Chapter Text
A nurse wheeled Lan Huan out of the room. Hospital protocol overruled his protests. He might have been able to walk, but he had also suffered a concussion. Right now, he sported a large bruise on his left eye and a neat row of eight stitches above his right eyebrow. His attackers had punched his abdomen in repeated occasions. Emergency services had found him in a pool of blood—some of which might have been his. That was still up for debate.
Before approving the discharge, the doctor talked to him at length what he should and should not do back at home. She called it a discussion, although it felt more like a lecture. Lan Huan did his best to pretend to listen, but his mind had been busy going over the mistakes he had committed that day, over and over again. People had suffered gruesome deaths because of him.
“You’re lucky your roommate is so dedicated,” the doctor continued, her words finally making it past the humming in Lan Huan’s ears. “I would have hesitated to release you to anyone else who’s not a relative. But as far as students go, he’ll be a fantastic caretaker. Do as he says and you’ll be alright. Questions?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Reach out if you feel different symptoms. The hospital number is in the documentation. Make sure to keep it handy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lan Huan took a deep breath when the elevator doors opened and the nurse got the wheelchair inside. His roommate would be waiting at the lobby. He had volunteered to take care of the discharge paperwork since he was more accustomed to dealing with hospital bureaucracy. Lan Huan had enough to think about. His life had changed drastically a few days ago with what had started as a normal field trip.
* * *
The changes in Lan Huan’s plans began at the airport. An authority figure saddled him with an expensive instrument soon before his class boarded their flight. He wouldn’t have time to take it to his apartment, and his roommate would be busy with classes, unable to come pick it up. But this newfound patron of his had been too eager to hand it to him as soon as possible, and Lan Huan would lose an unmeasurable amount of face if he said no.
“I should document this,” he murmured in the sturdy-yet-elegant guqin case’s direction.
“Hey, where did you get that?” asked the professor in charge of the trip, a young and energetic man who enjoyed every aspect of his job perhaps a bit too much. He had been organizing the students near the gate. “You didn’t have that on you before, did you?”
“It’s a last-moment farewell gesture,” Lan Huan replied, which wasn’t a lie.
Frowning, the professor inspected the case and gasped loudly when he spotted the seal on the side.
“ Master Luthier Lin Qing? ”
Lan Huan swallowed a sigh and fought a pout.
“Yes. The dean introduced us some months ago, when my thesis was approved. Master Lin insisted I should have this today. I couldn’t refuse.”
“If you had refused, I would’ve smacked you.” The professor kept threatening people, but he’d never put his hands on anyone. His students learned to take it as a sign of endearment before their first week of classes with him was over. “So, you got him to lend you a guqin for your thesis?”
“It was all thanks to the dean.”
In reality, it had been a gift instead of a loan, but Lan Huan didn’t want to put himself on the spot like that.
“I hope you thanked the dean properly.” The professor sighed with longing. “People would kill for one of those, you know?” the professor continued. “Documenting it is out of the question.”
“Didn’t we book all the last seats?” Lan Huan asked. “There won’t be space in the cabin, and I have no way to send it back home.”
“I wasn’t asking,” the professor interrupted, shaking his phone in front of Lan Huan’s eyes, so fast that he couldn’t make out the messages it displayed. “We’re one man down. Wu Chen broke his leg last night and can’t make it.”
Ah.
“The stairs?” Lan Huan asked.
“The stairs,” the professor replied with a grave nod.
Wu Chen was an arrogant classmate of Lan Huan’s who kept pretending to impress the girls he liked by doing stunts on a skateboard. This time, he chose a flight of a few hundred stairs to do summersaults despite everyone’s warnings because no one told him what to do. Now, he would miss an important trip and Lan Huan wondered whether he could find the video on social media.
