While I was chatting with my third uncle, someone suddenly knocked on the door. A delivery person walked in and asked who I was. The only people who knew about my situation here were my family and a few people from An Ning’s side, so I thought it might be a care package from home or some materials sent from abroad. I didn’t think much of it and just accepted the package. It wasn’t until I signed for it and looked closely at the sender’s name that I realized it was actually from Zhang Qiling.

In that moment, I was taken aback, and then a chill ran down my spine. During my time here, I had gradually forgotten about the events in Changbai Mountain. Other than the fear, most of my memories had been overshadowed by trivial matters. However, the name suddenly tightened the dull string in my heart, and recent memories rushed back into my mind like a tide.

How could he send me something? Didn’t he enter that gigantic bronze door? Had he come out? When was this sent? Was it before or after he entered the Cloud Top? I quickly checked the date on the package, and my eyelids jumped again: it was sent four days ago.

So he really has come out! He has emerged from that giant door! My hands began to tremble. The image of the dull oil bottle entering the underground bronze door flashed through my mind. Looking at the package in my hands, my thoughts became a tangled mess. What could this be? Could it be something he brought out from behind that bronze door?

What could it be? A human head? A ghostly jade seal? I didn’t know how many bizarre thoughts flashed through my mind. After a long while, I suddenly realized I should open it immediately and hurriedly searched for scissors.

My third uncle noticed the change in my expression and, curious about what I had received, leaned over to take a look. When he saw the name Zhang Qiling, he gasped and showed an expression of extreme shock.

We fumbled around for a while, and finally, my third uncle found a fruit knife and handed it to me, allowing me to cut open the protective box of the package. Inside the box was a wrapped bundle. The package was square, and it was neatly sealed with plastic tape in several places, making it difficult to tear open. I exerted all my strength to create a small opening, revealing two black objects inside. My heart raced, paused, took a deep breath, and with a strong pull, I pulled out the two black objects.

In that instant, I was prepared to see something terrifying, but what I saw left me dumbfounded—it was actually two old-fashioned black videotapes. My mind had been a chaotic mess, and I had thought of almost everything, except for the possibility that there would be two videotapes inside. Because the person associated with the dull oil bottle is easily connected to something like a coffin, but it’s really hard to associate him with outdated modern equipment like videotapes.

What the hell, why would he send me something like this? What could be on them? My heart sank, and a thought crossed my mind: could this be footage from after he entered the bronze door? Did he manage to film what happened behind the bronze door?

Damn, if that’s true, it would be too… But then again, it’s impossible; I didn’t see him carrying a camera inside at the time. Moreover, I believe that behind that bronze door wouldn’t be a good place, and it shouldn’t be easy to carry a camera in there to film. What could it be? Instantly, it felt like countless ants were crawling in my heart, and I wanted to play it back immediately to see.

However, these two videotapes looked very old-fashioned, both in appearance and the materials used, indicating that they were quite dated. I knew that only an old projector could play them, and such things are hard to find nowadays.

My uncle gestured for me to turn it over and take a look, so I tossed the packaging aside, took out the two tapes, and carefully checked the sides of the tapes for any identifying information. I wasn’t unfamiliar with videotapes; ten years ago, when video rental shops were still everywhere on the streets, watching foreign films was almost my only source of entertainment. Back then, it was common to watch five tapes a day during the holidays, and having been exposed to them so much, I naturally had some understanding of their structure. I knew that typically, self-recorded tapes would have something written on the spine; otherwise, it would be impossible to identify them.

But it was a bit strange; there had indeed been a label on the spine, but it had now been torn off, and the marks of the tearing were very fresh, indicating it had been removed not long ago. It seemed that the person behind the “dumb oil bottle” didn’t want us to see the label on this side.

But why? The items were sent to us, yet the label was torn off. Was there something on it that I wasn’t supposed to know?

“What’s going on?” At that moment, my uncle picked up the packaging from the ground, shook it to confirm there was nothing else inside, and asked me, “Nephew, you’re not being honest. Why didn’t you tell me you still had contact with him?”

