Professor He adjusted his glasses, eyeing me like a alien. "Are you insane? What era is this—you're talking about reanimated corpses?" He pointed at Old Wang in his Taoist robe. "I don't care about your sorcery, but this tomb is state property. No superstition here. Ghosts were banned after 1949."
Beside him, Professor Ma chimed in arrogantly, "You're young—don't fall for fake Taoists. The provincial team will excavate. Reporting the tomb is a merit; I'll apply for a 200-yuan reward for you two."
I nearly choked with anger, turning to Old Wang, who was laughing heartily, as if this were all part of his plan. I shoved him. "Hurry up! Sealing the Seven Xuan Guan harms the villagers. It's getting dark—they won't listen to reason!"
Old Wang whispered mysteriously, "Can you fight?"
Before I could respond, he tossed his Seven-Star Sword, rolled up his sleeves, and charged at Professors He and Ma. A kick sent Professor Ma stumbling into a pit. Two punches floored Professor He. When a young man in black tried to intervene, Old Wang spun and kicked him down.
Gone was the frail old man—he roared like a bandit, "No more bullshit! Dig now, or get beaten! I've hated intellectuals for sixty years—fists work best on you. Don't call the police—no signal here. Try to escape, and I'll beat you more!"
Professor He, holding his swollen face, trembled with rage. "You ruffian! Bandit! I'll sue you!"
Old Wang lit a cigarette nonchalantly. "Sue wherever you want. Count of three—work or get hit." He pointed at the terrified girl. "Women stand aside—don't interfere."
The female graduate nodded frantically, eyeing me for help, but Old Wang was in charge. To my surprise, the young man in black could operate the excavator!
With few hands, digging was slow, but Zhou Jianguo rallied the village elders. More people meant stronger yang energy, and no accidents occurred. By dusk, the twelve coffins were fully exposed.
Professor He shouted about protecting national treasures, but the elders ignored him, obeying us. The twelve coffins circled a massive stone coffin engraved with ferocious beasts, not the usual dragons or cranes. A one-meter circular gap on top marked where the (taotie) bronze pillar had stood—a vile feng shui tactic, pinning the tomb owner's soul forever.
This posed a mystery: if the tomb owner arranged this, why choose such a cursed layout? Were the twelve children not servants but guardians? Old Wang wore a thoughtful frown.
"Master Wang, what now?" I asked, relying on his Maoshan expertise.
After circling the stone coffin and inspecting the wooden ones, he declared, "Open the coffins and burn the corpses!"
"Absolutely not!" Professor He sprawled across a coffin. "Wait for experts! Seated burials are culturally significant—you'll face legal consequences for damaging relics!"
"Stop babbling. Drag him away," Old Wang ordered. When no one moved, he threatened, "Want the village curse lifted or not? I'll leave if you don't cooperate!"
Zhou Jianguo yelled, "Trust Master Wang! Liu Laoda's sores are scabbing over!"
Ignoring the professors' protests, the villagers overpowered them and pried open a coffin. Surprisingly, no stench emerged. Inside lay an 8-year-old child in a red 肚兜 (bellyband), cheeks rosy, hair tangled, a rotted red headband. Sitting cross-legged, it looked asleep.
Villagers gasped; some elderly men knelt to pray. Professor He blocked them, shouting, "Don't touch! A thousand-year-old preserved body is a treasure—touching it is a crime!"