Strike while the iron is hot, so the matter of buying tickets was also handed over to him. Once the time was set, the whole thing was settled just like that.

No one expected that what awaited us would turn out to be a nightmare.

Part One: The River Suppressing Seal

Chapter Eight: The Devils Enter the Village

The next day, we changed into relatively plain clothes and took a four-hour train ride to Linhe. Linhe County was fairly developed—multi-story buildings, electric lights, telephones—but compared to Taiyuan, the difference was like night and day.

Young Master came with me this time for two reasons: one, he wanted me to help him acquire some items; two, he wanted to learn a thing or two, just casually. William Carter's treasures—if I could let a few pass through my hands, it would give him a good start in business. He chatted nonstop along the way, and I got so annoyed that I told him not to ask now; when it was time to collect the items, I’d teach him naturally.

After arriving in Linhe, Young Master asked me if there was anything in the county town worth collecting. I told him not to waste his energy. Although there had always been many ancient tombs around Linhe County, and every year the Yellow River floods would expose one or two, the locals and villagers in the suburbs were all aware of the antique trade, so prices here weren’t cheap. Unless you spotted something truly exceptional, no one would bother coming here to collect. Since we were here, there was no need to buy, but we could stroll around and let him get familiar with the business.

So we stayed in Linhe for a day. I symbolically took Young Master for a walk in the suburbs, poking around here and there, chatting about five thousand years of history, which more or less repaid him for the expenses along the way.

Strangely, the phone number William Carter had written on the back of the train ticket—I called it many times, but no one ever answered. In the meantime, I took the opportunity to ask at the local post office if there was any issue with that number. After sacrificing a pack of Hongtashan cigarettes, an old postman told us that the number, starting with a 6, wasn’t from the county town, but from a small town on the edge of the Yellow River in Linhe County, called Donghuashan.

I thought, so he’s in Donghuashan. If he didn’t answer the phone, there might be another reason. So I told Young Master that it was time for us to go to the real place and start doing business.

There was no train to Donghuashan, only a small minivan. With so many people and hands, and the valuable Western Han bronze I was carrying, it didn’t feel safe to bring it on the vehicle. So I mailed it from the post office first. Only the bronze fragment wasn’t worth much, but I was afraid it might get lost if I mailed it, so I wrapped it around my stomach in a restroom before we set off.

The van sped along the mountain roads, bumping violently. The space inside was already cramped, and now, including the driver, there were 17 people squeezed in, plus a pile of luggage. The air felt especially stuffy.

The journey was long. I leaned my head against the window, looking out at the loess hills, trying to find some scenery. But this area was eroded by the Yellow River every year, and the weathering was severe. Many mountains and rivers had already collapsed badly. After the Yellow River washed away the topsoil, vegetation couldn’t grow, creating a vicious cycle year after year. In the end, only sparse trees and a land full of ravines remained—the scenery was extremely monotonous.

Young Master was very excited along the way, chatting about this and that, making small talk with the people around us, asking about Donghuashan.

Among our fellow passengers were two merchants, one fat and one thin, going to Donghuashan to buy goods. Both were very talkative. They told us that Donghuashan was remote, but it produced a special kind of traditional Chinese medicine, said to be a local minority remedy, very effective for epilepsy. But this herb only grew in one season each year, so it was very precious. They came to buy it once every year.

There were also three people from a university—a professor and two students—who were said to be studying folklore. Their university had assigned them a research project, so they came to the countryside to collect material. Young Master thought this was basically a free trip and was quite envious. I told him that doing research was hard work, especially their kind, with little funding—sometimes they had to pay out of their own pockets. You had to have personal interest; otherwise, who would want to come to such a remote place?

When the others heard we were antique dealers, they became very interested in us. Young Master was a smooth talker and left them all amazed, so we agreed to travel together and let them see how we collected antiques. At first, I disagreed, but then I thought that traveling with these people might make things easier. Besides, one of the female students, named Natalie Carter, was very beautiful—her blinking eyes made it hard to refuse her request.

There were also elementary school students, going to the county for school, only returning home once a month. The rest of the time, they lived at school. This was just like when I was a student, so seeing them made me feel nostalgic.

After six hours of bumpy mountain roads in the minivan, we finally entered the area of Donghua Town. Along the way, we saw scattered low stone houses on many hillsides. I knew that in remote mountain areas, sometimes just a few houses made up a whole village.

After passing through several dilapidated archways, we saw many stilted houses (buildings suspended on long wooden pillars on cliffs). In the distance, we could already see a corner of the Yellow River. The university students probably hadn’t seen such scenery before and kept taking photos, which made the elementary school students very curious.