Chapter 7: Seeking Unconventional Paths

Why did I call this a ragtag crew?

A professional tomb-robbing gang usually consists of six members, each with a specialized role: the Master (or "Eye-opener," "Headman," or "Chef," responsible for geomancy and locating the tomb), the Coordinator (managing funds, equipment, and personnel), the Digger (breaking ground and tunneling), the Laborer (hauling tools and clearing the site), the Accountant (fencing stolen goods and managing the books), and the Lookout (scouting for warnings and passing signals).

Even though I am considered a "Master," I am nothing more than a fledgling monk just starting out. As for Fatty Dong, I doubt he could even distinguish between the various types of burial sites—tombs, graves, mounds, or pits.

Did Xu Qingguo really hire him to ward off evil and disasters? Tomb robbers don't fear ghosts. If you fear ghosts, you don't rob tombs.

We all climbed into a four-wheeled truck. The back was filled with discarded clothing, concealing the tomb-robbing tools underneath. Wu Ping, our driver, also served as Xu Qingguo’s bodyguard. Along the way, I learned that the tomb of the "Ghost Doctor of Hushan" was a lead Xu Qingguo had stumbled upon two years ago. She had spent over a year tracking it down, only to find it impossible to enter. Desperate, she had resorted to "hanging the spirit banner"—a public solicitation for help—a few months prior.

I wanted to ask about the specific source of her information, but I held back. For one, it involved the person who provided the lead, and according to the rules, it was improper to pry. Secondly, this woman always carried herself with such a condescending, high-society air that I couldn't be bothered to chat.

After a full day of traveling along the national highway, we reached a place called Wufu Mountain, at the border of Jiangxi and Fujian, by nightfall. The mountain road was winding, buried deep in snow, and shrouded in thick fog. The truck could only crawl forward with extreme caution.

Unexpectedly, trouble still found us.

In the dead of night, the truck gave a sudden, thunderous "bang," followed by a sharp, screeching sound of emergency braking. Wu Ping’s pupils constricted, his face as cold and stiff as a corpse.

"We hit someone!"

I squinted through the windshield. There, dangling right in front of the glass, were two legs clad in embroidered shoes! Since two-thirds of the body was draped over the hood, I couldn't see the face, but it hung limp and motionless. It was highly likely they were dead.

We were all shocked and jumped out of the truck immediately. Wu Ping reacted with lightning speed, scrambling onto the hood in a few leaps. He paused for a few seconds, frowned, and then gave the body a kick, sending it tumbling off the truck.

It was a paper effigy made of bamboo strips!

We were all stunned. In this frozen, snow-covered mountain pass, where could a paper doll have come from? We began to inspect the area around the truck, discovering that the front right tire had blown out. We had run over an urn; ashes were scattered everywhere, and the nearby snow was littered with paper gold ingots.

In rural areas, cremation was rare back then. Even if it were, what sane person would leave an urn in the middle of a road in the middle of the night?

Just as we were utterly bewildered, a funeral procession suddenly emerged from the fog in the distant woods. Men, women, old, and young, all dressed in mourning white, hurried toward us.

Fatty Dong’s brow furrowed. "Damn! Have we run into a road-extortion gang?"

What is a "road-extortion gang"? In the nineties, there was a popular slogan: "If you want to get rich, build a road first." People in remote mountain areas took this to the extreme—blocking roads to charge tolls, forcing drivers into restaurants for exorbitant meals, selling unwanted goods on vehicles, or staging funeral processions to claim that a car had "collided with the spirit" and demanding compensation. In short, they used every possible method to fleece travelers of their money.

The mourners reached the truck. Seeing the shattered urn, the elderly, women, and children sat on the ground and wailed at the heavens. The men grew furious, brandishing hoes and sickles, surrounding us with menacing glares and shouting loudly in their local dialect.

Wu Ping said, "I'll go ask what's going on."

A while later, he returned, his expression grim. As Fatty Dong had guessed, it was indeed an extortion gang. The villagers claimed a young girl had died in a car accident on this road, and the driver had fled. The family dreamt of the deceased last night, and she told them that the vehicle responsible would pass by this spot tonight. They were instructed to place the urn on the road, and the girl's spirit would stop the car. They were convinced we were the culprits.

