The tomb-structures in the necropolis of the Demon Country traditionally featured two burial trenches corresponding to their form and size, shaped like "two dragons playing with a pearl." Because these trenches contained a vast collection of animal skeletons as funerary offerings, the local people of Kharamir called them the Bone-Storing Trenches. Who would have thought that by entering the Dragon’s Peak Glacier through one of these trenches, only to crawl out from underground, we would find ourselves in the other Bone-Storing Trench. Yet, this area was rich in geothermal resources and dense vegetation, a rarity in the Kharamir mountains.

The stars were brilliant overhead, and the canyon terrain was uneven and undulating. In the dense woods, pines and cypresses covered the slopes, obscuring the starlight. Under the night sky, the air in the wilderness was exceptionally cool and fresh; with every breath, the cool essence permeated the heart and lungs. I took two long, deep breaths before truly savoring the joy of survival. The others were also greatly invigorated, the previous anxiety and torment of awaiting death completely swept away.

But fate is fickle. A dark cloud drifted over the canyon rim, merging with an updraft, and in the blink of an eye, a heavy rain began to fall. In the Kunlun mountains, one ridge can have four seasons; ten li can have ten different skies. It might snow at the summit while raining below, and perhaps hail simultaneously on the mountainside. Before we could even grumble about the foul weather, we were drenched to the bone.

I wiped the rainwater from my face and surveyed the surrounding terrain. This valley was ethereal and deep, untouched by human presence for years. Most of the ancient ruins from the Middle Antiquity era were likely gone, but the stacked stones and crevices formed during earlier volcanic activity remained unchanged after countless cycles of weathering by wind and rain. Not far from us was a cave entrance, sloping into the cliff face, its exterior bulging and its interior concave—a perfect haven to shelter from the rain for the night.

I urged everyone to hurry into the cave to escape the downpour. Since there might be wild beasts inside, Fatty took the lead with his hunting rifle to scout ahead, followed closely by Uncle Ming and Ah Xiang, shielding their heads with their hands.

I noticed Shirley Yang wasn't in a rush, letting the rain fall on her, walking at her own unhurried pace as if quite enjoying the sensation. I asked her what her slow pace was for and if she wasn't afraid of getting soaked.

Shirley Yang explained that after crawling through the earthen tunnels dug by the Dizhi Guanyin for half a day, she was covered in filthy mud. It was a shame there were no mirrors, or everyone would likely fail to recognize themselves after seeing their reflections. She figured it was better to let the rain wash them off, and once they were in the cave, they could immediately build a fire to dry off, avoiding any risk of illness.

Her words reminded me that the five of us who had emerged from underground were truly unrecognizable, looking like a group of unearthed relics. Although the climate here was relatively warm, staying out in mountain rain for too long could easily lead to sickness. I still urged her to hurry into the cave, warning her not to get carried away by surviving a near-death experience just for a moment of cleanliness; getting sick from the rain now would make the escape not worth it.

I followed Shirley Yang behind the other three into the cave. The moment we entered, we were greeted by a faint smell of sulfur. Inside, there were several white depressions in the ground, indicating this place had once vented geothermal heat and hot springs, which had now dried up. While the smell was slightly unpleasant, it meant we didn't have to worry about wild animals.

The valley offered plenty of dead leaves and branches. Fatty and I quickly gathered a large armful of dry kindling from the area near the cave entrance where the rain wasn't reaching and brought it inside to start a bonfire. We took out the remaining large Dizhi Guanyin and roasted it. The meat of the Dizhi Guanyin was marbled with fat and lean parts, much like a plump groundhog, making it excellent for roasting. In no time, it turned golden brown, sizzling as grease dripped off. Without any seasoning, the meat had a distinct earthy, musty flavor, but once we got used to it, we found it more flavorful the more we chewed.

The fire burned stronger, warming us thoroughly. As our tightly wound nerves finally relaxed, the fatigue and pain accumulated over days rushed forward, leaving us utterly exhausted, inside and out. I gnawed on half a hind leg of the Dizhi Guanyin; before I had even finished chewing the meat in my mouth, I nearly fell asleep. I stifled a yawn and was about to lie down for a quick nap when I saw Shirley Yang sitting opposite me, watching me as if she had something to say.

"Will you come to America with me?"

Shirley Yang had brought this up many times, and I had never committed because our lives hung by a thread then, living in constant fear, as if the world were ending daily. But now things were different. Since we had broken free from the nightmare of the curse, I had to give her an answer. I had asked myself many times: of course, I wanted to go to America, not because the United States was inherently superior, but because I felt I could no longer be separated from Shirley Yang. However, Fatty and I were currently penniless; even scraping the bottom of our trunks wouldn't yield enough capital to survive over there. Most of my fallen comrades came from impoverished areas; who would look after their families afterward? Shirley Yang would undoubtedly solve our financial difficulties without hesitation, but self-reliance was my principle. I was never one to hesitate in my decisions, but this time, I had to reconsider repeatedly.

