Chapter Twenty-Two: The Engineering Section—A Golden Key, A Clue

Da Zhuang’s ferocious expression found no release; instead, he turned his head away and kept digging at the hole beneath him, which was already as wide as a man’s thigh. This strange look and behavior were nothing like those of a simple-minded fool.

Cheng Che scrambled to his feet and, seeing someone approaching from the far end of the corridor, shouted to Zhang Qinglin, “Old Zhang, someone’s coming. Get him out of here, quick!”

Zhang Qinglin grabbed Da Zhuang’s arm, and together they dragged him out. As they moved, Zhang glanced at the spot Da Zhuang had been digging—there was nothing there. He couldn’t fathom what Da Zhuang was after.

Back in Old Seven’s room, Da Zhuang reverted to his imbecilic state, sitting on the bed and nodding incessantly. Zhang Qinglin poured a cup of water and walked over to him, only to notice that Da Zhuang seemed to be gripping something in his hand—a small golden object peeking out, shaped more like the head of an ancient key than anything else.

Zhang Qinglin sat down opposite Da Zhuang and held the cup out to him. Da Zhuang stared back with a vacant grin, then slid his right hand, pressed against his own trouser seam, up to Zhang Qinglin’s thigh and stuffed the object beneath it.

Lowering his eyes, Zhang Qinglin quickly reached under his leg with his left hand, clenching the item tightly. It was cold, gritty with soil, and its notched edges confirmed his suspicion—it was indeed a key. He lifted his gaze to study Da Zhuang.

Da Zhuang just kept smiling that vacant smile, which sent a chill creeping over Zhang Qinglin. Was Da Zhuang merely feigning stupidity? How had he come to this place? What did he know? What was this key meant to open, and why give it to him?

These questions surged suddenly, making his temples throb. Zhang Qinglin frowned slightly, feeling a desperate urge to grab Da Zhuang by the shoulders and force the answers from him.

Just then, Da Zhuang winked at him. At that very moment, footsteps sounded outside, drawing closer.

“Old Zhang, that Da Zhuang is real trouble—now they won’t even feed us…” Cheng Che burst into Old Seven’s room, panting and furious, striding up to the bed.

At the sound, Zhang Qinglin slipped the key into his pocket, took Da Zhuang’s empty cup, and set it on the table.

“What right do they have to withhold our food? What are we, their slaves? This is the new era—they can’t just do as they please. Come on, Cheng Che…”

Cheng Che knew Zhang Qinglin was about to confront Master Wu. He rolled up his sleeves, ready to follow.

Just then, Old Seven appeared in the doorway with a tray, pausing in surprise at the sight of the two men’s agitation.

Zhang Qinglin looked up at Old Seven, who was carrying four steaming bowls of noodles. The atmosphere grew awkward.

“What are you staring at? Come help!” Old Seven called, setting the noodles on the table.

Old Seven explained that the cook hadn’t realized all the workers were back from the site, so only half the usual amount of food had been prepared—the rest had gone without. Seeing Da Zhuang’s fit, Old Seven guessed they hadn’t eaten, so he’d gone to the cook and had four bowls of noodles made for them, sparing them the struggle of fighting for food.

He added that the skeletons found in the mine today—no one knew how they’d be dealt with, but they certainly wouldn’t be handed over to the police. Most likely, they’d be buried somewhere, and that would be the end of it.

Cheng Che asked why. Old Seven replied that they had come here under the guise of mining, and as long as they kept quiet, the Zhoukou City police would turn a blind eye. From what Old Seven had observed, the boss had already greased the right palms at the police station. As the saying goes, “Money talks.”

In fact, there was another figure behind all this—a man named Hu Bin, reputed to be a dealer in antiquities. Hu Bin had his eye on this place for a long time but was a step too late; Miss Su beat him to it. However, he had business ties with Master Wu, and they were rather close, so Master Wu stayed behind to manage a group of men, supposedly to help with the mining, but in reality, working for Hu Bin.

Zhang Qinglin glanced sidelong at Da Zhuang, who sat on the bed, hunched over his bowl and wolfing down noodles, before turning a wary gaze on Old Seven. “Why are you telling us all this?” he asked.

Cheng Che slurped up his last strands of noodles, also looking puzzled.

Old Seven set his bowl and chopsticks on the table, wiped his mouth, and said, “I know you weren’t brought here by Wu Guangen. I can also tell you’re not bad people. I’m telling you this so you understand the relationships at play here. I don’t know everything, but their purpose here isn’t just mining…”

He lowered his voice, glancing sidelong at the door.

He continued, “I’ve heard there are many ancient tombs in the Qinling Mountains—most already looted by grave robbers. But this area around Gourd Village is undeveloped and poor, ignored by the authorities. They’re taking advantage of that. As for me, I’m an honest man. I don’t care for their double-dealing and two-faced ways.”

“Old Seven, if you don’t want to stay, why not just leave?” Cheng Che interrupted.

“It’s not that I don’t want to leave—you’ve seen for yourselves. Once you’re here, it’s not so easy to get out. That’s why I’m telling you all this—I want your help to get away. The bones dug up in the mine today, Old Liu says they belonged to the last group who came here to dig. I have parents and children to care for, and I haven’t even married yet. I don’t want to die here…”

“We can barely protect ourselves—how can we help you? And why do you think we’d help you escape?” Zhang Qinglin found Old Seven’s words a bit illogical.

If he wanted their help, he could have come straight out and asked. Why reveal information about Master Wu and the ancient tombs? Clearly, Old Seven knew more than he was letting on.

Old Seven looked up, his gaze sharp as he studied Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che. “Because the moment I saw you, I knew you were good men. And you weren’t brought here by Wu Guangen.”

“What if we were sent by Hu Bin?” Zhang Qinglin pressed.

“Hu Bin’s people? No, his men wouldn’t stir up trouble—they wouldn’t risk ruining his plans. They know there’d be consequences. So you can’t be with Hu Bin.”

Zhang Qinglin realized that Old Seven was both observant and shrewd, able to protect himself well.

After Old Seven finished speaking, he glanced at Cheng Che, who had long wanted to leave this wretched place. Without hesitation, Cheng Che agreed to help Old Seven and said he’d go with him.