Chapter 41: Another Version

I thought for a moment, then quickly steered the conversation back. “Senior, from what you just said, does that mean you know the origin of this casket?”

The old man coughed a few times, then suddenly lowered his voice. “It’s a long story. As of now, I’d say no more than three people in all of China know the true origin of this Nine-Ring Jade Casket. I only caught wind of it because of my previous line of work. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

I was stunned. If what this old man said was true, then this Jade Casket might be valuable enough to belong in the National Museum! But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was exaggerating. If only three people in the whole country knew about it, why would he spill everything to me so easily, especially if there was still a third person out there?

Despite my doubts, I wasn’t about to pass up a good story. “Yes, please. I’d love to hear it.”

The old man cleared his throat and began. “This happened a long time ago. A lot of the details are fuzzy now, so I’ll just stick to the main points.”

The story he told dated back more than thirty years. From it, I learned his name was Hou Jinshan, though on the streets he was better known as “Marquis Hou.” In his early years, he ran with the Tomb-Raiding Faction of the Outer Eight Trades, doing the kind of dirty work that tomb raiders are known for. He had a knack for raiding tombs, and his growing reputation eventually earned him a name within the faction.

Later, when the government began cracking down hard on tomb raiding across the country, Hou Jinshan slipped up during a particularly risky operation in Hubei. He used too much explosive, and as he was making his way out of the tomb, he was caught red-handed by local soldiers.

According to Marquis Hou, it wasn’t that he lacked skill—it was that the tomb was unusually dangerous. They had recruited twenty seasoned northern tomb raiders from the black market, but only he made it out alive—and even then, it was by blowing his way out while standing on the back of a dead comrade.

After he was caught, Hou Jinshan confessed everything he’d learned from his experience. Given the severity of his crime, he was looking at a death sentence. Even though he repeatedly warned that the tomb should never be entered again under any circumstances, the local authorities still decided to proceed with a covert rescue excavation.

“I knew I was done for,” Hou Jinshan said. “So many people had died. It was a cursed tomb. I accepted my fate. I spent a week in prison, scared out of my mind. I kept thinking about how painful it would be to get shot. That week felt like a lifetime.”

But instead of a trial, a week later a squad of soldiers came for him. The officer in charge told him he had a chance to redeem himself. They blindfolded him and drove him up a mountain—or at least, he assumed it was a mountain, since the vehicle kept climbing.

When they finally removed the blindfold, Hou Jinshan found himself in a camp nestled deep in a mountain valley. The trees there were unlike any he’d seen before—wild and untamed. Aside from a few trampled paths around the camp, the entire area was overgrown with grass so thick that anyone who wandered in would be hopelessly lost.

They brought him into a tent and told him he’d been right: everyone who entered the tomb had died. Only one soldier managed to crawl out alive, carrying a few photographs and a single burial artifact.

By this point, I already had a good guess what that artifact was. But after all these years, Hou Jinshan had forgotten many of the details.

“That was the first time I saw the Nine-Ring Jade Casket,” he said. “Even though it was just a photo, I could feel there was something off about it. For the next nine months, I was ordered to stay in that tent and use my experience to help translate and analyze the inscriptions in the photos.”

“Then one day, I went to sleep as usual, and when I woke up, I was back in my own bed at home. To this day, I’ve never told anyone about that part. I kept feeling like someone was watching me. But I know those nine months weren’t just a dream.”

His story was nearly finished, but instead of answers, I was left with even more questions—especially because I’d just heard a completely different version from Tian Yuqing. According to that account, the Jade Casket had been lost overseas long ago, kept in a Japanese museum before mysteriously vanishing, only to be unearthed again by a farmer in Shandong.

But that version had absolutely nothing in common with Hou Jinshan’s. Even if stories get embellished over time, the core elements should still match. How could there be two entirely separate versions of the same artifact?

“Quite the tale, huh?” the soldier chuckled, clearly treating it like some spooky campfire story.

I didn’t voice my doubts. Instead, I asked, “Marquis Hou, do you remember any of the inscriptions you helped translate from those photos?”

I was hoping to get some textual descriptions. Analyzing images alone leaves too much room for error, but words—those are harder to misinterpret.

