This is a side case from the Southern Archives, one of the cases completed independently by Zhang Haiyan. It is archived in Volume 013 of the Nanyang Archives in Malacca. Those familiar with the Southern Archives and the “Grave Robbing Notes” system can start reading from the next chapter.

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This is a story that may cause strong discomfort, so please watch with caution.

In the late 1870s, specifically from 1877 to 1878, China experienced a catastrophic famine. Within a year, over thirty kinds of disasters occurred, affecting nearly half of the population—almost 200 million people were impacted or suffered. In the disaster areas, people resorted to cannibalism, eating soil, and mothers and children turned against each other. Human flesh became a circulating commodity, with countless bodies lying in the fields, and millions died from starvation, murder, or disease. Refugees killed for food, and plagues ran rampant.

A hell on earth.

This disaster is known as the Dingbu Famine, and our protagonist, Zhang Hailou (later known as Zhang Haiyan in Nanyang), became an orphan as a result of this calamity.

This story has wide-ranging implications, reaching from Central China to the Old Nine Gates of Changsha, south to Malacca, and southwest to the border of China and Myanmar.

(To avoid confusion, let me briefly introduce the history of the Old Nine Gates of Changsha.)

The Old Nine Gates of Changsha refer to nine tomb-robbing families who controlled the underground business of tomb raiding in Changsha. They are commonly referred to as the Nine Gate Commanders, meaning that all underground businesses had to go through one of these families to leave Changsha. The southern part of this story will involve one of the families from the Old Nine Gates and the origins of the Crescent Hotel.

(The entire lineage of the Old Nine Gates and the Crescent Hotel is very complex, and there is no need to delve deeply into it before reading this story, as it will not affect your understanding of the narrative. The story will explain it in detail as it unfolds.)

The story begins in the tropical rainforests of Nanyang.

I will write quickly. According to the existing records in the Southern Archives, the story will consist of four parts.

The areas where the events occur include the southern jungles of Perak (located in Malaysia), the giant ship Nanyang heading from Malacca to Xiamen, and the mountain villages deep in southern China, ultimately converging on the truth of the Dingbu Famine.

Having not written a novel for a long time, my recent screenwriting has affected my sense of language, and my writing has declined somewhat. I apologize for that. Each chapter will be published with around 3,000 words. This story will be very free and unrestricted, returning to the original state of writing as one wishes, as it was in the early days of online writing.

I will show my original intention: writing initially aimed to garner applause, and later fame and fortune followed, which is not true enlightenment. Now, as I write, I have begun to grasp the concept of why I write. There are truly too few good stories in the world; from ancient times to the present, interpretations have not differed much. If new storytelling methods can emerge, perhaps the nights before sleep will not be so dull. Exploring new types of stories and characters, and seeking creative and engaging narratives, is the purpose of my writing in this book.

After all, I was an online writer 12 years ago; whether I can keep up with contemporary writers’ thoughts remains uncertain. If I fail, please offer constructive criticism.

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The above poetry is dedicated to the characters in the book:

He Jianxi:
A child holding a melon under the willow shed, a small dog chasing butterflies in the narrow alley. Among the bustling human world, filled with laughter and chatter, only I am left with two temples grayed by the wind.

Zhang Haiyan:
In Jiangnan, the willows are small and not yet shady. How can one bear to break the tender branches, when the oriole cherishes the soft boughs and cannot help but sing? I will wait for spring to deepen. At fourteen or fifteen, I idly embrace the pipa in search of music. In the hall, coins are tossed; below, people walk. At that time of meeting, I was already attentive. How much more so now.

**Zhang Haiqi:**
The birds have flown away from the thousand mountains, and the paths are devoid of human traces. A lone boat, an old man in a straw raincoat and hat, is fishing alone in the cold river snow.

**Zhang Qianjun and Wanma:**
The moss-covered steps are filled with red, and the branches are lush with green. The voice of the cuckoo sounds, the cuckoo’s call is sorrowful! After a brief union, we part again; the colorful phoenix flies alone, the colorful phoenix dwells alone.
When does longing after parting begin? When will we meet again? It is hard to predict when we will reunite. How can I express this longing? A love song, a love poem.
The rain beats on the pear blossoms, and I shut the door tightly, forgetting youth and missing out on youth. Who can I share these joyful moments with? Losing myself under the flowers, losing myself under the moonlight.
Worry gathers, and my brows frown all day long, with countless tear stains, countless tear stains. In the morning, I look at the sky; in the evening, I gaze at the clouds. Whether walking or sitting, I think of you.