After my third uncle finally regained consciousness, I couldn’t wait to press him for details about the whole incident. I naively felt that I was getting closer to the truth, but unexpectedly, my uncle’s account had to start from fifty years ago, referencing events recorded in my grandfather’s notebook.

I didn’t have my grandfather’s notebook with me this time, but I remembered its contents very clearly. The events that took place that night fifty years ago were bizarre and unusual, yet my grandfather ultimately chose not to document what happened afterward when he fell into a coma from poisoning. We knew nothing of what transpired after that. Now, as I recalled the words in the notebook, I still felt an inexplicable sensation in my heart.

However, when my uncle began speaking, I suddenly found it hard to believe him. My grandfather had always been tight-lipped about this matter. Before he passed away, no matter how much we, his younger relatives, inquired, he never revealed anything. My uncle had a poor relationship with my grandfather since childhood, so I believed my grandfather would be even less likely to confide in him.

As soon as he spoke, I retorted, “Don’t try to fool me. Fifty years ago, my grandfather was still running around bare-assed, and he kept his mouth shut tight. How could you possibly know? Don’t just make up some story to trick me; I won’t fall for it.”

My uncle, displeased, replied, “If I don’t talk to you, you get anxious. If I do, you don’t believe me. Why can’t I know anything? If you don’t believe me, then I won’t say anything. I don’t even want to talk about it.”

Seeing that he was about to backtrack, I quickly said, “No, no, I believe you. I was just expressing my surprise. Please continue.”

My uncle shot me a glance, thought for a moment, and then continued his story.

As I listened, I realized that I had indeed misunderstood him. However, I never expected the events to unfold in such a manner. (My uncle’s account is quite complicated; if I were to write it all down, it would likely fill a book, so here I will only select and summarize the more important parts.)

The origin of the matter lies with that notebook, but the process is much more complex.

Before it came into my possession, the notebook had been stored in a cluttered box in the attic of my ancestral home. It wasn’t until I learned to read and stumbled upon it while rummaging through old items that it came into my hands. My father and my uncle had both seen the notebook when they were younger.

My uncle couldn’t clearly recall when he first saw the notebook; he only remembered that he had already been in the field for some time and had gained a bit of experience. He had heard many strange tales passed down among the elders. He knew about the saying among the local treasure hunters in Changsha: “The earth carries blood, and the corpse carries gold.” So, when he saw the notebook and thought about how he had yet to come across anything particularly valuable, he was immediately drawn in by the contents recorded within.

At that time, he was going through his teenage years, with an impulsive and extreme personality. After reading the records in the notebook multiple times, it almost felt natural for him to develop the idea of going to check out the area near the Biaozi Ridge.

Of course, he didn’t intend to understand what had happened with my grandfather back then; he was simply seeking wealth. Ancient tombs wouldn’t just disappear; they should still be there, regardless of how many years had passed. Additionally, during the early years after liberation, bandits roamed the deep mountains, so not many people would venture into those areas. He believed that there should still be something left in the ancient tomb.

Such thoughts may be hard for us to understand today, but given my uncle’s abilities and insights at that time, it was quite normal. He said that people of his generation all felt this way; when they first entered this line of work, the desire to dig up something valuable and make a name for themselves was extremely strong.

However, “Biaozi Ridge” was just a local name from my grandfather’s childhood. This name could refer to a small mound, an entire mountain, or even an unknown area of pristine jungle, so it was unrealistic to rely solely on a place name to locate that ancient tomb.

So, how could one determine the exact location of that place? My uncle pondered for a long time without any leads until the year before he went to Xisha, when he finally found a clue.

That year, he traveled to his grandfather’s hometown in Changsha, which is in the mountainous region. He walked for four days along mountain paths to reach that remote village, where he inquired about the location of Biaozi Ridge. Although he didn’t obtain direct information that time, he became much more familiar with the local customs and culture.

After returning, he studied the notes again, and things became clearer. Based on other content in his grandfather’s notes, along with memories from eavesdropping on his grandfather’s conversations when he was a child, combined with some information he gathered there, he vaguely deduced that the ancient tomb should be located near Guizhai in Mangshan.

His grandfather had mentioned in his notes that both his great-grandfather and grandfather were bitten by a type of snake called “Iron-headed Snake” while traveling through the Manglin. This snake often coiled beneath bushes, making it hard to spot. At that time, it posed a significant threat, and later, when a campaign against snakes was launched, it was nearly driven to extinction. But that’s a story for another time.

Back then, local folks were born and raised in the wild; when bitten by venomous snakes, they would often just suck out the venom, apply some tobacco leaves, and take a few herbal remedies, as there were no better treatments available. After such treatment, if the bitten person showed no signs of poisoning after a few hours, they were generally considered fine; otherwise, there was usually no chance of recovery, and they had to accept their fate.

The snakes that bit them were small, and the wounds were not deep, so my grandfather and the others didn’t think much of it. After a simple treatment, they felt no particular discomfort and continued on their way. Unexpectedly, after walking two miles, my grandfather suddenly collapsed and lost consciousness.

When they stopped to take a closer look, they saw that my grandfather’s skin had turned blue, and he was convulsing, clearly suffering from snake venom. It was only after my great-grandfather traveled dozens of miles through the mountains to find local villagers that they were able to save my grandfather’s life with herbal medicine.

They rested at that spot for two days, and based on my grandfather’s description of a waterfall at the time, it was certain that they rested at Guizhai.

On the fourth day after that incident, they arrived at the place called Biaozi Ridge. This place is a flat area in a valley surrounded by mountains, with dense mangrove forests and numerous ancient vines, except for a spot in the deepest part of the valley, which had no vegetation, revealing a patch of blood-red bare soil—the ancient tomb lay beneath the valley.

Ironically, the type of snake that bit my grandfather is now an endangered species, with a single adult snake valued at over a million for export, far exceeding the price of ordinary ceremonial vessels.

In this way, the hope of finding it became much greater. Although the original jungle of Mangshan was vast at that time, far more than it is now, with the Guiyu Zhai waterfall located in the central part of the jungle, there weren’t many similar landforms that could be inferred, making them not difficult to find.

Uncle San packed his gear and set off again. He was used to going alone because he was too young, and the older folks were unwilling to go out with him; there was no one of his age who could match his skills.

However, after enduring many hardships and crossing the almost uninhabited jungle of Mangshan, what came into view was a scene he had never even dreamed of…