WOOY Chapter 37

When Liu Qi first met that person, he didn’t harbor any good intentions. That was just how things were in those days—the areas were remote and there wasn’t any surveillance. Encounters between people were often filled with ulterior motives, rarely marked by camaraderie. Typically, it was either “I raid you” or “You scheme against me,” a world ruled by survival of the fittest. Eventually, the weak became prey to the strong, never to be seen again.

The man had curly hair, wore framed glasses tied with white threads around his legs, and carried a sack filled with nothing but notebooks, pens, baked flatbread, and pickled vegetables. He spoke in a pretentious, scholarly manner, exuding an air of impoverished arrogance. He introduced himself as Shen Gun, claiming his life’s ambition was to travel across the country, meet extraordinary people, and become the number one authority in the supernatural world. His previous stop had been in Qinghai, where he said he was searching for some village. Somehow, he wound up near the Xinjiang border, lost his way past the Altun Mountains, and ended up in the Kumtag Desert.

Liu Qi figured the guy must be mentally off and, feeling a bit sympathetic, decided to let him go. Shen Gun had no idea that he had narrowly escaped a disaster and cheerfully suggested, “My friend, why don’t we team up?”

Fine, teaming up it was. Catching snakes alone was dull, after all—it might be nice to have someone around to talk to.

And so, the two of them traveled north from the Kumtag Desert into Lop Nur, eventually parting ways in the Hami depression.

At the time, it was still possible to encounter local villages scattered throughout Lop Nur—not the kind set up for tourists with tickets and staged attractions, but real settlements where people still lived. These scattered dwellings were often clustered near salty wells or occasional water channels, semi-abandoned and growing emptier by the day.

There weren’t many people left; the largest “village” had just two households, mostly elderly folks clinging to their homes out of nostalgia and hunters. The younger generation, unwilling to endure the hardship, had moved away.

Liu Qi wasn’t much for interacting with people. Wherever he stayed, he would drop his belongings and head out to hunt snakes. Shen Gun, however, was different—with his notebook under his arm, a pen clipped to his ear, and a beaming smile plastered on his face, he sought out elderly residents to gather stories.

Local dialects were hard to understand, and elderly people often spoke unclearly. Liu Qi couldn’t fathom how the other man managed it—but each time, he would return with pages densely packed with notes.

When asked what he was recording, he would reply: “Weird stories.”

Well then, if you had money, you could eat meat, drink, and indulge; if you didn’t, you’d camp on the sand and listen to stories. Long nights called for some entertainment after all.

Thus, every night before bed, Liu Qi would urge Shen Gun to tell a tale—and he, being someone who adored this sort of thing, would light up at the notion of “teaching,” launching into lengthy, animated accounts.

One evening, which Liu Qi remembered vividly—his snake pole had snapped, and he was busy wrapping it with white adhesive tape when Shen Gun approached mysteriously.

“Liu-er[mfn]Adding -er at the end of the name is just a casual way to address someone. It can also sound very cutesy and familial. The er character also kind of means child, which make the next interaction quite funny[/mfn], let me tell you a story.”

Some people just shouldn’t be indulged. At first, he had been respectful, calling Liu Qi “friend,” but now it was “Liu-er,” sounding like he was addressing a hostess at a wine bar. Liu Qi wanted to get mad but decided against it—why argue with a lunatic? Besides, he still wanted to hear the story.

——

Shen Gun began, “Do you know Emperor Wu of Han?”

Liu Qi replied, “Of course I do! I’m from Zhangye, after all.”

Originally, Zhangye didn’t have its current name. After Emperor Wu of Han defeated the Xiongnu[mfn] a tribal confederation of nomadic people . By the way, all the history above is actually true.[/mfn] in the north, opened up the Western Regions, and established the four prefectures of Hexi, he felt he had “stretched  the nation’s arms” . With great pride in his achievements, he renamed the prefecture Zhangye[mfn]The character for stretch is “ye”, hence the name of the city Zhangye[/mfn].

Shen Gun seemed delighted. “Good, you know about him—saves me from giving a history lecture.”

“It’s said that after Emperor Wu opened up the Western Regions, it became bustling. The camel caravans and trading teams were endless, entering through the gates daily, one group after another. There’s no helping it—strong nations attract trade.”

Liu Qi nodded, “That’s true. It only got even busier during the Tang dynasty.”

