Chapter Seventy-Four Analysis

The fat man turned to look back once more. “Just now, I was admiring that beautiful woman, and suddenly some thoughts struck me. I feel it’s necessary to discuss them with you.”

“Go to hell, you’re disgusting,” I thought to myself. “How could you be thinking of me when you’re thinking about women? What sort of twisted logic is that?”

“No, listen. I was reminded of the things you told me before, and I feel that something about the very beginning is off.” The fat man then struck the pose of a great detective, cigarette hanging from his lips, arms crossed over his chest. “Just hear me out and you’ll understand.”

The fat man had a sharp mind, and I was genuinely curious to know what inconsistencies he had found.

“Piecing together all your conversations, your father is the kind of man who genuinely doesn’t want you involved in your family’s affairs. He’s said himself that he’d rather die than drag you into it. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I replied, recalling all my father had done for me over the years. That was exactly the case.

“All right, let me add something more.” The fat man exhaled a plume of smoke and continued, “This time, your father was forced in here by those thugs, already prepared to die with them—taking me and the others with him—just to ensure no one else could get the Blue-blooded Dragon Mark. And in the end, he did put that plan into action. So, at that moment, your father was resolved to die, wasn’t he?”

I nodded, and suddenly, I seemed to catch the implication behind his words, though some confusion still lingered in my mind.

He nodded as well. “I may not have much else going for me, but I do have a good memory. I recall very clearly: when I, that mongrel, and your father were preparing to enter the main tomb chamber, your father explicitly told the Eight-Tone Mouse, ‘You wait outside, keep an eye on things out here.’ That little mouse wasn’t happy about it, but his rank was too low, so he had to obey. So, in your father’s plan to die with the others, the Eight-Tone Mouse was deliberately kept out of it.”

In an instant, a chill shot up my spine. So this was what he meant. I frowned, searching for any flaw in his reasoning, hoping to stop him from continuing. But… there was none.

“Let me sum it up for you,” the fat man went on. “Your father didn’t want you involved, and he was prepared to die. But at the very last moment, he spared the Eight-Tone Mouse—a character with nothing to do with him. He recorded his experience on his phone. Most importantly, he had the mouse bring you this so-called ‘last message’—knowing exactly where to find you. But have you considered: if Old Master Yuan truly didn’t want you to know the truth, and was determined to die with those people, why would he have the mouse bring you that information?”

As the fat man spoke, scene after scene flickered through my mind. He sighed and continued, “I’m not trying to sow discord between you and your father, but I feel that his actions weren’t about keeping you out—they were about quietly drawing you in.”

I was so stunned I couldn’t even speak. My mind felt numb, unable to discern anything, uncertain what to believe.

If the fat man wasn’t straightforward, he was certainly a realist. Seeing my expression, he had no intention of stopping.

“Think back. All along, your journey has been dangerous, yes, but compared to everyone else, you’ve been absurdly lucky. The first time I came out of a tomb, I spent half a month in the hospital—and that wasn’t even a major tomb. Qin Feng and Peanut—those two hard cases—barely made it out alive this time. We lost seven or eight people from the group we didn’t even meet. Your second uncle’s team—several are still lying beyond the waterfall. And what really puzzles me is, why did all those stone-armored spiders part ways the moment your blood touched the tomb passage? There must be a reason for everything. I’m not trying to say anything bad about your father, but I’m convinced he wanted you to come here. Only after you arrived could he enter the main chamber.”

Human thought is a strange thing. My first reaction after hearing all this was to marvel at the fat man’s eloquence—his arguments were so logical. But then I realized I was just resisting what he was saying.

I took the cigarette he offered and smoked several puffs before thinking of a flaw in his theory. “No, it’s not as you say,” I replied. “I’m his son. He could have brought me here directly—why go to such lengths? Whether he planned all this or just told me the truth, wouldn’t the result be the same? I’d still find out about my connection to this tomb. If the outcome’s the same, why would he deceive me?”

The fat man smiled and shook his head. “You’re drawing conclusions from the final result. I’m looking at what happened along the way. We’re approaching it from different angles, so we’ll never agree. I’m just sharing my feelings. As for the real truth, only your father can tell us—if he’s willing to speak.”

There was no doubt my father had kept many things from me: first the six fingers, then his entanglement with Peanut. These things I could understand, but the fat man’s reasoning made me feel as if I’d been manipulated. I’d already tasted the sting of betrayal from someone I trusted—Tan Wei. But if my own father were using and manipulating me as well, I truly wouldn’t know what to do.

I remembered Peanut’s hint—was he telling me not to get involved? Maybe he knew that once I stepped in, I’d be trapped in endless misery.

After the fat man had said all he wanted, he didn’t bother with any words of comfort—he just went back to picking out burial goods to take with him. I was left feeling deeply unsettled. He was making a killing, while I was left with nothing but a stomach full of misery. I honestly felt like smashing all those treasures, just so he could taste what I felt right now.

Lost in these wild thoughts, I suddenly saw the fat man ahead spring to his feet, crane his neck to peer inside, and then dash toward the rear of the tomb chamber. My heart leapt—had something happened to my father? I tossed away my cigarette and rushed after him.

Rounding the burial goods, I saw at once that my father had already stepped into the midst of the mummified corpses. He was standing beside the yellow jade coffin.

“Dad, what are you doing?” I shouted.

The fat man was unusually excited. “Sixth Master, are you about to open the coffin?”

My father glanced back at us, then looked up at the beautiful female corpse suspended above. “You… stay back.” As he spoke, his gaze suddenly turned icy cold. He fixed his eyes on the jade coffin before him, slowly turning his body. His right hand—with its six fingers—began feeling along the edge of the coffin.

“Damn, we finally get to see your father’s ‘Star-Plucking Hand’ in action. My trip wasn’t wasted!” The fat man was so excited he was sweating.

I’d heard from the Mouse that my father was a master at opening coffins. Now, seeing him about to open the jade coffin, I knew he must be searching for the Blue-blooded Dragon Mark. But if the King of Yelang really lay inside, could it be as Peanut warned—that the person inside wasn’t truly dead?

At that thought, a cold sweat broke out on my body. Glancing up at the female corpse above, I was horrified to see that, without knowing when, she had turned her face toward my father below.