“His seat is already paid for,” the professor continued. “We’ll give it to your guqin. Don’t make me smack you,” the professor threatened again before Lan Huan protested. Yet, the professor was correct: taking the guqin in the cargo hold would be too risky—both for the instrument and the goodwill Lan Huan had accrued from the dean and Lin Qing.
After thanking the professor for his thoughtfulness, as soon as he went to make the necessary arrangements, Lan Huan settled the guqin case on his back, and made sure his boarding pass was ready on his phone, eager to start the trip.
* * *
The professor ushered his students to the bus as soon as they disembarked.
“Listen, everyone!” called the professor from the front, shaking his phone again toward the students even though no one was able to see what it said. “Change of plans! We’re going straight to the Unclean Realm from here! Checking-in at the hotel will be done in the evening and we’ll leave the museum for tomorrow! All our luggage will remain in the bus.” He made a dramatic pause and added, “All except Mr. Lan’s.”
Lan Huan, who was sitting near the back of the bus and was strapping the guqin with the seat belt on the seat next to him, nodded, resigned at carrying the instrument through the Nie stronghold.
“I understand.”
The professor grinned.
“Good. Don’t worry. Our driver here will guard our belongings. Alright, let’s go!” he told the driver and the bus began to move.
The setback had been minor, but Lan Huan had hoped to spend the evening perusing the digitalized files in the museum’s library, or even having access to the actual documents. He had put in his request for it as soon as he got the invitation for the trip, and spent the next days gathering recommendation letters from the dean and a couple other professors. He believed that his thesis, an analysis from a modern perspective of the Gusu Lan Clan’s cultivation combat and healing songs, particularly the ones used in the time when a figure known as Zewu-jun led the clan, would benefit greatly from that visit. According to rumors, the museum held correspondence between him and one of his sworn brothers regarding a piece called Cleansing.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Lan Huan thought in an attempt to cheer himself.
Besides, he could also find something of interest for his thesis in the Unclean Realm, the legendary residence of the Qinghe Nie, another cultivation clan, since Zewu-jun’s sworn brother was none other than Chifeng-zun, the then leader of the Nie Clan, who had suffered a tragic death. So tragic that a tightness settled in his chest ever since he read about it. The third sworn brother, Lianfang-zun, had been involved in that death in such a cruel way that made Lan Huan unable to sleep for a week. That was another reason for him to choose this topic for his thesis—he hoped to purge the lingering sadness that had taken over him.
The Unclean Realm had been lost for centuries in the mountains of Qinghe. Then, the previous year, it had been found by accident, becoming a high-profile site full of invaluable information, which earned it a restricted access. The person in charge of supervising the project was the professor’s wife, and it had taken him months to convince her to allow his students an opportunity to visit. Once he got that miracle, he sought a second one, organizing the trip for his group in under a week. Lan Huan admired how he thrived under the pressure.
“Why did we change plans?” said one of the students three rows ahead of Lan Huan. “It’s not like the Unclean Realm will go anywhere.”
The professor ignored the laughter that followed the question and answered it in earnest.
“The Unclean Realm might not, but what’s inside will. More details upon arrival. What I can tell you now is this.” He made yet another dramatic pause and, when he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he added, “We all have to leave our phones here in the bus.” He raised a hand to stop the whining before it got too loud. “Remember, I don’t make the rules. If you want to blame anyone, go for the last idiot who tried to livestream a tomb raid. Besides, it’ll be good practice for when you go to places with no signal. So, take advantage now and send messages to your friends and family so they know you are—and will be—fine the next few hours.”
With that, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, letting his students complain amongst themselves—and taking and uploading their last selfies of the day.
Lan Huan refused to engage in the conversation. He did have a phone and used it as much as anyone, but the idea of not having it on him for a few hours didn’t bother him. After texting his roommate, he supported his chin on his hand, his elbow resting on the windowsill and proceeded to contemplate the scenery. The scenery passed by too slowly for his taste. Since the group boarded the plane, they had spent too much time sitting down and Lan Huan wished he could have stretched his legs before they got on the bus.
