Chapter Twelve: The Vanished Box

As we were discussing matters, two staff members hurried over and whispered a few words into Ren Tianxing’s ear. His expression changed dramatically.

We all felt curious and watched him, but no one spoke first. In truth, we knew that if someone didn’t wish to share, asking would be pointless—why force the issue?

Ren Changfeng took a deep breath and slowly said, “The box is missing.”

“What?” I cried out, unable to contain myself. “How could the box vanish?”

Old Liu and the others followed with their own questions. Wang, ever the clever girl, said nothing but stared at me with her large eyes, waiting to see how I would handle things.

We followed Ren Tianxing to a row of cabinets.

The staff opened the cabinet, and it was completely empty.

Ren Tianxing explained, “After receiving orders from my superiors, I came here immediately and placed the terracotta warrior in the storage room. The box that had been cut open, after repeated tests and analyses, was determined to be just an ordinary stone-encased box. Later, since it was connected to that gun, it was temporarily locked in this cabinet. Without my orders, no one—including the director of this research institute—could open it alone.”

I examined the cabinet. Its lock was electronic, requiring both a key and a password. A code labeled “bm1o97” was marked on it.

A faint white vapor curled up from inside the cabinet.

The cabinet looked remarkably sturdy, with steel panels nearly ten centimeters thick. If someone wanted to steal its contents without the password and key, they’d have to cut through it.

I leaned in for a closer look and asked, “Does anyone notice anything strange?”

Everyone took a look. Old Liu said, “The strange thing is that the contents have disappeared!”

I laughed and scolded, “That’s obvious.”

The others shook their heads.

“Tingting, reach inside and see,” I signaled to Tingting.

She rolled up her sleeve and slipped her pale hand into the cabinet, then shook her head.

She felt around the walls of the cabinet, then cried out in surprise and withdrew her hand.

It was wet with droplets, and there was even some frost.

Old Liu exclaimed, “How could there be something like this?”

He reached in himself and managed to pull out a bit of frost as well.

Dr. Wang was puzzled. “How can this be?”

According to Dr. Wang, the cabinet had no freezing system. Only Laboratory Three had such equipment.

A host of mysteries unfolded before us—the strange terracotta warrior, the vanished stone box, the odd frost. For a moment, everyone fell silent, deep in thought.

Old Du said offhandedly, “Frost and snow appearing out of nowhere isn’t unheard of in history!”

His remark instantly roused everyone’s spirits.

He licked his lips and, seeing everyone’s attention, spoke softly, “There are records of snow falling in June in ancient times. The most famous is the case of Dou E’s Injustice, and then the 'Flying Flowers of Liangguang' in the Northern Song era.”

When Old Du mentioned the “Flying Flowers of Liangguang,” he deliberately glanced at me.

Dou E, a woman from Shanyang County in Chuzhou, was wrongfully sentenced to death. She believed justice would prevail, vowing for three signs—blood staining white silk, snow falling in June, and a three-year drought. Her story is among the ten great tragedies of our country.

But what was this “Flying Flowers of Liangguang”? For someone like me, unfamiliar with history, it was a strange concept. And why did Old Du look at me when he mentioned it? Was I supposed to explain?

After all this commotion, it was nearly midnight. Wang, seeing that Old Du’s topic couldn’t be fully discussed right away, suggested, “Let’s find a cool place, drink tea, and chat.”

It was a good idea. Dr. Wang made a call, and arrangements were made for us to sit in a pavilion on the institute’s rear hillside.

Military efficiency is always high, especially at a research facility in a military zone.

In less than half an hour, we reached the pavilion atop the rear hill.

The pavilion was quite large, two or three times bigger than most others. The stone table in the center was rectangular, not round.

When we arrived, it was clear that security had already been posted nearby. Several snacks lay on the table, including Guangzhou’s specialty fish skin and chicken feet, and Xi’an’s signature cold noodles. Most impressively, there was not only chilled beer but also tea.

Dr. Wang and Ren Tianxing poured themselves tea. Surprisingly, Old Du, usually refined, and the delicate-looking Wang, as well as scholarly Old Liu, all competed with me to fill their glasses with beer.

