Chapter Forty-Four: Mastering the Craft

"Third Master, you’re a generous man—this really is my brother. How about this: after we’re done, I have a jade Buddha at home, from the Eastern Han. Dug up just last week at the northern slope, still smells of fresh earth. Once we finish, send someone over to collect it."
Third Master truly was a sly old fox. He immediately clapped Fatty on the shoulder and laughed, "Ha! I was just teasing you, and you took it seriously. All right, brothers, pack up, we’re all on the same side. Let’s get to work and pick up the pace—I’m just waiting for Brother Shi to set off the charge."

Fatty’s job in this crew was sapper—they called it a "Legman" in their jargon. Third Master was the "Eye," the one gifted in tomb detection.

The biting northern wind swept through the orchard. I hunched my neck into my coat, shivering in the cold—no one spoke a word. There was a half-buried, nondescript brick on the ground. Third Master nudged it with his toe, and a few young men fetched some slender steel rods with drill bits from the car. They drilled vertically into the yellow earth, and in under five minutes, they’d driven it five meters deep.

The steel rods in their hands were called probes, a new invention by the Ding family of Shaanxi, just like the world-renowned Luoyang shovel. Times were changing, and so were their tools—this was much quicker than the old shovels.

Fatty still remembered the winter before last, when he’d paid eight hundred and eighty-eight yuan as an "apprenticeship fee" to join Third Master Liu. The very first tomb-raiding tool he encountered was this unassuming probe.

Xi’an, Shaanxi—an ancient capital of seven dynasties. Tomb-robbing had been a trade here since ancient times, known locally as "turning the bucket." It flourished as far back as the Warring States, fueled by extravagant burials. The living stretched greedy hands into the tombs, and so arose the saying: among the thirty-six trades, tomb-robbing reigns supreme. Every dynastic change in Xi’an was marked by a surge in tomb-robbing. As soon as one dynasty fell, the tombs of the previous one were immediately plundered. In recent years, dealers from Hong Kong and Taiwan had come flocking, digging openly under the guise of "construction projects," often partnering with local underworld figures like Third Master Liu to claim territory.

I reckoned Fatty’s jade Buddha was indeed valuable, for Third Master Liu called me over and asked if I’d ever gotten my hands dirty before. I told him I was new to all this.

He truly did have the air of a seasoned master. Pointing to a pile of things on the ground, he said, "The first lesson in our line is ‘probing with the shovel.’ The probe is this rod, and the shovel is the Luoyang shovel. The purpose is to find ancient tombs: not just their location and shape, but also their era, the identity of the occupant, and whether the tomb’s been robbed before."

Seeing him take the initiative, I mustered up the courage to ask, "But how can I tell what’s down there?"

Third Master Liu, in a good mood, accepted a pipe from an underling, took a puff, and said, "Ancient tombs speak for themselves. All right, today I’ll give you a proper lesson. Listen well—don’t embarrass me when you’re out in the field."

"Yes, sir!" His men, whether out of flattery or genuine eagerness, seemed excited. Fatty nudged my arm and whispered, "Pay attention—this old man rarely talks. Every word from him is money for us in the future."

Third Master Liu owned a huanghuali armchair said to have belonged to the infamous eunuch Wei Zhongxian at the end of the Ming dynasty, and he cherished it dearly. After Wei’s death, it passed into civilian hands and eventually to him. Leaning on this chair, he addressed us: "Our trade is for cultured men, not commoners. You must read—study the classics, the local histories. In your spare time, talk to the old folks in the mountains and villages; folk tales always hold clues. The key is whether your mind is sharp enough to find them. For example, did your hometown ever produce high officials? What rank? Where were they buried? If all they did was frequent brothels, they were scoundrels and would amount to nothing in the end."

Yang Dali nodded eagerly and shouted to us, "That’s right, Third Master is right! Did you all hear? No more brothels—we must study!"

Someone in the crowd jeered, "Can you even read? Far as I know, Dali can’t even write his own name—always just draws a circle when he gets paid."

