We wanted to help search the mountains, but Agu initially refused. After much persuasion, he finally agreed to let us go. Agu’s youngest daughter, Yuncai, was asked to follow us and not to get lost. About twenty villagers gathered, holding torches and flashlights, and brought hunting dogs as they headed toward Water Buffalo Head Gorge.

The mountain path was shrouded in darkness. We shouted while letting the hunting dogs sniff our clothes. The forest here had been logged before, so the path wasn’t difficult to walk, but the area received abundant rainfall, resulting in many puddles filled with mountain leeches. We walked until we reached the protected forest area, where the path became more challenging. However, these mountain folks were all experienced hunters, so it was not difficult for them at all. For us, this mountain trail felt like a leisurely stroll compared to Tamutu. The group continued deeper into the mountains.

As we walked, I asked Yuncai about the situation around Water Buffalo Head Gorge and whether there would be any danger for my father. Yuncai turned back and said, “That area marks the boundary between the Great Protection Forest and our village’s forest protection area. Sheep Horn Mountain is in the Great Protection Forest, while Zhoudu Mountain is in the protection area. In between is Water Buffalo Head Gorge. Behind Sheep Horn Mountain is a deep, old forest. The forestry workers have put up signs at the mountain entrance telling us not to enter, so aside from the old hunters, we generally do not go to Sheep Horn Mountain. It is said that no one has ever ventured into the forest behind Sheep Horn Mountain.”

Agu, who was behind me, said, “The person in the village who knows Sheep Horn Mountain best is probably Old Man Panma. It is said that only the ancient Yue merchants dared to traverse the forest behind. In ancient times, Vietnamese jade traders would travel through the forest for a month to sell jade, and countless people have disappeared deep within these mountains.”

The jade trade is the most lucrative, brutal, and mysterious commercial venture along the ancient Sino-Vietnamese border. I had heard of the horrific struggles between the Vietnamese and Burmese jade factions. The sudden rise and fall of wealth was commonplace here, and in pursuit of enormous profits, humanity had no refuge.

Agu mentioned that this place was not far from the most active jade trading spots. Jade merchants from Banai to Guangxi engaged in small-scale business with some bosses from Guangdong, making them the most impoverished group of jade traders, which also made them particularly ruthless. Especially during the Qing Dynasty, Vietnamese traders, half merchants and half bandits, came in waves, becoming a local menace.

I thought to myself that if this were the case, discovering the remains of those Vietnamese jade traders in the forest might lead to finding the jade rough stones they had brought with them. In this era, high-quality jade rough stones are extremely rare, and the prices for jade are outrageously high. The jade quality from back then was much better than today, and if we found one or two good pieces, they would be worth more than any valuable artifacts. However, I quickly reconsidered; those Vietnamese jade traders valued these stones more than their own lives back then, and taking them now would be a great injustice. This was different from tomb raiding; it might invite misfortune.

We only entered the gorge around midnight and found a person in bloody clothes pointing to a tree, saying that the clothes were discovered in the tree. He first noticed blood on the trunk and looked up to find the clothes, initially thinking they belonged to a cat that had been killed by a wild animal, but later realized it was not the case.

The flashlight shone on the tree; this copper-skinned flashlight had almost no illuminating power, but it was enough to confirm that there was nothing else up there. It was clear that Old Man Panma had left his blood-stained clothes behind after climbing the tree. At nearly eighty years old, although he used to be an expert at climbing trees, it was unlikely that he would climb one for no reason. He must have encountered some danger. I asked Yuncai if there were any wild beasts around here. Yuncai said that a long time ago, she had heard there were tigers, but now the most formidable creature in the mountains was probably a leopard.

Upon hearing this, I thought to myself that tigers were definitely gone now. Leopards are excellent climbers, and if it really was a leopard, that would be troublesome. Moreover, leopards have a habit of dragging their food up into trees to hide it, so Old Man Panma might have already met with misfortune. However, A’cai pointed out that leopards were deep in the mountains, and the mountains here weren’t deep enough; the chance of encountering a leopard was too small. Why would Old Man Panma come this deep into the mountains without a gun?

I recalled a scene where a soldier named Gazi hid a confiscated pistol in a bird’s nest and wondered if Old Man Panma had learned this trick too, but there were no bird’s nests in the tree. We searched around the tree for a while and found nothing, only some bloodstains visible in several directions. The few dogs we brought with us were useful; the hunters all had guns, and after loading their bullets, they split into several groups to search further away. I followed A’gui’s group toward the direction of Goat Horn Mountain.

The Water Buffalo Head Gorge was long and deep, and no one had ever reached the end. The middle section of the gorge was where Goat Horn Mountain and Zhoudu Mountain met, presenting a tropical forest vibe that felt very similar to Tamuto, which made me uncomfortable. I kept hearing a “clucking” sound intermittently, causing me to break out in a cold sweat, but there was nothing I could do; I had come here myself and had to brace myself and follow along.

The mountain dogs were quite fierce, standing taller than me. Although they were all mixed-breed, they were well-trained and quickly picked up a scent, leading us deeper into the valley.

We walked in silence until the crescent moon was high above us in the early hours of the night. The dogs seemed to have found their target, and we stopped near the entrance of Goat Horn Mountain. It was a slope on the mountainside where, due to mudslides, the trees were sparse. The slope was very steep, and the soil was wet and soft, like a layer of snow. We used branches as walking sticks to maintain our balance, but occasionally we would step on the wrong spot and slide down the muddy surface.

The hunting dogs led us, and we struggled to half-climb our way to a tree, where they suddenly stopped wandering and began barking furiously at a large patch of grass behind the tree. Yuncai was a bit scared, and my heart also raced. If Old Man Panma had encountered a leopard, what might be lurking in that grass could be horrifying.

A’gui stepped forward and used a branch to push aside the grass. Under the beam of the flashlight, we found no body inside, only a large stone. When we approached, we discovered it was a fragment of an ancient stone tablet, weathered by the elements over the years, with its surface worn smooth.

A’gui and the others pushed through the knee-high weeds to search, when suddenly a hunter exclaimed in surprise and crouched down.

We hurried over and pulled him back, only to see a muddy pit hidden in the grass, seemingly washed out by rainwater, with muck inside. When we looked down into the pit, I exchanged a glance with the silent oil bottle, and we both felt a jolt in our hearts. In the mud, we could vaguely see several broken pieces of wood wrapped in the muck, and judging by their shape, I could almost be certain that it was a shattered coffin. This was a rudimentary ancient tomb that had been exposed by erosion.