King of Tomb Raiders

Chapter 20

In a slave society where human life was treated like dirt, the artisans under the Pharaoh's command certainly wouldn't care how many lives a single volley of poisoned arrows would kill. In their design philosophy, anyone who coveted the Pharaoh's treasures deserved to die and be cast into hell, never to ascend to heaven again.

Yelan's footsteps sounded outside the tent, slow and firm.

"Mr. Feng, may I come in?" His voice was hoarse, as if he were preoccupied with something on his mind.

When I delivered the dragon's body to him that morning, his grief and bewilderment had aroused my suspicion. I suspected he knew some complicated secrets—

"Please come in." I sat up in bed, wiped my face haphazardly to make myself look more refreshed.

Yelan lifted the curtain and walked in. His newly changed designer suit and gleaming shoes made him look at least ten years younger. He had just shaved, and his hair was styled in a fashionable middle part. After his makeover, he seemed a little awkward, his face filled with a restrained smile.

Without much preamble, he raised his right hand and said, “Mr. Feng, there’s something I’ve been thinking about and I’d like to entrust to you.”

My spirits lifted, for when he opened his palm, he held a small, unadorned tin box, about half an inch square. Tinware is a Malaysian specialty, and in the last decade, the country's practical tin handicrafts have been sold all over the world and are widely popular.

The tin box in Yelan's hand was dull in color and lacked any luster. Furthermore, the lid lacked the usual intricate carvings, bearing only a layer of fine, granular material that could barely be considered a pattern. In terms of its artistic value, it was negligible.

I frowned, the shrill whistles of the rough workers drilling into my ears again. They had been cooped up in the desert for nearly two months and were desperately craving the vibrant world of Cairo.

“Mr. Feng, this tin box was entrusted to me by Long.” He slowly lifted the lid of the tin box, walked closer to me, and placed it on the bedside table. The inside of the box was slightly cleaner than the outside. However, the thought of Long’s filthiness still made me feel nauseous. What surprised me even more was that at the bottom of the box was only a tiny transparent plastic bag, and inside the bag was some yellow powder that looked like grains of sand.

I smiled wryly, puzzled. "Yelan, what does this mean? What do you want me to do?"

Yelan solemnly clasped his hands together in front of his chest and bowed deeply towards the open box.

“Mr. Feng, this is one of the most treasured artifacts of our sect. Its name is—'Resurrection Sand'.”

I wasn't mistaken, the bag really did contain sand. You see, we're currently in the desert. While other things are hard to find, sand can be supplied by the tens or hundreds of thousands of tons. Why bother putting this tiny handful of sand so preciously in a tin box?

Yeran shouldn't be a prankster; judging by his piety, this sand must have a story behind it.

Suren abruptly lifted the curtain and strode in, as swiftly as a gust of wind, indicating that something had happened again. However, she reacted very quickly; upon seeing Yelan present, she immediately stopped and replaced her frantic expression with a smile.

"Oh? You two have something to discuss, may I listen in?" She smiled and sat down on a low stool near the door. She held a fax paper in her left hand and tucked it into her sleeve as she sat down.

Yelan nodded nervously, smiled at her, and continued, "After our sect's influence declined, we no longer easily mention our name to outsiders, lest we be ridiculed. Long is the descendant of the last leader of our sect, and the sole possessor of this 'Resurrection Sand.' Our sect has used the yellow sand as our totem for generations, firmly believing that every grain of sand in the desert contains a dead soul. Therefore, the power of the desert traverses heaven and earth, boundless and omnipresent..."

I twisted my stiff neck, revealing a hint of impatience. At this moment, I had no time to listen to anyone's long-winded lectures; I just hoped Yelan could give me some new information about dragons.

Yelan quickly sped up his narration: "Last time, we encountered the monster that devoured the workers in the well. The dragon told me that something big was about to happen and passed me the box. He said, 'If one day his soul disappears, as long as you treasure this sand, there is a chance for him to be resurrected.'"

Looking at the dirty box, I would have burst out laughing long ago if it weren't for saving face for Yelan.

The Chinese mythological story "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" records thousands of stories of "resurrection." It is surprising that the Egyptians in Africa, far away, also possess the same boundless imagination as third-rate Chinese writers.