So, I told Shirley Yang to give me more time to think it over. If I went to America, the feng shui treatises I had studied for half my life would be useless. Ever since I first arrived at the Panjiayuan Antique Market in Beijing, my plan had been to pull off one massive score, to make a fortune. Otherwise, all that learning of the Mojin Xiaowei Tomb-Finding Arts would have been in vain, right? We’ve been inside the Dragon Tower Palace several times, yet we haven't brought back anything valuable—that doesn't look good. Now, everyone is eager to go abroad; going overseas is fashionable. People are scrambling to go anywhere—even to Third World countries—thinking they’ll figure things out once they’re out. We also wanted to go to America, but the timing wasn't right yet.

Fatty chimed in from the side, "That's right. Commander Hu's heroic declaration about making one huge score his life's goal still rings in our ears, echoing for three days. That is our ultimate aspiration. If we don't fulfill this wish, we can't eat or sleep soundly."

Uncle Ming, sensing another major plan brewing from our conversation, quickly interjected, "Are you serious? You haven't even gotten out of the Kunlun Mountains yet, and you’re already plotting another big move? You absolutely must take me! I can provide the funding and all necessary supplies. Even though we were wiped out this time, betting and losing isn't the end. I believe in Brother Hu’s capabilities; we will definitely pull off a huge deal."

I impatiently told Uncle Ming, "Stop joining the fun, alright? Can't you see three great tomb-raiding professionals here engaged in an engrossing discussion about the future path of the tomb-raiding industry? This will be an all-nighter." Uncle Ming, having lost his initial investment and still owing me a fortune in antiques, certainly wasn't going to pass up a chance to make money. He kept smiling and said to me, "Of course, I know you're a man of big deeds, but even a good hero needs three helpers. Besides Fatty and Miss Yang, I can offer some small assistance. I have some very valuable intelligence: have you ever heard of the tomb of the King of Hami in Xinjiang? Legend says that the ancient tomb of the King of Hami contains a set of Golden Scriptures, where every page is made of gold, inlaid with various jewels. Reading one line of scripture can make withered flowers bloom again; reading two lines can make..." As Uncle Ming spoke, he closed his eyes, shook his head dreamily, as if he had already grasped the golden manuscript in his hands, completely intoxicated.

Shirley Yang saw that the discussion between me and the others was interrupted by Uncle Ming, and the topic was drifting too far—if it continued, we might end up discussing raiding the King of Hami’s tomb in the Tianshan Mountains. She cleared her throat, pulling my attention back from Uncle Ming's tangent. Shirley Yang said to me, "You clearly said yourself, while standing atop the statue on Thunder Mountain, that you no longer wanted to dabble in tomb raiding and wished to go to America with me. Yet, less than a day later, you're going back on your word. But I'm not angry, because I understand how you feel. The road back is long; give me your answer once we get to Beijing. I hope the things I tried to persuade you with weren't spoken in vain... Do you know the story of the Bremen Town Musicians?" I think that story shares many similarities with our experience.

Fatty and I exchanged glances. We had never heard of any "band that doesn't sell coal," yet Shirley Yang claimed our experience was similar to this band. What was she trying to say? I truly couldn't figure out the connection between the Mojin Xiaowei and the "Band That Doesn't Sell Coal." Could it be a group that both raids tombs and sings? So, I asked Shirley Yang what the "Band That Doesn't Sell Coal" was.

Shirley Yang replied, "It’s not 'doesn't sell coal,' it's Bremen, a place name in Germany. This story is a fairy tale. In the story, four animals—a donkey, a dog, a cat, and a rooster—all felt life’s pressures were too great. They decided to form a band and travel to Bremen to perform, believing they would be wildly popular there and live happily ever after. In their minds, reaching Bremen, the end of their journey, was their ultimate ideal."

Fatty and I both shook our heads simultaneously: "That comparison is completely inappropriate. Why compare us to these fairy tale animals?"

Shirley Yang said, "Wait until I finish. The Bremen Town Musicians never actually reached Bremen. Because on their journey to Bremen, they used their wits to defeat the villains in a hunter's cabin and then stayed there, living happily. Although the Bremen Town Musicians never went to Bremen, they found what they desired on the journey and achieved their self-worth."

Although Fatty still didn't quite get it, I had mostly grasped the meaning behind Shirley Yang’s story. The "Bremen Town Musicians" who never reached Bremen, and us, the "Mojin Xiaowei" who never got rich from tomb raiding, were indeed quite similar. Perhaps on this journey, we had already gained many precious things whose value even surpassed our grand goal of "making a huge score." The destination wasn't important; what mattered was what we gained during the process of getting there.

After hearing the story of the Bremen Town Musicians, I remained silent for a long time before suddenly asking Fatty, "Why do we raid tombs? Is there any reason other than needing money?"

