My heart sank suddenly. I quickly put out the cigarette butt and rushed over to look. The black donkey hooves had just been completely used up, and Shirley Yang was in the process of pulling a black, nail-like piece of flesh—of unknown origin—from between the lama’s fingers. Although the Iron Staff Lama’s skin had returned to normal, his complexion grew increasingly pale. I quickly checked his breathing; though faint, it was steady, but whether he would survive remained uncertain.

I picked up the flesh-nail from the ground. A minuscule black shred of tissue was still attached to the rear. This must have been the shadow barb that pierced the lama's finger. It was certainly not an auspicious object; keeping it would bring misfortune. I tossed it casually into the fire pit, along with the foul-smelling, pitch-black hair, ensuring every last strand was utterly destroyed.

Finally, I called A Xiang over. Only when she confirmed that the Iron Staff Lama showed no further outward signs of abnormality did I relax. That night, I couldn't close my eyes. The Iron Staff Lama finally woke the next day, utterly spent, looking as if he had aged twenty years overnight. His right arm was completely useless, and his vision seemed severely impaired. Most critically, his vital energy and blood were depleted, leaving him unable to exert himself. Given his condition, recovery would take at least a year, making it impossible for him to venture into the high-altitude regions of Kulumir in the Kunlun Mountains.

The Iron Staff Lama understood this was fate; forcing the journey would only make him a burden. However, the lama's greatest worry was how difficult it would be now to find another divinely appointed reciter of verses. In the end, he conferred with me and decided to accompany us to Kulumir, but he would wait for us at the mountain pass, staying outside the main Kunlun range. During the time we spent preparing, he pledged to recite as much as possible of the epic poem The Exploits of the Great Sage Xiong Shi concerning the Devil Kingdom, translating the relevant parts into Mandarin for Shirley Yang, trusting in her prodigious memory to retain a large portion, which might prove useful when we searched for the Demon Kingdom’s Pagoda in the Phoenix Palace.

To allow the lama more rest, I arranged for Uncle Ming to take his men and proceed ahead to Naizebuh Qing, near Kulumir in the Kunlun Mountains. Essential supplies and equipment would be air-freighted there. That area comprised vast expanses of wilderness and unpopulated zones frequented by poachers. The advance team’s mission was not only to acquire weapons and ammunition from them but also to secure reliable guides and hire porters—a great deal of preliminary groundwork needed to be done. Fatty, Shirley Yang, and I would follow after the Iron Staff Lama’s condition improved. We were still far from the Kunlun Mountains, yet we had already suffered one death and one severe injury, casting a shadow over the road ahead.

Uncle Ming vehemently objected, insisting we move as one unit, refusing to split the party. I knew this was likely due to his fear that we would ditch him and proceed alone, but arguing was useless. I finally placated him by agreeing to leave Fatty behind as a hostage with Uncle Ming’s group, which finally put him at ease.

Fearing Fatty might resist, I deceived him, claiming I was appointing him Liaison Officer, responsible for commanding Uncle Ming’s four men. Upon hearing he would be a leader, Fatty was overjoyed and immediately agreed without a second thought. Uncle Ming knew a great deal about navigation, but he was completely ignorant about the supplies needed for tomb raiding or the type of guides required. Peter Huang, despite his years in jungle warfare, didn't even grasp the meaning of daodou (tomb raiding) and had never visited the interior. Naturally, these men would defer to Fatty’s authority.

Before departing with Uncle Ming and his crew, Fatty gripped my hand. "Old Hu," he said, "the friendship between us is now beyond measure; I only know it’s higher than the mountains and longer than the road. This time, I’ll lead the troops to establish a new base. After years of being the wife, I’ve finally become the mother-in-law—Fatty’s position as commander is finally formalized! But I’ll miss being with you all. I don’t know if I should be happy or sad; in short, I have a mix of feelings and truly don't know what to say."

I retorted, "Since you don’t know what to say, why the hell did you say so much? Our team has always believed in equality between officers and soldiers; don't put on any airs with Uncle Ming’s group. Of course, if that old dog dares to cross you, you don't need to be polite." After giving him a few final instructions, I saw them off.

Once the Iron Staff Lama could move, he first performed a funeral rite for Ah Dong. Then, accompanied by Shirley Yang and myself, we slowly rode yaks toward Senge Zangbo to catch a vehicle.

Along the way, the Iron Staff Lama constantly recounted the ancient poems about the Devil Kingdom to Shirley Yang, who meticulously recorded and sketched notes in her journal. Consequently, we arrived at Naizebuh Qing more than twenty days after Fatty’s group. Fatty and Uncle Ming were waiting anxiously, and upon seeing our arrival, they immediately bustled about making arrangements for our rest and food.

We lodged with a local herder family. Before dinner that evening, Uncle Ming briefed me on the preparations. Among the herders was a man named Ci Ji, under forty, a quintessential, astute, and capable Kham man. His name meant 'First Day of the Month.' Uncle Ming and his group had hired Ci Ji as a guide because he was the only person in the vicinity who had ventured into Duoluo Kulumir.

