Chapter 21: It Is About to Emerge

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In 1979, the year when China and the United States had just established diplomatic relations and the modernization of socialism was only beginning to take its first correct steps, everything appeared vibrant and full of promise. Archaeological work, too, embarked upon open investigations for the first time. People were brimming with enthusiasm, each one alive with energy.

Yet, the only shortcoming was the simplicity of the equipment. Lacking the support of advanced technology, archaeological excavation could not be sustained by passion alone; after only a few days of digging, fatigue began to creep in among the team.

At that time, Wang Bowen and my mother were both ordinary teachers, mere members of the archaeological team. The whole group numbered twenty-seven, and with the addition of auxiliary staff and local workers, there were more than a hundred people altogether. Every day, the excavation site was ablaze with activity, though progress remained painfully slow.

At last, shouts erupted—“It’s open, it’s open!”

Excited voices called out, and everyone rushed over to gather around. Before their eyes, layer upon layer of blue bricks emerged. The leader, Professor Zhou, was a man entirely devoted to archaeology, working tirelessly without rest. At this moment, his aged eyes brimmed with tears as he stroked the bricks, his voice trembling with emotion. “This is certainly a grand tomb from the Shang or Zhou period. Look at the specifications of these bricks—this must have been a burial for nobility.”

At these words, the exhaustion of the past few days seemed to melt away instantly. Everyone’s spirits soared as they seized their tools and resumed digging with renewed vigor. That very night, they opened the entrance to a burial passage. The excitement was palpable; no one could sleep. Most of the archaeological team were young students, and their enthusiasm was infectious. They pleaded with Professor Zhou to explore the tomb that night, and he, anxious himself, eagerly agreed, insisting on leading the descent.

Normally, the procedure would be to work from the surface, but the conditions were limited and comprehensive excavation was too difficult. Thus, they decided to enter the tomb and begin clearing artifacts, partly to prevent grave robbers from striking first. The methods were not much different from those of the grave robbers, perhaps even less skillful.

Professor Zhou was the first to descend, flashlight in hand, followed by four students. Oxygen was scarce below, so only a few could go at a time; the others would have to wait. Wang Bowen and my mother were not strangers to tombs, and their curiosity was not particularly strong. Seeing the students eager to go, they did not compete for a spot.

About half an hour passed with no movement below. The team began to inquire via walkie-talkie. At first, clear voices came through, then just static—crackling noises, though still recognizable. Excited, a student shouted through the device, “All treasures!” After a while, the walkie-talkie fell silent, even the signal disappeared. Radio communication was cut off entirely. An hour went by, and anxiety grew. Then a bespectacled male student nervously asked,

“Could something be down there?”

“Stop talking nonsense! We are scientists—we don’t believe in ghosts!” Wang Bowen reprimanded him sternly, and the other teachers joined in, nearly reducing the bespectacled boy to tears. Despite their words, the silence below left everyone uneasy. Professor Zhou was an experienced and meticulous archaeologist; it was unthinkable that there would be no news at all.

After another half hour, impatience overtook the group, and everyone wanted to go down and check. Wang Bowen, being older and the head of the identification group, was looked to for guidance. He worried about possible traps or lack of oxygen in the tomb, suspecting some issue in these areas, and nodded his consent. A teacher and a robust male student quickly prepared their gear and descended.

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Those above waited anxiously as the walkie-talkie repeated, “Not found, not found.” Hearing this, the anxiety only deepened. At that moment, the camp, including auxiliary staff, numbered fewer than forty; all gathered around. Some suggested calling for help, and all agreed, but the nearest police station was over thirty kilometers away, the roads winding through mountains. The archaeological team had only an old bus and a truck; even if they drove there and back, it would take at least five hours—far too slow.

As the group fretted, a sudden cacophony burst from the walkie-talkie, accompanied by a strange sound that made the ears ache. It was hard to describe—something like the wailing of ghosts and wolves. The bespectacled student, still shaken from earlier, collapsed to the ground, sobbing, “Ghosts… ghostly cries…”

No one had time to scold him. Gripping their walkie-talkies, they shouted for answers, but the device returned only noise—an endless barrage of howls, impossible to distinguish any human voice.

Wang Bowen gritted his teeth, grabbed an entrenching tool, and prepared to descend, but several pulled him back. Now was not the time to risk another life. Just then, a bloodied hand reached out from the tomb entrance, startling everyone into retreat. Then a head appeared; to their shock, it was Teacher Lin, who had just gone down. Though barely recognizable, his clothes and appearance were unmistakable. His head seemed badly wounded, and as they pulled him out, they found him barely alive. More horrifying still, both his f