Chapter Thirty-Two: The Shell of the Great Turtle

In my sleep, my mind was filled with the image of a woman in the water, holding onto my back. If I ignored that ghastly pale face, her stunning silhouette was enough to take one's breath away. There was a vague familiarity to it; had I seen her before in Hezi Village, at the Second River Mouth, or perhaps she was the woman whose corpse appeared at the East Gate?

Even when I awoke, the question still haunted me, unresolved.

When I opened my eyes, Jin Yitiao was sitting at the bedside, holding a bowl of steaming fish soup. He muttered that if I hadn't recklessly opened my eyes, we wouldn't have nearly lost our lives in the Yellow River.

I asked if he’d heard dogs barking at the end. He said he had.

That dog belonged to the corpse-retrievers of the Yellow River—a large black beast. When the corpse-retrievers were patrolling the riverbank, the dog suddenly began barking wildly at the water.

But the wedding of the Lady of the Yellow River is an omen nobody dares to touch, not even the corpse-retrievers. Fortunately, she hadn’t wished to make things too difficult for us; otherwise, not one of us would have left the river alive that day.

I asked, “What did you all see?”

Jin Yitiao replied, “Nothing. We only dared to open our eyes when we heard the dog barking. All we saw was you, eyes rolled back, already swept far downstream. It was Chen Tao who saved you—you ought to thank him properly.”

Even after waking, I felt chilled to the bone. I drained the bowl of fish soup in one go, finally feeling a little warmer. I set the porcelain bowl aside and looked around—there was no sign of Tong Xiaomeng or Chen Tao, so I asked where they’d gone.

Jin Yitiao grinned broadly, “They’re probably about to get up. If you’re done sleeping, hurry and rise—I haven’t rested a wink all night.”

On the mottled clay wall hung an old-fashioned clock; it was nearly five o’clock, likely five in the morning. Seeing Jin Yitiao’s bloodshot eyes, I let him have the bed, changed into my dried clothes, and stepped outside.

Dawn’s mist lingered.

Here, it seemed the sky brightened earlier than up north. By the time I stepped out, the distant horizon was already tinged with pale light. The river wind was chilly on my skin, so I pulled my collar tighter, standing in the small courtyard. The walls around me were decayed and crumbling, yet the yard itself was spotless, clearly inhabited.

Turning to look behind, I saw three farmhouses made of yellow earth. The central building was the main hall, flanked by two bedrooms, and a kitchen stood in the yard—typical of rural homes along the Yellow River. I guessed this must be the home of Nan Pazhi, the man Jin Yitiao did business with.

Chen Tao probably wasn’t staying here. I suspected the person who taught him his skills was the corpse-retriever from the village. But it was still early, and my mind was preoccupied with what had happened in the river. I crossed the front yard and headed toward the back, when suddenly, in my field of vision, a massive black shadow appeared curled up in the corner by the mud wall.

Startled, I thought the woman from the river had come for me. But as I blinked, I realized the shadow wasn’t a person, but an enormous, exaggerated turtle shell.

A deep green turtle shell, intact and whole, lay quietly in the corner of the backyard, like a thousand-year-old giant slumbering there, inspiring a chilling, inexplicable dread.

Could this be the turtle shell from the photograph?

I’d assumed centuries of the Yellow River’s currents would have worn it down, leaving it decayed and broken. Yet the shell’s surface was pristine, unblemished, gleaming with a faint blue-green glow, as if it belonged to a vanished era.

I stepped closer and ran my hand over the hard shell. Its surface was cool, perhaps because of the damp river air. The humidity here was high, giving the impression the shell had just been pulled from the water.

“So big, such a turtle carapace…”

Someone spoke behind me. I spun around, relieved to see it was Tong Xiaomeng, who had appeared without a sound.

“Awake?” I turned back, gaze lingering on the shell.

She walked over and stood beside me, her expression tinged with awe as she stared at the shell. “Is this thing real?”

I glanced at her, “You think it’s man-made?”

She bent down, gently tracing the shell’s patterns with her fingertips, shaking her head. “If this thing is authentic, do you have any idea the shock it would cause in biology and archaeology? It could overturn textbook theories on ancient evolution. It’s utterly incredible.”

I laughed, “I don’t know about overturning theories, but I’m more concerned about how to move this thing out of the village safely, without attracting attention. If someone reports us mid-way, Old Jin will have to pay out-of-pocket—and become a national hero for real.”

Tong Xiaomeng looked at me, “Is it worth that much? What use is a turtle shell?”

I thought for a moment. “In the antiques business, rarity is value. Many things, simply by being unique, are worth far more than gold or jewels. If Old Jin manages to ship this out and finds the right buyer, he could quit his little grocery store and retire in an Australian villa.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Having worked with Professor Gu for so long, she probably hadn’t realized how some seemingly useless items could fetch astronomical prices.

She asked, “Do the villagers know it’s so valuable? Would they really sell it to you?”

I smiled. The logic in the antiques trade is much like dealing in scrap; you can’t treat antiques as antiques, you must treat them as junk. There’s not much skill involved—it’s what we call “bundled buying.” I actually buy some worthless items, claiming I have no money for anything else. The owner protests, saying he’s not interested, so I casually ask to bundle the purchase with something random—a sauce bottle, a broken stool, or even a dung rake. In truth, these are the items I’m after. But if I tried to buy them outright, the owner would be suspicious. No matter the price, he’d treat it as a treasure and wouldn’t sell without bleeding you dry.

So there’s little theoretical knowledge involved; it all depends on the situation and the individual’s reactions. As my father always said, it’s about whether you have enough cunning in your belly. In this, I’m not as adept as Jin Yitiao—I still have much to learn from him.

We chatted for a while as dawn approached. Jin Yitiao, having stayed up all night with me, had just lain down and would probably sleep until noon. The first to find us was the owner of the house, a plain farmer named Liu Dehan.

He was in his fifties, bearing all the marks of a Yellow River farmer—honest and simple. He made millet porridge and baked some hot flatbread for us. The three of us sat in the courtyard, eating and discussing the turtle shell in the backyard.

Liu Dehan said the shell had been dug up from the river by the whole village, so any money from its sale would be shared among everyone. It was only stored at his place for now; it wasn’t his personal property.

I didn’t respond to that, instead pointing out that the bridge connecting the village to the outside world was broken. Even if someone did buy it, it would be hard to transport, and easy to attract attention. If the authorities got wind, nobody would see a penny.

Liu Dehan’s face went pale after hearing this. I reassured him, saying it didn’t matter. We were mainly here to collect smaller items; if there was enough to buy, we’d have no interest in the turtle shell. But if there wasn’t, we could discuss taking it along.

This indirectly played on his anxiety, knowing the government planned to relocate Shansha Village. Since the turtle shell was hidden in the backyard, it was clear officials had already investigated. If they didn’t sell the shell before the relocation, it would likely be lost to them forever.

The old man asked a few more questions before excusing himself, leaving in a hurry. I guessed he was off to consult with others. Tong Xiaomeng pursed her lips and said, “Are you really planning to trick these honest farmers?”

I laughed, “It’s not like we won’t pay—they’ll get their money. Jin Yitiao brought a deposit for the buyer. Why worry?”

“Will you really pay enough?” she pressed.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t expect such heartless merchants to have a conscience,” she remarked.

I sighed, “If we had no conscience, we wouldn’t be tangled up in your mess, would we?”

That touched a nerve. I hadn’t anticipated that, for all her boisterousness, Tong Xiaomeng was sensitive to matters like this. I smiled awkwardly, had two more bowls of porridge, and decided to head out to explore the village.