To help the mute oil bottle find his lost memories, we ventured into the heart of the Ten Thousand Great Mountains, specifically to a place known as the Siberia of Guangxi, called Banao. I had always thought that the plot of losing and searching for memories was unlikely to occur in reality, so initially, I felt a bit out of place. While the past of others may be ordinary, the story behind the mute oil bottle should be different, much like reading a suspense novel and participating in it myself, filling me with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

As always, the mute oil bottle was taciturn. I couldn’t be sure if someone like him harbored the same kind of inner turmoil as an ordinary person, but at least his displayed patience impressed me. I also had some hesitations; helping him search for his past was akin to pulling him back from his current tranquility into reality, and I didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

I won’t elaborate on the process of entering the mountains. Following the clues provided by Brother Chu, we found the stilted house where the mute oil bottle used to live. In a hidden compartment beneath a dilapidated bed, we discovered an iron box. A series of events unfolded afterward—someone even tried to pull the iron box away from beneath the floorboards of the stilted house. Fortunately, we noticed in time, but that person was clearly very familiar with the village environment and quickly vanished into the narrow paths of the village.

Just as we were bewildered and hadn’t processed what had just happened, the latch of the ancient iron box that Fatty was holding suddenly broke, causing the box to fall to the ground and flip open.

The events unfolded so quickly that none of us had time to react; the box was already on the ground, its lid wide open, and a fist-sized object rolled out from inside, coming to a stop at Fatty’s feet. The mute oil bottle had previously mentioned that he had some vague memories of this box and that the contents might be very dangerous, advising us not to open it. So, when the box hit the ground, I instinctively raised my hands and crouched down in a defensive posture.

Fatty didn’t have time for more of a reaction either; he merely shrank his neck. Both of us stood frozen, afraid to move. I had initially thought it would explode, but at that moment, I didn’t have time to think much; everything was a reflex. However, after gritting my teeth and waiting for a few seconds, nothing happened. There was no explosion, nor did any hidden weapons fly out.

I cautiously opened my eyes and looked at what was at Fatty’s feet. The object that had fallen out appeared to be a piece of wood, covered in bumps. I had never seen anything like it, but it didn’t seem dangerous. Fatty gradually relaxed and took a few steps back, while I slowly lowered my hands, feeling puzzled: could it be that the mute oil bottle remembered incorrectly? Or had time passed so long that it had lost its danger?

Looking at the mute oil bottle, he didn’t show any particular expression, but it was clear he was startled as well. It was like a firecracker that had gone off without exploding; none of us dared to look closely at what had happened right away. We stood there stiffly for a moment, and it was the previously boastful Fatty who finally approached. I followed him and saw that the object resembled a gourd, about the size of a wide-mouthed cup, with some pus-like bumps on its surface, reminiscent of a toad’s skin, which made one feel quite uncomfortable. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the pus-like bumps on this “toad skin gourd” contained a sheen of metallic rust, which surprisingly appeared to be iron.

The fat man wanted to reach for it, but the muffled oil bottle stopped him. He broke off a pumpkin leaf from the side and wrapped it around the “iron gourd” before picking it up.

From the feel of the “gourd” in his hand, it was indeed made of iron, and it was quite heavy. The iron lumps looked like they had been corroded by strong acid or had a lot of air bubbles trapped in them during casting. The red and yellow pus-like spots were traces of rust. This thing was just a gourd-shaped chunk of iron, but one could still see some ancient patterns on it, which were already very blurry. It was vaguely apparent that this was an antique.

The fat man looked puzzled and said, “What is this? It looks like a cannonball. Could it be an ancient hand grenade?”

I immediately shook my head, “Don’t talk nonsense. Did you bury a hand grenade under the bed?”

By the Ming Dynasty, firearms were already very advanced. The destructive power of “Zhen Tian Lei” and “Guo Xing Ping” was significant. I had handled some, but they were all emptied out—meaning they had no gunpowder (no one could trade a solid one, as that would be equivalent to trading arms). These firearms were originally brought up from the sea by fishermen in Fujian and then exchanged by antique dealers for daily necessities, but this iron lump did not resemble seafood, so it should not be a firearm. Moreover, if this thing were buried under the bed, what would happen if it exploded during a dry spell? The muffled oil bottle would never do something so foolish.

He shook it and sniffed it, then shook his head. I asked him if the feeling of danger from earlier was still there. He didn’t speak but had a strange expression, staring at the iron gourd for a moment before saying, “This thing has only a layer of iron on the outside; the real item is wrapped inside.”

I was taken aback for a moment, “How can you tell?”

The muffled oil bottle replied, “It’s too light.”

The fat man exclaimed, “Can you really tell just by weighing it?”

This wasn’t surprising. Generally, those who handle antiques have to practice such skills, and anyone who has weighed pure iron or made molds would know that the weight of a piece of iron differs from what an ordinary person would expect. A piece of iron the size of a pencil case would be impossible for an average person to lift with just two fingers.

I said to the fat man, “Your basic skills are lacking since you came in halfway. Skills like this, we all have to practice to some extent.”

The fat man spat, “Why would I waste my time practicing this? How much does an electronic scale cost?”

I made a disdainful expression and then asked the muffled oil bottle, “What kind of item would need to be preserved wrapped in iron? Do you have any thoughts or impressions?”

The muffled oil bottle shook his head, and the fat man said, “There used to be a type of iron-wrapped gold. When transporting, gold bars were wrapped in iron to make them less conspicuous. However, this iron seems to be cast on, and its weight is lighter, so it definitely isn’t gold inside.”