It was an absurd, baseless excuse.

Xu Qingguo, however, was not afraid at all. She crossed her arms. "What do they want?"

"They say you can't bring back the dead, but if we pay twenty thousand yuan, the matter is settled."

"And if we don't?"

"They'll flip the truck over and bury us alive right here to be buried with the girl."

Fatty Dong’s eyes widened like brass bells. "Damn! Why don't they just rob—wait, they are already robbing us! Miss Xu, give the word, and I'll go over there and beat the crap out of them!"

Xu Qingguo frowned and waved her hand. "There are so many elderly, women, and children. How can we fight them?"

We could likely take the dozen men, but if the old and young swarmed us and something went wrong, the entire village would descend upon us. That would cost us far more than twenty thousand to resolve. We couldn't leave, and we couldn't fight. Since we couldn't involve the police due to our own illicit activities, it seemed we had no choice but to pay.

My hands were meant for finding dragon veins and pushing open death doors, yet I hadn't even reached the tomb and was already mired in trouble. A bad start!

"Pay them to make the trouble go away. Go to the truck and get twenty thousand for them." Xu Qingguo ordered Wu Ping, then turned to look at us, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a smug smile. "Gentlemen, consider this an additional cost for the expedition. I'll be deducting it from your pay when we get back!"

Fatty Dong: "..."

If Xu Qingguo hadn't added that last bit, I wouldn't have cared. After all, that woman had plenty of money; twenty thousand was pocket change. But her "landlord-oppressing-the-tenant" attitude really rubbed me the wrong way.

I stopped Wu Ping from going to get the money and retorted with a look of disdain. "If a bunch of road-extortionists can stop you, why bother robbing a tomb? You might as well go home and wear diapers!"

Xu Qingguo’s beautiful eyes widened. "Hey! You..."

I ignored her, strode toward the villagers, and asked coldly, "Who's in charge here?"

A burly man with a thick neck patted his chest. "I am!"

I crooked a finger at him. "Come here, let's talk!"

Thinking I was going to negotiate, the man approached me with an arrogant swagger. I offered him a cigarette and lit it for him. Just as he took a puff, my hand struck like a dragon, clamping onto his throat and lifting him almost entirely off the ground!

The villagers erupted in chaos. They surged forward, weapons raised, shouting in their dialect and looking like they were ready to skewer me.

I roared, "Do you dare kill me?!!!"

My voice was full of authority, echoing through the mountains, instantly silencing their shouts.

The villagers: "..."

My gaze sharpened. "I dare to kill him!!!"

As soon as the words left my lips, I slammed my hand into the man's chest and kicked him back into the crowd. The man didn't even make a sound; his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed into the snow, motionless.

The shift happened so fast that the scene fell dead silent. Xu Qingguo and the others were completely stunned. One bold villager leaned over to check the man’s breathing, turned deathly pale, and shrieked, "He's dead!!!"

I whipped out my watermelon knife and took two aggressive steps forward, feigning an attempt to grab another villager who was screaming the loudest. The man jumped, dropped his hoe, and scrambled away in terror. Seeing this, the others were terrified and fled in a panic. Despite their ferocity in extortion, they were just ordinary villagers who relied on the land. If they truly encountered a killer—especially one who had just killed their leader—no one would stay.

Fatty Dong walked over, checked the man’s breathing, gulped, and looked at me with a thumbs-up. "Damn! You’re ruthless, kid. I’m impressed! But let it be clear, I didn't do anything—the dead man has nothing to do with me!"

I bent down, lifted the man’s eyelids, and patted his back twice. The man coughed a few times and slowly regained consciousness. Seeing the villagers gone, he looked dazed, but due to his windpipe being blocked, he couldn't speak or move for a moment.

Everyone else was dumbfounded. It was just a simple pressure-point strike—the same technique Liao Xiaoqin had used on Wu Er years ago.

I turned to the others. "Hurry up and change the spare tire! Are you waiting for them to come back for revenge?!"