Chapter Twenty-Five: Ancient Tales of the Yellow River

Before meeting me, the authorities had already organized an expedition to investigate Hezi Village. Both the National University for Ethnicities and the Public Security Bureau were involved, aiming to verify the cause of Professor Gu’s death as described by Tong Xiaomeng and to conduct a thorough investigation into the alleged live human sacrifices in Hezi Village.

Yet, when the expedition arrived from Beijing in Ninghai County, torrential rains fell for three consecutive days, trapping them in the county seat until the weather cleared. They rushed out overnight, but before reaching Haihe, they heard thunderous crashes from the direction of Hezi Village, like an earthquake shaking the earth, the roaring lasting all night. By the time they arrived at the river’s mouth, the mountain behind Hezi Village had collapsed, the river surged and flooded the entire village. A catastrophic flood swept away all secrets belonging to that place.

Now, Hezi Village has become a wasteland. The black coffins buried at the riverbed were all washed away by the flood. Rescue and excavation efforts have yet to end, but after so much time, the villagers remaining in the village have lost their precious window for survival. Hezi Village has become a dead village.

I inhaled sharply after hearing this. Such a calamity in Ninghai County, and I hadn’t heard a whisper. But back then, the internet was not developed, and newspapers and television didn’t report it; news passed only by word of mouth, and even a few hundred miles took time to reach.

Looking at Tong Xiaomeng’s face, I knew she was still troubled by Professor Gu’s fate, so I asked, “Do you still have the blood jade?”

She replied, “Yes, I’ve kept it close at all times.”

She reached for her neck and pulled out a red cord, at the end of which hung a translucent, blood-stained jade pendant.

I took the jade, held it in my palm, feeling a trace of warmth lingering from her body. Raising it to catch the light from above, the pendant shone crystal-clear, like icy jade skin, radiating a subtle aura. Within, crimson veins resembling blood coursed through, intricate as human capillaries. Bringing it close to my nose, the faint fragrance of a young woman drifted around, the blood lines gentle and natural—a flawless piece of jade.

With my eye for such things, this was all I could discern by sight alone. Blood jade is not something everyone can see; I couldn’t help but gaze a while longer before returning it to Tong Xiaomeng. I took a deep breath and asked, “Hezi Village, is truly nothing left?”

“Nothing.” She rehung the blood jade around her neck and said, “Before meeting you, I already visited Hezi Village. The rescue efforts will finish in two days. Even if there were anything left, it wouldn’t be ours to claim.”

I nodded, glancing at the time—it was already past three in the morning. Hearing Jin Yitiao downstairs hollering my name, I told Tong Xiaomeng to get some rest and that anything else could wait until tomorrow.

As I went downstairs, my mind kept turning over how strange it was for the flood and landslide to strike Hezi Village so suddenly, almost as if it had been orchestrated. I had the unsettling feeling that the villagers of Hezi Village had entered some pact with the so-called River God—the River God protects the village, grants them jade and wealth, guarantees their prosperity for centuries, but in exchange, they must keep his secrets. If those secrets were ever exposed to outsiders, the River God would rage and drag them into the grave with him.

It didn’t seem impossible. If corpses could crawl ashore from the river, what else might I not accept?

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When I reached the ground floor, Jin Yitiao was drooling and searching everywhere for water. Seeing me, he quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve and asked, “Where’s the tea? I’m dying of thirst.”

I pointed to the counter. “Only some cold tea left. Pour yourself.”

As I tidied up the table—now that women were lodging in the shop, things couldn’t be as messy as before—Jin Yitiao gulped down several mouthfuls and belched loudly, patting his belly. “I need to head back.”

“Sauna?”

He shook his head. “Some southern dealer wants to sell a few antiques. He’s right outside my shop, just called me—I have to go.”

I looked at him and reminded, “You better be careful, don’t fall into anyone’s hands again.”

He grinned. “It’s an old boatman from the Yellow River. Apparently, the stuff was dredged up last year but kept hidden till now. It’ll be fine!”

