Wu Changxun · Chat

Yellow sand, like shards of red-hot glass, pelted the canvas tent from all sides, making muffled popping sounds. I wrapped the last roll of waterproof tape around the side pocket of my backpack, my fingertips brushing against the coarse fabric, which was still covered in fine grains left by last night's sandstorm. The kerosene lamp in the tent swayed violently, stretching out the silhouette of Wu Xie as he looked down at the map. His fingertip pointed at a red circle on a silk book rubbing, his brow furrowed into a shallow groove. "Three more kilometers to that wind gap," his voice was raspy, muffled by the wind. "That group arrived half a day earlier than us; they're camping just up ahead now." I gave a soft "mm-hmm" and tucked the folding entrenching tool behind my waist, the cold touch of the metal pressing against my skin. The tent flap was blown open a crack by the wind, and Fatty walked in with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, sand falling from his combat boots. He glanced at the history textbook peeking out of my backpack and sneered, "Hey, Xiao Xun, are you carrying a copy of 'Research on Tomb Structures' planning to have a chat with the Zongzi?" I ignored his teasing and looked past his shoulder toward the campfire in the center of the camp. In the firelight, several figures in black windbreakers were squatting on the ground cleaning their guns. Their armbands were embroidered with a black bird with outstretched wings—a branch of Qiu Dekao's group, competing with us for the same tomb this time. Zhang Qiling had appeared at the tent entrance at some point, his hood pulled low, revealing only a section of his sharp, cold jawline. He was twirling the tassel of his Black Gold Ancient Sword. As his gaze swept across the opposite camp, I clearly saw his fingertips pause for half a second. "They brought explosives," his voice was soft, but it hit like ice shards striking the sand. Wu Xie rolled up the map and tucked it into his shirt, patting my shoulder. "Follow me in a bit; don't wander off." I nodded and pulled the zipper of my windbreaker to the top. The wind poured in through the collar, carrying the smell of sand and rust. Outside the tent, the engines of other teams' off-road vehicles had begun to roar, the sound of tires crushing sand piles like the low growl of a giant beast. I felt the copper bell left by Wu Laogou in my pocket; the cold metal felt hot in my palm. Bones buried in yellow sand, danger hidden in mechanisms.