I had never heard of “iron-wrapped gold.” I only knew of a type of Tibetan mastiff called iron-wrapped gold; my grandfather had one, but it couldn’t be raised due to the unsuitable climate and was eventually kicked to death by a cow in the village. I didn’t know if what the fat man was saying was just bragging or if he had really seen it.

What caught my attention were the blurry patterns on it. Since there were patterns, this item at least had a decorative purpose and couldn’t be just a simple casting. It must have a real use.

“Could it be a part of some ironware?” the fat man said again, “Like the foot of an iron incense burner or a decorative piece from an old wheel?”

I thought it was possible; my understanding of iron artifacts is not deep. Iron is prone to rusting and is difficult to preserve in ancient tombs, so they are not as widely circulated as bronze and porcelain artifacts. The value of iron artifacts is generally low, so most antique collectors are not familiar with them, and I really have no clues at all.

However, since it is an ancient object and is hidden under the bed of the “dull oil bottle,” it must have some background and should be related to the events he experienced in this village. I recalled what the fat guy thought yesterday and had a speculation in my mind. The fat guy mentioned that there might be an ancient tomb near Yangjiao Mountain, so perhaps the sequence of events was like this: the “dull oil bottle” might have been part of Wen Jin’s archaeological team back then, and this “gourd” could be something they brought out from that tomb. But for some reason, the little brother hid this “gourd”; otherwise, it would be hard to explain its origin.

The fat guy furrowed his thick eyebrows: “I also speculate it is like this. Clearly, when the little brother hid the item back then, he was on guard against something. The situation at that time must have been very complicated.”

Where there is vigilance, there is bound to be hostility, indicating that what happened to the archaeological team here was not as simple as A Gui said. The three of us fell silent for a moment. I felt a bit relieved yet somewhat depressed. The good part was that the information we got here was much more than I had imagined; the depressing part was that this information could only roughly outline the general shape of “an event” without touching on the details.

Wen Jin appeared here, and A Gui in the photo looked only about seventeen or eighteen years old. Now A Gui must be in his early forties, so this was an event from over twenty years ago. At that time, it coincided with the events surrounding the Xisha incident. Therefore, Wen Jin’s appearance here should have been shortly before the Xisha incident—after they left here, they went to Xisha. I did not see anyone else in the photo, so it was unclear whether Wen Jin was with another team or came here with the Xisha archaeological team.

The “dull oil bottle” was tied up by the Vietnamese and treated as Akun here, which should have been five or six years ago. There is a fifteen-year gap in between. What was he doing during those fifteen years? I felt something was off; with his skills, those Vietnamese were definitely not his match. Even if the other side had guns, escaping shouldn’t have been a problem. How could he have been tied up like a piglet? Was his meeting with Chen Pi and Ah Si planned by him? These were all questions.

“Could the person who just stole our things be related to this matter?” the fat guy asked, looking in the direction where the person had disappeared.

When I recalled this, I asked them, “Did you see his face clearly just now?”

“Damn, that guy ran faster than a rabbit. We didn’t see his face; we didn’t even see his butt clearly. We only saw that he was disheveled and his build was about the same as yours. He vanished in the blink of an eye.”

I wondered who that person was. We wouldn’t attract attention by coming here; was he just a petty thief tailing us, or was he someone involved in this matter? This surprised me and gave me a feeling of being shadowed. If he was not just a simple thief, then he must be connected to this incident. Our current situation was a bit precarious, and we needed to close the doors and sleep at night.

“Let’s ask A Gui later,” the胖子 said. “That guy is acting like a madman; he might know something.” He continued, “What should we do now? We can’t do anything with this iron gourd. How about we find a blacksmith later to see if they can melt part of it?”

I disagreed, saying that the wisdom of the working people is infinite. I knew there was a way to handle this kind of thing: we could use sulfuric acid to gradually thin the iron shell. Looking at these rusty iron lumps, it seemed someone had already tried this method, but for some reason, they failed and stopped.

Perhaps that person was 闷油瓶. I had a feeling he had a dangerous impression of this object, possibly from when he was dissolving the iron seal. At that moment, he might have suddenly noticed some dangerous signs that left a very deep impression on him, causing him to stop his work immediately. Although he has forgotten everything now, that impression still lingers in his mind, making him feel uneasy.

Of course, this is just a complete speculation, but I felt there was a good chance of it.

The胖子 was eager to try: “Sulfuric acid is easy to get; I’ll go to the fertilizer station and get some.”

I thought to myself that it would be better not to mess with that stuff too easily, so I told him to take it easy. We could bring it to A Gui and study it carefully, letting 闷油瓶 take a good look at it.

闷油瓶 put the iron gourd back into the iron box and closed the lid. The胖子 immediately picked it up: “Alright, today we’ve made some progress. I need to keep this close to me. You guys hurry up and go back inside to search; that girl will be back soon. We need to make the most of our time.”

I remembered that Chu Ge had mentioned the photos we hadn’t looked at yet, and I thought that was the real business, so I immediately got up and headed towards the window.

Just as I stood up and hadn’t taken two steps, 闷油瓶 suddenly noticed something and grabbed my arm. Seeing the look in his eyes, I immediately sensed something was off and followed his gaze. I was taken aback when I saw a few villagers standing on the hillside above the tall building, looking down at us with gloomy expressions, having appeared there without us noticing.