Chapter Forty: The Sect of Shifting Sands

After Qiu the Taoist, Bai Ling, Fang Zhong, and Fang You entered the tomb, several assistants sent by Master Da Xiang followed close behind. Each of these assistants was tall and sturdy, with the bearing of seasoned ex-soldiers.

The leader among them introduced himself, “My name is An Wu. I’ve trained in martial arts for several years. Gentlemen, if you need anything, just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

At that moment, Bai Ling, the descendant of the Grave-Robbers, walked over to the southeast corner and lit a white candle. But as soon as the candle caught, its flame wavered erratically, flickering to the left and right, its light uncertain. Bai Ling hastily shielded the flame with his hand, but the flame grew weaker and finally died.

He gathered up the remains of the candle, a look of confirmation crossing his face—as though this outcome was expected.

Bai Ling’s actions served two purposes. The first was to test the air within the tomb for sufficiency of oxygen. If the air was plentiful, the white candle would burn steadily; if not, it would go out. Tombs remained sealed for countless years, and upon being opened, fresh air could not immediately fill the space. The less oxygen there was, the more energy would be drained from the explorers as they pressed on—a serious disadvantage.

The second purpose was symbolic. Traditionally, the southeast corner represented the Gate of Life; placing a lit candle there was a way to divine the fortune of the expedition. If the candle burned without fail, it was a sign that the grave-robbing would proceed smoothly. If the flame flickered uncertainly, it signaled danger within the tomb and a need for caution. If the candle was snuffed out at once, it meant they should retreat at once, take nothing, or else face doom and death far from home.

Looking at the extinguished candle, Bai Ling understood that the tomb of Cao Anman would be fraught with peril and no shortage of sinister spirits. Yet, they had already anticipated the dangers of this journey. With the company of Qiu the Taoist, Fang Zhong the Mountain-Mover, and Fang You, the Maoshan talisman master, they could risk pressing on.

Meanwhile, Fang You surveyed the tomb chamber. Before them stood three doors. Having studied the art of Qimen Dunjia, Fang You knew that ancient tombs were constructed according to the principles of the Five Elements and Eight Trigrams, often filled with hidden traps. The combination of the Eight Directions and these mechanisms made defense nearly impossible.

Fang Zhong, the Mountain-Mover, chuckled and said, “Earlier, I did my best to avoid the entrance tomb. We should now be at the center of the tomb complex. Next, we only need to find the direction of the main chamber and head straight for the main tomb!”

Most of the true burial treasures would be placed in the main chamber, interred with the tomb’s master. The side chambers were typically reserved for servants and decoys, meant to mislead and confuse tomb raiders.

In ancient times, when emperors and high officials died, their servants were often buried alive to accompany them, forced to serve even in death. This reminded Fang You of Tang Wan’er from Bamboo Mountain Village, herself the daughter of a powerful official, likely accompanied by soldiers and servants in her tomb, which explained the ghostly soldiers and spectral servants encountered that day.

Back to the present. The Mountain-Mover knocked several times on each of the three doors, listening to the muffled echoes that resonated from behind the stone.

He furrowed his brow in doubt. Usually, among three stone doors, one would be an open door—a passage—while the other two would be either traps or fakes. A trap door might unleash mechanisms or deadly projectiles as soon as it was opened. A false door would open onto solid rock, wasting precious time. Time was of the essence for tomb raiders: aside from the lack of oxygen, the act itself was a crime against ancestors, and if discovered by descendants, the robbers would be lucky to escape with their lives.

Yet, all three stone doors gave off the same muffled sound, as though something solid lay behind each of them.

“Let me have a look,” Bai Ling said, stepping forward with a black rod in hand. He pressed one end against the wall and the other to his ear, then tapped the middle of the rod.

This was a higher level of the Grave-Robbers’ art: discerning by sound. By pressing metal against the skull, the vibrations would travel directly to the ear bones, making it easier to distinguish subtle differences in sound. Beethoven, the famed composer, who was born deaf, had used this same method to experience music through bone conduction.

After listening to all three stone doors, Bai Ling’s expression grew grave. “One is a Quicksand Door, one is a Water Prison Door, and one is a Double Stone Door.”

Fang You marveled inwardly at the complexity of the tomb of Cao Anman, descendant of Cao Cao.

A Quicksand Door meant a chamber filled to the brim with sand; open it, and all outside would be instantly buried alive. The Water Prison Door concealed a chamber of poisonous water—lethal even in the smallest dose, brewed with ancient toxins. The Double Stone Door consisted of two massive slabs of iron, nearly indestructible, impossible to breach even with explosives.

Fang You studied the arrangement of the three doors. In his eyes, they corresponded precisely to positions in the Five Elements and Eight Trigrams. He had learned the basics of this numerological art—not as skilled as Senior Brother Zhang Zhiheng, but competent enough.

He began counting on his fingers, murmuring, “From peril and fortune, we choose fortune; from death and decay, we seek life.” With a clap of his hands, Fang You declared, “Open the central door!”

Everyone was startled by his decisiveness and looked at him in surprise.

“Young master, if you’re wrong, we’ll all meet our end here. Be sure you’re right!” Fang Zhong said nervously, knowing their lives hung in the balance.

“From what I heard, the central door should be the Double Stone Door. If so, it’ll take some effort to open,” Bai Ling remarked.

“If you trust me, open the center. If not, forget it,” Fang You replied with steely resolve—after all, the reputation of Maoshan was at stake.

“Since the Maoshan master can divine the way, let’s give it a try,” An Wu, the leader of Da Xiang’s men, said approvingly, signaling two assistants to step forward.

“If it’s just a Double Stone Door, it’s only two slabs of stone. Even if we open it, there’s no harm, right?” An Wu’s face was stern, but his tone was reasonable.

No one objected, so An Wu and his two men set to work, wielding tools and chipping away at the door. Sparks flew as their chisels struck the stone, and soon a crack appeared in the outer slab.

Just then, the spirit monkey of Qiu the Taoist let out two sharp cries. Qiu, who had been silent, opened his eyes.