“This wouldn’t happen if travel by sword was real,” he thought before laughing at himself for the idea.
In due time, the bus stopped at a prudent distance from the entrance of the Unclean Realm. The professor made good on his word, stood next to the bus door with a box in his hands where students had to leave their phone as they got off. Most of them pouted and pleaded with their eyes but, in the end, all of them complied. In turn, the professor didn’t make a fuss about searching them; given how last-minute the change in the itinerary had been, it was unlikely that anyone packed a burner phone.
Lan Huan was one of the last ones getting off the bus. As soon as the cool breeze from the mountains hit his face, a longing stirred in his chest. The landscape in front of him, with its resilient vegetation and assorted creatures chirping around them, felt welcoming even to a city dweller such as him.
“This place is awful!” someone muttered behind him, taking him out of his revelry.
The comment had been like a surprise attack and the need to defend the Nie lands rose inside him. Fine, they might lean toward austerity and perhaps they were a bit dry, but awful was a bit too much.
“I can’t see any residence,” another of his classmates said, cutting him off before he said a word. “How long are we supposed to walk?”
“From here, it should be between half an hour and forty minutes, depending on our pace,” Lan Huan replied without thinking. A second later, he noticed the glance the professor shot at him, so he looked away.
“Mr. Lan is right,” the professor answered. “It’s on the order of thirty minutes. Everyone, make sure you have your water at hand and stay hydrated! Let me know if you need to make a pit stop on the way. Don’t stray from the road, etcetera. You know the protocol. Come on! To adventure!”
The professor finished his speech pumping his hand high in the air. Some of the students copied the gesture with laughter. A half-an-hour trip was fine—they had survived worse in other field trips.
Still self-conscious, Lan Huan adjusted the guqin case strap over his shoulder, using it as an excuse to avoid joining in the cheering. Then, he went after the group. No one asked him how he had known the answer, which was perfect because he had no idea. He just knew.
The trip was uneventful and the morale remained high all throughout. The path was clear and not too steep, and the weather was fair. Even Lan Huan, who preferred clerical work and to bury his nose in a dusty book under candlelight, started to enjoy it.
However, the moment they reached the entrance of the Unclean Realm, and Lan Huan set eyes on the beast heads that formed the Nie Clan’s crest embedded in the well-preserved, tall entrance, a wave of dizziness hit him. His breathing hitched and he shivered. His hands looked for purchase, but he was in the middle of the open road, so he found nothing. When his vision narrowed down until he saw nothing but the doors, he sat down on the floor, rocking back and forth. He rubbed his face as he tried to make sense of the overwhelming pain that came out of nowhere. It felt like the world—his world—was ending.
He didn’t understand and it was terrifying.
The terror crawled in his head until his brain froze and his consciousness faded into darkness. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he got relief.
The temple. The hostages. The sword going through his chest after you were tricked. His eyes when he looked at you. His words.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
But he did. He did, he did, he did! What did he expect would happen when he killed—?
Oh, to see that headless body charging against the children. But that… that happened earlier, didn’t it? Yes, yes it did. This time, the corpse had a head attached, sewn to his neck. Resentful, angry, called by his blood. He had to be defeated—he had to be put to rest. He deserved it. He deserved the world. His fate had been unfair, unjust. A crime.
His words again after you learned he had been the one to deprive you of your rock.
“Stay and die with me.”
And you would have. You would have, if he hadn’t pushed you away in the last second. Unfair! So unfair! You wanted to die. You wanted to die so much. But instead, you’d have to live with a shattered heart and the guilt that you could have prevented if only you had—if you had—
A splash of water on his face brought Lan Huan back to the waking world. He took a deep breath and sat up, gasping.
“Did you have to do that?” asked one of the girls to the one next to her, who held an open water bottle and looked only slightly ashamed.
“I had to stop the screaming,” the other one replied. “He was only going to hurt himself. And look! It worked!”
