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墨書 Inktalez
Fat Ma realized the old man was not joking and said, "Deal."
In the following days, aside from discussing the specific plans with the old man, I also went to the hospital for a re-examination. The process involved various instruments, and after showing the results to the female doctor, she assured me everything was fine before I quickly left.
After I walked out, the female doctor stared blankly at my retreating figure.
Meanwhile, Fat Ma and I had nearly finalized our plans. The equipment procurement was handed over to the old man, and they would send a few people to accompany us when the time came.
However, due to their lack of experience, the three of us would still take the lead.
The day before our departure, I called my grandfather to inform him that I wouldn't be back for a while. He didn't ask for details and simply agreed.
Everything was ready; we were just waiting to set off for Guangxi.
Not long ago, I had heard my grandfather mention Guangxi, and now it seemed I would be heading there myself. Suddenly, I thought of Chen Yutou and wondered what he might be encountering down there. It seemed I would have to wait until I returned home to ask my grandfather.
The journey from Beijing to Guangxi was long and bumpy, involving train and bus transfers. Eventually, we even took a donkey cart to reach a remote village.
This village was located at the border between Guangxi and Yunnan. Due to the Sino-Vietnamese War years ago, some Vietnamese people had settled here. Because it was so isolated, no one really managed it. In a way, this village was free but also quite impoverished.
Perhaps because we were dressed relatively well, we attracted a crowd as soon as we entered the village, drawing stares akin to those one might receive while observing monkeys at a zoo.
Oh right, I forgot to mention our companions on this trip. Besides the three of us, there were five others—four men and one woman—all young, around twenty-three or twenty-four years old. They were apprentices of the old man.
Our equipment was unprecedentedly sophisticated; it seemed the old man had put in considerable effort. We had compressed food, waterproof flashlights, gas masks, military knives, spare batteries, donkey hooves, glutinous rice, detectors, and so on. The Luoyang shovel was Fat Ma's constant companion.
Once we entered the village, we didn’t rush into the mountains to search for tombs; instead, we settled down in the village first. We found the village leader and offered him money, but he surprisingly refused.
He spoke a series of words and then pointed at our backpacks.
The others looked puzzled, but I understood—he didn’t want money; he wanted goods. In such remote areas, tangible items are often more valuable than cash; bartering is common.
In the end, we gave him some extra clothes and snacks we had brought along before he arranged for us to stay. Our accommodations were in a ramshackle earthen house that looked like it could collapse at any moment. However, this wasn’t the time for us to be picky. In our line of work, we had to be prepared to sleep under the sky and on the ground; hardship was part of the deal.
According to the information provided by the old man, there is a tomb located at the China-Vietnam border, dating back to the Shang Zhou period. However, the details he gave were somewhat outrageous; it was supposedly a map passed down from his ancestors. Initially, the Fat Ma was reluctant to agree, but the map was so detailed that it looked authentic. Reluctantly, we decided to come and try our luck.
The map was made of sheepskin, and judging by its appearance, it must be quite old.
None of us three were skilled at reading maps, but there was someone in our team who was—an individual known as Comrade, who wore glasses and appeared quite scholarly.
The terrain here was rather complex, with mountains stretching endlessly and trees flourishing like a vast green blanket covering the land. However, one notable feature was that the mountains were not very high.
The village we found ourselves in was situated on flat ground, almost as if it had been embedded among these mountains.
The villagers were not friendly towards us; from their gazes, I sensed a hint of predation and ferocity, which made me feel uneasy. That night, the moonlight enveloped everything like a layer of gauze. After a long day of trekking, fatigue hit us early, but I dared not sleep—neither did Mud Man.
Fat Ma had already fallen into a deep sleep, and the other five companions had also dozed off, but I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes.
Our backpacks were placed beside us. Moonlight streamed through the gaps in the walls when suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a shadow flitting past outside the window.
My heart tightened. I propped myself up slightly and nervously stared out the window while Mud Man cautiously got up and crept toward the door.
Suddenly, something was thrown in through the window. I focused my gaze and realized with alarm that it was a smoke grenade. Fortunately, Mud Man reacted quickly and picked it up to throw it back out.
However, the thick smoke still choked us. Fat Ma opened his eyes and shouted, “Fire! Fire!”
“Don’t make a fuss,” Mud Man said sternly. The others woke up one after another, coughing in response.
Fat Ma whispered to me, “What was that?”
“It’s a smoke grenade.”
Fat Ma’s round eyes nearly popped out of his head as he cursed under his breath, “Damn it.” Although the others felt tense and scared, they didn’t panic.
We were in trouble now; we had run into something serious. Since China’s Self-Defense Counterattack War against Vietnam in 1979 and the subsequent withdrawal of troops, this might be a lingering consequence that we had unexpectedly stumbled upon.
Fat Ma wore his fake military uniform with an air of authority; he just needed a weapon in hand to complete the look.
The clay figure crouched behind the door, gesturing for us to stay low.
After a few minutes, it seemed that there was no movement outside. However, we didn’t dare to relax for even a moment.
Damn, we’ve walked into a wolf's den, I cursed inwardly.
"This time, it seems we can't get away easily," Fat Ma whispered.
"When we first entered the village, everyone was so kind and gentle. How did they suddenly turn into this?" Fat Ma continued.
Just as Fat Ma finished speaking, a barrage of bullets came flying in through the window. Fortunately, we were all crouched down and managed to dodge them, but someone couldn’t help but scream.
Fat Ma was even angrier, cursing, "Damn it, I'm sick of this! I’m going to take you all down." He started to charge out but was stopped by the clay figure. If he rushed out like that, he would be turned into a sieve in less than a second.
Fat Ma was frightened by the clay figure’s words and didn’t dare to move recklessly. He knew how deadly a machine gun could be; getting hit would definitely leave him with a bloody hole.
I understood very well that their target was the supplies in our backpacks. If we just handed them over, we might escape unharmed, but there was also the risk that they would kill us to silence us.
The key issue was that we couldn’t communicate clearly with them. Moreover, if we gave them our supplies, we would have to turn back home, which meant all our efforts would have been in vain.
So unless it was absolutely necessary, we were unwilling to hand over our things.
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