virtue (Yinde); even the hardiest person is prone to accidents. I hope you will stop this line of work now. In the future, if you have the chance, you can come to America, and I will arrange things for you..." Hearing this, I felt a spike of displeasure.

This American girl wanted me to fall under her wing and follow her lead. I, Hu, had once been a company commander. What future is there in living under someone else's roof? Even worse, begging favors from a woman—wouldn't that mean constantly deferring to her?

What meaning would life have then? So I interrupted her: "I appreciate your kind intentions, but you only know one side of the story. This Mojin Xiaowei business isn't great, I grant you, but Chairman Mao taught us that everything has two sides. Good things can turn bad, and bad things can turn good—that's dialectical materialism.

Since you know I'm a tomb robber, I won't hide certain things from you. I have principles and a standpoint. I absolutely will not touch any ancient tombs that are protected or have already been discovered. There are countless undiscovered great tombs and ruins in the deep mountains and forests, buried with untold treasures.

Only those who understand the secret arts of Feng Shui can find these things. If we don't raid these tombs, they might just sleep underground forever, never seeing daylight again. Furthermore, changes in the natural environment and erosion pose a huge threat to those undiscovered ancient tombs. Seeing this pains my heart..." Shirley Yang saw my impassioned speech and said helplessly, "Fine.

I offered you good advice to turn back from the wrong path, but unexpectedly, you've managed to justify it quite eloquently. You rationalize tomb raiding with such righteous indignation. There is probably no one else in the world as skilled at sophistry as you. Since you have such strong convictions, I truly look at you with new respect.

Forget what I just said. I suppose you won't be taking this money..." I quickly put my hand on the paper bag containing the money: "Wait a moment. Consider this money a loan... calculate the interest based on the rates of the People's Bank of China." (The mystery of Professor Chen, the Bottomless Ghost Cave, Shirley Yang and her background, and the whereabouts of the ancient Xian Sheng tribe will continue to unfold gorgeously in the Yunnan volume.)

For more novels, visit storyread.net.