I glanced at Shirley Yang and the others. Shirley Yang shrugged helplessly, but Fatty didn't seem to care at all, enjoying the liveliness of having more people around. Big Gold Tooth winked stealthily at me, the message being that we were now saddled with these extra burdens.

I thought to myself, this Hong Kong contingent is planning a family vacation—wife, kids, bodyguard, all present and accounted for. I was already scrambling for an excuse to dissuade Uncle Ming from this notion; too many cooks spoil the broth, and bringing so many people would inevitably lead to disaster.

Just then, Uncle Ming had gathered the rest of the team members for this expedition and proceeded to introduce everyone to both sides. We already knew his wife, Han Shuna; she was a captivating woman, no wonder Uncle Ming was completely smitten. Big Gold Tooth immediately addressed her as "Auntie Ming," but Han Shuna quickly interjected, "Don't call me that, it makes me sound old. You all call each other whatever you like anyway, there are no strict generational rules here, let's just stick to first names, like before."

Next, Uncle Ming introduced his goddaughter, Ah Xiang, a timid young girl, probably not yet twenty, who barely dared to speak to strangers. Uncle Ming said Ah Xiang was his most capable helper, able to sense anything unclean.

Curiously, I asked what that meant. Did the girl possess "Yin-Yang Eyes" or perhaps an opened "Heavenly Eye"?

Uncle Ming proudly informed us that in America, there was a large religious group called "Scientology," founded by L. Ron Hubbard. Many celebrities and upper-class figures worldwide were believers in this sect, adhering to Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health. Ah Xiang's biological parents were among them. When Ah Xiang was just born, they placed her inside a glass enclosure equipped with an air purification system, isolated from the outside world, until she was two years old. This prevented her from being contaminated or influenced by the air, resulting in an extremely ** sensitive nervous system, allowing her to perceive things that normal people cannot.

Ah Xiang later became an orphan, and Uncle Ming adopted her. She had saved Uncle Ming's life more than once, and he cherished her like his own flesh and blood, especially when dealing with things brimming with negative energy, such as desiccated corpses or coffins—he always insisted on having Ah Xiang by his side.

Shirley Yang, standing nearby, whispered to me that Uncle Ming wasn't exaggerating. That sect truly existed in America, and her father, Yang Xuanwei, had been deeply obsessed with it, spending a significant amount of money and time on it. This girl Ah Xiang might actually be helpful to us. However, it would be best not to bring her into Tibet; even people in good health struggle with altitude sickness, and with Ah Xiang's frail body, an accident was highly likely.

I had no control over whom Uncle Ming chose to bring, so I quietly told Shirley Yang, "It seems Uncle Ming is staking his entire family's lives on excavating the Glacial Crystal Corpse; he’s absolutely determined. There’s no persuading him now—good advice is wasted on those determined to die. We’ll just have to look out for them as best we can. Whether they live or die, and if they can bring back the Glacial Crystal Corpse, that will depend on their fate."

The final introduction from Uncle Ming was his bodyguard, "Peter Huang," a Chinese Cambodian. He fought guerrilla warfare against the Viet Cong for several years during the Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia. Later, he drifted from the Golden Triangle to become a sea bandit near Malacca, until Uncle Ming's ship rescued him during a shipwreck at sea, after which he became Uncle Ming's bodyguard. He looked to be in his early forties, with very dark skin, never cracked a smile, and had a fierce look in his eyes—clearly not someone to trifle with. His most striking feature was his physique, entirely different from the monkey-like build of ordinary Southeast Asians; he was incredibly sturdy, standing there like half an iron tower.

Fatty burst out laughing when he saw Peter Huang and said to Uncle Ming, "His name doesn't fit—why didn't you call him Peter Black? With us around, what is there to worry about? You absolutely don't need a bodyguard; you won't lose a single hair on your head!"

Uncle Ming replied, "You fat boy love to joke. His surname is Huang (Yellow), how could he be called Peter Black? Don't underestimate him, this man is fiercely loyal to me and very reliable. Moreover, he has participated in real wars and is merciless when killing."

Fatty chimed in, "Tell him to retire immediately. What's the use of guerrilla tactics? Our comrade Hu Bayi once commanded an entire company in the regular army! And what about me? Have you heard my deeds? I was a core member of the Provisional Irish Republican Army back in the day; I was in..."

I cut Fatty off before he could continue his boasting, and told Uncle Ming, "Since the members and the route have been finalized, let's all head back to prepare separately. Mainly, your team needs to get physical checkups at the hospital. If everything checks out, we commence operations in five days."

Uncle Ming said, "The route and the gear will be entirely the responsibility of Brother Hu. We'll depart whenever you say, since among our group, only Brother Hu knows Tibet best."

I took Fatty and the others and said our goodbyes. Back at my own place, I immediately started packing, planning to head to Tibet alone ahead of the main group. I needed to find the Iron Rod Lama by Lake Lhamo La-tso and ask for his help in finding a guide familiar with Tibetan customs and geography—preferably a divinely inspired singer of epics as well. If one person couldn't do both, two would suffice.

I entrusted the leadership role for entering Tibet to Shirley Yang. Although she had never been to the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, she had explored harsh environments like the Sahara, the Taklamakan Desert, and the Amazon jungle. Her mental fortitude and experience were excellent. After conferring, Shirley Yang would lead the team to Shiquanhe and meet me there, traveling as light as possible. Supplies and provisions would temporarily remain in Beijing under Big Gold Tooth's care. Once we found clues about the pagoda tomb among the ruins of Guge between Mount Kailash and the Sengge Tsangpo River, Big Gold Tooth would be responsible for shipping the supplies to the designated location.