I shook my head to indicate absolutely not. My uncle patted the tape and asked how to explain this. I said, “You ask me, who should I ask?”

Seeing that I didn’t look like I was lying, my uncle frowned and clicked his tongue, saying, “This kid really has some skills; how did he know you were here?”

I was also puzzled. After I came out from the mountaintop, only An Ning and my family knew my address. He didn’t have my information, yet he could accurately send things to me; this was actually quite difficult. It wouldn’t be possible without someone gathering intelligence for him. It seemed that the depths behind this taciturn person were truly unfathomable.

My uncle thought for a moment and then asked if there was anything on the shipping label indicating where the package was sent from. I picked up the label, took a look, and shook my head; it only had the sender’s name and date, and everything else was blank. Not only was the sending address missing, but even the place of dispatch was not indicated. I really didn’t know how this delivery service operated.

However, the date was four days ago. Generally, local deliveries arrive in a day, and even nearby out-of-province ones only take two days. This package took four days, so the sending location was either not far from here or in a very remote area with inconvenient transport. I could check the courier company’s computer system; if they had online registration, I could find out with just one look.

After my uncle finished speaking, he and I exchanged a glance and shared a wry smile. This sudden development interrupted my uncle’s narrative, and I was at a loss about how to handle the tapes. My uncle said, “Nephew, why don’t we pause for a moment? This young man acts mysteriously; he wouldn’t send something out of the blue. These two tapes could be significant. How about we go find a VCR and see what’s on them?”

I shook my head and quickly replied that we couldn’t do that. Although I was very curious about the content of the tapes, my uncle hadn’t yet provided a clear direction on what he wanted to narrate. If we paused now, I was concerned that his mood might change, and he might not continue. Besides, VCRs have been out of production for nearly a decade, and even VCDs have been phased out; it would be hard to find one in the second-hand market anytime soon. Therefore, it would certainly be impossible to view the tapes for the time being.

However, it was also unrealistic to pretend that these two videotapes didn’t exist. So I suggested we continue with our discussion, and asked him to have his assistant check where there might be a second-hand market in the city. If he found a VCR, we could buy it; if not, I would think of a solution online later that evening.

My uncle agreed, saying, “That makes sense. Anyway, we will eventually discuss this young man’s matters.” With that, he waved his hand to instruct his assistant to carry out the task.

The assistant, who had been listening to my uncle’s story with great interest, seemed somewhat reluctant to be sent away, but after my uncle shot him a glare, he kept his mouth shut.

Once the assistant left, my uncle slapped his face lightly and said, “Let’s speed things up; where was I in my story?”

I repeated what I had just heard, and my uncle nodded, “Right, the key point is the content of that silk manuscript. That foreigner has a deep connection with the silk manuscripts from the Warring States period, and this matter is quite complex. I need to start from the beginning and explain it to you. Nephew, you’ve been in business for a while now; how much do you know about the silk manuscripts from the Warring States period?”

I thought for a moment. While I didn’t particularly like the rubbing business because the profits were thin and the people I dealt with were a bit eccentric, I had gained considerable knowledge about this field over the years.

The silk manuscripts from the Warring States period cannot be considered a major type of rubbing. As the name suggests, they are silk manuscripts from the Warring States period. However, the geographical scope of the Warring States is relatively narrow; during formal transactions, items from the Spring and Autumn period were also included under this category. There are very few authentic silk manuscripts from the Warring States on the market, making them extremely valuable. Due to differences in excavation sites, they are categorized into Chu silk manuscripts, Wei silk manuscripts, and so on. The content of these manuscripts varies, with the most precious being those from Lu. Currently, I can count on my fingers the ten that are recognized as authentic, and none of them are complete. Although there are other items that are mixed in, distinguishing the real from the fake is difficult, and generally, they are not officially recognized.

