The Tomb Gate Chronicles7:The Shadow of the Qionglong Stone

**Chapter 1: The Auction**

My usual stomping grounds were Jiangsu and Zhejiang, so honestly, the chances of running into someone I knew in Beijing were pretty slim. My mind blanked for a second—I couldn’t place who this person was. Still, out of reflex, I flashed a polite smile.

The guy seemed just as surprised as I was. He stopped in his tracks, eyeing me with a mix of confusion and recognition before returning the smile.

Pangzi looked back and forth between us, baffled. The whole way here, he’d been acting like the ultimate local guide, the guy we were all following. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be recognized in a place like this.

Yet after several seconds of exchanging awkward grins, neither of us could recall where we’d met before. Truth was, he just looked familiar—like someone I’d seen somewhere—but no matter how hard I racked my brain, nothing concrete came to mind.

This had happened to me before. Once, I’d seen a woman’s photo online, then later met her at a gathering. I kept insisting I knew her from somewhere but couldn’t remember where, which ended up making her husband glare at me like I was some kind of creep.

After standing there like idiots for a while, both of us too embarrassed to admit we still didn’t recognize each other, the old attendant—a true Beijing local who’d seen it all—stepped in to smooth things over.

“Young masters, the noble are often forgetful,” he said with a chuckle. “Perhaps you didn’t meet here. No need to block the elevator while you think it over. Why not step inside, warm up with a bowl of milk tea? Who knows—once you see a familiar face, it might all come back to you.”

With that, he gestured for the other man to enter. The guy shook his head, still looking amused, then turned and walked into the main hall. He even glanced back at me a couple of times.

Next, the attendant ushered us in a different direction. This was the move of a seasoned professional—keeping us far enough from the other guy to avoid any potential awkwardness. If we really couldn’t remember each other, fine. But if it turned out he was, say, a creditor I’d forgotten about, at least we wouldn’t start throwing punches right away.

This was the imperial city, after all. Appearances mattered, whether in the open or behind the scenes. You never knew who you were dealing with, so the smartest approach was to flatter just enough while keeping your principles intact. Officials lived by this rule, and so did the service staff.

Once inside, I saw that the place really was a converted opera house. The hall had two levels: the lower floor was open seating, while the upper tier held private booths. The space was designed with a two-story atrium, and in the center stood a stage—clearly not just for Peking opera but likely for other traditional performances too.

Right now, the stage was being cleared and set up for something else. Pangzi took one look and let out an excited whistle.

“Talk about perfect timing. Looks like there’s an auction today.”

“An auction? For what?” I asked.

“What else? This is Beijing’s top-tier spot for antiques and collectibles!” He grinned. “But we’re talking big-ticket items here—way out of our league. My guess is Old Lady Huo’s here for the auction too. Meeting us is just a side errand, so she doesn’t waste her main agenda.”

I noticed his accent had shifted—his Beijing dialect was suddenly flawless, though it hadn’t been at the door. Even my own tongue felt clumsy. This place and its staff had an insane aura. The moment you stepped in, you were steeped in old Beijing’s vibe, and before you knew it, you were playing the part of some wealthy, idle noble from the past. That had to be intentional. Once the auction started and the host buttered everyone up in that crisp Beijing drawl, even the most reluctant bidders would probably cave and raise their paddles.

We were seated near a window, and I instinctively glanced around. The guy in the pink shirt had gone straight upstairs—clearly in a different league than us.

Pangzi nudged me. “So what’s the deal with you two? Love at first sight?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t figure it out either. Where the hell had I seen him before? I’d have to think harder later.

Meanwhile, Pangzi ordered the cheapest tea on the menu—still a whopping 1,800 yuan per pot, plus a 10% service fee. He downed his cup in one gulp and grimaced. “This isn’t tea—it’s Yang Guifei’s spit.”

Xiaoge, as usual, remained expressionless, the perfect bodyguard. But for some reason, the longer we sat there, the more we looked like some big shot’s lackeys.

As we chatted and waited, more people streamed in. After a while, I noticed Pangzi growing restless, his eyes darting around.

“What’s up?” I asked. “See a beauty or something?” All I’d spotted were a few middle-aged women.

He subtly gestured toward the private booths upstairs and a few guests at the lower tables. “You know who I just saw?”

“Who?”

“Liuli Sun,” he whispered.