Fatty was stunned by my question and took a long time to reply, "Tomb... tomb raiding? This reason... it's because besides tomb raiding, there’s nothing else we can do. We don't know how to do anything else."

Hearing Fatty’s words, I felt a profound sense of loss, my heart empty, and I lost the desire to speak. The others, after eating a bit, settled down against the cave wall to rest. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Something hidden within me seemed to have been touched—a self-examination of my own destiny.

Fatty and I shared similar backgrounds, both coming from military families, having lived through the decade of chaos. That age was the most crucial period for the formation of one's values and worldview. The concepts of 'Revolution is not a crime, rebellion is justified' were deeply ingrained. Teachers were purged, and schooling was largely abandoned. We had no culture, no technical skills. This was not only our tragedy but the tragedy of an entire era. Later, responding to the call to "temper our revolutionary hearts in the vast world," we were sent to the most remote gullies of Inner Mongolia for re-education, truly experiencing the "vast world" where one might not see another person for a hundred li. I was relatively lucky; after a little over a year of 'Down to the Countryside,' I managed to join the army. Fatty, if he hadn't stubbornly refused to believe in any urban return quotas and just packed up and left, might still be stuck in the mountains.

Joining the military was my childhood dream, but I missed the right time and could only dream every night of participating in the Third World War. I served for ten years and only became a company commander at twenty-nine. When border conflicts flared up in South Xinjiang, it was the perfect opportunity for me to make a name for myself, but a moment of impulsiveness on the battlefield destroyed my promising future. For someone who had spent ten years in the military, leaving the service was tantamount to losing everything. After the Reform and Opening Up, a flood of new concepts and values poured into China, and I struggled to adapt to this change. I tried to start a business but realized I was simply not cut out for it. Gradually, I lost all ambition and pursuit, merely drifting along, waiting for death.

It wasn't until Fatty and I met Big Gold Tooth and began our careers as Mojin Xiaowei that I found something resembling a goal. "Pulling off a big score and making a fortune" might have been just an unreliable notion for me, because, as Fatty said, we knew nothing else. I simply hoped to live a fulfilling life rather than waste time in mediocrity. Even in America, I could continue to strive, earn more money, and make life easier for those who needed my help.

I had never reflected on my life so deeply. My thoughts surged, and although my eyes were closed, I felt no inclination to sleep. I heard the others, worn out from exhaustion, drift off into dreams one by one. The sound of the rain outside had stopped, and I suddenly heard someone quietly walking towards the outside.

I remained calm, slowly cracking open my eyes. The fire was already half-extinguished, and Uncle Ming was sneaking toward the cave exit. He was carrying my backpack, which contained some of our leftover meat, several sets of camouflage fatigues, and dry batteries—supplies absolutely necessary for getting out of the deep mountains. I immediately jumped up and grabbed his wrist, asking in a low voice, "Where are you going in the middle of the night? Don't tell me you're just stepping out for a moment; you don't need a backpack for that. If you're heading out, why didn't you tell me? I could have escorted you."

My sudden move nearly gave Uncle Ming a heart attack. "I... I... alas... I am but a speck in the vast ocean; how dare I trouble the esteemed Master Xiaowei to escort me?"

I told Uncle Ming that as a senior, it was my duty to see him off. "Where exactly are you going?" Uncle Ming stamped his foot and said, "This is truly hard to explain..." He looked worried and sadly whispered to me, "To be honest, after surviving this emergence from underground, I feel like I’ve been dreaming. Looking back on my past, life feels like one long dream—both painful and fleeting. Having escaped death and lived a second life, I've let go of many things. I plan to become a lama in a temple, chanting sutras and worshipping Buddha to spend the rest of my days, repenting for my past sins. But I fear Ah Xiang will be heartbroken, so it's better not to upset her. That's why I resorted to this plan of slipping away without a word. I trust that with you here, Brother Hu, you can ensure that child Ah Xiang finds a good future. Don't worry about me anymore; I am just a leaf in the wind, let me blow away."

I almost burst out laughing at Uncle Ming's theatrics. If this trick were new, I might have believed him, but I understood his scheme immediately. The old Hong Kong man had likely realized that I might agree to go to America with Shirley Yang and would almost certainly abandon tomb raiding. Now that this Bone-Storing Trench had only one exit, getting out wasn't hard. He was planning a 'golden cicada shedding its shell' escape to dodge his debts—he still owed me a room full of antiques, and I couldn't let him run. So, I snatched the backpack from Uncle Ming: "A monk must renounce the Four Great Emptinesses, but don't rush to be empty just yet. We made an agreement in Beijing: that shelf of antiques, including the jade that Consort Yang held in her mouth to quench her thirst, should belong to me. We will settle the account back in Beijing. Whether you want to be a Daoist or a lama then is none of my business, but until that day, we must stick together like glue; we can't be separated by even half a step."