The Lu silk manuscripts are not a single type either; they are divided into several subcategories based on the script and the size of the rubbings, with the most precious being a type of Lu yellow silk manuscript. The reason is simple: the characters on it are not understandable to others.

The grammar of the text recorded on this silk book is very peculiar; while one can understand the meaning of individual characters, it is impossible to read it. We know that China has eight major “heavenly books”: the “Cangjie Script,” the “Xia Yu Script,” the “Hongyan Heavenly Book,” the “Yelang Heavenly Book,” the “Bashu Symbols,” the “Tadpole Script,” the “Dongba Manuscript,” and the “Xunlu Stele,” all of which are unique texts that cannot be deciphered. However, the text on the Lu silk seems to be like a code; foreign archaeologists refer to this Lu Huang silk as the “Magic Book of China,” because when read according to its arrangement, it resembles a shamanic incantation.

This code was cracked back in 1974, which is later referred to as the “Warring States Book Map,” an ancient code that involves the conversion of images and text. I learned about this term from my third uncle and did some research on my own; this was a significant discovery. However, another event that occurred in 1974 was so famous that this archaeological event did not attract much attention.

Currently, in the trade of rubbings from Warring States silk books, this Lu silk is quite sought after, with many people looking for it. Recently, I heard that archaeological research suggests there could be as many as 120 volumes of this Lu silk, though I don’t know how they came to that conclusion. However, I know that the ones truly in circulation are just four to five pieces, which are genuine items that professionals look at and are not available online. Foreigners particularly like them, so many brokers are scouring various places hoping to discover unique copies. To find rare Lu silk books, one needs to visit rubbing shops, as we usually procure them in large batches without sorting them; there are all sorts of origins mixed together, generally piled up. If one is diligent, they might find something obscure. Moreover, those who find such items usually keep it low-key and study them privately, so the business in this market is still quite good.

The piece my grandfather stole from an ancient tomb is Lu Huang silk, but due to past incidents, we dare not flaunt it. My grandfather was quite famous in the underworld, and many have inquired about this matter; it is considered a treasured item in my shop.

Now we also know that this Lu Huang silk should be the miscellaneous notes from the Warring States period, written by someone known as Tie Mian Sheng. This individual, like Da Vinci, used his own invented script to write his notes, which is very mystical. After emerging from the Lu Wang Palace, I also studied this material for a while. It is said that throughout human history, anyone who used coded writing did so because they discovered something that could overturn the prevailing worldview of the time and took measures to protect themselves from being erased by mainstream powers (like the Catholic Church during Da Vinci’s time).

That’s all I know about the silk books. I shared this with my third uncle, and he nodded, saying, “You’re right; indeed, if you squat in a latrine long enough, even if you can’t defecate, you can still hum a tune.” With that, he pulled out his worn bag from under the bed and took out a wrinkled photograph. I took it and found that it was a picture of a Warring States silk book displayed in a museum. Judging by the arrangement of the text on it, it should be the original that my grandfather stole and was later deceived out of by Americans.

“This is something that should have originally belonged to our family,” Uncle San said. “Three years ago, when I went to the United States, I happened to take a photo of it at a museum in New York. The whole incident started because of this item. It’s really as if it was destined; our family has been involved for four generations, almost as if cursed, all caught up in this matter. This is also why I didn’t want you to get involved. I hoped this would end with me.”

Four generations—yes, I suddenly felt a wave of emotion and asked, “What exactly does it say?”

Uncle San smiled and said, “I just mentioned it; you would never guess if I didn’t say it. In fact, the silk manuscript doesn’t contain any written words. What it translates to is not text, but a mysterious image.”

“An image?” I frowned, recalling the silk manuscript from the Seven-Star Lu Wang Palace. “Could it be an ancient tomb map?”

Uncle San shook his head and said, “It’s not a map; it’s much more complex than that. This matter is hard to explain. Before going to the Xisha Islands, that foreigner told me everything about it, and I’ll relay it to you. Once you hear it, you’ll understand.”