“Mr. Feng, I know these things are strange, but I have read your Chinese collection of absurd novels. Chinese people believe most in things like out-of-body experiences and reincarnation, right? I hope that entrusting the box to you will be of some help to the dragon.”

I know that Long must have read the English version of "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio". In Europe and America, that book is mostly used by parents as a teaching material to scare their children.

Suren remained silent, tapping her toes on the ground repeatedly, making soft "plop" sounds.

That was the code, which translated to: "Send him away quickly, it's urgent."

I closed the lid, suppressing a laugh: "Mr. Yelan, I accept your commission and hope to help the dragon return to life as soon as possible."

The matter was urgent, and without waiting for Yeran to finish speaking, I subtly dismissed him. Here, I may have made a grave mistake, because perhaps the dragon's origins and history are closely related to the excavation of the Turkic Khan pyramids; I should have spoken with him more deeply to obtain some of the most useful information.

Unfortunately, due to Suren's misleading remarks, I got this crucial point backwards.

The Second Part: Underground Horror

— Chapter 14 — A Gathering of Masters —

As soon as Yelan stepped out of the tent, Suren jumped up and showed me the fax paper: "Brother Feng, there's a new development in the deal with Gu Ye."

The fax came from Scalpel, essentially stating that they would renegotiate the terms for exchanging the satellite images with Tanino. Currently, judging from the progress of the Tulihan excavation, Tanino's resources alone are insufficient to handle the work. Scalpel's cooperation is needed in many aspects. Therefore, Scalpel's demand is: only the excavation rights to the Tulihan pyramid will be given in exchange for all the images in Tanino's possession and all information related to "King of Tomb Raiders" Yang Tian. As for the previously mentioned Atlantis artifacts, Scalpel will unconditionally reclaim them.

I laughed; I realized I had underestimated the scalpel's profound cunning.

Suren tapped the table impatiently, saying, "Brother, it seems a bit premature to bring up conditions now! After all, there are too many uncertainties and changes before the pyramid is opened. Why rush things and force Gu Yegou to act rashly? Is it good for everyone's cooperation?"

The whistles and noise around me gradually subsided, and I was sure it wasn't time to cheer and celebrate.

I disagreed: "Those photos can't be guaranteed to be 100% real anyway, so why bother with the feelings of Tanino and his group of Japanese people?"

The Japanese are more cunning and ruthless than tigers, leopards, wolves, and jackals. Dealing with such a race is not a wise thing to do. I can't wait to part ways with them and have some peace and quiet.

Suren slammed her hand on the table, her emotions suddenly becoming agitated: "Brother Feng, now is not the time to discuss national righteousness, racial discrimination between Chinese and Japanese, or historical legacies—you can despise the narrow nationalism of the Japanese, despise the countless crimes they committed during the war, but now it seems that the Japanese possess a lot of crucial excavation data. Why are you as stubborn as I am? Why refuse to face the serious reality?"

I shrugged and made a nonchalant expression.

I have never admitted that the Chinese are inferior to the Japanese in tomb raiding techniques, and every Chinese person I have ever met has always carried an innate hatred for Japan, this small island nation.

Seeing Su Lun's face flushed with excitement, I suddenly remembered that she had a famous Japanese mentor, so naturally, there would be a "pro-Japanese" element in her thinking. Thinking of this, an "I see" expression naturally appeared on my face.

Suren suddenly calmed down, and smiled bitterly with a hint of dejection: "I know what Brother Feng is thinking. In fact, my mentor has always stood on the side against war and militarism, and, and, alas..." She ended her eloquent speech with a long sigh.

I quickly changed the subject to avoid an awkward silence: "So, what was the outcome of the negotiations? Did Tanino agree?"

After several major upheavals during the excavation process, including the incident this morning when the dragon became a vegetable, Gu Ye's arrogance has subsided considerably.

Suren took out a notification letter with a large red personal seal from her pocket, placed it in front of me, and softened her voice: "Agreed—for the sake of this list."

The seal depicted three knives with their tips resting together, its shape remarkably similar to the "willow-leaf dagger" commonly seen in Chinese martial arts, differing only in the red ribbon tied to the hilt. This was the personal seal of the scalpel, equivalent to the leader's token in martial arts circles. Any tomb raider worldwide who saw it would be as if they had seen the scalpel itself, utterly subservient to it.

