Old Liu Tou mentioned that Professor Sun and his team had only been gone for half a day. The location of Shibeidian (Stone Tablet Shop) wasn't far from Gutian County seat, but it was rather remote, and people unfamiliar with the area might not find it easily. "I'll find someone to take you," he said. He then called over a simple-looking boy, about ten years old, from the street—his own grandson, who usually lived with his parents in Henan but came to Gutian County every summer for school vacation. Shibeidian was quite close to the county town, and this kid frequented the area.

Old Man Liu hailed the child, "Er Xiao, stop messing around. Take your uncle and aunt over to Shibeidian; they need to find Professor Sun from the archaeology team."

Er Xiao had a shaved head, perhaps from just finishing a scuffle with other children, as he was covered in dirt and dragging a stream of snot that was close to becoming a river. Seeing Old Man Liu assign him the task of leading the way, he set off with me and Irley Yang toward Shibeidian.

The path to Shibeidian proved difficult, as expected, consisting entirely of rugged, winding shepherd's trails. Er Xiao informed us that it wasn't far, just that the road was rough, and we would arrive once we passed the highest slope ahead.

Irley Yang, finding the child impossibly filthy, couldn't help herself. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his runny nose, asking him sweetly, "Your name is Er Xiao? What's your surname?"

Er Xiao wiped his nose and replied, "My nickname is Er Xiao. My surname is Wang. Wang Er Xiao."

Hearing the child's name, I found it amusing and joked with him, "You’re named Wang Er Xiao? Kid, you’re not thinking of leading us into an ambush, are you?"

Wang Er Xiao looked at me blankly and asked, "Uncle, what’s an ambush? Oh, right, who is that woman with you? Why is she so good-looking?"

I stole a glance at Irley Yang walking behind us, then quietly whispered to Er Xiao, "Good-looking, schmood-looking? You little brat, how can you be thinking about such things at your age? She's my wife. She has a terrible temper and won't let anyone look at her but me. You’d best not provoke her."

Irley Yang was trailing behind, and even though I spoke softly, she caught the latter half of my sentence on the wind. She asked, "Old Hu, who did you just say not to provoke?"

I quickly patted Wang Er Xiao’s head and said to Irley Yang, "I was just saying this little imp is very mischievous. Even at this tiny age, he knows pretty girls are good-looking. Kids these days, don't even get me started. Hardly any of them are like I was when I was young, filled with lofty aspirations and careful schemes from childhood..."

Before I could finish my sentence, a burly farmer with a white turban tied around his head suddenly rounded the back of the slope. He wore a belt around his waist and carried a stick in his hand. He shouted at us, "Stop right there! What pretty girl? Are you Japanese?"

I was startled. Although this was a remote mountain gully, I wondered if there were highwaymen about in broad daylight. I quickly shielded Er Xiao and Irley Yang behind me and said to the man, "Compatriot, don't misunderstand. We are on the same side. We are not the Japanese army; we are from the Eighth Route Army Work Detachment."

The fellow with the white turban scrutinized all three of us up and down. "What Eighth Route Army? You don't look like good people." As he spoke, he started waving his stick at us, declaring the area under militia lockdown and prohibiting entry.

I thought, what kind of lockdown is this when there’s no war or disaster? Besides, I’d never heard of militias enforcing a lockdown with wooden sticks. Was this bastard crazy? I rolled up my sleeves, intending to snatch the stick from his hand to prevent the reckless farmer from hurting anyone.

Just as I was about to move in to confront him, I discovered that this villager, who claimed to be the militia platoon leader of Shibeidian, actually knew Er Xiao among the three of us. It turned out Er Xiao often played with his son, which immediately defused the tension, and everyone stopped posturing to talk.

The militia platoon leader was clumsy with words and spoke with a heavy local accent. It took me a while to piece together what he was saying. Apparently, the name Shibeidian derived from an unremarkable stone tablet nearby. The stele was massive, towering toward the sky, though no one knew which dynasty it originated from; wind and rain had long blurred the inscriptions.

Speaking of Shibeidian, its most famous feature wasn't the broken stele, but rather an old, established coffin shop in the village. For ten li around, including Gutian County, this was the only coffin shop; all others had inferior business. Legend had it that the original proprietor of this old shop was a master carpenter who initially operated a woodworking workshop.

One time, this carpenter built a coffin for a local family. The coffin was finished but not yet varnished—by custom, it still required eighteen coats of lacquer—and this half-finished casket sat in his workshop. That evening, the carpenter sat in the main hall, having enjoyed a few cups of strong wine. Thinking about how slow business was, having secured only one order in over half a month, he couldn't help but feel a bit dejected. He ended up sighing deeply while patting the coffin, and with the wine taking hold, he drifted off to sleep leaning on it.