“The screaming? Who was screaming?” Lan Huan asked, wiping his face with a hand. The physical act helped him to feel more grounded. At the same time, though, he realized it had been him. His sore throat hurt and he could barely hear his raspy voice. A single cough sent a jolt his head, drawing a needle in the back of his eye, like a migraine. Lan Huan brought a hand to his forehead, panicking when he found it bare.
“Where’s—?”
“Easy, there,” the professor said, kneeling next to Lan Huan as he examined him. “The guqin is right there.”
“The guqin?”
Yes, the case was next to him. But he wasn’t asking for his guqin. He was asking for— What was he missing again? He couldn’t remember now. Whatever it was, faded from memory, like dreams did.
“Good call on sitting down before you fainted,” the professor continued. “Avoided getting hit on the head. I can’t see any cuts or bruises. I’d say you’ll be fine.”
A ripple of relieved sighs rose from the row of students behind the professor. Lan Huan looked at them and smiled slightly, feeling touched. Then, he tried to stand up. The professor helped him to keep his balance but, once he was on his feet, he was stable enough that another fall didn’t seem imminent.
“Did you see something weird?” the professor asked. “Did anything bite you?”
Lan Huan shook his head. A couple of unsettling images in his head were nothing worth sharing.
“I’m fine. I can walk. There’s no point in stopping on my account.”
The professor shot him another worried look before nodding.
“Alright, then. The show must go on. Let’s start the real tour!”
While his classmates left incident behind them, Lan Huan picked up the guqin—whose case didn’t even have a scratch—and got it on his back before forcing himself to cross the threshold to the Unclean Realm. As he did, fighting the shiver that ran through his body, he noticed the guards posted at the entrance all but glared at him, likely because he had caused a big commotion for nothing. Embarrassed, he nodded at them as he went inside, feeling their eyes drilling into the back of his skull.
* * *
The Unclean Realm was a large residence, affluent but also austere, in the way of a warrior clan. It was better kept than anyone expected despite centuries of neglect—although maybe the lack of people coming and going within these walls had helped with the conservation.
“Welcome to the Unclean Realm, colleagues!” said a woman dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved, white blouse. It was the professor’s wife. She introduced herself as the supervisor, and proceeded to give them a quick explanation about the rules they would have to follow in the site. She didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know, but it was an important step in the protocol.
As her words droned on, Lan Huan felt his attention drawn to the environment. It felt familiar, and he found himself thinking that the smell of incense was missing. Not any incense. A custom-made blend favored by…
He didn’t get to finish that thought because the two men in his recent nightmare—one tall and dressed in dark green cultivation robes, the other shorter and clad in yellow—appeared in the hall in front of him, a mere flash. They were gone as soon as Lan Huan blinked.
“Is everything clear?” the supervisor said.
“Yes!” the students chorused.
Lan Huan repeated it too, even though he had no idea what was clear.
The woman smiled.
“Very well. I apologize for not being able to give you the tour personally. Moving the coffin will keep me busy. Don’t worry, though. My assistant is more than capable and just as knowledgeable. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask her.”
The assistant took the supervisor’s place in front of the group and explained the history of the residence and the Nie Clan, how they had been founded by a butcher and rose in power until they became one of the most important cultivation clans, emerging victorious in civil wars and power struggles. She didn’t introduce herself, so Lan Huan figured her name had been given while he was spacing out. He resigned himself to finding out when someone mentioned it later.
Their next stop was the hidden chamber the archeologists had found a couple of days before. The temperature was cooler inside, and as soon as one walked in, the smell of moss and humidity hit the nose. A large stone coffin lay in the center.
When he saw it, Lan Huan felt dizzy again. With his eyes closed, he leaned against the wall, trying to stop another fainting spell. It was difficult. His heart beat even harder than before.
“ Stay and die with me.”