"The people on the list will arrive here by private jet tomorrow afternoon." Suren forced a smile and walked out.

When opinions clash, even a few words are unnecessary. On the extremely difficult and complex topic of "China and Japan," a new barrier has been erected between us.

After reviewing the list arranged in Chinese, English, and Japanese, I finally understood why Tanino agreed to the scalpel's conditions—

The list included four names: Tom, James, Berrenlange, and Cheney.

Four very ordinary American names, but I believe that if their titles, achievements, and deeds were listed after them, it would cause a media frenzy and draw all attention to this desolate desert. Because, before this, no one would have imagined that a scalpel could bring these four people together and form a unified team to excavate the Pyramid of Tulku.

As far as I know, Tang was the mentor of the three previous Nobel Prize laureates in Chemistry; James was a six-time Nobel Prize nominee in Physics; and Berenlong is the world's leading authority in bacteriology. As for Cheney, he is now a well-deserved global master of architecture, having personally directed the drilling and development of the Great Pyramid of Giza.

If their achievements were to be described in detail, it would probably take at least a week of writing work.

The all-powerful surgeon secretly recruited these four people, allowing them to utilize their expertise to push the limits of tomb raiding at the Tuli Khan Pyramid.

For a long time after seeing the list, I lay on my back in bed, my mind filled with unanswerable questions.

The most fundamental question is: "Since the scalpel went to such lengths and arranged so many steps to open the Pyramid of Giza, what were his true motives? Was it just for the legendary 'Eye of the Moon'? Was it just to maintain his reputation in the tomb raiding world? Or was it simply to spend his entire life trying to see every dark corner of the earth?"

No, things are never that simple! I believe there are even more shocking and cruel truths hidden behind the whole incident.

I jumped out of bed, straightened my crumpled clothes, and headed straight for the tent in the valley.

I hope to talk to him directly, since the "super weapon" that Watanabe Toshio and Fujika mentioned unintentionally is also one of the issues that lingers in my mind.

Throughout the Asian continent, every ambitious small country covets China's vast territory of 9.6 million square kilometers. In particular, island nations like Japan, South Korea, and Malaysia, which have suffered greatly from tsunamis, are eager to escape their predicament of being isolated and adrift in the middle of the ocean.

The recent remakes of films about maritime disasters, such as "Japan Sinks," reveal the undisguised fear of the sea among the Japanese. As their close neighbor, mainland China would be the most ideal nearby refuge. Therefore, military experts worldwide invariably include the question, "Will Japan launch another military attack on China?" in their research.

"If there is some kind of super weapon in the Turkic Pyramid that could change the world order, we must not let it fall into the hands of the Japanese, even if it means being shattered to pieces!" This is my personal opinion, regardless of the scheming business negotiations between Tanino and Scalpel.

Gu Ye was sitting behind a large desk, with a tall stack of ancient books at his elbow and his eyes closed, resting.

The record player on the side of the desk was playing a record of old Japanese music at a very low volume, creating a peaceful and serene atmosphere.

That stack of ancient books was definitely the "Biluo Huangquan Jing" (The Yellow Springs Classic), which he had carelessly tossed onto the back seat of his car when he went to the villa for help. It is one of the ten rare ancient books in the long history of the world.

Behind the ancient book was a freshly opened bottle of sake, its white surface gleaming like jade. A faint aroma of sake mingled with the somewhat monotonous strains of traditional Japanese music, echoing through the tent. At this moment, Tanino was no longer the same man who had rushed to the villa in a panic, like a stray dog seeking help. He had long since regained his gentle and refined demeanor as an archaeology professor.

"The wind is just right. Come and try some authentic Hokkaido sake, a specialty of our Yamato people, and this—one of the three treasures of Kyushu: 'Sea Breeze Dried Crab.' Did you know? These are two of your favorite Japanese delicacies. Many people flock to them as soon as they hear their names, rushing to open their wallets... You Chinese, really..."

With a sullen face, I dragged a chair over and sat down opposite the desk.

After several disagreements, I realized that Gu Ye was deliberately provoking me, because someone as skilled as him, who had spent his life working around the world, would never intentionally touch upon this sensitive topic of "ethnic hatred."

