Chapter 102: Only One Remains

“Fine, if it comes to it, we’ll go together,” the fat man thought silently, steeling himself before lying down inside the heavy coffin. Gazing at the imposing coffin, he muttered bitterly, “To be dead and resting in such a place is a kind of fortune. The standard of an imperial tomb—this life isn’t in vain. But next time some bastard comes to loot this place, remember to leave my body intact.”

Slowly, he drew the coffin lid shut.

I waited for a very long time, past the time set by Lord Long. I stood there foolishly while Old Gu focused intently on studying the tripod. I always thought waiting was a simple thing, but sometimes, waiting lasts a lifetime.

Zha Wenbin told me that in this world, we are insignificant—merely grains of sand. I asked him why he was suddenly philosophizing, and he said it was because his experiences were too limited.

Like everyone else, I wanted to know what exactly happened inside that coffin. He sipped his tea slowly and began to recount:

“No sooner had the coffin lid closed than I felt my body lighten, then I sensed myself falling—free-falling at a tremendous speed.

The panel beneath the coffin was movable, but unfortunately, none of us noticed it during our inspection.” His eyes reddened; I guessed he was missing the fat man.

“I didn’t even have a chance to send a signal. Darkness enveloped me; I couldn’t grasp onto anything. After falling for a long time, I suddenly felt something supporting me, but I couldn’t tell what it was. My strength was useless—I tried to stand but was powerless, as if I were treading water. There was no point of support in any direction, and I just floated there. For a moment, I thought I was dead—that was my soul.”

“And then?” I asked.

Zha Wenbin took out a small crimson ring from his hand and toyed with it thoughtfully before saying, “Then…”

Surrounded by pitch-blackness, he suddenly remembered he was still waiting for the mining lamp. When he turned it on, he could finally see something. Beneath his feet was emptiness—he was indeed floating. Silence enveloped him in all directions; his body spun slowly in midair.

He thought he was dreaming. He pinched his thigh—it hurt. It was real. But where was this place? Beneath the coffin? Or the black hole he glimpsed?

“Loneliness, Xiaoyi, do you understand that feeling?” A flicker of pain crossed his face. I knew he had followed Master Ma since childhood; I was his only friend. I always thought he was just a lonely soul by nature.

“I have my moments alone, too,” I smiled.

“It’s different. It’s loneliness deep in the soul. It’s as if you are at the center of the universe, but not a single ray of light surrounds you. I stayed there a long time. Slowly, I realized I could move.”

Zha Wenbin found himself like a drowning man: the more he struggled, the weaker he became, the faster he sank. But relaxing allowed him to move—like swimming, paddling with limbs toward his desired direction.

“And the others?” I asked.

“There was no one else—only me. I tried calling out, but I couldn’t even hear my own voice. I drifted aimlessly, not knowing where I would end up, until the first time I flipped upside down.”

“Flipped upside down?”

“Head downward,” he gestured. “A patch of light appeared around me—blinding at first. I couldn’t open my eyes. Later, I realized the light was golden. A golden hall stood less than a hundred meters away. I saw someone walking on the steps—Fatty.”

He choked up at this point. “I called to him, but he seemed deaf to my voice. He stopped, glanced back once. I waved desperately and shouted, but he only glanced briefly and didn’t see me. Then he pushed open the golden hall’s door. I saw him disappear inside, then everything vanished.”

“I searched in the direction of that hall for a long time, but darkness returned all around me until it reappeared.”

Finally, he handed me the crimson ring. I felt a chill seep into my palm.

It was slightly larger than a typical silver coin—circular, crimson, hollow, resembling a jade ring, but noticeably heavier.

“A fine piece of jade,” I remarked.

Zha Wenbin shook his head. “It’s not jade. Many experts examined it and said no such jade exists in the world. I think Fatty got it. I believe he saw me and left this with me.”

“How did you get it?”

“It just appeared before my eyes,” he paused. “Out of nowhere. I grabbed it, and suddenly I was back inside the coffin. When I opened it again, I was alone.”

“Luckily Lord Long set off the explosion; otherwise, we wouldn’t have known how to get out. What about Ye Qiu?”

