Chapter 11: The River of Flowing Sands

“These footprints don’t look human,” Hong Zhaohai remarked.

“The worst part is… they’re neither human nor animal,” Wang Yuepan added quickly.

I switched on the high-powered flashlight and aimed it deeper into the riverbed. Unlike ordinary flashlights, this one could cast a beam over a hundred meters ahead. By its light, I caught a glimpse, hazy and indistinct, of a stone cave at the farthest end of the channel. The footprints continued all the way inside.

I leapt down into the riverbed and called back to the others, “These prints are fresh—recent. Let’s follow them and see where they lead.”

Once inside, I realized that though the water in the underground river had only recently receded, the ground was not muddy. Up close, I saw the bed was covered in a dense layer of fine sand.

Cautiously moving forward, I called out to Wang Yuepan, “Yuepan, hand me the spade!”

“What’s going on, Boss Jiang? Did you find something new?” Wang Yuepan stared at me with wide, wary eyes.

Taking the Luoyang spade from him, I said, “There’s something off about this sand covering the riverbed…”

With that, I dug into the sand. To my surprise, the sand was astonishingly thick—my spade couldn’t break through. I scooped up a handful, brought it to my face, and rubbed it hard between my fingers. The grains remained separate, loose, and flowed with an uncanny liquidity.

The sight made my heart clench with sudden anxiety.

Wang Yuepan leaned in, his face puzzled, and asked meekly, “Boss Jiang, why are you staring at this worthless sand? There’s nothing special about it—it’s everywhere!”

I shot him a glare and explained, “This sand isn’t like any you’ve seen before. There’s something unusual about it.”

No sooner had I spoken than Hong Zhaohai chimed in, “Boss Jiang’s right. This isn’t river sand—it’s sea sand, and it’s all been roasted!”

Wang Yuepan’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “Are you joking, Zhaohai? I’ve heard of roasting food, roasting seeds, roasting walnuts… but roasting sand? Lumpy and hard as it is—who’d ever eat it?”

“Stop your nonsense, Yuepan!” I snapped, unable to bear his rambling.

“Boss Jiang, do you mean… a quicksand tomb?” Xue Ya looked at me in shock.

A deep foreboding was rising within me. I warned everyone loudly, “This sand is exactly what’s used in quicksand traps. This is a dangerous place—we can’t linger. Let’s move, now—”

Before I could finish, a mournful wind began to howl from deep within the channel.

As the wind picked up, the sand beneath us began to move, flowing like water. The gale grew stronger, and the sand’s flow became swift and relentless.

“Oh hell, what’s happening now? Boss Jiang, are we going to be buried alive?” Wang Yuepan blurted out, as he always did in moments of crisis.

His mouth was infamous for inviting trouble; bad things always happened when he spoke.

No sooner had he finished than, with a thunderous crash, the riverbed behind us collapsed, opening a massive pit where the ground had been level.

Crashes echoed as the collapse spread, the pit growing larger and larger.

“Run! Run for it!” I shouted, and we all took off, racing desperately along the channel.

We didn’t know how far we ran, or for how long, until out of the darkness ahead, Wang Yuepan’s voice called, “Boss Jiang, stop—we can’t go any farther!”

I followed the sound and found Wang Yuepan, the beam of my flashlight illuminating a massive door blocking our way.

The door was covered in patches of greenish rust and appeared to be cast from bronze. Strange symbols and patterns were carved all over its surface.

“Heh heh… Zhaohai, breaking into places and digging tunnels is your specialty. The next part’s on you!” Wang Yuepan grinned wickedly at Hong Zhaohai.

Hong Zhaohai glared at him, eyes blazing. “Every time you open your mouth, it’s nonsense. Do you need me to knock some sense into you?”

Seeing Hong Zhaohai’s temper rising, Wang Yuepan quickly tried to placate him, “Don’t be angry, Zhaohai! Just joking to lighten the mood—take it easy!”

But Hong Zhaohai wasn’t having it and looked ready to start a fight. I hurried to intervene, changing the subject. “Zhaohai, can you open this door?”

Hong Zhaohai inspected the bronze door under the flashlight, moving back and forth, scrutinizing it closely. Then he replied, “Boss Jiang, this door is at least a foot thick and must weigh several tons. I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise I’ll get it open.”

With that, he grabbed a military shovel and, without hesitation, swung it hard at the door.

Sparks flew as the steel blade struck the bronze. When the light faded, we saw the blade was chipped and pitted, while the door itself was utterly unharmed—not even a scratch.

Undeterred, Hong Zhaohai swung again, the harsh clang of metal echoing, but the result was the same: the shovel’s head was nearly destroyed, and the door remained intact.

Frustrated, Hong Zhaohai flung the shovel down with a resounding thud—it stuck deep into the earth at our feet.