Fifty years later, at the Xiling Seal Society in Hangzhou, my thoughts were interrupted by an old man. I closed my grandfather’s notebook and sized him up.

“Do you accept rubbings here?” he asked, seemingly just making casual conversation. I’m quite talented in this line of work, so I just gave him a perfunctory reply: “We do, but we don’t pay much.” The implication was clear: if you don’t have anything good, then get lost and don’t waste my time.

In our business, we often go three years without a single sale, then make enough in three years to last. I had grown accustomed to the quiet and hated dealing with those half-informed customers. Eventually, I would just play sad music to chase away any passersby. However, lately, the lack of activity had become a bit excessive; the busy season was almost over, and nothing good had come in, so I was starting to feel a bit impatient.

“Then I want to ask, do you have any rubbings of the silk texts from the Warring States period? You know, the ones that were stolen by those local ruffians in Changsha fifty years ago and then were deceived away by an American?” He asked while looking at the items in my display case.

“You just said they were deceived away by an American, so how could there be any left?” I was instantly irritated. “If you’re looking for rubbings, you should be searching the market; how could you expect to find a specific one?”

He lowered his voice: “I heard you have connections. I was introduced by Old Yang.”

I became alert, my heart racing. Old Yang had been in prison since the year before; how could he have implicated me? I felt a cold sweat on my back. “Which… which Old Yang? I don’t know him.”

“I understand, I understand,” he chuckled, pulling a watch out of his pocket. “Look, Old Yang said you would understand this right away.”

The watch was given to Old Yang by his first love when he was in Northeast China. He treasured it dearly, taking it out when he was drunk and calling out names like “Juan” and “Li.” I once asked him what his lover’s name was, and after thinking for a long time, he ended up crying, saying he had forgotten. The fact that Old Yang was willing to give this watch to this man indicated that he indeed had some connections.

But no matter how I looked at him, I found him quite unappealing. However, since he had come to me, it was better to speak frankly. So I raised my hand directly: “Alright, since you’re a friend of Old Yang’s, what do you need from me?”

He smiled, revealing a gold tooth: “A friend of mine brought something back from Shanxi and wants you to take a look to see if it’s genuine.”

“With your Beijing accent, you come all the way down south to consult me? You’re overestimating me. There are plenty of experts in Beijing; I suspect your intentions are not purely about the wine!”

He chuckled: “They say southerners are sharp, and it’s true. You seem young but quite perceptive. To be honest, I’m not really here to find you; I want to meet your grandfather.”

My expression changed instantly: “You want to see my grandfather? What are your intentions?”

“Did your grandfather leave behind one or two rubbings after stealing the Warring States silk texts from the Biaozi Ridge in Changsha? My friend just wants to know if what we have matches it.”

Before he could finish, I shouted at my dozing assistant: “Wang Meng, show him out!”

The old man with the gold tooth became anxious: “Why are you trying to kick me out all of a sudden?”

“You’re not wrong, but unfortunately, you came too late. My old man passed away last year. If you want to find him, you might as well go back and cut your veins!” I thought to myself: “Back then, that incident even drew the attention of the central government. It was a big deal. How could you bring up old accounts? Is there still anything good in my family?”

“I say, you little grandson, why do you always speak so unpleasantly?” The old man with the gold tooth grinned mischievously. “It doesn’t matter that the old man is gone. I didn’t say anything about that. At least, you should take a look at what I brought. Can’t you give me a little face?”

I glanced at him. His smile was insincere, and it seemed he wouldn’t leave without a glance from me. I thought, since it’s just about giving him face, he won’t be able to complain when he leaves. So I nodded, “Fine, let’s take a look. But I can’t promise anything.”

In fact, the Warring States silk manuscripts consist of more than 20 volumes, each different from the others. The portion my grandfather had copied back then was just a very small part, but it was extremely important. Now, I only have a few copies as treasured possessions, which you can’t buy with money on the market. I saw the old man with the gold tooth pull out a piece of white paper from his pocket, and I immediately felt angry—damn, it was just a photocopy.

