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墨書 Inktalez
In the vast, seemingly isolated mountains of Daxing'anling, there lay a remote village, steeped in the rich and simple atmosphere unique to the 1980s.
The houses in the village were scattered yet orderly, most of them built by the villagers themselves using wood. The snow piled on the roofs sparkled under the sunlight, while wisps of smoke occasionally curled up from the chimneys, slowly rising into the cold air before gradually dissipating.
For generations, the villagers had lived a simple life, relying on the mountains for sustenance. Though their lives were modest, they found a sense of tranquility and peace within their humble existence.
This winter seemed colder than those of previous years, with snow particularly deep. The entire village was blanketed in thick white snow, resembling a fairy tale world; yet, this fairy tale was more about the hardships and struggles of life.
To ensure that their limited food supplies and essential belongings had a safe place to be stored—protected from the biting cold and wild animals—the villagers decided to dig several cellars in a few open areas of the village.
A group of strong men, dressed in heavy cotton jackets and pants that felt like armor, wrapped themselves tightly against the chill, leaving only their determined and rugged eyes visible.
They carried slightly worn yet sturdy hoes and trudged through the knee-deep snow to their chosen spot.
On this day, the sky was unusually clear, with sunlight pouring down onto the snow-covered ground, bright enough to be somewhat blinding. Yet even so, the cold clung to them like a shadow, piercing through as if countless tiny ice needles were drilling into their bones.
Gathered together, they exhaled clouds of white breath that quickly condensed into small puffs of mist before their eyes.
As they rubbed their reddened hands together for warmth, they exchanged playful banter and encouragement. Then they raised their hoes high and began to work vigorously.
With each strike of the hoe against the ground came a resounding "clang," echoing like a bell tolling or a muffled thunderclap reverberating through the silent valley—so different from the usual crisp sound of a hoe striking ordinary soil or stone.
Everyone paused in surprise. Among them was a young man named Ergouzi, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth slightly agape in astonishment. "What is this? We haven't dug up something we shouldn't have, have we?" he exclaimed.
His originally dark face appeared even darker under the sunlight, and the wrinkles on his forehead twisted into a deep frown of surprise.
Beside him stood Da Zhu, a burly figure resembling a small mountain. Known for his boisterous personality, he scratched his head and spoke in a deep voice, "Who cares what it is? Let's dig it out and see. It might be something valuable! If we're lucky, we won't have to live these hard lives anymore!" As he spoke, his rough hands gripped the hoe tightly, the veins on his hands slightly bulging from the effort.
Driven by curiosity and a desire for a better life, the crowd quickened their digging.
As shovelfuls of dirt were gradually removed, several large stones covered in strange patterns slowly came into view.
The patterns twisted and turned, intricate and complex, resembling some mysterious symbols or ancient totems of powerful beings. They seemed to silently narrate a long-lost history, exuding an unsettling aura that made the surrounding air feel heavy.
In an instant, the villagers were drawn in by an invisible force, gathering from all directions to surround the excavation site. They watched with wide eyes filled with curiosity and confusion, as if witnessing a spectacle from afar.
Old Yang, a respected elder in the village, approached with small, shaky steps using his well-worn cane that had been polished smooth over the years.
His weathered face was etched with deep wrinkles like ravines carved by time, and his eyes held a glimmer of wisdom and weariness. As he gazed at the stones, his expression grew serious; his already stooped back seemed to bend even more.
He muttered, "Our village has been here for quite some time. Since I can remember, I've heard the older generation say this land is special. It used to be a place of worship; there are spirits guarding it underground. We mortals shouldn't meddle carelessly; it could bring disaster upon us. If these spirits take offense, our village will never know peace."
Old Yang's voice was low and hoarse, carrying an undeniable authority as if he were the guardian of that ancient history imparting warnings from their ancestors.
A few young men listened with trepidation; though they felt fear creeping in, it was ultimately overshadowed by their intense curiosity about potential treasures and their yearning for a prosperous life.
One young man named Xiao Hu, with a round face and bold demeanor, sparkled with excitement as he exclaimed loudly, "Grandpa Yang, you're just being superstitious! What era is this? There might be gold, silver, or antiques down there! If we dig them up, we could strike it rich! Our village could benefit too—build schools, new houses—we could have everything!"
As he spoke, he waved his arms excitedly, as if he could already see countless treasures of gold and silver beckoning to him. The young people nearby were also swept up by his words, echoing his enthusiasm with expressions of hope and anticipation for a bright future.
However, there were also those who were timid and fearful, like Shuanzi from the east end of the village. Naturally shy and small in stature, he seemed particularly inconspicuous among the crowd.
At that moment, he was shrinking back, trying to hide behind the others, as if afraid of being discovered by something lurking nearby.
His wife, Cuihua, stood beside him, clutching his shirt tightly. In a low voice, she murmured, "Don't get caught up in this nonsense. We need you safe and sound. Didn't you hear Grandpa Yang say? This whole thing is quite sinister. We can't risk our lives for a bit of money."
Cuihua's eyes were filled with worry and fear; her rough hands trembled slightly from the tension, as if she could foresee some terrible disaster approaching.
The rumors about the ancient tomb spread like a sinister wind, sweeping through the village with alarming speed. The once tranquil village, as still as a stagnant pond, was now stirred into a frenzy of anxiety and restlessness. The simple villagers began to feel waves of temptation rise within them at the prospect of wealth—some eager to take the plunge while others were filled with dread. Regardless, the fate of this small village was quietly rewritten by this unexpected discovery, setting them on a journey fraught with uncertainty and danger.
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