The flickering candlelight in the corner of the Nether Hall cast shadows that danced erratically, illuminating the space in intermittent bursts of light and dark. At the edge of the light, a vast, deathly pale human face emerged, its body concealed in the darkness beyond the candle's reach.

The Fat Man, Big Gold Tooth, and I stood at the stone doorway connecting the front hall to the Nether Hall. This chamber was vast, far beyond the reach of my wolf-eye flashlight, and the distance rendered the face blurry and indistinct, radiating a chilling, ghostly aura.

When we first entered the Nether Hall, we had meticulously examined every corner. At that time, the room was utterly empty, save for the uncolored murals adorning the four walls, depicting nothing but voluptuous palace maids—certainly not this gigantic face. Though the distance obscured features, we couldn't discern whose face hovered in the corner, framed by the candlelight.

After a long, tense standoff, the figure remained motionless. Fatty lowered his voice and asked me, "Old Hu, that guy across the way doesn't look friendly. We shouldn't linger here. Let's pull out."

I quietly replied to Fatty and Big Gold Tooth, "Don't make any sudden moves. Let's figure out if it's a man or a ghost first."

I couldn't distinguish whether the owner of that face was male or female, young or old. There were no sarcophagi in this hall, so naturally, no Zongzi (mummies). It was possible the figure had slipped in through the tomb robber's tunnel while we were in the front hall. Not just anyone dared to traverse such a passage; perhaps this was another Mojin Xiaowei (Grave Robber Colonel).

Thinking of Mojin Xiaowei, my mind immediately went to that predecessor who had repaired the Fish Bone Temple. Could it be... he hadn't died? Or perhaps, trapped here indefinitely, unable to find the exit, what we saw was his lingering spirit?

If it was a ghost, it wasn't insurmountable; we were protected by the Golden Buddha and Jade Guanyin amulets. Moreover, if the entity truly was a Mojin Xiaowei, we shared a certain kinship in the trade, and perhaps he could point us toward the exit.

Regardless of whether it was man or ghost, this deadlock had to be broken. Lingering in this stalemate served no purpose. With that thought, I addressed the figure in the southeast corner loudly using coded language: "Black Fold probes the Dragon, raising the treasure canopy; Ban Shan and Qi Qiu reveal the cavern; the Stellar Net suddenly opens, the Dipper gathers the Southern Light."

My words were exceedingly polite, essentially conveying that since we were all working in the same precarious profession, bumping into each other demanded adherence to precedence. We were the later arrivals and dared not usurp the claim; a simple acknowledgment would suffice, and we would leave.

As the saying goes, "Of the 360 professions, each has its master." These 360 professions refer to the myriad livelihoods in the world; a person must possess a skill to establish themselves in society, earning their keep by merit, free from the fear of starving or freezing on the streets.

Beyond these 360 professions lie the Outer Eight Paths, considered outliers, not fitting into the mainstream categories of worker, farmer, soldier, scholar, or merchant. Among these Outer Eight Paths is the trade of Mojin and tomb raiding.

The nation has its laws, and every trade has its rules. Even beggars are governed by the Beggars' Clan leadership. A secretive and mysterious trade like tomb raiding is bound by even more stringent regulations. For instance, once the mound gate of a tomb is breached and a Mojin enters to loot, they are absolutely forbidden from traversing the same tunnel back and forth multiple times upon exiting.

At most, one entry and one exit are permitted. After all, it is a resting place, not one's backyard. Such rules and considerations are too numerous to list exhaustively.

One such rule stipulates that if two parties of the same trade eye the same mound entrance and both intend to commence digging, the first to arrive claims the site. The later party may enter, but any discovered treasures must first be claimed by the initial arrival.

Because Mojin Xiaowei adhere to strict codes, unlike common tomb robbers, they typically take only one or two items from an ancient tomb before stopping. Since aristocratic tombs are usually richly furnished with burial goods, major conflicts rarely arise between them.

The rationale behind taking only one or two pieces per tomb is twofold: firstly, to avoid excavating a treasure too great for one's fate to bear, thus inviting disaster.

The second, equally important reason is that while ancient tombs are numerous, they are finite. One must not exhaust all possibilities; after acquiring wealth, one must leave a means of survival for fellow practitioners.

This is the fundamental difference between a professional Mojin Xiaowei and a common grave robber. Robbers often fight violently over a single piece of Mingqi (funerary object); internecine struggles are common because they rarely find large tombs and fail to grasp the gravity of their finds—that a Mingqi can be an omen of doom, and taking too many inevitably brings retribution.

