My first reaction was the smell of decay, but Panma said it wasn’t that. A seasoned hunter who has dealt with meat for years can definitely distinguish the smell of decay; that kind of odor is truly indescribable. Descriptions of smells are generally based on objects, such as “as fragrant as jasmine” or “as foul as a stinky sock.” The fact that Panma couldn’t describe it meant that he had never encountered that smell before, a scent for which he couldn’t even find a similar reference.

I wanted to ask him if this smell was “the smell of death,” but I ultimately held back. If he didn’t want to discuss that topic, bringing it up wouldn’t benefit me. Panma was even more curious, but soon those people began to be wary of him, and he never had the chance to get close to those boxes again. After returning to the village, that group left quickly and never appeared again. This incident had a profound impact on him; whenever he went hunting in the mountains, he would think of that army—their purpose for entering the mountains, what they were doing by the lake, what was inside those boxes, and where they came from.

At that time, he had a premonition that someone would inevitably inquire about this matter in the future, but he never expected that we would arrive so late—almost thirty years later. I asked him about the shape of the lake, and he told me it was long, like a curved knife. It was surrounded by stones, some as large as a person, while others were similar to pebbles. The lake still exists, but due to climate change, its water level has dropped significantly. He visited it three years ago, and the lake was already half the size it used to be.

Hearing this, I fell into deep thought. The large items in the boxes could very well be the iron pieces we found in the high stilt house of the sealed oil bottle. If there were more than thirty boxes, moving them out in whole boxes would certainly amount to a considerable quantity, and it might indeed be, as Fatty said, fragments of something.

Where did these items come from? Previously, Fatty speculated under limited conditions that there might be an ancient tomb in the Yangjiao Mountain, but now I wondered if they could have been dredged up from the bottom of that lake. Could it be that they discovered a large iron object at the bottom of the lake and then dismantled it on the spot, taking it out piece by piece?

That seemed unlikely; if that were the case, the object would essentially be scrap metal. Moreover, it wouldn’t make sense to use shoebox-sized containers to store such items. I couldn’t help but feel curious; I had already agreed with Fatty’s idea that we had to go see Yangjiao Mountain for ourselves.

Panma also had a piece of iron that he claimed to have picked up in the mountains, and he believed it to be extremely valuable. Clearly, after the archaeological team left, Panma must have done something else. He didn’t mention that he had this piece of iron, which made me even more certain that he was hiding many things. However, what he was telling me now shouldn’t be lies. The iron piece and the “smell of death” were connected to danger; he must have experienced something that linked these three elements together. In the memories of the sealed oil bottle, the iron piece was a very dangerous thing, and in Panma’s recollections, the soldier also told him that iron pieces were dangerous—these details aligned perfectly.

I was pondering how to get him to speak. As for bad intentions, although I am generally quite well-behaved by nature, having mixed with Panzi, Punzi, and the others for a long time, I could squeeze out a little if needed. At such times, what I could leverage was that my old man still didn’t quite understand my identity, so I could trick him a bit.

The trick to deceiving someone is to make them think you already know most of the details, thus transforming the inquiry into an interrogation in the form of the conversation.

This was the crucial moment. I paused for a while, and an idea formed in my mind, so I asked again, “So, when you returned to the lakeside later, how did you discover that iron block?”

This was completely a guess on my part, as the iron block was found in the mountains, making it unlikely to have come from anywhere else. I took a gamble; after all, if I guessed wrong, I had nothing to lose.

Old Man Panma stiffened up immediately. I knew I had guessed correctly, but aside from that brief moment of rigidity, he didn’t show any further reaction and simply looked at me.

I knew it was time to drop a bombshell, so I continued, “Don’t worry. I just want to know what happened at that time; I’m not interested in the other matter.”

At this, Old Man Panma’s expression changed, and he put down his pipe, asking, “Who exactly are you?”

I sighed in relief, nearly breaking into a cold sweat. This last sentence was a continuation of the success of my previous guess, hinting at the danger of the iron block and the matter of the sealed bottle. I suspected that the secret Old Man Panma was keeping must involve an accident, one that was likely very dangerous and might have resulted in someone’s death. I could have said, “I won’t inquire about his death,” but I didn’t know how many people had actually died, so I opted for a more cautious approach.

A guilty person, unless they know my background, will inevitably reveal themselves.

I thought to myself that it was time to take the initiative, so I immediately put on a mysterious expression—something I often do when bargaining with clients—and said calmly, “It’s better if you don’t ask. You just need to tell me the whole truth about this matter.” Saying this, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a stack of money. This was originally meant to be a fee for Old Man Panma, and I had planned to give him two or three hundred, but for visual effect, I took out the entire stack from my pocket and placed it in front of me. “I know some things, but I’m not completely clear on everything, so don’t worry. Just speak honestly. You take your money, and after this, nothing will happen. No one will know what we’ve discussed here.”

Old Man Panma looked at me, showing a look of unease. I gazed at him with a very calm yet pressuring stare, waiting for him to either explode or surrender.

“How do you know about those things?” he asked me, “Why don’t you tell me?”

Tsk! I cursed internally, thinking this old ghost was really stubborn. How could I say that? I kept my face impassive, but my mind was racing.

That was a reaction in just a second. I almost blurted out, “Don’t you know that someone has been following you?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I hadn’t even processed their meaning when I noticed that Old Man Panma’s expression had clearly relaxed. My heart sank, and I thought to myself, oh no, I’ve been exposed.

Pan Ma looked at me and said, “Although I don’t know who you are, I’m not foolish. After you go back, don’t come looking for me. You know nothing, and I won’t tell you anything.” With that, he made a move to chase me away.

I quickly recalled what might have given me away. Did he somehow determine that no one was following him, or was it impossible for anyone to tail him given the circumstances? As I pondered how to remedy the situation, I realized I had no good options, and I felt a wave of frustration wash over me.

His son came to open the door, signaling for us to leave. As soon as the door opened and the light flooded in, I was about to get up when I suddenly noticed that the old man’s foot was slightly trembling.

I quickly looked at him and found he was staring at me. Though his face showed no signs of disturbance, his complexion was alarming, clearly indicating he was extremely nervous.

In an instant, I understood—he was trying to bluff me!

I immediately transformed my rising motion into a stretch, then sat back down, speaking in an irrefutable tone, “Don’t be stubborn. I speak with facts, and I don’t have much patience.”

Pan Ma looked at me, and his son did too. I felt confident, sensing that my expression was indeed sinister and inscrutable.

After a long standoff, Pan Ma suddenly broke down. He lowered his head and exchanged a glance with his son. His son whispered something to Ah Gui, who was then half-pulled out of the room. His son came in and sat in Ah Gui’s place, and the door was closed again.

Pan Ma performed a deep bow to me, and when he raised his head, he said, “No matter who you are, I hope you keep your word. If we are to settle old scores, let them all fall on me. I was the one who killed those people; the others were just helping me carry things.”