Yes, please. Let me die. I want to die.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
I believe that you didn’t mean to, but how could you not have realized that you did!
“Are you alright?”
Lan Huan turned to see another one of the guards leaning over him. He looked kinder than the ones at the entrance, with softer eyes and a well-groomed beard, as white as the hair peeking from under his cap. His concern felt genuine.
“Ah. Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I apologize for making you worry unnecessarily.”
“You don’t look like you’re fine. Why don’t we go outside so you can get some air?”
Although reluctant at first, Lan Huan allowed the man to guide him back to the courtyard. He needed it. The courtyards and halls were still unsettling but it was better than being inside the chamber. His only comfort was that he didn’t disturb the group this time.
“Take a seat. I’ll get you some water,” the guard said pointing at a wooden chair that had been brought by the excavation crew. “That’s for our breaks and I think that you need one.”
Lan Huan offered the man a meek smile and took the water, downing it in a single gulp. It helped clear his head, enough to read the label on the man’s uniform. His name was He Guo.
“Thank you, sir. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
“How’s your blood pressure?”
“Normal, last time I checked.”
He Guo scratched his beard. “It could also be Stendhal Syndrome and you’re finding the Nie Clan aesthetic overwhelming. It happened to me back when I just started at this job and I had to watch over the quarters of the ruler of a long-lost kingdom.” He sighed and chuckled, in that order. “I still get a bit teary-eyed when I remember. It was so beautiful.”
“I’m not sure that’s the case here,” Lan Huan said. “I mean, it’s not terrible, but—”
If pressed, he’d have to admit that the Lan Clan’s residence in Gusu was more to his taste, according to the photos he had seen. He was dying to go there but outsiders weren’t allowed before they finished digitizing the library. The music section was done, but they still had to go over the reports done by the junior disciples as homework throughout the years, and there were so many of those.
“After all this time on the job, I’m not going to start a debate on what beauty is. I know, I’m a coward.”
“Or very wise,” Lan Huan replied with a smile a little wider.
He Guo smiled back.
“Do you want me to tell you about the coffin? So you won’t miss anything. I don’t mean to brag, but I probably know the details as well as any of the experts. You guys like to talk and I like to listen. We’re a great match!”
The more he spoke, the more excited he got. It was contagious, to the point that Lan Huan started to relax. It was always fun to talk with someone who was as enthusiastic about his field of study as he was.
“Please. I’d be grateful.”
“You know about the Venerable Triad, right? Chifeng-zun and his sworn brothers.”
Lan Huan nodded. He had a hunch about what He Guo would say next.
“They think Chifeng-zun is buried there?”
“He and Lianfang-zun. According to the stories, they were buried together,” He Guo replied. “The chamber matches the surviving records. That’s why they want to scan what’s inside, to justify another grant.”
“But they don’t have the equipment for a CT scan here.”
“Correct. Worse yet, the coffin is so big and so heavy that a zoo had to be involved. It has to be done as soon as possible because of some bureaucratic reason.”
Well, that explained why the professor changed plans.
“So, what do you think?” He Guo asked, leaning down and whispering. “Will they find two skeletons or two fierce corpses bent on killing everyone?”
Lan Huan laughed
“You sound like the second answer wouldn’t bother you.”
He Guo shrugged—but a playful smile appeared on his mouth.
“It would be a change of pace. I like my job, but it can be monotonous at times. Especially in a location as remote as this one.”
Lan Huan chuckled.
“I see. Thank you for your conversation. I feel a lot better.”
“It’s been a pleasure. Not all youths are as respectful to their elders.”
Lan Huan laughed softly. He heard that often and he never knew what to do with it. Changing the topic should work.
“I think I would like trying to get inside again.”
“Sure thing.” He Guo took a peek inside the chamber. “Your group already left through the door on the other side.”
“I see,” Lan Huan said. He wouldn’t expect the entire class to stop the tour on his account.
He Guo scratched his cheek.