“Of course, that treasure can’t be carried around everywhere. A little shake and it would shatter,” he said, pretending to be mysterious and lowering his voice. “If it weren’t for my wide connections, this thing would have been sold abroad long ago. I’m doing it for the people.”

I chuckled, “Look at you, aren’t you just a tomb raider? I think you’re too scared to act. This is a national treasure; do you want to lose your head?”

With my words exposed, the old man’s face turned green, but he had a request from me and had to endure it. He said, “You can’t say that. Every profession has its own tricks. Think about your grandfather when he was a laborer in Changsha; he was also quite famous…”

My expression must have turned ugly as I gritted my teeth, “If you mention my grandfather again, I won’t look anymore!”

“Alright, alright, let’s stop there. Just let me take a look quickly so I can make my escape.”

I unfolded the white paper, and at a glance, I knew this was a well-preserved Warring States silk manuscript, but it was not the one my grandfather had stolen. Although this one was also quite old, it was likely a counterfeit from later dynasties, meaning it was an antique imitation—a very awkward identity for an item. So I smiled, “This should be a counterfeit from the Han Dynasty. How should I put it? If you say it’s fake, it’s not entirely fake; if you say it’s real, it’s not entirely real. Who knows if this is a copy or a fabrication? So I really don’t know how to say it.”

“Is this the one your grandfather stole?”

“To be honest, the one my grandfather stole, he didn’t even get a chance to look at before it was deceived away by those Americans. I really can’t answer your question.” I thought to myself, it’s easy to fool you, while maintaining a very sincere expression. The old man with the gold tooth actually believed me and sighed, “That’s really unfortunate. It seems that without finding that American, there’s no hope.”

“Why are you all so concerned about this volume?” I asked. This was too strange; collecting ancient books is all about fate. Wanting to find a complete set of 20 volumes from the Warring States period seems a bit greedy.

“Little brother, to be honest, I’m not a tomb raider at all. Just look at my physique; I wouldn’t be able to handle it. However, my friend is indeed an expert in the field. I don’t know what tricks he has up his sleeve, but he has his own ways,” he chuckled and shook his head. “It’s best not to ask too many questions, right? I’m off now.” After saying that, he left without looking back.

I looked down and realized that the copy of the paper was still in my hand. Suddenly, I noticed a pattern on it—an image of a fox-like human face with two eyes that lacked pupils, giving it a three-dimensional appearance, as if it were popping out of the paper. I gasped; I had never seen such a piece of silk manuscript before; it must be a rare treasure. I thought that when Lao Yang came out, I could use this copy to make a few fake rubbings, which would be quite amusing. I hurriedly ran outside to take a glance, only to see the old man with the golden tooth hurrying back.

I thought he must be coming back for this piece, so I rushed back, grabbed my digital camera, and took a photo of it. Then I picked up the paper and stepped outside. I bumped right into the old man with the golden tooth. “You forgot your thing,” I said.

My grandfather was a tomb raider from Changsha, commonly referred to as a “grave robber.”

The reason my grandfather entered this line of work is not surprising at all; in modern terms, it was a hereditary profession. My great-grandfather’s grandfather, when he was 13, lived through a drought in the central Huazhong region. In those days, a drought often led to famine, and even if you had money, you couldn’t buy food. At that time, there was nothing in the corners of Changsha, but there were plenty of ancient tombs. So, they relied on the mountains for their sustenance and on the tombs for their livelihood, with the whole village engaging in tomb raiding. In those years, I don’t know how many people starved to death in the Changsha area, but not a single person from their village perished; they were all well-fed, thanks to exchanging the items they dug up for food with foreigners.

