Chapter 5: The Water City
663 Words
Nanli wasn't a city; it was a wet stain on the map.
When the train pulled in, the humidity hit me like a physical blow. It was a stark contrast to the dry, biting cold of Hanhe or the dusty winds of Beicheng. Here, the air was thick with the smell of rotting vegetation, diesel fumes, and stagnant water. The sky was a bruised purple, hanging low over a maze of canals and crumbling brick buildings.
Han Batou didn't speak much during the journey. He slept like the dead, snoring softly, while I sat by the window, watching the landscape shift from arid plains to lush, suffocating greenery.
"Welcome to the underworld," Han Batou grunted as we stepped onto the platform.
We didn't go to a hotel. We went to a boat.
It was a rusted fishing trawler docked in the shadow of a suspension bridge, hidden behind a wall of shipping containers. The paint was peeling, and the deck was slick with slime. This was our base of operations.
"Get below," Han Batou ordered.
The hold of the ship was converted into a makeshift barracks. It smelled of stale tobacco and old tea leaves. There were already three men waiting for us.
One was a giant of a man, built like a brick wall, sharpening a machete with a rhythmic shhhk-shhhk sound. Another was a nervous twitch of a man, chain-smoking and checking his watch every ten seconds. The third was a woman—lean, with short hair and eyes that scanned me up and down like an X-ray machine.
"This is the new meat?" the woman asked. Her voice was raspy, like she swallowed gravel.
"Chen Wangchuan," Han Batou said, tossing his bag onto a bunk. "He's got good eyes. And he's desperate. That makes him useful."
The giant stopped sharpening his blade. He looked at me, his gaze heavy. "He looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over."
"He stood up to a bald thug in Beicheng," Han Batou lied smoothly. "He's got grit."
I didn't correct him. In this world, reputation was the only currency that mattered, and I was currently bankrupt. I needed this lie to be true.
"Listen up," Han Batou clapped his hands, the sound echoing in the metal hull. "We move tonight. The target is a Western Zhou site, about thirty clicks upriver. The water levels are high, which means the tomb is flooded. It's going to be messy."
He unrolled a map on the table. It was stained with coffee rings and marked with red circles.
"This isn't a royal tomb," Han Batou continued. "It's a nobleman's burial. Smaller, but deeper. Intelligence suggests there are bronzes. Heavy ritual vessels. If we get them out, we split the take four ways. Standard rate."
The nervous man, whose name I learned was 'Rat', chuckled. "Flooded tombs are bad luck, Boss. The air gets trapped. The pressure..."
"Shut up, Rat," the woman snapped. "You scared of a little water?"
"I'm scared of drowning in mud," Rat muttered.
Han Batou looked at me. "Chen, you're on supply duty. You carry the ropes and the air tanks. You stay close to me. If you run, I'll find you. And I won't be nice."
I nodded. "Understood."
That night, the boat cut through the black water. The engine roared, vibrating through the soles of my shoes. I stood on the deck, watching the lights of Nanli fade into the distance, replaced by the silhouette of jagged hills.
I was leaving the world of the living and entering the world of the dead.
My hands trembled slightly. Not from fear, exactly, but from anticipation. The hunger that had driven me from Hanhe was still there, but it had changed shape. It wasn't just for food or money anymore. It was for the unknown.
I looked down at the dark water. Somewhere beneath the surface, in the mud and the silt, history was waiting. And I was going to steal it.
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