“You know what, go ahead to the chamber. Nature is calling this old man.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
He Guo walked away in a hurry, waving his hand.
Lan Huan, then, picked up his guqin and walked into the burial chamber, nervous at the thought of being there unsupervised.
This time, however, it was easier to breathe inside. He still shivered, but a few deep breaths did the trick.
He Guo had been right about the coffin. It was in the center of the room, twice as big as any other Lan Huan had seen before, and heavy enough to require the use of specialized equipment.
It was covered with carvings representing ancient symbols of protection and faded soul-suppressing talismans. Lan Huan didn’t specialize in this field, but his cultivation research had taught him some of them. The guard was right: these were meant to keep fierce corpses trapped. Time had worn them out and they were on the verge of breaking. The zombie movies with exaggerated gore his roommate liked to watch came to mind even though, as a rational adult, Lan Huan knew that curses didn’t exist. Therefore, the risk of fierce corpses running around dismembering people was nonexistent.
Right?
“Stop with the autosuggestion,” he murmured.
Yet, on a whim, he looked for a steady surface to place the guqin’s case and open it. The foldable table where the digging crew kept their tools was ideal. Once there, Lan Huan took a deep breath and pushed the case lid open slowly and reverently.
This would be his first time seeing the guqin. The first thing he noticed, which filled him with relief, was that, despite his fainting, the instrument remained in perfect condition. The second, that it was beautiful. Truly made by a master—and it had been made for him.
Humbled, he took it out and ran his hands over the cloud motifs carved on the wood, shiny due to the layer of lacquer, and then over the strings, which he plucked with no other purpose but testing them. The sound was clear and the pitch was perfect.
Good.
Then, he proceeded to face his fears by playing Inquiry, the song that allowed the player to communicate with the dead, to prove himself it wasn’t possible.
When Lan Huan first learned about Inquiry, a small part of his mind wished he could play it in a place where ghosts dwelled. Unfortunately, he could only practice in the instrument warehouse at the university, a building too new to have any spirits roaming around. The same could be said about his apartment building, made worse by the landlords’ propensity for rescinding leases for noise complaints—complaints they themselves made. The clauses had been added in the contract in the fine print but seldom taken seriously. That had led to Lan Huan and his roommate being the only tenants if only because they spent most day at the university and used headphones whenever the landlords were around.
In any case, this was Lan Huan’s chance to truly prove himself.
The guqin case also included a piece of silk cloth—a very thoughtful addition by the old luthier master—white with cloud motifs, just like the ones carved in the instrument. Seeing the color combination, Lan Huan realized it featured the crest of the Gusu Lan Clan. Both the guqin and the silk. Very appropriate for his thesis.
Next, he unfolded the silk on the table and brought the guqin onto it. He managed not to drop it, which made him sigh in relief. His fingers hovered over the strings as he mentally rehearsed the initial notes of Inquiry in his head before actually playing it. He raised his eyes and looked ahead at the wall when he reached a complicated section.
But it wasn’t the wall that he saw. He saw a group of people in a pristine hall, all dressed in long, white cultivator robes and headbands with the same motifs as the silk cloth. They looked at Lan Huan intently—in a reverent way, not aggressive—, as if waiting for instructions. The vision lasted until he closed his eyes. Once he opened them again, the stone wall returned and the hall and the people went back to wherever they had come from—Lan Huan’s wild imagination, probably. Perhaps He Guo had been right and he needed to check his blood pressure. Or, at least, talk with a counselor about how the stress over his thesis affected him. He would decide that later. Right now, he had a self-appointed mission to fulfill, even if part of him liked the idea of closing the guqin back in the case and hurrying up to find his classmates. But no. He would play Inquiry and prove to himself there was nothing supernatural going on around him.
After a bow, Lan Huan struck the first note. Then the next and the next, without pause, without hesitation. Soon, the melody was flowing, filling the entire space. The piece, which he used to find merely interesting, adopted a different quality in this place. It felt bittersweet, nostalgic. Like an opportunity to mend something broken despite knowing it would never be the same.
