The cellar was at the north end of the back courtyard, looking from the outside like an ordinary well. Going down the shaft, about ten feet or so, the passage opened into a horizontal tunnel — wide enough for a person carrying a sack of grain on their shoulder to move through without difficulty.

Moments ago a dull boom had come from within, followed by a gust of thick, choking dust erupting from the mouth of the shaft. This was what had led everyone to suspect a collapse.

They waited a good while before the dust below thinned somewhat. Li Chi and Tang Pidi wrapped strips of gauze around their faces to cover their mouths and noses and descended one after the other.

At the bottom, in the horizontal passage, the smell of earth was overwhelming — the kind that plugged the nose and seemed to block every breath, as though trying to seal off all air.

They couldn’t move far before having to retreat to the base of the shaft. Workers lowered several buckets of water; Li Chi and Tang Pidi made their way forward, splashing water as they went, and the air cleared a little.

Deeper in the cellar, they found it: near a corner of the wall, the ground had indeed collapsed into a large pit, with dust still drifting upward from below.

“Good thing the grain didn’t fall through.”

Tang Pidi crouched at the edge of the pit and peered down. Below was pure darkness, dust swirling in the space like a tiny, compressed cosmos — like a miniature galaxy.

Tang Pidi glanced at Li Chi. “I’ll go down first, then you.”

Li Chi shook his head, took the torch from his hand, and dropped it into the pit. The torch fell and hit the bottom quickly — it wasn’t very deep. Perhaps the height from a roofline to the ground.

The torch wobbled below for a few moments, then went out.

Li Chi said, “Let’s wait a moment before going down. There’s something in the book the Teacher left — he wrote that if you drop a lit torch into an enclosed space and it goes out quickly, there may be danger.”

Tang Pidi asked, “Which teacher?”

Li Chi said, “The one at the Academy’s archive tower.”

Tang Pidi remembered at once and nodded. “That eccentric. A remarkable eccentric.”

Not wanting to be careless — whatever the Teacher had written surely had reason behind it — the two of them crouched and waited. Below, the floating dust gradually settled, and visibility slowly improved.

“Do you think it could be an ancient tomb?”

Tang Pidi said, “Before it was Jizhou, this city was called Baocheng — once the capital of a small state called Youshan. Youshan was small, but it endured for centuries. When it was destroyed, the Great Zhou dynasty was founded, and Baocheng was renamed Jizhou. There’s a rumor that beneath part of Jizhou’s city wall, the ancient wall of Baocheng still lies buried.”

Li Chi said, “If it really is an ancient tomb, I’ll deal with any male ghosts. You handle the female ones.”

Tang Pidi smiled. “You have experience with the male variety?”

Li Chi thought about it, then spat. “Nonsense.”

After a while, Li Chi lit another torch and dropped it down. This time, it didn’t go out quickly — it kept burning, wavering between bright and dim over to the west. Li Chi rewrapped his face covering and jumped down first.

When his feet touched the ground, they felt strange beneath him — like landing on velvet. He knew it was dust. Thick, accumulated dust.

He picked up the torch and swept it around to illuminate the space. Suddenly he let out a sharp cry and fell over.

Tang Pidi leapt down immediately and crouched beside him, urgent. “What happened — are you all right?”

Li Chi burst into laughter and sat up. “It’s a tomb — might as well make it a little dramatic. Would be a shame not to.”

Tang Pidi shot him a look, swept his torch around the space, and then he too let out a sharp cry and immediately jumped back.

Li Chi laughed. “That rather ruins the fun.”

Tang Pidi pointed deeper inside and dropped his voice. “Come quickly.”

Li Chi looked back. There in the depths of the passage, two objects emitted a faint greenish glow — like a pair of uncanny eyes staring back at them.

Li Chi felt a shiver run through him and scrambled backward.

The two of them waited. Nothing moved. Tang Pidi flung his torch into the depths — it spun through the air in a slow arc, lighting the way as it flew. It hit the ground with a clatter and scattered sparks. The green glow seemed to vanish for an instant, then reappeared — in exactly the same spot, unmoving.

“Male or female?”

Tang Pidi asked.

Li Chi said, “Female for certain. Very much your territory.”

Tang Pidi shook his head. “Male for certain.”

Li Chi asked, “What makes you say that?”

Tang Pidi said, with complete seriousness, “Men are more prone to glowing green.”

Li Chi stared at Tang Pidi. He felt these words were utter nonsense, yet somehow disturbingly logical.

At that moment, Yu Jiuling’s voice called down from above. Li Chi shouted back to let him know they were below. Shortly after, Zhuang Wudi came jumping down with a torch.

Zhuang Wudi asked, “How is it?”

Li Chi and Tang Pidi both shook their heads at the same time. Zhuang Wudi followed their line of sight and looked ahead. After a moment, he too spotted the two small greenish glows — and startled. Then he turned and shouted up, “Nine — there’s treasure down here.”

Whoosh — Yu Jiuling dropped straight down, torch held aloft, already walking forward. “Treasure? Where?”

Li Chi looked at Zhuang Wudi. Zhuang Wudi wore an expression of complete contrition.

With four of them together, courage grew considerably. They moved forward with their torches. Close up, they found the source: the two softly glowing green things were two pearls set into a door. In the torchlight, they reflected a shimmering, shifting green.

“These pearls are as big as bull testicles. They’ve got to be valuable.”

Yu Jiuling reached out to pry one free.

Li Chi grabbed his arm. “Use a dagger.”

Yu Jiuling caught on and produced a dagger to lever the pearls loose. As he worked, Tang Pidi seemed unable to hold back a question: “Little Nine, how do you know how big a bull’s are?”