As time went on, tomb raiding, like other professions, accumulated culture. By my grandfather’s generation, there were already established rules and different schools of thought. At that time, tomb raiding was divided into Southern and Northern factions. The Southern faction was represented by my grandfather’s group, which excelled in using the Luoyang shovel to probe the soil. Experts could determine the depth and era just by their noses. Nowadays, many novels depict the Luoyang shovel as a common tool, but the Northern faction doesn’t use it at all. They excel in accurately judging the location and structure of tombs, a practice known as “seeking dragons and locating graves.” However, the people from the Northern faction are a bit eccentric. How should I put it? According to my grandfather, they are not straightforward; they have too many tricks up their sleeves. Instead of just taking what they find and leaving, they complicate matters with all sorts of rituals. In modern terms, you could call it a form of bureaucratic behavior.

On the other hand, the Southern faction has fewer rules and never shies away from the dead. Northerners criticize Southerners as “country dogs” who ruin cultural relics, claiming that every tomb they raid collapses and that they even pull the dead out to sell. Southerners, in turn, call Northerners hypocrites, pretending to be something they’re not while being thieves at heart. Eventually, tensions escalated to the point of violence, and there were even incidents of “grave fighting.” In the end, the two factions drew a clear line along the Yangtze River; the Northerners called it “tomb raiding,” while the Southerners referred to it as “sifting sand” or “digging soil.” The Luoyang shovel was invented only after the split, and the Northerners looked down on its use.

My grandfather couldn’t read or write, but later he attended a literacy class. At that time, he only knew how to sift sand, and learning to write nearly exhausted him. Fortunately, he gained some education, which allowed him to document his experiences. The “Old San” from the Biaozi Ridge in Changsha is my grandfather. He recorded all these events word by word in his old notebook. My grandmother was well-educated and came from a respectable family. It was his stories that attracted her, and eventually, my grandfather moved to Hangzhou to settle down.

That notebook is considered a family heirloom. After a certain incident, my grandfather’s nose was permanently damaged, but later he trained a dog to sniff out soil, earning the nickname “Dog King.” This is a true story; anyone from the older generation in Changsha who has worked as a soil master knows this name.

As for how my grandfather survived later on, and what happened to my second uncle and my great-grandparents, my grandfather has never been willing to tell me. In my memory, I’ve never seen my one-eyed, one-armed second uncle, so it must have been a dire situation. Whenever this topic comes up, my grandfather cries and simply says, “That’s not a story for children.” No matter how we asked or how much we pouted, he wouldn’t reveal a single word. Eventually, as we grew older, we gradually lost our childhood curiosity.

In the evening, after closing the shop, another boring day passed with nothing collected. I sent my assistant away, and at that moment, a text message came in.

“9 PM, chicken eye yellow sand.”

It was sent by my third uncle. This was code, indicating that new goods had arrived. Immediately after, another message came: “Dragon spine, come quickly.”

My eyes lit up. My third uncle had an unusually high standard, and “dragon spine” meant there was something valuable. If he thought it was good, I definitely wanted to see it.

I locked the shop door and drove my old Jinbei van straight to my third uncle’s place. On one hand, I wanted to see what he considered a good item, and on the other hand, I wanted him to see the pattern on the silk book I photographed today. After all, he was the only person from our generation still in contact with soil masters.

As soon as I arrived at his building, I heard him shouting from above: “You little rascal! I told you to hurry up, and you took forever! What good is it now that you’re here?”

I exclaimed, “Come on, save some good stuff for me! You’re selling it too fast!”

Just then, I saw a young man walking out of the front door, carrying a long object wrapped tightly in cloth. It was clear that this was an ancient weapon. This item was indeed valuable; if sold well, its price could multiply several times.

I pointed at the young man, and my third uncle nodded, making a helpless gesture. A wave of sadness washed over me, and I thought, could it be that my little stall is really going to go bankrupt this year?

I went upstairs, made myself a cup of coffee, and told my third uncle about the old man with gold teeth who came to pry into things. I expected him to share my outrage, but to my surprise, he seemed to have changed into a different person, remaining silent. He directly printed out the images from my digital camera and placed them under the light. I immediately noticed that my third uncle’s expression changed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is there something unusual about this?”

He furrowed his brow and said, “No way, this looks like a map of an ancient tomb!”