That night, the carpenter dreamt there was a mass of cold ice inside the coffin, freezing him to the core, as if he’d fallen into an ice cellar. Suddenly, a frantic knocking at the door woke him. He opened it to find a neighbor whose relative had just passed away during the night, rushing to commission a coffin. It was rare to get a new order immediately after finishing one, and the carpenter was overjoyed, yet he dared not show it. After all, dealing with funeral arrangements required a somber demeanor, outwardly expressing deep sympathy for the villager’s loss. The carpenter casually slapped the half-finished coffin again, accepted the deposit, and got to work.

Just as the sun reached its zenith, the carpenter was rushing to build the new coffin when someone else arrived to order one. This was truly strange; the village usually saw only about ten deaths a year, and here were two within such a short time.

The carpenter began to feel that something was amiss. He recalled his dream from the night before—could these deaths be caused by him patting the coffin? He tested fate again, lightly tapping the half-finished casket. Before dusk fell, another person had indeed died.

The carpenter was both alarmed and delighted. Alarmed because he couldn't understand what was happening—why would a tap on the coffin trigger a nearby death? Delighted because he certainly wouldn't lack business anymore. This craftsman was someone who had known true poverty, and at that moment, he cared little for the fate of others. Should he pass up a fortune because of these unrelated people? Absolutely not. Seeing that he had too much work to handle, the carpenter went to other coffin shops that night and bought several ready-made caskets.

From then on, the carpenter’s shop completely transformed into a coffin business. Furthermore, he discovered a secret: the harder he slapped that original coffin, the farther away the location of the ensuing death would be. This money earned from death was lucrative. As he grew richer, his heart grew blacker; he swallowed up all the nearby coffin shops. All he had to do was give that half-finished casket a couple of slaps, and he could wait to count his earnings.

However, he dared not slap it incessantly, unsure of the true nature of this phenomenon. He never leaked this secret; yet, walls have ears, and eventually, people learned of his affairs. But such vague rumors were hard to prove, lacking concrete evidence, so no one could formally charge him. Still, everyone treated him like a walking plague, keeping a wide berth.

He never managed to marry. Not long ago, this former young carpenter, now the proprietor of the coffin shop, died in his own home. When people found his body, it was already putrid and emitting a terrible stench. This was the only coffin shop in the vicinity, and all the caskets in the store were sold out, leaving only that one half-finished coffin in the main hall. Villagers recalled the whispers and rumors, and fear gripped them. However, the village committee couldn't ignore it; they couldn't just leave the old shopkeeper to rot in his house, especially with the summer heat—a plague outbreak could be disastrous. Although cremation was the official policy then, the custom of burial remained deeply ingrained in rural areas. Thus, the village head found a few brave militiamen, wrapped the corpse in woven bags, preparing to place it in a coffin for burial.

Unexpectedly, as soon as they moved the coffin, they noticed a thin crack in the ground beneath where it had rested. The fissure was deep, and placing a hand over it revealed a chilling draft blowing out. It seemed to lead to a large pit below. Some curious villagers pried up the bricks and stones on the ground and discovered, indeed, a cave beneath, emanating a bone-chilling cold.

The militia platoon leader volunteered to investigate. They lowered him using a basket. He hadn't descended far before frantically shaking the rope to be pulled back up—the trip had nearly scared the bladder out of him. He reported that the bottom was paved with large, green bricks, and there was a stone bed upon which rested a small, flat stone casket inscribed with strange symbols. The platoon leader had brought the stone box up. When everyone opened the casket, inside lay six jade beasts, glistening crimson like blood. According to the platoon leader, there seemed to be another level below the cave, but it was too dark and sinister for him to dare venture further.

With village officials present, the villagers demonstrated high civic awareness and immediately notified the archaeology team from Gutian County. Professor Sun, upon hearing the news, knew this discovery might be monumental. Without losing a moment, he rushed over with his team.

In a backwater place like this, nothing much ever happened all year round, so news traveled fast; even people from the county seat flocked to witness the excitement. To maintain order, Professor Sun instructed the local militia to bar outsiders from crowding the area. Since the scope, scale, and background of the cave were still unclear, any damage could result in irreparable loss. Therefore, the militia platoon leader wielded his temporary authority like a royal decree, setting up checkpoints at every entrance, declaring a state of military lockdown for the village, which is how Irley Yang and I were stopped and questioned.

Hearing the platoon leader’s words, I knew that dealing with petty officials wielding small authority required diplomacy rather than force; a few kind words and a small offering would grant us passage to Professor Sun. So I said to the platoon leader, "Comrade Platoon Leader, we are acquaintances of Professor Sun and have urgent business with him. Could you please facilitate us?" As I spoke, I slipped the militia leader five yuan.

The platoon leader took the money. Before he could clearly make out the denomination, someone from the village rushed over to call him away, announcing that the old cadre who had arrived with the archaeology team was dead.