Wang, full of bold spirit, raised her glass, toasted us, and drained it in one gulp.

The beer glass was large, nearly the size of a bottle, and her drinking left Ren Tianxing staring in shock.

Although it was May, Xi’an’s summer had come earlier this year. The day was hot, but the mountain breeze was refreshingly cool.

We were all intoxicated by nature and, without realizing it, drank a few extra glasses.

With beer warming our stomachs, conversation flowed more freely.

Old Du told us, “The Flying Flowers of Liangguang aren’t recorded in official histories. In the feudal era, stories of ghosts and the supernatural were ridiculed. Only a few ancient books mention it.”

Old Liu took a sip and continued, “The ancient texts say that in the Northern Song, the Jin clan of the Wanyan family had a remarkable man named Wanyan Wuji. He was full of talent but uninterested in fame, preferring to wander the world, and was particularly fascinated by metaphysics. To satisfy his curiosity, he traveled alone through the Song lands, visiting famous sites and seeking out extraordinary people.”

“Passing through Jiangsu and Zhejiang, Wanyan Wuji stopped in Zhenjiang to visit Maoshan. He stayed at Damaofeng, discussing philosophy with a Taoist for three years. After the Taoist passed away, he entrusted Wuji with a last wish. Before becoming a Taoist, he lived in a small town on the border of Liangguang and was worried about his son, asking Wuji to deliver a jade pendant to him.”

“After leaving Maoshan, Wuji headed for Liangguang. At that time, the Jin dynasty was flourishing, and Wanyan Honglie was a prominent general. Upon learning that Wuji’s whereabouts were unknown, Honglie sent men in disguise to search for him in the Song lands. When Wuji arrived at the Taoist’s home, it was already a scorching September. In Liangguang, September is the hottest month.”

“Wuji found the Taoist’s home, but his son had already been executed by Song soldiers for treason. Hearing this, Wuji went alone to argue with the local magistrate.”

“The magistrate was utterly corrupt, claiming the executed man had stolen silver from the Wang family, and when pressed to repay it, he had pawned his wife. Wuji investigated and learned that Wang had coveted the man’s wife, colluded with the authorities, and forced her, driving the man to his death. Wuji confronted the magistrate, but lacking evidence, he could only perform a ritual at the man’s grave. Many people gathered to watch.”

“During the ritual, Wuji declared: ‘If the deceased was wronged, let Heaven see it—let there be frost and snow for three days, and plum blossoms for seven.’”

“His words elicited only ridicule from the officials; how could there be frost and snow, or plum blossoms, in the blazing summer of Liangguang?”

“But, as it turned out, Wuji’s ritual was extraordinary. The weather suddenly changed, and it snowed for three days, with plum blossoms swirling in the air. In the end, Wang and the magistrate died of fright at home.”

Old Du’s storytelling was brilliant—had he been a professional storyteller, he’d rival Shan Tianfang. Everyone listened with relish, though my own notes could only capture the bare essentials.

Wang Tingting was enthralled, eating as she asked, “How exactly did Wanyan Wuji perform the ritual? Was it like those Taoist exorcists on TV?”

Old Du laughed, “What you see on TV is just for entertainment. As for Wuji’s ritual, the books don’t detail it. Those of us who study metaphysics pay close attention to such records, so we remember Wuji’s case well.”

As Old Du spoke, he kept glancing at me, making me a bit uneasy.

His gestures drew everyone’s attention to me. Wang Tingting stared and asked, “Aren’t you surnamed Wanyan? Is Wanyan Wuji related to you?”

“Don’t be absurd!” I knocked her lightly on the head and scolded, “There are plenty of people named Wanyan—is every one of them related to me? You’re surnamed Wang; does that mean you’re related to Wang Anshi?”

Wang Tingting, looking serious, replied, “Wang Anshi is my ancestor!”

Her claim stunned everyone. Who’d have thought she came from such a lineage?

I assumed she was joking and laughed, “You must be kidding!”

Ren Tianxing said seriously, “She’s not joking. According to my information, what she says is true.”