During the Three Kingdoms period, Cao Mengde established the positions of Faqiu and Mojin to fund his military campaigns. While ranks like Lieutenant Colonel were established by Cao Cao, the titles of Mojin and Faqiu, alongside Banshan and Xieling, were the four established tomb-raiding sects existing since the late Qin and early Han dynasties. However, the members of these sects conducted themselves with such secrecy that the common people knew little, and historical records remain silent. By the Song and Yuan dynasties, the Faqiu, Banshan, and Xieling sects had all vanished, extinguished, leaving only the Mojin sect.

Membership in the Mojin sect isn't solely dependent on direct instruction from a master. They possess a complete set of specialized markers, coded language, and techniques. Anyone understanding the professional jargon is considered kin. A tunnel drilled into the Nether Hall from an elevated, seemingly empty space—like the one we found—could only have been achieved by a master Mojin Xiaowei. I learned some of this from my grandfather, and the rest from Shirley Yang on our journey back from the desert.

Therefore, I reasoned that if this was a colleague, negotiation should be possible—provided they were still alive. Even if it were a ghost or spirit, they likely wouldn't turn hostile; at worst, we could provide their remains with a solemn burial.

After speaking, I waited for a reply. Normally, if the person was an experienced digger, I had shown sufficient deference, and they wouldn't obstruct us. Even if it were the spirit of a Mojin Xiaowei who had entered decades ago, they shouldn't cause trouble.

However, after waiting for a long time, there was no response. The candle had burned down significantly, yet the figure in the southeast corner of the Nether Hall remained as impassive as before, unmoving like a stone carving.

I thought perhaps they weren't part of the trade and couldn't understand my coded dialect. I repeated myself loudly in plain language, but still, there was no reaction.

This silence began to unnerve us. The worst scenario is this kind of mute standoff; we couldn't fathom their intent. To exit the Nether Hall, we had to pass the tunnel entrance in the center, but the figure behind the candlelight was staring intently at us, and we couldn't gauge their purpose, daring not to move forward rashly.

A thought struck me: what if this entity wasn't a Mojin Xiaowei at all, but the actual master of this tomb? That would complicate matters significantly. I shouted toward the southeast corner, "Hello... to the one opposite! Who exactly are you? We are merely passing through, saw a tunnel, and climbed in for a look—we harbor no ill intentions."

Seeing no movement, Fatty grew agitated and yelled, "We are about to turn back the way we came! If you don't speak up, we'll assume you consent. Don't regret it later..."

Big Gold Tooth whispered from behind us, "Mr. Hu, Mr. Fatty, perhaps that's one of the figures from the murals? We couldn't see clearly; the candlelight flickers, and it’s easy to mistake things."

His suggestion made us even more uneasy, and we began to doubt our own memory. Damn it, if that were true, we’d suffer a massive loss of face after nearly scaring ourselves to death in the last few minutes. Yet, it really didn't look like a painting.

This Nether Hall, indeed this entire tomb, felt intensely sinister. We found nothing upon entering, but there were massive stones blocking the tunnel mid-way, so who knew if something could suddenly materialize in this hall? Was it a man? A ghost? A demon? Or, as Big Gold Tooth guessed, just a mural figure?

The candle on the floor was nearing its end; we couldn't afford to wait any longer. I secretly drew my Paratrooper knife. This type of knife, which flowed into China from Russia, was specifically designed for cutting ropes—say, if a paratrooper's chute got snagged in a tree, leaving them dangling, this specialized, short, compact, extremely sharp blade with a long handle and short edge was perfect for severing the lines. It was convenient to carry. We hadn't dared carry daggers on this trip to Shaanxi, so we carried several small Paratrooper knives for self-defense.

In my other hand, I clutched the Golden Buddha, giving Fatty and Big Gold Tooth a meaningful look. Together, we decided to approach and see what the entity actually was. Fatty drew his engineer's shovel, handing the two large white geese to Big Gold Tooth to lead.

We advanced in an inverted triangle formation: Fatty and I in front, Big Gold Tooth trailing behind, leading the geese and holding the flashlight, moving slowly toward the candle in the southeast corner.

With every step, my hand gripping the Paratrooper knife grew colder with sweat. At that moment, I couldn't tell if it was fear or tension. I almost wished it was a Zongzi, ready to spring out for a good fight. Standing silently and ghost-like in the dark corner was far more unnerving than a hairy, lunging Zongzi.

Just as the figure was about to enter the beam of our wolf-eye flashlights, the candle reached its end, letting out a small puff of bluish smoke before silently extinguishing.

As the candle died, the human face behind the light immediately vanished into the surrounding darkness.