Shen Gun lowered his voice, “But, there was a rumor that emerged—a legend saying that among the regular caravans, there was a ghost camel caravan.”

Liu Qi glanced around the desolate, pitch-black Gobi terrain nearby. Discussing ghosts this late at night felt eerie.

“They said this ghost camel caravan consisted of nine people, and they only entered and exited through the Yumen Gate. Other caravans on the road feared encountering bandits, so they’d band together with fellow merchants. This caravan, however, always traveled alone. Their spending was lavish, dealing solely in gold and jade. Once inside the gates, they wouldn’t indulge in any revelry. Outside of buying goods, they remained holed up in their rooms… Once their business was done, they silently left through the gate again.”

Liu Qi shrugged, “And that’s enough to call them a ghost camel caravan? Maybe they were just introverts.”

Shen Gun rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t finished yet.”

“The story of the ghost camel caravan has been passed down for hundreds of years. The versions are largely consistent, with the legend being most widespread during the Han and Tang dynasties, likely due to the bustling trade in at the time. Later, during the Ming Dynasty’s isolationist policies and as the economic focus shifted east and south, this region fell into obscurity.”

Shen Gun sighed with emotion: back then, when the capital was in Chang’an, of course the Hexi Corridor[mfn][/mfn] thrived.

“Store owners who dared to ask where they came from would always get a different answer—places like Dayuan, Wusun, or Persia. But given the limited flow of information in those days, even if they had said New York, the merchants wouldn’t know where that was. Not wanting to share personal details isn’t that unusual—it could just be the need for a stronger sense of privacy.”

“The strange part,” he continued, “is that over time, some traveling merchants began to notice patterns. They said the team was only ever seen in the region near Yumen Gate and Balongdui. No one had ever spotted them further west. That gave rise to the rumor of a ‘Ghost Gate’—a gateway through which this caravan entered our world.”

This made sense: Yumen Gate was a key checkpoint on the northern Silk Road, while Bailongdui was a treacherous route that even lacked suitable resting spots. For the caravan to vanish here was bound to spark imaginations.

Liu Qi asked, “Were they really ghosts?”

Shen Gun replied, “It’s more complicated. According to some nosy observers, this caravan—every single member—didn’t cast shadows.”

“One time, during bad weather with a daytime sandstorm, a group of Hu merchants heading out of the gate encountered the camel team mid-journey. With visibility low, they discovered all the camels were lying flat on the ground, seemingly abandoned, with no people in sight.”

Liu Qi scoffed, “So the Hu merchants just led the camels away?”

Shen Gun nodded. “They got greedy and tried to take the camels. That’s when one of them noticed part of a garment sticking out from under a camel. Thinking there might be a person beneath, they reached out to pull them up…”

How to describe it? Beneath the clothing was something flat and stiff, like a piece of cardboard. Curious and trembling, they flipped it over, only to find the body inside the clothes was actually a human figure carved out of cowhide!

That might’ve been strange enough, but according to the story, after being flipped over, the eyes in the cowhide figure’s hollow sockets suddenly whirled around, glinting eerily, just like real human eyes.

The Hu merchants were terrified. Panicked, they scattered in all directions, only to lose track of each other in the sandstorm. One man, disoriented and unable to find his way, eventually circled back to the same spot.

What he saw froze him with fear. The camels were standing again, and now, people were mounted on their backs, calling to one another as they prepared to set off. Their attire and ornaments were identical to those seen earlier on the cowhide figures.

Driven by some inexplicable impulse, the man decided to follow them.

Night fell quickly.

The sandstorm intensified, making it impossible to keep his eyes open. As he continued trailing the caravan, dread crept over him.

And then—right in front of him—the entire nine-person camel caravan vanished into thin air.

Shen Gun’s final line sent chills coursing down Liu Qi’s arms, leaving him covered in goosebumps.

Liu Qi urged him, “And then? What’s the explanation?”

“There are plenty” was the reply. “Some say there’s an invisible gateway leading to an ancient city filled with gold and jade but lacking any raw materials—that’s why the camel caravans have to come out to trade, right? Others claim the city was built by Emperor Wu of Han himself. Didn’t he meet the Queen Mother of the West? Perhaps he foresaw the fall of the Han Dynasty and hurried to store away valuable treasures for his descendants to one day rise again…”

Shen Gun’s eyes lit up as he continued, “How fascinating, isn’t it? Chinese folklore is truly a treasure trove of literature! Hey, what do you think? Should I write a book dedicated to legendary tales like this someday?”

