Chapter Sixty-Nine: Codename: 1982

I was dragged out of the house, and immediately the sharp, acrid smell of gasoline hit me. Soon, roaring flames engulfed the entire building. Yes, they set the whole place ablaze. The fire raged for two or three hours, the air thick with the stench of burning, the scene left in utter ruin. Amid the chaos, the bronze coffin was once again dragged out.

Several large buckets of cold water were poured one after another over the coffin, sending up hissing clouds of steam. The group of men hammered away at it with iron rods, the blows ringing out, followed by the shrill sound of tearing metal. The blackened bronze coffin now stood in the open; men wielding crowbars flanked it on either side. This type of coffin was made to entomb the dead, sealed tight by pouring molten bronze over it—practically impenetrable. The only way to open it was to exploit thermal expansion and contraction: heat the bronze to make it expand, then douse it with cold water so it contracts and fractures. It was the best method to break it open.

I thought, whoever was laid to rest inside must be thoroughly cooked by now, after three hours in that inferno. How was it any different from roasting on a hot iron plate?

After all the pounding, that exquisitely wrought bronze artifact lay shattered into pieces. To them, it was nothing more than a coffin. I was kept under close watch, forced to watch from a distance as they used hook-like tools to fish things out of the coffin, stuffing them into black bags one by one.

Once it was over, Yuan Xiaobai was escorted down the mountain by one of the men. As she passed before me, I saw tears glimmering at the corner of her eye. At the last moment, she looked back, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something—but in the end, she left me behind.

I was powerless. I could only watch, helpless, as she nearly died right before my eyes...

Many days later, I found myself here. No one would ever imagine such a modern facility hidden in these remote mountains: swimming pool, cinema, every conceivable luxury. Many people lived here, all moving about briskly, none with real names, only codenames. Mine was: 1982.

The man who brought me here had a name; he was called "Gale." It was said that fewer than ten people here had Chinese codenames, and he was one of them. The man in charge, whom everyone called "the Boss," had the codename: Black Dragon. We addressed him as Master Long, but people from the Qian family were nowhere to be seen. I was assigned to share a room with Gale. As he put it, since he was the one who brought me in, I now belonged to him.

Gale was something of an oddity here. He could talk from morning till night, never running out of things to say, but he never spoke of his past. Each morning, we were gathered in the canteen for roll call. After breakfast, everyone went their separate ways; conversation and troublemaking were both strictly forbidden. All exits were guarded; without Black Dragon's approval, no one could leave the compound.

After about half a month of idle waiting, my name was finally called.

"1982, Black Dragon wants to see you!" I was then escorted by guards through a series of reinforced corridors. This place was a Chinese-style garden, modeled after the elegance of Suzhou—artificial hills, ponds, covered bridges, and pavilions.

There, in a pavilion, sat a man enjoying his tea. A Go board was laid out before him. He gestured for me to sit, and thus, for the first time, I saw his face up close.

I never considered myself a good judge of handsomeness, but I had to admit, this man embodied the word perfectly. Sculpted features, deep-set eyes, a sharply chiseled chin dusted with stubble, lips of just the right width, and pale skin that lent him an inexplicable sense of refinement.

He looked up at me and made a gesture inviting me to sit.

I shook my head—I couldn't play Go. My master once taught me: Never force yourself at something you are not skilled at.

He chuckled, then turned his back to me and said, "Do you know why I agreed to bring you here?"

"I don't," I replied honestly. In truth, I wanted to say: Did I have a choice?

He turned back, placed a photograph on the table, and said, "Take a look at this, then tell me what you think."

The photograph showed a round artifact, its surface etched with what seemed to be characters—crooked lines forming four rows, each with four symbols. They resembled the runes used in our sect, but they were neither insect script nor bird script. Truth be told, a Taoist's characters are often like heavenly script—mysterious and unreadable. Only certain symbols must be drawn in a specific way, passed down from master to disciple. Our sect's runes number one hundred and eight; all talismans and incantations are composed of these, each with its own unique form and pronunciation, unrelated to any known writing system.

The platter in the photo appeared to be made of bronze as well, though its size was indeterminable from the image. What was certain was that it was an ancient object.

"I'm not interested in it, so I have no opinion," I said.

"But I am very interested, and 1982, I believe you can understand it. I'll give you some time. I'll see you again in three days." With that, I was led away again. Black Dragon slipped the photo into my pocket and said, "Help me decipher these characters. I trust you can do it."

Trust me? Why did he trust me? Why should I even try to decipher it?

I was returned to that same room; Gale was already gone, leaving the place empty and silent. The room had clearly been searched—nothing remained but a table and a chair. Even the... had vanished. Fortunately, my own belongings were untouched. Clearly, they were determined to force my hand.

The most infuriating thing about this room was that the lights were controlled from outside. I couldn't turn them on or off. The one-hundred-watt bulb above glared harshly, making it impossible to rest.

I stared blankly at the photo on the table. I truly did not recognize the symbols. So be it—if they would not let me sleep, I would meditate.

Meals were brought to me daily; I had no idea what time it was outside, only that I could guess by the rhythm of the deliveries. Since it was the ninth meal, I reckoned it was the third day. I hadn't slept at all in those three days, and fatigue had begun to blur my vision.

Fixing my gaze on the photograph, I suddenly felt as though I were transported thousands of years into the past. In my mind's eye, I saw a scene: a grand sacrificial altar, a splendidly robed figure masked and standing at the summit, holding a round artifact aloft and singing a song unknown to me.

Countless devotees prostrated themselves in worship. A light palanquin was carried in, greeted everywhere with jubilant cheers. The palanquin was set down at the base of the altar; the curtain lifted, and a graceful woman stepped out, her face veiled so I could not see her features. She climbed the steps, ascending slowly to kneel on one knee before the resplendent figure.

The man in splendid robes handed the round artifact to the veiled woman, who bowed low. At this moment, two bare-chested, muscular men, armed with blades and axes, stepped forward. One lifted her up, while the other swung his blade with lightning speed—her head separated from her body and was caught at once by the other man. Blood spurted from her neck like a fountain.

Her head was presented to the man in splendid robes. I saw her lips move against his ear exactly sixteen times—no more, no less. Then, her head fell silent, as if her mission had been completed. The robed man spread his arms, shouting a word that sounded like "Ula," and the crowd erupted into a frenzy. The entire scene descended into wild ecstasy...

Suddenly, a stabbing pain in my head yanked me from that trance. I looked at the photograph—the red mark on it was slowly fading. I rubbed my eyes hard; no doubt they were bloodshot by now...

The woman? And the object in her hands? Glancing again at the photo, I realized with a start how similar they were!

I met with Black Dragon once more. Again, a cup of tea and a Go board.

He placed a black stone and said, "Faster than I expected. Tell me, what did you see?"

"A woman. A severed head. A grand sacrificial ritual. And that round disk," I answered, seeing no reason to hide anything.

"A woman?" His brow furrowed. "Are you sure it was a woman?"

"I think so," I replied, giving him no promise, for there was no need to guarantee anything.

"You have exceeded my expectations," he said after a pause. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

"The disk, isn't it?" I asked.

"Very clever..."