Sake is indeed a fine thing, and the dried crab is incredibly delicious, but my purpose in coming here is not to satisfy my appetite. Therefore, our conversation was not very engaging, mostly consisting of topics like the weather, international affairs, and secrets of tomb raiding, with both of us carefully avoiding the topic of Fujika's disappearance.

The bottle of wine was quickly finished. While he got up to get a second bottle from the refrigerator, I quietly took out the Emperor's gold medal and placed it next to his wine glass.

When he returned to his seat and saw the gold medal, he suddenly gasped and froze, the bottle in his hand involuntarily falling to the ground. I was prepared; I stretched my foot under the table, hooked the bottle with my toe, caught it, picked it up, and gently placed it back on the table.

I have looked at the gold medal over a hundred times and compared it with the data on my computer. Finally, I confirmed that it is 100% something that belongs exclusively to the Japanese Imperial Family.

"Wind—wind, where...where did you get this from?" Tanino sat stiffly in the chair, like a dried-out salmon from the Sea of Japan. The sake wasn't very strong, but in a short moment, his eyes turned bloodshot from the heat, and the muscles in his cheeks trembled wildly, almost in a spasm.

I pulled out the cherry blossom wood cork from the wine bottle, making a muffled "pop" sound.

I didn't answer him. I knew that people need time to calm down when they are in such a state of shock.

Gu Ye gritted his teeth, refusing to speak, only making a grinding sound as his teeth chattered. A master naturally has unique ways of relieving stress. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, took out a slender white women's cigarette, lit it, and greedily took two large drags, swallowing every last drop of smoke, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

The Second Part: Underground Horror

— Chapter 15 - Master Dry Butterfly —

Drugs can give people endless energy. A few minutes later, Gu Ye became energetic again, picked up the gold medal and looked at it, then looked at me with great suspicion.

The gold medal is my only trump card—from the list of experts provided by Suren, I know I'll be facing a collaborative team of the world's top fighters. As for myself, I have no titles, no achievements, I'm completely unknown. If it weren't for the full authorization from the scalpel, no one would take me seriously.

Having a gold medal in hand will at least deter Tano from making any rash moves.

As the only younger brother of Yang Tian, the "King of Tomb Raiders," my true identity is known only to Scalpel and Su Lun. Even my closest friend, Tiger, only knows my public identity: a highly talented future tomb raiding expert. Youth is good, but in this society where seniority speaks volumes, a completely undocumented past will inevitably lead to setbacks at every turn.

"Brand? Feng, how much do you want?"

Gu Ye opened the drawer, took out a checkbook, picked up a pen, and looked like he was rich and powerful.

I extended my right index finger and slowly shook it. Showing the gold medal was solely to attract Tanino's attention; it had nothing to do with money.

Gu Ye frowned, looked at the gold medal again, and with a clang, flicked it into the air. It tumbled and rolled forty-two times in mid-air before falling onto the stack of ancient books.

"Wind, what do you want? Just say it. I'll trade anything I own for this plaque."

He patted the ancient books, seemingly casually, assuming I would be interested in the yellowed scrolls.

I shook my finger again, answering him casually, "This plaque is not for sale. However, if Mr. Tanino needs to study it, I can provide it free of charge. The only condition is that once you have observed and measured it enough, you need to return it to me intact. Because a friend of mine found it in the pyramids—"

This vague answer deepened Gu Ye's wrinkles: "Feng, stop beating around the bush. Give me the gold medal, and you can name any conditions."

I shook my head for the third time, reached out and took back the gold medal, holding it in my palm.

Suddenly, another figure appeared at the door. It was Bancha, walking hurriedly, head down, stepping in with his hands anxiously rubbing together, looking extremely flustered.

Having achieved my goal, I finished the remaining wine in my glass, smiled, and stood up to take my leave.

Right at the entrance of the main tent, I came face to face with another bald, skinny man who was about to walk in.

The man was half a head shorter than me, so I could clearly see the ordination scar on his head—a distinctive mark typically found on monks in monasteries. However, I knew that most of the time, only Asian monks had this mark, and since we were in Egypt, it was unlikely we'd see any monks from Asia.

The man was wearing a black tracksuit from an international brand and high-top sneakers. His steps were agile and nimble, revealing him to be a master of martial arts.

"Mr. Tanino, Master Kucho has arrived." I heard Bancha report to Tanino.