Zha Wenbin shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him there.”

Lord Long still chose to detonate the charge, but much later than planned. When Zha Wenbin climbed out from the pillar, it was three days later. Old Gu and I waited for them those three days.

He was alone and silent. We sat beneath that pillar, waiting until a deafening roar filled our ears and the earth trembled.

Thankfully, the explosion didn’t completely collapse the place. A hole was blasted in the ceiling above, and debris rained down like a torrential storm. Zha Wenbin sat unmoving.

If anyone shouldn’t die, it’s him. Blessed with great fortune, Old Gu and I dragged Zha Wenbin aside to avoid the falling stones. Yet, by some twist of fate, not a single stone struck where he sat.

Afterward, a fissure formed in the ceiling. Climbing along the rubble, we barely escaped. A day later, the mountain collapsed again, vanishing forever beneath the water.

I didn’t want to see him drown in sorrow every day, so I deliberately changed the subject. “Xiaobai and Old Gu have returned to America. They said they’ll be back in a while, handling some business. Why don’t we go out for a bit?”

I expected him to refuse, but he asked, “Where?”

I thought for a moment and suggested, “First, come with me to Guangzhou. There’s still much to sort out there. Then I’ll take you to Hong Kong for a bit of fun. How about that?”

“Whatever you say, you decide,” he replied.

“Alright, I’ll book the tickets.”

By early spring, Guangzhou’s weather had warmed. People on the streets wore short-sleeved t-shirts—this was truly the South. Construction sites sprawled everywhere. After returning to handle some business, I sold whatever I could. With Fatty gone, I didn’t want to linger here. The remaining items were packed and shipped back home. I’d earned a fair bit in Guangzhou over the years but now wished to pause and travel.

By the late 1980s, Hong Kong had already become Asia’s pinnacle—an affluent city adorned with dazzling neon lights. Even someone like me, who had “seen the world,” felt like a country bumpkin walking its streets. I had a few old clients there and arranged to meet for drinks. Hong Kong people weren’t stingy; they valued efficiency and fairness. Yet, the person I knew was a thoroughly flamboyant scion.

His name was Zhu Zihao, three years my senior. His grandfather was reportedly a Republican-era major general, a protégé of Dai Li, formerly deputy head of the Military Intelligence station in Fujian. After Chiang Kai-shek’s defeat and retreat to Taiwan, a group of intelligence elites were sent to Hong Kong to await a chance to rise again. Zhu Zihao’s grandfather was among them.

Thousands of defeated Nationalist troops settled in Hong Kong’s suburbs, eking out a living through odd jobs. Later, they organized drug trafficking, prostitution, and gambling. At that time, Hong Kong was under British rule, distant and unconcerned; authorities dared not confront these ex-soldiers.

These men were battle-hardened, disciplined, and organized—far more formidable than common street thugs. Hong Kong’s infamous triads largely formed from these groups. Zhu Zihao’s grandfather was a gang leader who later went legitimate and became a businessman. By his father’s generation, the family was wealthy, but Zhu Zihao squandered most of it in just five years.

Prodigal sons tend to be generous, and this guy lived up to his name. I called him beforehand; he came to pick us up himself. He took me and Zha Wenbin to a villa halfway up a mountain, overlooking the sea, surrounded by blooming flowers.

The house was grand and exquisitely decorated—a blend of Eastern and Western styles, furnished entirely with rosewood. Years ago, in Shenzhen, he had caused a scene while drunk and nearly got beaten to death. Fatty and I had saved him then. Though older, he still greeted me respectfully as “Young Master Xia.”

Leaning on the railing, I gazed at the vast blue sea below. “Young Master Zhu, you live the good life. No wonder you refuse to go back to the mainland.”

Zhu Zihao brewed tea in the garden, his face somber. “Don’t say that. I had no choice but to move here.”

“Why don’t you change your boastful ways? Living in this mansion and you still complain? Fine, tomorrow you go to Shenzhen, stay in my pigeon coop, and we’ll swap places.”

He sighed. “To be honest, I’m strapped for cash. I mortgaged my other properties; this is the only house left. I haven’t been here for almost twenty years. It’s unlivable now—haunted…”