“A few, about seven. There was an Old Man among them. They drove a Chengdu-plated minivan, said they were here to source local specialties to sell south. Stayed two nights, left yesterday morning. Let me tell you, those guys didn’t look like good people—like something out of The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles. The more I looked, the more they seemed like tomb raiders. The day before yesterday, Li Erwa even tried to pickpocket them—no cash, just got some Talisman Paper. Does our poor backwater have ancient tombs or what?”
Wang Ya asked, “Did all seven leave?”
Qin Siwa said, “When they left, I only saw three: the Old Man and two young guys. The Old Man could barely walk, both young ones were injured—one had a broken bone, the other spat blood. Definitely hit a trap raiding a tomb.”
By the time they spoke, they had reached the third floor. Qin Siwa opened three rooms in succession and said, “Sleep here tonight!”
Wang Ya asked, “Uncle Qin Si, which rooms did those guys stay in before? I want to take a look.”
“What for? My wife cleaned them already—no stuff left. Damn it, one spat blood on the bedsheet. She cursed me out when she threw it in the washer. Anyway, enough. Go sleep early. Chengwei, I heard thieves hit your brother’s place but didn’t steal anything and killed the pigs instead. What kind of bastard does that?”
Wang Ya settled Wang Cheng’an in the next room. He was already so sleepy his eyes could barely stay open, yet he still asked, “Where’s the barbecue?” Wang Ya pushed him into the room and said, “Brush your teeth, wash your face, and go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
“Oh!” Wang Cheng’an lazily headed to the bathroom, then shouted, “I don’t have a towel. No toothbrush.”
Wang Ya went in, opened a hotel disposable toiletry kit, and handed it to him. She heard footsteps and Wang Chengwei’s voice outside: “Yaya, go sleep. I’ll stay with Cheng’an.”
Wang Cheng’an said, “Chengwei, aren’t you sleeping with your wife?”
Wang Chengwei ignored Wang Cheng’an and said to Wang Ya, “Don’t worry. Tomorrow, Wu Wa’er and I will go to the county town. They’re injured, so they’ll be at a hospital. If not there, we’ll check Chengdu, hospital by hospital. Qin Siwa and Li Erwa have seen them. We’ll bring Li Erwa tomorrow. Once we find them, they won’t escape, and we’ll know where your grandma is.”
Wang Ya returned to her room, secured the doors and windows, and took out the Family Heirloom wrapped in clothes.
As expected, wrapped inside the book was the Ancient Scroll she had seen as a child.
When Wang Ya had seen this scroll as a child, she thought it was huge. Now, looking again, it was just over twenty centimeters—like leather but not quite, for the scroll’s skin was very soft, smooth, and thin, yellowish in color, close to skin tone. It wasn’t ragged and rotten as she remembered; on the contrary, it was intact, just very old. The core seemed made of ink jade. Wang Ya had seen little jade, only recently in a jewelry store. Seeing the core’s inky black color—like stone yet with a glassy translucence—she guessed it was ink jade. Given the scroll’s age, there was no glass back then, so it had to be jade.
The Ancient Scroll was heavy with Yin Qi, dense Yin Qi enveloping it like a layer of ink—living ink. Because of the swirling Yin Qi, the scroll’s skin seemed alive, breathing, making Wang Ya inexplicably tense. The room was so quiet that only her breathing could be heard.
Wang Ya gripped the tightly wrapped scroll, her fingers trembling slightly. She stared at it for a long time but didn’t dare open it. With such thick Yin Qi, she feared unleashing a centuries-old Ferocious Ghost upon opening. What if this scroll wasn’t the much-coveted Yin-Yang Scroll but a vessel sealing a Fierce Ghost? Didn’t Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio have that story “Flower Soul”?
Wang Ya pondered for a long time and finally decided to open it. If it were truly something terribly ominous, her grandma wouldn’t have kept it with the handed-down Secret Manual! Besides, she had the ancient bronze coin and Ghost Collecting Bell; ghosts were the last thing she feared!
Wang Ya set up a formation with the ancient bronze coin and gripped the Ghost Collecting Bell before carefully unrolling the Ancient Scroll. The scroll wasn’t large; its thickness came from the thick book outside. Rolled up, it was just over an inch thick. As she unrolled it bit by bit, the first thing that met her eyes was a hazy white expanse—not pure white, but faintly yellowish. If compared to a color, it was like the flesh of a woman’s breast seen through thin clothing. The unrolled painting was blank—or rather, not blank, but devoid of any drawings. Only an indescribable shimmer flickered faintly, with thick Yin Qi swirling atop it, as if sealed within and slowly seeping out.
Wang Ya continued unrolling, and as the scroll expanded, the Yin Qi grew denser and deeper, even forming patterns like painted mountains and rivers in ink wash—yet as the “ink wash” deepened, vivid red emerged, dripping crimson onto the landscape like fresh blood. Countless tiny figures appeared in the ink wash—perhaps “Ghost Shadows”—small ones walking, strolling, or flying across the scroll. The Yin Qi thickened oppressively, and even the Ghost Collecting Bell trembled, emitting tinkling sounds.
When the scroll was a third unrolled, Wang Ya dared not continue. She didn’t know what fully opening it would unleash. The Yin Qi inside was denser than anything she had ever heard of or seen—not even the Yin Qi gathered from Opening Yellow Springs compared!
Wang Ya hesitated, wanting to roll it back up, when she suddenly spotted a corner of yellowish paper at the innermost edge. She took a deep breath and unrolled it a bit more, revealing a folded letter tucked inside the scroll. Wang Ya extracted the letter and quickly rolled the scroll back up. Once closed, the Yin Qi seemed suppressed, leaving only a faint trace swirling outside. Wang Ya hurriedly wrapped it in the yellow Talisman Paper that had been around it before, bound the Ghost Collecting Bell around to suppress the leaking Yin Qi, and stuffed the scroll under her pillow. Only then did she unfold the letter. The letter was filled with neat, elegant traditional characters written in fountain pen, graceful and upright. It began: “Yaya:” Tears instantly welled up in Wang Ya’s eyes—this was from her grandma!