Liu Qi remained silent.

He, too, thought there might indeed be treasures—but the kind he imagined wasn’t the same as the “literary treasures” Shen Gun so enthusiastically described.

——

Chang Dong listened without much reaction. “Stories like this, they’re just for entertainment. Are you really taking them seriously?”

The tea was cooling, and Liu Qi gestured to his subordinate to bring a fresh cup.

“I didn’t believe it at first,” Liu Qi mused, “and it’s been years—I’d almost forgotten about it. But when Hui Ba ran into trouble, it suddenly came to mind. Huoya told me that when the Shadow Puppet Coffin was opened, you counted the figures—there were nine, right?”

Chang Dong silently acknowledged, knowing he couldn’t deny it.

Liu Qi sighed, “Isn’t that interesting? Turns out I got tangled up in this over a decade ago. If I still treat it as just a story, wouldn’t that make me a bit slow?”

Chang Dong replied, “You’ve gone to all this effort—making calls, pulling strings, even detaining people—it doesn’t seem like you’re just here to tell stories. So here’s the deal, Liu Qi. Let’s clear the air. Say what you want to do outright, and I’ll weigh it out. If it’s doable, we’ll work together; if not, we’ll handle it the usual way—drinks, mediation, or setting boundaries. What do you think?”

Fatty Tang listened with half-understanding, but knew this was a critical moment. His heart raced as he glanced at Ye Liuxi, who was fully engrossed in the conversation, showing no interest in tending to his injuries. Realizing he couldn’t rely on her, Fei Tang opened his medical kit, tore an alcohol swab, and dealt with his wounds himself.

Liu Qi chuckled—a sound that grated unpleasantly, like scraping a pot or a saw on wood. Ye Liuxi couldn’t help but wrinkle her brow at the noise.

“Hui Ba’s body needs to be recovered. In this world, we operate with a code of honor. If there’s hard treasure, I’ll claim my share,” Liu Qi declared.

Chang Dong remained composed. “No one’s stopping you. Follow the Harrow Road downward—I’ve left tracks through Bailongdui. If you need the route, I can even draw you a map.”

Liu Qi waved dismissively. “I’ve lived long enough to know my limits. My body isn’t cut out for rough expeditions. Besides…”

Liu Qi’s words carried a hidden edge: “I think not just any random person can stumble upon the Shadow Puppet Coffin.”

Chang Dong replied calmly, “Then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. To be honest, we came across the Shadow Puppet Coffin purely by chance. It disappeared along with Hui Ba’s body, and we found it strange too…”

Liu Qi cleared his throat, reached into his old cotton jacket, and pulled out a notebook.

Chang Dong’s gaze sharpened momentarily before relaxing.

It was the ledger he had left in his room.

His tone remained steady but firm: “Liu Qi, this isn’t exactly fair play.”

Liu Qi offered an apologetic smile. “My apologies, it’s a habit—I like digging into people’s secrets. But consider it a lesson for you both: be cautious in your actions and don’t leave openings for others to exploit.”

Ye Liuxi interjected coldly, “My room was searched too?”

Liu Qi reached into his jacket again. “Miss Ye’s belongings were quite interesting as well.”

What he pulled out was none other than the animal-headed agate.

Fei Tang’s nerves were on edge, and his head started buzzing. He glanced at Ye Liuxi, whose gaze grew increasingly sharp and dangerous. Panicked, he gulped down several breaths, convinced she might snap Liu Qi’s neck in the next moment.

Liu Qi placed it on the table. “Creating high-quality replicas of antiques won’t get you far, especially not ones as famous as this… As for the ledger, I only understood parts of it, but it’s clear you two are capable people. Working with capable people requires sincerity. Here’s my proposal—see if it works for you.”

“I’ll provide the money, you provide the effort. My demands are simple: first, recover Hui Ba’s body. Second, if you find any treasure, I get a share.”

Chang Dong quickly grasped Liu Qi’s intentions.

Liu Qi didn’t want to take risks himself but also didn’t want to miss out on the profits. He planned to invest money and reap the rewards.

Before Chang Dong could respond, Ye Liuxi spoke up: “Alright.”

She stepped forward, picked up the agate, blew on it, wiped it on her clothes, and smiled at Liu Qi. “I just love spending other people’s money to get my own things done.”