When the last oil lamp went out deep in the grotto, I heard the sound of chains being dragged underground. The sand dunes of Sixteen States never bury the truth, they only swallow up memories.
Holding the yellowed map in my hand, I stepped into the Youzhou wilderness along the ancient Liao Dynasty road. The first corpse was smiling in the dry well, the second corpse was hanging upside down on the elm tree, and the third corpse... Had turned into carvings on the stone tablet. Every step steps on the bones of someone from thousands of years ago. Those forgotten tomb guards, tomb robbers and border guards seem to have never really died.
The dilemma began with a blood letter: the coordinates left by the missing archaeological captain pointed to the underground river under the fault of the Great Wall. The turning point is hidden in the bronze box - a jade seal reveals the secret transaction on the night of the cession of the sixteen states. The price was that I had to open the iron box that my father had sealed thirty years ago. Inside lay half a tiger talisman and a photo with a face similar to mine.
The wind stirred up the sand grains, looking at me like countless pairs of eyes. The Khitan inscriptions on the stone wall oozed black water, as if the earth was bleeding. Someone is waiting for me, perhaps for ten centuries.
When civilization becomes a curse, how many unspoken sins are hidden in the cracks of history? Are we pursuing the truth just to confirm that we have truly lived?
