Chapter 26: The Little Thatched Cottage

A colossal wave rose from flat ground, something I had never witnessed before; its force rivaled that of a tsunami.

“Brother Pang, I—I want to go home,” Ma Xu stammered, his lips pale with terror, his face shifting from green to purple, looking utterly pathetic.

“Now you’re talking nonsense. You’re always causing trouble! I warned you to be careful but you never listen!” the man in the black jacket cursed angrily. As soon as his words fell, the giant wave surged at us like a wild beast!

With a sharp crack, the wave slapped hard against my face, stinging fiercely. At once, I heard Ma Xu and Zhao Zhiqiang’s desperate screams, mingled with the gurgling sounds of them choking on water.

I wanted to search for them, but quickly realized I could barely protect myself. The wave toppled me, submerging me in water, tossing me about with relentless force. My head slammed hard against the gate of the underground palace.

The entire chamber was soon flooded. Dazed, I held my breath, feeling myself tossed up and down by the waves, water roaring in my ears. The last thing I saw was the stone coffin, standing quietly amidst the flood, and then darkness fell—I lost consciousness.

Was this the end, would I really die in this tomb? I refused to accept it. My father’s life was still hanging by a thread, waiting for me to earn money from the tomb to pay for his treatment. If I died here, it would be a crushing blow to him and my younger sister.

Deep down, I told myself I must survive.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious. All I felt was pain everywhere, as if my bones were about to fall apart. This agony quickly brought me back to my senses. I forced my eyes open, and a blinding light stabbed at my vision, making me frown.

Summoning all my strength, I sat up. My entire body was soaked, water dripping from my hair. A wave of cold swept over me and I involuntarily shivered.

Gradually, I adjusted to the light and hugged my arms, surveying my surroundings.

There was only me here, leaning against the wall in a mountain cave. Before me lay a clear stream, gently flowing out from the cave.

Outside was a green meadow, bathed in bright sunlight. Curiosity got the better of me; I stood up without hesitation. Strangely, in that brief moment, my clothes dried completely, my bones no longer ached—I felt refreshed and clear-headed, and wandered out onto the grass.

In the distance, layers of mountains rose majestically. At the foot of the hills stood a lonely thatched hut. Hunger gnawed at me; after such turmoil and barely surviving the wave, I treasured the gift of life.

My stomach growled incessantly. Instinctively, I searched for my backpack—it should still have a few compressed biscuits. I hoped to nibble on them for strength, so I could go look for the man in the black jacket and the others.

I was rummaging through the bag when suddenly, a slightly aged voice sounded beside me, “Young man, where are you from?”

I froze, raising my head instinctively. There stood an old man, dressed in a simple grey tunic, holding a hoe, as if just returned from work.

“I—I…” I didn’t know how to answer. Should I tell him I was swept here by a giant wave? No one would believe such a story.

The old man saw me hesitating and didn’t press further. He chuckled, “You’re hungry, aren’t you? I was just about to go home for lunch and saw you searching for something. I guessed you must be hungry. How about coming to my house for a bite?”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” I replied shamelessly, eager for food. Though I didn’t voice it, some doubts lingered—when I was searching for food earlier, the old man hadn’t been nearby, so how did he appear so suddenly?

But hunger had clouded my mind. I followed the old man, dazed, into the little thatched hut.

Inside, the light was dim, but everything was tidy and clean—a small square table, two wooden chairs, a wardrobe, a tiny bed, earthen floor, bare walls. Clearly the home of a poor man.

“My humble hut is a bit shabby, I hope you don’t mind,” the old man said, leading me in with a smile. My mind was full of food; I shook my head, “Not at all, not at all.”

“Good, I’ll go make lunch. Sit here and wait,” he said, lifting the curtain and heading to the kitchen. I plopped onto a chair, taking in my surroundings.

I hadn’t looked around long before the old man emerged with a steaming bowl of noodle soup.

I was stunned—never had I seen someone cook so quickly. Was the old man a magician?

“Come, young man, eat, don’t be shy,” he said, placing the noodles before me. The white noodles shimmered with oil and were garnished with scallions, the aroma overwhelming my senses.

I swallowed involuntarily, my throat making a gurgling sound, as if my body couldn’t wait to devour the noodles. I didn’t care whether the old man had cooked fast or slow, nor where the noodles came from—I grabbed the chopsticks and started eating.

Seeing my voracious appetite, the old man smiled, his gaze turning somewhat complex as he looked at me.

“How did you end up here all alone?” he asked, still smiling. I barely acknowledged him, focusing on slurping the noodles.

This was the best noodle soup I had ever tasted. I answered his questions absentmindedly, “Nothing much, but these noodles are amazing!”

I couldn’t explain it—there was a peculiar flavor to the noodles, yet they were so fragrant and addictive that I couldn’t stop eating, nor did I feel the noodles scalding my tongue.

“Hehe, slow down, young man, slow down,” the old man kept urging me, but I paid no heed, not stopping until I’d finished every last noodle in the bowl. I patted my stomach, finally satisfied.

“Uncle, do you have more noodles?” I asked, still craving more. Though I couldn’t see my own expression, I knew my eyes must be full of longing—the noodles were simply too delicious.

The old man laughed, nodding kindly, “Yes, yes, I’ll get you another bowl.” He took the bowl and returned to the kitchen. As before, he came out quickly, carrying another steaming bowl, seemingly unfazed by the heat, and placed it in front of me. I ate as eagerly as before.

At last, I was full, my stomach warm and comfortable.

I wiped my mouth, grinning at the old man. Before I could thank him, he seemed to guess my intent, and asked cheerfully, “Young man, you came from that ancient tomb nearby, didn’t you?”

His words startled me. Suddenly, the old man before me seemed anything but ordinary.

“Uncle, what do you mean?” I didn’t admit it right away, for the truth of the tomb was hard for any ordinary person to believe. If I spoke too much, it might cause trouble.

The old man seemed to expect my question, maintaining his kindly expression, “I’m the only one living here, but every few years, a group comes with tools. They’re all tomb robbers.”

“Oh? Really? Did they find anything valuable?” I feigned ignorance.

The old man’s expression turned mysterious. Leaning in, his tone carried a hint of danger, “They go in, but they never come out.”