The box was opened, and we were all stunned. Inside, neatly stacked, were round gold ingots. Gold ingots—this was indeed the Han dynasty method of casting gold. In that era, there was no silver used as currency, only copper and gold. It seemed certain that the other long box also contained gold.

“William Bennett, go immediately and keep a close watch on the three living bandits. Brian Cooper, gather up the horses—we may need them later. David Clark, help me take care of the bodies.” I didn’t bother opening the other box and started assigning tasks right away. “What about that merchant?” William Bennett asked. “I saw him run off already, leaving all this money behind and fleeing alone. He must have something even more valuable on him. Besides, he definitely lied. This box of gold weighs at most 200 kilograms, and the three boxes of silver can’t possibly add up to 30,000 taels.”

As William Bennett hurried over to the three bandits we had tied up, David Clark muttered quietly, “Maybe the merchant didn’t lie. I’ve heard that the weight units in the Han dynasty were different from ours.” That’s it! I suddenly realized—if this was the Han dynasty, then the merchant really hadn’t lied. A Han dynasty jin was only about 300 grams today, so 200 kilograms would be 600 jin in Han terms. With 16 liang to a jin, that’s about 10,000 taels per box.

We quickly carried the bodies back to the valley and buried them. Brian Cooper stayed at the entrance, crossbow in hand, keeping watch. I thought, since this isn’t our own era, there’s no need to preserve the scene—after all, the police will never come. We carefully cleaned up the battlefield, collecting everything (who knows if we’ll need these things in the future). During this time, I personally moved the body of the traveling scholar back into the valley.

When everything was tidied up and William Bennett returned to the valley with the cart and the three surviving bandits, I was squatting in front of the scholar, gently wiping the blood and dust from his face.

“The merchant ran off, didn’t he?” I didn’t stop what I was doing. William Bennett immediately replied, “Boss, my admiration for you is like the endless flow of the Yangtze River, unceasing, and like the flooding Yellow River, out of control…”

“You’re plagiarizing, you know that? You’re stealing lines from Zhou Xingxing 1,800 years in the future. If you say them first, how will Zhou Xingxing survive 1,800 years from now?” I cut him off. William Bennett laughed and said, “Maybe I’m Zhou Xingxing’s ancestor from 1,800 years ago. After all, we’re both surnamed Zhou.” He followed my hand and looked at the face I found so familiar, then let out a pig-like scream: “Boss, why does this guy look so much like you?”

Suddenly, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning, the sun and moon changing color—I was dumbfounded, as if hit by a bolt of lightning. Ah, that’s it! No wonder I kept feeling a sense of familiarity—wasn’t this the face I saw in the mirror a few years ago? During my days in Shennongjia, I only saw the beard on this face in my shaving mirror. After just forty days without seeing my full face, I almost didn’t recognize myself at first glance. Didn’t you suffer a betrayal before you died? Why does your expression look so calm now, with no joy, no sorrow, no regrets?

Truly, no regrets?

I reached out blankly and searched his chest. He had only fifteen copper coins and two pieces of cloth. The cloth seemed to be two letters; one had been pierced by a dagger and stained with blood, making it illegible. Through the blur, I could just make out a few traditional characters: 公孫伯珪.

Gongsun Bogui—that name sounded so familiar. Suddenly, I remembered: in my favorite game, “Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” there was this name. Gongsun Bogui was Gongsun Zan, who, like Liu Bei, studied under the great Han Confucian Lu Zhi, and treated Liu Bei like a brother. The first place he served was Liu Bei’s hometown, Zhuo County, where he was Liu Bei’s parents’ official. In history, whenever Liu Bei faced setbacks, he would seek refuge with Gongsun Zan, who always protected him like an elder brother—giving him official posts, giving him men. This was probably because Gongsun Zan was of secondary birth (born to a concubine), and had suffered much bullying within the Gongsun clan, forcing him to strike out on his own early. Perhaps, in Liu Bei, he found a sense of being an elder brother.

However, Gongsun Zan could be extremely stubborn and self-willed. Despite having mighty generals like Zhao Yun, Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei, he failed to use them, and was ultimately defeated by Yuan Shao. Sadly, even in death, he was fierce—when his city fell, he gathered his entire family in a tall building and set it on fire, dying together. He could be called the originator of self-immolation in China, the first ruthless man of the Han dynasty—ruthless to his enemies, even more ruthless to himself.

The Book of the Later Han records: “In the third year of Guanghe, in the second month, there was an earthquake in Mount Tai; also, the sea overflowed, and the coastal residents were all swept into the sea by huge waves. The cliffs of Wuyuan Mountain all collapsed. All sorts of omens, not just one.” It seems we are experiencing the Mount Tai earthquake of the second month of the third year of Guanghe in the Eastern Han. The lunar second month should be around March in the Gregorian calendar. And for this person before me to have dealings with Gongsun Zan, he must have been a notable figure of the time.

I opened the other letter. Through the mottled bloodstains, I carefully deciphered the ancient script: “Xuande, my brother, since parting from our teacher and returning home… my father Yuanqi instructed me to ask you, your mother should be cared for by the clan’s younger generation, so you can travel and study with peace of mind… Your younger clan brother, Deran, respectfully.”