Lan Huan stopped when, theoretically, the connection with the dead was established. For him, it was like returning to the present. He didn’t open his eyes to any kind of hallucination, only to the wall. He chuckled after waiting for almost a minute in which the only thing breaking the silence that hung all around him was the hum of the electricity powering the lamps around him. Of course nothing happened. He had been right.
Then, a hard knock resonated behind him. Startled, he turned around—but he was alone. Only the coffin—and those inside the coffin—were there with him.
“I’ll schedule that appointment with the counselor as soon as we’re at the hotel,” he mumbled, in a feeble attempt to help himself relax.
However, it didn’t last long. After a beat, the knock resounded again. This time, since he was turning toward it, Lan Huan didn’t have a way to deny it: the knocking came from inside the coffin, and it had been so strong that the dust on top of the lid jumped.
Lan Huan gasped and took a step backward.
“What?”
Er-ge? It’s you, isn’t it?
Those hadn’t even been words. They had been notes coming from the guqin.
Communicating with the dead through Inquiry involved interpreting the notes the spirits played, and to ask questions in return. Supposedly, a cultivator had to study for years to maintain a dialogue in real time, and Lan Huan had only glanced at that part of the manual once or twice months ago. Yet, even then, he had just—with his limited knowledge, he had—
He turned around and plucked the strings.
“Who are you?” he asked out loud while his hands played the right notes to convey the message with surprising ease.
Da-ge and A-Yao.
Lan Huan’s stomach churned. The names hit him hard, even though he couldn’t place them right then. Lan Huan didn’t have any older siblings, and he didn’t remember knowing anyone called A-Yao.
Another hallucination. Just another hallucination. There was no need for him to ask another question because it wasn’t real. Soon, he would open his eyes and find poor guard He Guo worriedly staring at him. Or maybe he would wake up in the hospital.
However, before he could chase down the implications, a high-pitched scream came from outside, freezing him in place. Then, a second scream echoed in the tunnel, followed by a series of sharp, loud noises, like firecrackers, he couldn’t identify at first. After all, his only experience with gunfire came from the sound effects in movies.
The silence that came after was even more frightening. Lan Huan didn’t count them, but the gunshots wouldn’t have been enough to—to kill all the people working in the site and his classmates—would they?
He had to get out of there. But from the burial chamber he wouldn’t be able to. Other halls would be easier to defend.
“Are you telling me,” said a voice he didn’t recognize from the entrance of the chamber, “that you can control monsters with a rock?”
“It’s a ritual stone,” replied another one. “Get it right. It was made by the Yiling Patriarch—you do know who the Yiling Patriarch is, right?”
“Of course I do! You don’t get into this business and not—” The man stopped when he saw Lan Huan. “Ugh. Did we miss one of the nerds?”
He and the other man he was talking to wore tactical clothes and a balaclava—and he dragged He Guo by the scruff of his shirt. Blood dripped from the barely conscious guard’s forehead—but at least he was alive.
“That’s easy to fix,” the first man said, pointing a gun at Lan Huan.
“Magpie, what did we say?” interjected the second man.
“No killing the nerds,” Magpie recited, lowering the gun.
“Because…?”
“Because that would get us in actual trouble.”
“Correct. Now, take him with the others.”
“You know, Raven, it’s not fair. You gave us the guns but you won’t let us kill anybody. I’ve never killed anyone. I want to know what it feels like.”
“The buyer doesn’t want blood on the goods,” the one called Raven answered. “Save it for the next job.”
“Didn’t you say we’d get so much money from this job that we wouldn’t have to take any more jobs?”
Even behind the mask it was easy to see Raven rolling his eyes.
“I have no control over what you do in your free time. Now, lock him and the geezer up so we can finish the job before someone comes looking for them.”
