Chapter Eighty-Two: The Stone Platform

Crash!

A deafening sound rang in my ears, making my heart seize abruptly as I opened my eyes. Was it all just a dream? I looked around in search of the source, only to see the iron lotus at the center of the tomb door closing, and a stone platform suddenly rising from the ground. The platform resembled a stone computer desk, carved from black stone, but unlike the two Buddhas, it lacked any refinement; compared to them, it appeared distinctly rough.

Zhang the Ghostface stood stunned for a moment, then walked to the outer edge of the platform, scrutinizing it with a furrowed brow.

I rose from before the Guiding Buddha and moved to stand beside Zhang. At that moment, the figure in the black cloak, Mengya, and the others came over as well. Fixing my gaze on the stone platform, I saw it was covered with strange, unknown symbols, like arcane scribbles.

“Kaleidoscope, come here!” Zhang whistled, and Kaleidoscope hurried over at the call. “See what these symbols mean. Translate them.”

Kaleidoscope leaned over the platform, examining it carefully, his face darkening as he frowned and looked at Zhang. “Third Brother, these aren’t the script of the Pala Dynasty. This is Tocharian.”

Tocharian was the language of the ancient Indo-European Tocharians, the most eastern branch of the Centum group, now extinct. Fragments of it were discovered in Xinjiang, China in the early twentieth century. Scholars believe these remnants date from the sixth to eighth centuries. The Tocharians, known in antiquity as the Yuezhi, were an Indo-European people originating from the Ural Mountains and southern Siberia, who migrated south into the Tarim Basin, reaching as far east as the Hexi Corridor. During the Han Dynasty, the Yuezhi were defeated by the Xiongnu and moved west, conquering Bactria and the Ganges valley, where they founded the Kushan Empire. The Kushan era likely marked the initial development of Buddhist statuary, as evidenced by depictions of the standing Buddha on Kushan coins.

Kaleidoscope continued to expound on the Tocharian language and the history of the Kushan Empire, sounding like a lecture in an alien tongue. Immersed in his self-indulgent monologue, he might have gone on, but Zhang grew impatient, waving his hand with a frown. “Enough! Don’t act scholarly, I don’t care. Just hurry up and translate the script.”

Cut short without mercy, Kaleidoscope could only look helpless.

“Wait!” he was about to begin translating the Tocharian script when I interrupted. “Uncle, you say this is Tocharian, but the Buddha statues are in the style of the Pala Dynasty. The Kushan and Pala Dynasties are separated by several centuries.”

Kaleidoscope paused, clearly hadn’t considered this, only focusing on the translation. After a moment, he nodded. “You’re right, Nephew. The Kushan Empire was founded in 105 AD and ended in 250. The Pala Dynasty was established in 750 AD. How could Tocharian script exist in a Pala Dynasty tomb?”

I nodded, wondering who was buried here. If it was a member of the Kushan royal family, perhaps the Pala Buddha statues were added later. But if the tomb belonged to the Pala Dynasty, how could Tocharian script appear here? Could there have been a surviving descendant of the Kushans?

“Could it be that this is a dialect variant of Pala Sanskrit?” the black-cloaked figure suggested.

Kaleidoscope waved his hand. “Impossible. Tocharian script is unique, influenced by Indian and Arabic languages, but the script on the platform is unmistakably Tocharian.”

The black-cloaked figure nodded, accepting Kaleidoscope’s assertion. At that moment, Zhang grew impatient again. “Enough, enough, all this talk is useless. Just go in and find out who’s buried here.”

Direct and blunt as ever, but not wrong: enter and the truth would be revealed. Kaleidoscope, seeing the sense in that, returned to the platform and resumed studying the script.

“Hey, there’s a scent,” Kaleidoscope said, sniffing as he leaned over the stone platform.

“Bad news, get up!” Zhang roared, unsheathing the treasured blade from his back.

Kaleidoscope was caught off guard, but as he began to lift his head, a sudden scream erupted as strange insect limbs sprang from the platform, clutching his head.

Without hesitation, Zhang slashed at Kaleidoscope’s face with his long knife; the gap between the platform and his face was only five centimeters. A flash of cold light swept through, and Kaleidoscope toppled backward off the platform, landing on the ground like a mound of flesh.

Zhang’s skill was astonishing—swift and precise, not even a hair on Kaleidoscope’s head was harmed.

Kaleidoscope wiped his sweat. “Is this... insect-scented jade?”

Zhang waved dismissively. “No, it’s not insect-scented jade. It’s a kind of venomous insect, fixed to the platform with corpse wax to lure tomb raiders into the trap.”

Kaleidoscope nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Third Brother, thank you.”

Zhang showed no sign of appreciation, still disdainful. “Enough nonsense, get back to translating.”

“Uh…” Kaleidoscope hesitated, glancing at the twitching remnants of the insects on the black stone platform. “Third Brother… these bugs aren’t dead yet. If I study the script here, won’t I risk being killed by them?”

Zhang snorted, stepping to the front of the platform. From his pocket he took out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled smoke onto the platform. A faint “cheep” arose, and white maggots wriggled from the gaps in the script, moving ceaselessly like maggots on a corpse. Their numbers were staggering, enough to make anyone’s scalp crawl.

“Urgh…!” Mengya clutched her chest and retched, running to the side to vomit. I hurried after and patted her back.

“Are you alright?”

Mengya shook her head, wiped her mouth with a tissue, and smiled weakly. “I’m fine.” Her complexion was poor, clearly unwell, her eyes slightly bloodshot.

I gently felt her forehead; her temperature was normal, no fever. Smiling, I glanced at Mengya’s graceful figure. “Mengya, I have a feeling you’re not well. What’s wrong?”

Mengya paused, then managed a bitter smile, her sorrow evident. After a moment, she waved her hand. “I’m tough, not so easily brought down.”

“Is it… is it because of me and the woman in the black cloak?” I asked in a low voice, ashamed.

Mengya smiled again. “I don’t mind your relationship with her, after all…” She stopped, words catching in her throat.

“After all? After all what?”

“After all…” She hesitated for a long time, then sighed deeply, full of helplessness. “After all, I am your rightful wife.”

I nodded, smiling; her words were as obvious as lice on a bald head—a mere pretense, but I smiled nonetheless. Indeed, though we weren’t married by name, we’d shared the reality of husband and wife many times. In this society, such affairs are commonplace—even high schoolers have children nowadays. Still, we were relatively traditional in our views.

We returned to the platform. Kaleidoscope was once again sprawled over it, face nearly pressed to the stone, like a blind man feeling for Braille. Yet he seemed to enjoy it, relishing the tedious task—a true bookworm.

Zhang stood nearby, endlessly smoking one cigarette after another. Who knew how many packs he had brought? Thankfully, the space was large and ventilated; otherwise, his smoke alone would suffocate us before any trap could. An advertising slogan suddenly flashed through my mind: “I mind, you can’t, please stop. Every day, every day, healthy and full of energy.” While he seemed endlessly energetic, could the rest of us withstand it?