Chapter 64 Grave Robbers’ Chronicles

August in Hangzhou was always pleasant. Although recently, the temperature in summer was getting warmer and warmer, by the West Lake, you could still get a sense of what the ancient poet Su Shi felt when he wrote the lines: “the shimmer of light on the water is the play of sunny skies”.⁽¹⁾

I leaned back on the couch in the shop and looked through all the information I had gathered over the past few months. More than three months had passed since I came back from Golmud, but I still hadn’t recovered. Those final events went far beyond anything I could bear. I never imagined that things would end like this.

During those three months, I was plagued by nightmares as countless scenes of everything I had experienced filled my dreams every night.

But, could I really get rid of them? I doubted it. Although some secrets had finally been revealed, that frustration in my heart hadn’t diminished at all.

What others desperately want to conceal must be something you don’t want to see. Therefore, when pursuing others’ secrets, you must be ready to bear the consequences when those secrets are revealed.

This was the lesson I finally learned. But if even Poker-Face couldn’t escape that kind of fate, what could I do? How many people could go their entire lives carrying a heart full of questions?

After I came back, I wrote down everything I’d experienced over the past year, starting with my grandfather’s journal and going all the way up until now. I knew that one day I would eventually forget it, just like Xie Lianhuan wearing that mask of my uncle’s face—if you wear it for too long, you won’t be able to take it off. Time always changes things and makes it easier to forget; I just hope that this day will come sooner rather than later.

There were still many parts of the whole matter that I didn’t understand. For example, where was the real Uncle Three? What was Poker-Face’s true identity? Where did Chen Wen-Jin go? What was the Ultimate? Who built the huge underground waterway? Who were those people in Chen Wen-Jin’s group, and what kind of plans were they carrying out?

These things still remained a mystery. I had originally been more concerned about the last question, but now, it seemed as though these problems weren’t very important.

After Poker-Face returned, we sent him to First Affiliated Hospital of Peking University for a full-body checkup. There was basically nothing wrong with him physically, but mentally he still wasn’t all there, so we left him in the hospital and found someone to take care of him. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a long-term solution. I asked some people in Changsha to look into his background and make some inquiries, but I still haven’t received a response yet.

Fatty said that he had a way that might provide some answers, but I haven’t heard back from him either. It seems that finding any information on Poker-Face is far more difficult than I originally thought. Now all I can do is hope that he’ll get better as soon as possible and tell us something useful. If not, then all we can do is support him for the rest of his life, which may not be a bad thing for him.

Few people get the opportunity to forget everything, but those who are lucky end up desperately trying to remember it all. This kind of cycle was nothing more than a paradox of human willfulness. Personally, I wasn’t afraid that he’d never remember; I was more afraid that he’d remember something, but the memories would be fuzzy.

When Pan Zi was sent to the hospital, it seemed like a miracle that he had survived all—I even thought it was kind of incredible—but it turned out that he wasn’t as seriously injured as we thought, and he was able to recover quickly.

Changsha was now in chaos. Pan Zi told me that when Master Three was usually away, the situation there could easily be controlled because the shop assistants kept everything running. Now, however, that was no longer possible—the tree had fallen, and the monkeys had scattered.⁽²⁾ Rumors were flying everywhere, and Pan Zi didn’t know what to do. Fortunately, Chen Pi Ah Si had taken a lot of Uncle Three’s business and assets; otherwise, it would have been difficult to deal with them all. For now, the only thing Pan Zi could do was handle one problem at a time. If it didn’t work out, then the only option left was to dissolve the business and sell everything. The money he had saved over the years would be enough to live a comfortable life, so maybe now was the time for him to retire.

I told him to find a girl and start a family as soon as possible, and stop worrying about Uncle Three’s assets. Uncle Three was old and didn’t have any children, so this kind of problem would have popped up sooner or later. Things had been building up for so long that there was nothing we could do to turn it around now.

Pan Zi didn’t respond. I didn’t think he would ever feel at ease until he knew whether Uncle Three was alive or not, which meant that he may continue the search. I could only wish him luck.

After we parted ways, Fatty went back to Beijing. He wasn’t as emotionally invested in the whole thing as the rest of us were, so he was able to conduct business as usual when he returned. According to Pan Zi, this man was not only shrewd, but also very smart, but I just couldn’t see it. Before Fatty left, he said some clichéd parting phrase, “Just as the green mountains do not change and the clear water will flow forever, I’m sure we’ll meet again some day.”⁽³⁾ It was actually quite moving. Those who hadn’t spent so much time together and risked their lives for each other wouldn’t understand the subtle sadness hidden behind these words.

Tashi said goodbye to us in Golmud. We definitely wouldn’t have been able to get out of the Tarim Basin without him, so we wanted to raise some money to give him a bonus. But Tashi wouldn’t accept our money, saying that it was just part of the job for him, and being able to bring us out alive was all by the grace of Buddha. Later, I gave him my watch as a keepsake.

With A Ning dead, I lost contact with Qiu Dekao’s company for the time being. I sent several emails to my acquaintances from there, but they all bounced back. I didn’t know if they would continue their search or not, but after this failure, I figured the old ghost should just give up. If he persisted, then he could only rely on himself from now on.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Everyone’s lives seemed to be back on a normal track. When I returned to Hangzhou, I continued living my leisurely life, working from nine to five. I’d sit on a rattan chair, take a nap, wake up, and flip through my grandfather’s journal out of boredom. I suddenly felt as if time was flowing backward, taking me back to a lifetime ago.

It reminded me of when Zhuangzi dreamed of a butterfly.⁽⁴⁾ After he woke up, he didn’t know whether he was really a man who had dreamed he was a butterfly or whether he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man. This used to mystify me before, but now I suddenly understood his feelings. It felt like everything that happened this past year was just a fleeting dream, and I was still in that snake-infested swamp, the leisurely sight in front of me nothing more than past memories flashing through my mind before death.

Whichever one it was, I was willing to happily accept it. Sometimes, the end of a thing was more exciting than the actual outcome. But in the deepest part of my heart, I knew very well that it was too early to say that this matter was over.

<Chapter 63><Table of Contents><Volume 6 Chapter 1: Discussion>

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TN Notes:

(1) Su Shi (1037–1101) was a Song Dynasty poet. This is a line from one of his poems basically describing how beautiful the water of West Lake looks on a sunny day. Translation taken directly from here.

(2) Proverb meaning that when someone loses power, their supporters or followers desert them.

(3) According to this twitter thread, it’s a common saying in wuxia that’s usually said as a parting phrase from one person to another. The relationship between the two parties is usually one that carries a heavy degree of affection and mutual respect. There’s a wistful, melancholy connotation to it, probably because there’s no telling when the parties might see each other again.

(4) Zhuangzi (369-286 BC) was a Daoist author who is credited with writing—in part or in whole—a work known by his name, the Zhuangzi, which is one of two foundational texts of Taoism, alongside the Tao Te Ching.

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Yesssssss baby! Finally full circle! It’s been a long 4 months but thanks for being so patient everyone! 😘 I’ll officially be starting back up on Ghost Banquet. I might need a day or two to get my mind right, make sure my stuff is organized, and skim those last few chapters of Chen Pi hell so I remember where we left off, but it hopefully shouldn’t be a long wait. As always, you all are the best! 😘