Each year, dredging the Yellow River is a massive project benefiting the nation, especially at the ancient river passes. From the south, porcelain was shipped to the capital; from the north, pearls and agate went south. The riverbed is layered with sunken ships full of cargo. Fish out a good item and take it to a distant ghost market, and you’d live easy for half a lifetime.

Every spring, Beijing’s Panjiayuan and Tianjin’s Yu Dongmen would see farmers from Shaanxi or Henan, all clutching treasures in their coats. Land a piece, and you’d be rich overnight.

Jin Yitiao’s talk piqued my interest, but I couldn’t leave Tong Xiaomeng alone here, so I told him to bring any good finds over for me to see. I still hadn’t settled the account for the Five-Clawed Red Dragon.

Mentioning the Five-Clawed Red Dragon, Jin Yitiao was about to leave but sat back down, staring at me. “What exactly did Jin Zhenbang have you do? I feel like you’ve changed since you came back.”

“How so?”

He squinted at me. “Hard to say, but I always felt Niu Erpao’s death couldn’t be separated from Jin Zhenbang. You know, I got to know that dealer because I was investigating the Five-Clawed Red Dragon. He gave me that blood jade, and I swear to Chairman Mao, I never made a mistake moving goods. But how did it become a fake as soon as Jin Zhenbang got his hands on it? Isn’t that strange?”

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I asked, “So you think Jin Zhenbang set up such a big scheme just to have me do something for him?”

“I don’t know. First, you have to tell me what it was, so I can help you analyze it,” Jin Yitiao replied.

I shook my head. “Anyway, it’s done. From now on, don’t get involved with Jin Zhenbang or the Thieves’ Guild. If you get caught again, I won’t save you. Take care of yourself.”

Hearing this, Jin Yitiao lost the desire to press further. Actually, I had pondered this issue myself these past days. Regarding Jin Zhenbang and the Thieves’ Guild, I couldn’t believe it was all coincidence. But there was nothing I could do to touch him, so I had to settle for distancing myself and breaking off contact as much as possible.

After Jin Yitiao left, I tidied up the shop. My body felt weary but not sleepy—probably because I’d slept too much in the afternoon. I sat behind the counter, took out the “Ancient Treasure Manual,” and began to read carefully.

The “Ancient Treasure Manual” recorded many common spiritual treasures in detail: for instance, the “Half-Form Guanyin” that hides in temples and steals offerings; the “Yellow River Water Child” that devours gold and sand in the riverbed; even the “Millennial Blood Fox” deep in the old forests of Changbai Mountain was described thoroughly. Yet after searching for a long time, the book only mentioned jade artifacts that could transform into lovely maidens, with no hint as to how to deal with such things.

All things in the world, like brine coagulating tofu, counteract one another. Even millennial blood foxes and Kunlun snow monsters have ways to handle them. Why was there nothing about jade corpses?

I read all night, finally turning to the “Earth Treasures” page, where the matter began to clarify.

The book recorded that in the 27th year of the Republic, which is May 19, 1938, the invading Japanese forces captured Xuzhou and advanced along the Longhai Line, threatening Zhengzhou and shaking Wuhan. On June 9, to halt the Japanese advance westward, Chiang Kai-shek’s government adopted the strategy of “using water instead of soldiers,” ordering the breach of the Yellow River’s southern bank at Huayuankou, seventeen kilometers north of Zhengzhou. This caused a man-made flood and altered the river’s course, creating a vast inundated region.

Afterward, tens of thousands of corpses floated in the Yellow River, carried downstream to pile up at river bends, attracting swarms of fish and turtles to gnaw on the bodies at night. In the quiet hours, it sounded like a chorus of voices singing opera beneath the river, sometimes even sobbing could be heard. Perhaps some hadn’t died and were eaten alive, chilling the listeners and unsettling villages along the river.

Later, the Republican government sent villagers to retrieve the corpses but instead dredged up a jade coffin from the depths. The coffin lid was inscribed with ancient runes, crisscrossed with bright red lines. Once surfaced, a foul wind swept over the Yellow River, corpses clustered together, and panic spread among the villagers who rushed home, bolting doors and windows, not daring to step out day or night. The legend of the “Yellow River Corpse King” ran rampant on both banks.