Uncle San said something that I had already observed but hadn’t voiced. On one hand, the video tape wasn’t clear, and I wasn’t sure if I had seen it wrong; on the other hand, I believed he would soon realize it himself. As expected, Uncle San paused the video and leaned in to take a closer look. I also leaned in, wanting to see more clearly and confirm my thoughts.

After a few glances, I concluded without a doubt that Huo Ling, during the time of the recording, could not have been over thirty years old. It wasn’t that she looked youthful; rather, her youthful physique was not something a woman trying to appear young could easily replicate. Moreover, I must say that Huo Ling was indeed quite charming. It’s no wonder that several men in the archaeological team were infatuated with her. The black-and-white screen lacked the vibrancy of color, but her somewhat bewildered gaze and delicate features could still evoke a fluttering feeling in one’s heart. With such looks, she must have been very confident, having grown up in the limelight. It was logical that she would react that way when faced with someone like the taciturn Wang who ignored her. However, it now seemed possible that her reactions were feigned; if that were the case, this woman must be quite a formidable character.

Uncle San’s expression was grim as he sank into the sofa and clicked his tongue. “One is like this, and so is the other. Damn it, could it be that all these missing people are like this? What on earth happened to them afterwards?”

I thought for a moment and shook my head, telling Uncle San that we couldn’t be so definitive. We didn’t know the specific time when the video was filmed. Looking at the style of the phone, it might have been around the early 1990s, which wasn’t long before she went missing in the underwater tomb. We didn’t know how old Huo Ling was at that time; if she was only seventeen or eighteen, then even after ten years, she would only be in her late twenties. We couldn’t conclude that she hadn’t aged.

Uncle San pondered for a moment, clearly not paying much attention to my words, and continued playing the video. However, unexpectedly, just a few minutes later, the screen suddenly filled with static.

We thought it was a problem with the tape and waited for a while, but the static continued. Uncle San fast-forwarded to the end, but it was all static.

“What’s going on?” Uncle San said, a bit irritated. He wasn’t good with electronics and thought the machine was broken, wanting to hit it.

I stopped him, took out the tape, and checked it. Finding no mold on it, I realized what had happened. “It was erased.”

From the continuity of the previous footage, there should have been content afterward, but suddenly there was static, which clearly indicated that it had been erased. The tape had been untouched since it arrived, and the video recorder was brand new, so it couldn’t have been a misoperation. The tape must have been erased before it was sent out. However, if it was intentional, why not erase the earlier parts too? Why leave behind such an inexplicable segment? Were we not allowed to see the content that followed?

Uncle San and I exchanged puzzled glances, completely at a loss. What did the taciturn Wang mean? Was he playing tricks on us? That seemed unlikely; he didn’t seem like the type to be so bored.

After thinking for a moment, Uncle San had me put the tape back in and rewind it to watch again, wanting to see if there was anything we had missed earlier. Since there was a segment that had been fast-forwarded, it felt a bit uneasy not to scrutinize it closely.

This time, we watched it closely, second by second, in a room that was utterly silent. If looks could kill, the TV might have exploded from our stares. However, after watching for a while with our eyes bloodshot, we still found no clues that piqued our interest.

Then we played another tape, but this time it was even more absurd—it was completely blank, filled with nothing but static. We rewound and watched the static twice, and it only made us feel dizzy.

At first, I was very excited to watch the tape, but after finishing, I felt an overwhelming sense of frustration and confusion. I initially thought I might see something from inside the bronze door, but unexpectedly, it turned out to be such a baffling scene.

After turning off the machine, my uncle and I pondered what was going on. However, after thinking for a long time, we found there was no way to approach the matter.

I told my uncle about the information I found yesterday—that the tape came from Golmud in Qinghai. So, we could assume that the muffled oil bottle sent us this package from Qinghai. Therefore, he must currently be in the city of Golmud. Could we then think that these two tapes were found by him in Golmud? And then he sent them to us.

This was still uncertain, but from this tape, we could ascertain one thing: the group of people who went missing in the underwater tomb were clearly not dead; they were still alive in the 1990s, but their behavior was somewhat abnormal. Most of those people should have died in the Yunding Tiangong, which I didn’t mention to my uncle for fear it would overwhelm him, as there might be Wen Jin involved.

After forcing myself to watch it a few more times, I still couldn’t find any issues. My uncle wanted to continue watching the tape, so I decided to head back and catch up on my sleep. Later, my uncle made a copy of the tape and returned the original to me, saying he would study it for a few days. Panzi, upon hearing that my uncle had woken up, came to Jilin to take him away.

This time, my uncle suffered significant business losses; some of his associates were caught while others fled, and his status in Changsha plummeted. However, my uncle didn’t care; for him, money was merely a symbol. Before leaving, he told me that if there were any further developments, I shouldn’t worry. I had been lucky so far, and with a benefactor looking out for me, things wouldn’t go on like this forever. I should focus on my own business, as he might need me to manage some of his enterprises in the future.

I nodded on the surface, but internally I thought, “Forget it; I probably won’t survive that kind of life. Sticking to my old profession seems much more practical.”

After my uncle left, I prepared to return to Hangzhou but didn’t spend much time in Jilin, so I delayed my departure for a few days and contacted a few friends nearby. One reason was to relax, and the other was to catch up.

I had a few college classmates in Changchun, so they came over. We wandered around and talked about old times, and my mood gradually improved. Later, we visited nearby cities, explored some antique markets, and helped them pick out some antiques. Before I knew it, two weeks had passed.

After going through so much, I’ve become a bit less particular about details. In the past, I would haggle over prices, but now I just feel that the simplicity of exchanging money for goods is enough. However, this way of thinking has led to my money gradually dwindling.

Several friends have noticed my change and are puzzled by it. Even a notoriously frugal person like me seems to be spending more freely. They can’t figure it out and have all asked me what kind of stimulus I experienced.

One time, while having dinner, I shared some of my experiences with a few people, almost like bragging. After I finished, not a single person believed me. One person even laughed and said, “Are the people you mentioned at the bottom of the sea the same ones from that photo you asked me to investigate?”

When I heard him say this, I suddenly remembered that I had found a photo online before, with the caption “The fish are with me.” At that time, I had asked this person to help me investigate it, but all he found out was that it had been posted online in Jilin, and then it went nowhere.

Looking back, it’s indeed strange. The internet has really developed only in recent years; who was behind those early posts?

Since I remembered, I asked him if he had found out anything more later. He shook his head, clearly not taking my situation seriously, and said, “Such photos are too common, and the information from that era generally doesn’t make it online. The only thing I can track is the IP address through technical means. If you really want to investigate, you might as well go to the National Archives and check which archaeological team of eleven people went missing twenty years ago; you might learn more.”

I pondered for a moment; that actually made sense. Someone next to us corrected him, saying, “You remember wrong; I’ve seen that photo too, and it was ten people.”

The other person shook his head and said, “No, I feel like it was eleven people.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I asked him, “Why do you think that?”

He smiled and replied, “In the photo, there are clearly ten people, but isn’t there also the person taking the picture? Didn’t you all think of that?”