Marquis Hou tilted his head and thought for a long time before finally saying, “The parts I worked on were pretty obscure, but I did manage to piece together a few things.”

I perked up and sat straighter.

He continued, “From what we could tell, the tomb belonged to a consort. There was no epitaph or anything like that in the photos, so we had to rely on the murals. Based on those, we guessed it had something to do with a Chu Emperor. But this emperor doesn’t appear in any known historical records. We searched for ages and only found vague references in some old folk tales.”

“According to legend, this emperor’s fiefdom was in a place called ‘Nieyao.’ The characters for that name were strange. We scoured countless texts and only found a brief mention in the *Yulizi*.”

“But even that didn’t really connect the place to the emperor. Many of the photos were blurry, and the inscriptions incomplete. Eventually, we had to rely on the murals, which were more straightforward. They showed the emperor being loved by his people, performing good deeds, and marrying nine wives—each one stunningly beautiful and virtuous. In the end, he and his nine wives ascended to immortality together. The tomb, we believe, belonged to one of those wives.”

I was willing to entertain the earlier parts of his story, but this last bit? Now it just sounded like he was making stuff up. What kind of ridiculous tale was that? If he didn’t want to talk, he could’ve just said so. Why bother spinning a yarn fit for a fairy tale?

The story dragged on, and the rest was mostly nonsense. The soldier who’d been listening with us left after just a few more sentences—probably too sleepy to keep up. But I still felt there might be some useful info buried in all that rambling, so I forced myself to stay awake and listen through most of the night. In the end, I couldn’t hold out any longer and crashed on a bench in the dining car.

It wasn’t until after ten the next morning that a train attendant woke me up. I stumbled back to my cabin with dark circles under my eyes, only to find that old man Hou still snoring away in his bunk. I cursed under my breath, climbed into my own bed, and passed out again.

I ended up sleeping through another whole night. When I woke up, I was starving. First thing I did was make myself a bowl of instant noodles. The soldier told me that Marquis Hou had gotten off at the first stop after we entered Henan Province. From our later conversations, I found out that the soldier and I were getting off at the same station.

Was the universe just throwing all the coincidences at me at once?

The train clattered to a stop. I gathered my things and got off. The station was packed with people. I weaved through the crowd, heading toward the bus terminal, passing by the White Horse Sculpture in the station square.

That’s when I spotted a figure that looked incredibly familiar.

I froze, then pushed through the crowd, shouting his name.

“Lu A’yao! What are you doing here?!”

Lu A’yao looked up at the sound of my voice. He was sitting under the sculpture with a group of migrant workers, looking completely out of place. He brushed the dust off his clothes and stood up.

“I went back to Nanjing for a bit,” he said casually. “Then I called He Yu, and he told me you’d already taken the train back. So I bought the earliest ticket I could and rushed over. I just got here not long ago. Figured I might run into you, so I waited around.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. The vendors in the square were back to shouting about their snacks and trinkets. I raised my voice and yelled at him, “There are so many people here! If I hadn’t turned around just now, you’d be sleeping on the street tonight! Why’d you come all this way to follow me?”

Lu A’yao pulled a copper coin from his pocket and held it up. He said something I didn’t catch, so he repeated it. This time I heard it clearly.

“You’re going back to Ying Gan Hall, right?”

I nodded.

“Can I crash there for a while?” he asked.

I crossed my arms. “Depends—are you paying rent? If you are, then sure.”

He actually patted his pockets, but I could tell he didn’t have a cent on him. He must’ve left in such a hurry he forgot to bring money. I laughed and turned to walk away. After a few steps, I looked back and saw that he hadn’t followed—he’d taken me seriously.

I burst out laughing, walked back, and clapped him on the shoulder. “I was just messing with you. You really believed that? We’re friends—what’s this talk about money? Next time you come, just call me ahead of time. Tell me you’re waiting under the White Horse, and I’ll come get you no matter how far I am.”

I pointed to the wind-swept “White Horse” statue in the square and smiled at him.

Back in the 1980s, the White Horse Sculpture in the square of Zhumadian Station in Henan was a well-known landmark. Of course, it’s long gone now. It was probably torn down around the time I was born. I don’t remember the exact date, but it carried such a strong sense of that era, I couldn’t help but use it here.