Laughter broke out—rare in such a tense profession. But tonight, no one would disturb us. The only orchard guard within thirty miles had been sent away. Besides, this plot was claimed by the Ding family; both the authorities and the underworld would keep their distance.

The Ding family were both the bosses behind the scenes and the market’s controllers. Third Master Liu was, at best, just a hired dog, let alone his cooks and laborers. Yang Dali was just a cook, responsible for gathering manpower. Fatty was the blaster—he’d grown up in a military compound, an expert in explosives, knowing exactly how much to use to blow a hole without causing a collapse, and doing it quietly and smokelessly—a real skill.

By now, the men probing the ground had withdrawn the drill heads. These were spiral-shaped, razor-sharp, and grooved—these grooves, as Third Master Liu put it, held the information, revealing the tomb’s location and condition. Even with modern tools like metal detectors, for old hands like Third Master Liu, the ancient Luoyang shovel provided more valuable information.

The Luoyang shovel, the most common tool for tomb detection, brought up chunks of earth from underground. If the soil showed no layering and was consistent in color and texture, it meant there was no tomb—what they called "dead earth." If the soil was layered, mixed with different textures, it meant the earth had been disturbed—a sign of a tomb, known as "live earth." Sometimes, the soil would also contain fragments of pottery, brick, or charred wood. By analyzing these, one could deduce the tomb owner’s basic circumstances.

The probe, on the other hand, relied completely on touch. Third Master Liu held up a probe for us to see. "The feel is different when the probe hits soil, brick, or metal. Unlike the Luoyang shovel, this takes experience. Li Duck’s shovel still lags behind this by a bit."

So, even the Luoyang shovel could fail. Where there is tomb-robbing, there is also anti-tomb-robbing. Some ancient tombs were carefully constructed with the excavated earth layered back in order, making the Luoyang shovel useless. In such cases, the probe came into its own.

I nervously asked, "So, is our business illegal?"

"Illegal? Kid, let me tell you—the experts at the Cultural Relics Bureau have to buy probes from me. Remember this, all of you: Don’t touch imperial tombs, don’t cause deaths—these are our bottom lines! After you dig, refill the hole. Never leave corpses exposed to the wild, and if you ruin someone’s crops, you pay compensation. Never work in daylight. As the saying goes, ‘When the cock crows, the lamp goes out—no gold-touching in the light.’ This is a trade for getting rich—our only wish is for safety and fortune! If anyone breaks these rules, I’ll guarantee they won’t make it ten miles out of Xi’an. What the ancestors set down must be followed—no one has ever defied this for centuries. Stick to these, and no one will trouble you. But if you stir up trouble, don’t expect me, Liu, to save you."

"All right, this is a Han dynasty tomb." Third Master Liu took the soil from the probe, rubbed it between his fingers, and said, "Judging by the specs, it’s not a lowly tomb—should be a reinforced arched roof, stone slabs flanking the spirit path, main chamber built of wood, probably collapsed after all these years. We’ll dig from below. Shi, set a charge at an angle—six meters thirty centimeters, no more, no less. Dig upward from below, keep it quiet, or the vibrations could bring the whole thing down."

With that, he went to a spot in the center, stomped hard, and said to Fatty, "Here, angle it north; make the opening wide below and narrower above. Later, you’ll have to dig by hand, so leave enough room to turn around."

Fatty took an old backpack from Yang Dali and said, "Understood!" It went without saying—the bag was packed with explosives, smokeless, military-grade. This was no ordinary gang of grave robbers.

Fatty buried his head in the ground, probing downward as instructed by Third Master Liu, drilling to the required depth and angle. Then, he slid the explosives in, section by section. This was where his skill showed—too much or too little, or placing it wrong, and the results would differ entirely.

In the time it took to smoke a cigarette, Fatty returned with the fuse and asked, "All set. Should I light it?"

Third Master Liu nodded. Fatty struck a match and only stepped back three paces—kids setting off firecrackers would retreat farther. His confidence in his own skill was remarkable. There was a muffled "thump," about as loud as a sharp clap, a wisp of smoke, a sprinkle of dirt, and a hole the size of a washbasin appeared in the earth…

…