In addition, we had fifteen yaks, six horses, and five porters. Entering Kulumir from Naizebuh Qing first required crossing an uninhabited wasteland riddled with ravines and lacking any infrastructure. There was only one old, two-wheel-drive truck nearby—driving into that area meant no possibility of return. That wasteland was so desolate that even poachers avoided it. Transporting a large amount of supplies in could only be achieved via yaks. Now, the yaks, horses, guide, porters, and equipment shipped from Beijing had all been procured by Big Gold Tooth under Shirley Yang's direction and were ready for immediate departure.

I asked Uncle Ming about the weaponry. "We can't go into the Kunlun Mountains with just two Raymings and seventy-odd rounds of ammunition, can we? There are plenty of wild beasts up there."

Uncle Ming led Shirley Yang and me behind the herder family’s tent. Fatty and Peter Huang were inside examining firearms. There were both long and short weapons. The handgun models were uniform: all were stolen from Southeast Asia, likely leftover US military supplies—the classic American single-action service pistol, the 1911. Though an older model, the .45 caliber was ample, and the recoil stable—a classic of classics among US military sidearms, a legend among legends, Browning’s masterpiece—definitely a formidable defensive tool.

The rifles, however, were lacking: only two small-caliber sporting rifles of different models, no truly heavy-hitting pieces. Still, combined with the two shotguns, they would have to suffice. After all, we were going tomb raiding, not waging war.

I examined the rest of the gear. Everything seemed complete; they even brought Alison camouflage suits worn by American climbing teams, and diving equipment too. The meltwater system formed by the snow at the foot of Kunlun was intricate and crisscrossed. It was good to be prepared for anything. Most importantly, the traditional tools—the black donkey hooves, glutinous rice, and yin-probing claws—which were impossible to buy commercially, had all been custom-made. With these, our confidence increased slightly.

I left some money, entrusting the local herders to look after the Iron Staff Lama, planning to collect him after we emerged from Kulumir. If we hadn't returned in two months, I asked them to send the lama to a nearby infirmary for convalescence. The Tibetans were profoundly devout; even without my request, they would care for the lama well.

Seeing that all preparations were finalized, I decided we would depart first thing the next morning. That evening, Uncle Ming gathered everyone for a meal. Situated at the intersection of three major routes in the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, the cuisine was somewhat eclectic. Our dinner was lavish: cold-tossed yak butter, cordyceps-braised meat, Tibetan steamed buns, stuffed lungs, stuffed intestines, milk poured over rice, roasted mutton chops, and ginseng and sheep sinew. Everyone drank a considerable amount of highland barley wine.

Uncle Ming became slightly tipsy and let slip an inappropriate remark, hoping this wouldn't be our last supper. His comment dampened the mood, and the gathering quickly dispersed, everyone retiring early. The next morning, we bade farewell to the lama and prepared to assemble for departure. The lama draped a khata over my shoulders: "May the Bodhisattva bless your journey to the Phoenix Palace with auspiciousness and peace." I held the lama tightly, wanting to say something, but overwhelming emotion choked me, leaving me speechless.

The company moved off, riding the train of yaks and horses heading northwest. The northern Tibetan Plateau, deep inland and far from the ocean, has a dry and cold climate where temperature and precipitation change vertically. Winters are cold and long, summers cool and brief. It was currently late summer, the period of most unstable temperatures throughout the year.

The desolate expanse was the unpopulated area known as Chi-guy (Red Valley). Though deserted of people, it teemed with life. Flocks of birds soared overhead, and wild animals appeared intermittently. In the distance, mountain ranges stretched endlessly, meeting the azure sky in a seamless sheet of white—but the distance was too great to distinguish between snow-capped peaks and clouds piled up on the horizon. It possessed a magnificent atmosphere, imbued with an indescribable mystery. After five days, we traversed the wilderness and prepared to enter the mountainous region, which was even more desolate than the plateau. At the mountain pass lay a lake where numerous black-necked water birds, undisturbed, flew south in flocks. These birds were not migratory. Their departure from the lake might signify an avalanche deep in the mountains startling them, or perhaps it was an omen of an impending cold snap. Some superstitious porters claimed it was an inauspicious signal, urging us to turn back, but our resolve was firm; we were completely unmoved.

I conferred with the guide, Ci Ji. "The altitude here is very high; if we continue climbing, someone in the team might not withstand it. Can we pass through the valley?" The valleys contained countless ancient glaciers covered with heavy snow, making them prone to avalanches. However, Ci Ji, having accompanied monks to Kulumir to gather medicinal herbs since childhood, was intimately familiar with the area. He knew of several deep depressions where we could pass safely. He instructed the group to rest temporarily at the pass. Twenty minutes later, he led the way toward the Valley of Buried Bones.

Shirley Yang had spent the journey compiling the material dictated by the Iron Staff Lama and found time to repair the map left by the Portuguese priest. She was gradually piecing together some clues. Upon hearing that the next stage involved traversing the so-called Valley of Buried Bones, she asked Guide Ci Ji why it was named that, and whose bones it held. She also inquired about the meaning of the mountain range's name, Kulumir. Ci Ji informed everyone: "Whether there are human bones in the Valley of Buried Bones, I don't know. It’s named that because it’s where all the beasts go to commit suicide. Every year, large numbers of Tibetan antelope, wild oxen, Tibetan horses, and bears charge in there and jump to their deaths. The bottom of the ravine is paved with their white bones. Even the bravest dare not enter that place at night. As for Kulumir, its meaning is 'Ocean of Calamity.' As to why it bears such an inauspicious name, even the oldest herders do not know."