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墨書 Inktalez
The atmosphere inside the vehicle was awkward and silent. Soon, the Military Jeep drove off the National Highway and onto a Dirt Road. The trees along the sides of the road gradually thinned out, revealing an expansive view of a seemingly endless grassland. The late autumn sun beat down mercilessly on the earth, casting a golden hue over the dry grass that blended seamlessly with the distant yellow sands. Everything appeared to be a desolate shade of gold. The Dirt Road stretched from the grassy area into the sandy terrain, winding away as if it had no end in sight. The only hint of green was provided by the artificially planted mesh Sand-fixing turf lining both sides of the road.
The hot wind and monotonous scenery made one drowsy, gradually numbing any sense of time and space. I lost track of how long we had been driving—perhaps four or five hours—when a row of buildings finally came into view. They were not tall but covered a large area; even from a distance, one could see the imposing wall ahead. Inside the wall was a military camp, and under such sweltering heat that could fry an egg, even this disciplined unit struggled to maintain a serious demeanor. I only spotted two soldiers at the gate, and after that, as we entered the vast space enclosed by the wall, I saw no other military personnel.
This was a massive courtyard, if it could be called that. The courtyard featured artificially planted vegetation, mostly drought-resistant Poplar trees, along with Sandthorn, Walnut Trees, and Jujube Trees interspersed among them. Beneath these trees sprawled patches of Sea Buckthorn and Goji Berry shrubs. The courtyard was so large it resembled a small town; its roads were wide and well-paved with Cement Pavement. The vehicle glided smoothly over it as if cruising on a perfectly flat surface. Occasionally, I caught sight of neatly arranged Barracks mostly hidden among the trees. The vehicle stopped in front of the tallest building in this courtyard—a three-story structure.
A middle-aged man with the rank of Colonel greeted us; his dark skin bore little expression as he shook my hand. His palm was large and rough, and I couldn't tell if it was intentional or not, but his grip exceeded what I understood as a normal handshake, causing me to involuntarily tense my right arm. Even so, my hand still felt somewhat painful under his grasp. I inwardly scoffed, thinking only your wife would appreciate those hands—there's definitely something to feel there.
There were no pleasantries exchanged. He led us directly into a room with thick curtains drawn shut and handed me a booklet from his desk. "Take a look at this first."
It was a classified manual. Over the years, I had progressed from being an Archaeology team member to leading my own team as an Archaeology team captain. In my regular work, I often interacted with local governments and police departments. When operating in harsh environments or requiring military support, we would seek assistance from local troops, which naturally required coordination from higher authorities. So I was familiar with military ranks; I guessed this stern-faced Colonel was the highest Commander at this military facility. Upon entering a military base, one is usually shown corresponding levels of classified manuals. This was something I understood well; I took the manual and sat down in a chair to read.
The manual was quite thin; it didn't take long for me to finish reading it. However, instead of putting it down or returning it to the Colonel, I began reading it again from the start. This was a top-secret level manual; I felt no psychological burden since I had previously received similar top-secret manuals at military facilities I'd entered before. In my experience, military installations typically fell under top-secret classification. What made me take this manual seriously were two distinct points.
The first point was its scope of application. Generally speaking—at least in my experience—the classified manuals pertain specifically to the military base we sought assistance from. However, this manual's scope did not apply to this facility but rather to a place marked as 'Seven.' This meant that access to this 'Seven' level of classification was so high that one could not enter or even know its location without signing a confidentiality agreement first—a situation I had never encountered before.
The second point concerned a detail within this manual. Most classified manuals contain guidelines like: do not look at what you shouldn't see, do not ask what you shouldn't ask, do not share what you shouldn't share—essentially adhering to four principles of non-disclosure. This manual lacked such stipulations. As I read through it for the second time, it dawned on me that within 'Seven,' there were no secrets that could be kept hidden—or perhaps its secrets needed to be shared.
Having realized these points and recalling Song Guilong's mysterious demeanor on our journey here, I couldn't help but feel apprehensive about stepping into this unknown secretive realm. While trying to phrase my reluctance carefully, I said: "I'm just an Archaeology worker..."
"'Seven' is an Archaeological Project," he interrupted sharply. "And time is tight; many of your colleagues are already working there—they need you." Before I could organize my thoughts for refusal, the Colonel had already cut off my escape route.
The Colonel stared at me silently; his expressionless face radiated an air of intimidation as he leaned slightly forward over his desk, his resolute chin indicating an unyielding determination that left no room for argument. A feeling washed over me as if I had already boarded a pirate ship; every word of mine seemed destined for ruthless rejection and chastisement.
I glanced around desperately for Song Guilong but found only three people in the room—the Colonel and another officer who had picked us up at the airport. He stood behind me at an angle with his feet firmly planted apart and hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead without any trace of the insincere smile he wore during our arrival.
The scene reminded me of a movie: an officer sitting behind a desk coldly gestured to his subordinate, while a executioner behind him pulled out a gun and aimed it at the head of the person seated in the chair. "Bang," and brain matter splattered.
Under the pressure of both coaxing and intimidation, I signed the confidentiality agreement and took an oath. It was only at that moment that the Colonel stepped out from behind the desk and gave me a bear hug. "Welcome aboard," he said with a cheerful smile.
I had not yet recovered from my terror, feeling still icy cold, unable to accept the Colonel's drastic change in demeanor. I numbly wriggled free from his embrace and turned to look at another person, only to find that the officer had already cheerfully drawn back the curtains and was presenting me with a plate of fruit soaked in ice water. A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes as he playfully winked at me. A flicker of realization sparked in my muddled brain: I had been set up.
The Colonel casually sat on the desk, speaking as easily as old friends chatting. "I'm sorry you didn't have any time to rest; we need to get to 'Seven' right away. But it won't take too long; you'll have time to rest."
"What would happen if I didn't sign this agreement?" I ignored the Colonel's words and stared directly at him.
The Colonel grinned widely. "Of course, we'd send you back. What did you think?"
His face showed no sign of change, his expression remained completely unchanged.
"With such a dark face, how could anyone tell?" I thought bitterly.
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