As soon as I thought of a village, I immediately imagined hot baths, stir-fried wild game, and the big braids of the village girls, and couldn’t help but get even more excited. At this moment, in the glow of the setting sun, I saw a group of figures on the mountaintops to our left and right. They were riding mules and seemed to be heading into the village as well. Since the mountains weren’t very high, I could vaguely make out that these people didn’t look like locals.

We reached the ferry crossing, and a little kid from the village saw us and suddenly shouted, “Ghosts!”

We were puzzled, but the child ran off so fast there was nothing we could do. The ox obediently stayed on the boat behind us, not making a fuss at all—truly a good ox. Peter Clark had herded cattle back home before, so he took on the role of driving the ox. When we got ashore, Quentin Carter woke up, thinking he’d just been dreaming. First, he got a beating from my Uncle Samuel, then Peter Clark gave him a few more kicks.

That Silent William seemed to have lost too much blood and still hadn’t woken up. I helped him onto the ox cart. This guy, honestly, his body was as soft as a woman’s, as if he had no bones at all. After settling him in, Uncle Samuel grabbed a passerby and asked where there was a hotel. The man looked at us like we were crazy: “What do you think this place is? Our village only has about thirty households. A hotel? If you want a place to stay, go to the village guesthouse.”

So we had to find the guesthouse, which looked like a haunted house, but it turned out to be pretty decent inside. At least it had a phone and electricity, and the building was made of concrete. Best of all, there was hot water, and the bedding was very clean. In this village, it was basically five-star standard.

We each took a bath—so comfortable, washing off all the stench of corpses—then went to the hall to eat some stir-fried dishes. That Silent William finally woke up, though he was still in bad shape. We ordered him a plate of pig liver to help replenish his blood, but didn’t ask him anything. After all, he was our savior; some things are better left until he’s recovered.

We ordered some beer, but since we had to get back to work tomorrow, we couldn’t drink too much. While eating, we joked with the waitress: “Hey, miss, your place is pretty nice. Look, you’ve got concrete floors, and even the roads outside are concrete. Did you guys carry all that cement up here on mules, one load at a time?”

“No way! How long would that take? We’ve had a road here for ages. Trucks could come in, but two years ago there was a landslide that buried the road. A big ancient cauldron was uncovered in the landslide, and a bunch of people from the province came to check it out. They said it was from the Warring States period and a national treasure, so they hauled it away and didn’t bother with the road anymore. Isn’t that infuriating? Later, the village tried to fix it themselves, but with no money, it’s been stop-and-go for a year and still isn’t done.”

“What about the waterway? Don’t you have a ferry crossing here?”

“That’s all stuff from before Liberation. It’s been years since any boats have run. If anyone tells you to take the waterway now, they’re definitely up to no good. You outsiders need to be careful. This stretch of water is really weird. Over the years, a few people have drowned, and not a single body has ever been recovered. The old folks in my family secretly say the mountain god swallowed them.”

I glanced at Uncle Samuel, thinking, damn, what kind of guide did you find? Looks like a crook. Uncle Samuel was embarrassed, couldn’t save face, and quickly took a swig of his drink. He asked, “By the way, are there a lot of outsiders here?”

“Don’t be fooled by how small my guesthouse is. I’ll tell you, all the outsiders stay here. Ever since that cauldron was dug up, more and more outsiders have been coming. Some people are even planning to build villas on the other side of the mountain.”

Uncle Samuel suddenly stood up and shouted, “Damn, seriously? Building villas in this wilderness? They’re either overseas Chinese or tomb robbers.”

The waitress was startled, and Peter Clark quickly pulled Uncle Samuel back: “Samuel, you’re not young anymore, don’t get so worked up.” Then he said to the waitress, “It’s nothing, Samuel just finds it unbelievable.”

I heard Uncle Samuel mutter a curse under his breath, then he smiled awkwardly and asked, “Hey, do you have any famous sights or interesting places around here?”

The waitress smiled sweetly, then suddenly lowered her voice and said, “You guys don’t look like tourists. What, here to rob graves?”

Seeing that none of us said anything, she sat down next to us. “Honestly, which outsider who comes here isn’t here to rob graves? If you were really here for sightseeing, all that equipment in your truck would be a burden, wouldn’t it?”

Uncle Samuel looked at me, then poured the young woman a glass of wine. “So, you’re an expert too?”

“Heh, not at all. I just heard stories from my grandpa. Over the years, lots of grave robbers have come here and taken away plenty of good stuff. But my grandpa says the really powerful things are deeper inside. There’s an immortal’s tomb in there. Don’t even mention gold and jewels—compared to the treasures of the immortals, those are nothing.”

“Oh?” Uncle Samuel was very interested. “So your grandpa’s been inside?”