I noticed Shirley Yang looked even thinner than when she returned from Yunnan, and there were red streaks in her eyes. Lately, we had all been mentally exhausted and running ragged. Having just returned from Yunnan, we were immediately heading to Tibet again—this pace was unsustainable for ordinary people. I advised Shirley Yang not to worry too much, saying the dangers in Tibet weren't as numerous, at least there weren't as many mosquitoes as in Yunnan. She should rest well during these last few days before departure; time would eventually give us all the answers.

Shirley Yang said, "I'm not worried about the danger in Tibet. What's been occupying my mind these past few days is what happens after the Black Cave Ghost Hole matter is concluded. If you still want to continue your tomb-robbing business, I absolutely forbid it; this line of work is too perilous, Old Hu. You need to start thinking about the future. Why don't we go back to the States together?"

I scoffed, "What's the point of going to America? We don't speak the language, and the coffee you make tastes like Chinese medicinal soup—I can’t drink that every day. But if you insist, I suppose I have no choice. I'll stay a few years and see. If I don't adapt, I'll have to move back. The biggest headache is Fatty—leaving him alone in Beijing will surely cause trouble."

Fatty interjected, "Hey, Old Hu, watch your tone! As if you’re so much more virtuous than me! You've caused far more trouble than I have—no need to be modest about that! If you two are going to America, how can I be left behind? Once we're on Chief Officer Yang's turf, won't they have to assign us a car? I think Sheriff Hunter’s car looks pretty nice—it must be a Mercedes, right? I don't ask for much, just a Mercedes like that to drive! We’ll drive along the East and West Coasts, to Detroit and San Francisco, to broaden our horizons, unite with America's working class—long live the great solidarity of the world's people!"

I retorted, "American police don't drive German cars—you don't even know that! With your disposition, going to America would just be causing trouble for the American people!"

The three of us chatted nonsense for a while, our moods slightly relaxed. The next day, I set off alone, heading to Tibet ahead of the others. In south-central Tibet, between the Himalayas and the Nyenchen Tanglha Mountains, lakes are numerous, scattered like stars, numbering in the thousands. Any lake of moderate size is considered a sacred lake by the Tibetans; if there is a snow mountain next to the lake, it becomes infinitely more sacred. The names of these lakes all end with the character "Tso" (Lake). Famous ones include Ang La Rin Tso, Dangra Yumtso, Namtso, Zhari Namtso, and countless others. Each holds endless mysterious legends and an equally mysterious name. The Fairy's Lake, where my old friend, the Iron Rod Lama, was completing his vow, is one of these numerous bodies of water.

After getting off the bus at Gasé, there were no more roads leading south; travel was only possible on foot, or by hiring horses from the herdsmen. This wasn't a mountainous region, but the altitude was nearly 4,500 meters. Led by a herdsman, I continuously headed south until I reached the bifurcation point of the Yarlung Tsangpo River—"Tsangpo" meaning river.

This was the deepest part of the Tibetan interior I had ever ventured into. The sunlight on the plateau made me dizzy, and the sky was so blue it seemed ready to drip water. My hired guide and horse owner was a young Tibetan named Wangdue. He led me to a high piece of ground and pointed to two jade-green lakes below, saying, "The larger one on the left is Yongma Zhuozha Tso, the Lake of the Dragon Palace; the slightly smaller one on the right is Lhamo La-tso, the Fairy's Lake hanging in the sky."

The sky was clear then, the lake water a deep azure, the blue ripples reflecting the white peaks and clouds, the distant surrounding mountains vaguely visible. In the Great Tang Records on the Western Regions, the Venerable Xuanzang, moved by this earthly beauty, referred to these two adjacent lakes as the "Twin Jade Pools of the Western Heaven."

Livestock were not allowed into sacred grounds, so Wangdue and I found a gentle slope downward and walked toward the lake shore. Wangdue told me that there was a local legend that the palace of the "Dragon King of Vast Wealth" lay at the bottom of the lake, gathering countless rare treasures. A destined person who merely circled the lake and picked up a small fish, a pebble, or a feather from a water bird there would receive a blessing from the Dragon King of Vast Wealth, ensuring unending fortune.

However, pilgrims who came to circle the lakes preferred to walk around the Fairy's Lake, because it was rumored that the crystal-clear water there was the tears of a fairy, capable not only of washing away the mundane sicknesses and impurities of the body but also of purifying the heart of greed, anger, sloth, and jealousy, making the mind pure. The snow-capped mountains opposite the two lakes symbolized the boundless vastness of Buddhist law.

I told Wangdue, "Let's go purify our souls first!" We circled the Fairy's Lake, searching among the pilgrims for the Iron Rod Lama. The two of us walked around the lake. Since we weren't making a formal pilgrimage, we didn't need to prostrate with every step. Walking along the shore, we occasionally saw the skeletal remains of pilgrims who had become one with the sacred ground.

In the distance, a hunched figure appeared in our view. From the most conspicuous black Dharma-protecting iron rod strapped to his back, we could discern his identity. However, his actions were strange, clearly not the way we had seen others circle the lake; even the Tibetan, Wangdue, had never seen such movements—it looked like he was performing some kind of mysterious shamanistic ritual.