Yu Jiuling froze. “I’m guessing. It’s a figure of speech. Do you know what a figure of speech is?”

Tang Pidi said, “Then why not a chicken’s or a duck’s? Why specifically a bull’s?”

Yu Jiuling said, “Chickens and ducks lay eggs. Are a bull’s the same as eggs?”

He got the first pearl off. It was indeed not perfectly spherical. Even through the leather of his handling cloth, a bone-chilling cold radiated from it.

He pried both pearls loose and dropped them into a deerskin pouch. Without the light source, they stopped glowing.

In the torchlight, they could now see clearly what lay before them: a door — made of stone. It appeared to be carved from a single massive slab, and must have been extraordinarily heavy and solid.

Yu Jiuling tried pushing it with both hands. Something was jamming it and it wouldn’t move. He stepped back a few paces, took a running start, and launched a flying kick at the door — clang, the door shuddered, and then slowly swung outward a crack.

Yu Jiuling crouched and rubbed his foot. The other three looked at him, then at the door. Zhuang Wudi walked over, reached out, and pulled.

The door opened.

Li Chi looked at Tang Pidi. “Your little sister Nine is fierce.”

Tang Pidi smiled and shook his head. He was the first to go through with his torch, sweeping it around — and then the flame leapt outward in all directions, as if it had ignited the air itself.

The sight was eerie, but only for a moment, because Tang Pidi said, “It probably ignited cobwebs.”

All the dramatic story openings running through Yu Jiuling’s head came to an abrupt end at the words “cobwebs.”

It was completely dry in here — not the faintest trace of moisture. Something had been done to preserve it against damp, because even after so many, many years, it showed no sign of decay by water or mold.

Li Chi moved forward with his torch. Suddenly, ahead of him, something loomed in shadow — the vague shape of a seated figure. He immediately gripped the hilt at his waist and called out, “Who’s there?”

Reflex.

His cry startled the other three. They crowded in, and the four of them advanced side by side, all four blades half-drawn, ready to slash at the first sign of anything.

Up close, they found: a statue. A statue of a dignified middle-aged man seated on a throne.

Yu Jiuling leaned in for a close look. The carving was exquisitely detailed, life-sized, seated with great presence and bearing.

The throne had words carved into it. Yu Jiuling murmured something under his breath. Li Chi asked, “What does it say?”

Yu Jiuling said, “It’s a vicious curse. It roughly says that whoever enters here will have good fortune for a hundred years — wealth if they want wealth, women if they want women, riches enough to rival a nation, and a life of a hundred years. The curse takes effect the moment you step inside. No arguments accepted.”

Tang Pidi said, “I’ll thank him on your behalf.”

Yu Jiuling: “You’re welcome — though honestly I didn’t understand a single word. But I grasped the meaning.”

Li Chi went to examine it closely. The script was ancient — at least pre-Zhou dynasty — and he couldn’t read it either.

Yu Jiuling, seeing there was no immediate danger, went back out to call the others down. Before long, more and more people joined them; torches were lit everywhere, and the space was fully illuminated.

It didn’t look like a tomb exactly, though no one could quite say what it had been used for.

“What’s that?”

Yu Jiuling noticed behind the throne a row of stone statues — he counted them: seven figures, all standing, all wearing ancient armor. What was most astonishing was that the armor was actually on them.

“A heaven-sent treasure!”

Yu Jiuling’s eyes went wide. “These suits have survived to the present day — they must be priceless. We’re rich! We’re rich!”

He ran over and reached out to touch one of the suits. In the torchlight, each piece of armor reflected a deep, subdued gleam.

The moment his fingers made contact — crash — the armor disintegrated, collapsing to the floor.

He stood frozen, a single sentence looping through his mind: everything in those legends is a lie.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a treasure trove? Weren’t these seven warriors here to bestow gifts? Why did armor that had looked perfectly fine fall apart the instant he touched it?

“Fool…”

Zhuang Wudi looked at him with unalloyed disdain.

Tang Pidi said, “What disintegrated was the cord — the lacing that held the plates together has rotted through. Touch it and it falls apart, obviously. But look — none of these armor plates have rusted. Clearly they’re no ordinary material.”

Yu Jiuling smiled sheepishly.

“There’s something of value over here!”

An inn worker called out from deeper inside.

They rushed over and found a row of stone troughs against one wall, each covered by a stone slab.

On the wall was carved a line of text. Yan Qingzhi studied it carefully and said, “These characters say: ‘Wealth gathered for the nation — let the worthy receive it. With this treasury, restore our land.'”

He looked at Li Chi. “As expected — a treasury. This would have been the state treasury of the Youshan kingdom. All currency.”

Everyone marveled. Extraordinary luck, this — the ground simply collapses open, and it turns out to be an entire national treasury.

Yu Jiuling couldn’t wait. He called two men to help him, and together they heaved one of the stone slabs off. Everyone held torches up and looked into the trough.

Jaws dropped, all around.

Yan Qingzhi peered in and let out a stifled laugh.

The trough was full of shells.

Many, many shells.

Yu Jiuling refused to give up. He opened another trough and looked in. The contents here were different — irregular rounded shapes, some already crumbled to powder, others still identifiable in form.

He looked at Yan Qingzhi. “Mister Yan — what in the world is this thing!”

Yan Qingzhi examined it carefully and replied, “Shell currency.”

Yu Jiuling said, “Are you insulting me?”

Yan Qingzhi sighed. “This thing — that really is what it’s called. Shell currency.”

—