Magpie resumed his march toward the back exit, pouting, his lips displaying prominently through the slit of the mask.
“Fine.”
The man whined the word, sounding more like an entitled child than an adult thief. After that, Raven turned toward Lan Huan, holding a second gun in his hand.
“You too. To the warehouse. Fast. Before I do something we’ll regret. And don’t try anything. There’s over a dozen of us and we’re all armed.”
Lan Huan didn’t get to see the inside of the warehouse. Raven had seen the guqin and his eyes shone.
“Ah! What do we have here?” he sang-singed. “This has to be expensive!”
Up until then, Lan Huan had spent the scene glued to his place. The people in front of him wore modern clothes, used modern words, and modern weapons. He Guo was real and the blood drying on his shirt was real. Yet, Lan Huan felt like he was in a movie, less real than the hallucinations. Panic coursed through him even harder than when he was looking down the barrel of a gun. Next, the panic transformed into righteous anger. That guqin was his, made for him by a master craftsman. He Guo had taken good care of him out of the goodness of his heart. That should be celebrated. It had to be protected.
What gave such men the right to think they could come and hurt Lan Huan’s friends and steal his property in front of him?
Magpie, back from his errand and, undoubtedly, a seasoned bully, punched him in the stomach with his fist and proceeded to pistol-whip him on the side of his head as soon as he tried to move toward the guqin. Lan Huan’s entire body throbbed and it took him a moment to regain focus in his eyes. When he did, he noticed that his blood had sprayed the coffin—and that the coffin had begun to shake.
The thieves took a step back.
“What’s going on?” Raven asked.
“I—don’t know,” Magpie said.
They all had their eyes fixed on the coffin and the old soul-repressing amulets that were coming off and falling on the ground.
Taking advantage of the situation, Lan Huan staggered toward the guqin. It turned out he did have something else to request from the dead. He played the notes with haste.
‘Da-ge, A-Yao, I’m in need of your aid.’
“What are you doing?” Magpie yelled, pulling him by the arm.
“Something that by all means should not work,” Lan Huan replied. “But even if it doesn’t, it won’t make my situation worse.”
Magpie's mouth tensed.
“Your situation can always get worse, nerd. ”
He spat the last word and punched Lan Huan again.
“I will advise you to stop making me bleed,” Lan Huan said after a coughing fit, his consciousness now hanging in the zone between reality and one of his hallucinations, and he knew—the worse his wounds, the worse the consequences.
“Boss—Raven?” asked a third member of the group peeking into the chamber. “What’s taking you so long? Wait, what’s that noise?”
The group looked around, searching for the source of a sudden thudding noise. No, they weren’t mere thuds. They were punches. Punches coming from inside the coffin no one had disturbed in hundreds of years.
Magpie grabbed Lan Huan by the front of his shirt and yelled to his face.
“Did you do that? Did you? Make—make it stop!”
“I don’t think I can. I’m not even sure it’s possible.”
“Let’s get out of here!” Raven called.
Punch after punch after punch came from the coffin until— crack! —the lid split. The stone lid, so heavy that specialized machinery would be needed to lift it, broke like a slab of brittle candy.
The robbers yelled.
“This is your fault!” Magpie screamed. Before bolting, he threw Lan Huan away from him.
The force threw Lan Huan backward. His head struck the coffin’s edge before he crumpled to the ground at the same time as an explosion spread stone fragments all over. Part of the debris even rolled in front of him and the reek of decay reached his nose. The yelling continued. Although, this time, it had a raw quality to it. As if the ones screaming faced indescribable horror.
Perhaps Lan Huan should do something. Intervene somehow. It would be the right thing to do. Except that he couldn’t do anything at present. He couldn’t move at all. He couldn’t even see, and he absolutely couldn’t stop what he had started. He could only let it happen. Silence came for him soon, however, hand in hand with a new bout of darkness. This time, at least, the nightmare stayed outside his head.