“Who’s that?” The name meant nothing to me.

“You wouldn’t know—you’re not from Beijing. He’s a heavyweight. Runs an investment firm overseas now, but he started out dealing in glass beads. His family’s loaded with treasures—he only shows up for the rarest of the rare. In Beijing’s antique circles, he’s a bellwether. If he’s at an auction, you know something incredible’s up for grabs. D*mn, he hasn’t made an appearance in two or three years. What’s he doing here?” Pangzi was practically squirming in his seat.

Now I was curious too. I turned to look and saw Liuli Sun—a man well past sixty—bounding up the stairs with surprising agility. Suddenly, the second floor seemed a lot more interesting.

Pangzi kept going. “Seriously, take a look around. Every big name in the business is here today. We came at the right time—this might be a once-in-a-century show. No way I’m missing this. I gotta find an auction catalog and see what the hell they’re selling.” He started to get up.

I was about to remind him that our real business here wasn’t spectating when an attendant approached and said softly, “Gentlemen, Old Lady Huo has arrived. Please follow me upstairs.”

**Chapter 2: Huo Huo Huo Huo**

The attendant made a gesture of invitation, bowing slightly with an air of solemn respect—no trace of flattery in his expression. After holding the pose, he remained motionless, leaving us no time to deliberate. We had to get up and follow immediately.

Pangzi and I exchanged glances. *D*mn it*, I thought. We’d been watching the entrance the whole time and hadn’t seen any old lady come in. It seemed she’d already been waiting upstairs, timing our arrival. For all we knew, she’d been observing our every move.

I vaguely recalled hearing about this kind of tactic—a way to knock people off balance. It left a sour taste in my mouth. Sure, I might just be a second-generation nobody running a small shop, but in my family, I was the eldest grandson. In Third Uncle’s business, I was "Little Third Master." People usually treated me with deference. No one dared pull this kind of stunt on me. The thought made me straighten my back, a flicker of defiance rising in me.

Pangzi, naturally, wasn’t pleased either. His expression darkened instantly. He adjusted his too-tight suit, shot a glance at Silent Zhang, and muttered, "Alright, kid, let’s show ‘em what we’ve got." The three of us stood up, heads held high, and followed the attendant toward the staircase.

Compared to the first floor, the second had more Western-style decor—a hallmark of old Beijing’s fusion of East and West. Private dining rooms lined the space, some facing the central opera stage for dining and performances, others overlooking the street, filled with mahjong tables.

We followed the curved hallway halfway around before stopping at an enormous private room. The entrance was a massive carved screen door, even larger than the restaurant’s main entrance. Two young men in casual wear stood rigidly on either side—military posture, no doubt. Above the door hung an elmwood plaque inscribed with the name: *Lotus Hall*.

The attendant barely paused. "Gentlemen, this is the place. Please go in." Then he left immediately.

*This guy’s sharp*, I thought. His earlier insistence had been calculated—polite enough to make refusal awkward, forcing us to comply on the spot. Now, having delivered us, he bolted. Whatever happened next, he wouldn’t be around to see or hear it. Smart. Avoided unnecessary trouble.

That kind of instinct only came from surviving complex, high-stakes environments. It told me the people here weren’t simple.

As I pondered, the two men at the door pulled it open. Inside, layers of beaded coral curtains hung in the entryway. We pushed through and were immediately hit by the scent of Tibetan incense.

The space was vast, with high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and old-fashioned ceiling fans. The pillars were adorned with intricate copper-green lotus carvings. A large round table sat in the center, where seven or eight people were dining. A screen blocked the view of the opera stage.

The moment we entered, the diners stopped eating and turned to stare. Among them were two middle-aged women, three children, and a few older men. My attention went straight to the women, but one glance told me neither was Old Lady Huo—they were too young.

Pangzi, Silent Zhang, and I exchanged confused looks. *What kind of game is this?* Had she stepped out? Or was this another power play to keep us waiting? If so, the arrogance was staggering.

Still, she *was* an elderly woman. I swallowed my irritation and asked, "Excuse me, is Madam Huo here?"

Just then, a voice came from behind the screen: "Over here."

The tone was delicate, almost fragile. I hesitated, glancing at Pangzi, who nudged me and whispered, "Keep your cool. Stop looking at me—I’m just your lackey now."

Right. He was getting into character. I mentally chanted, *I’m a gangster, I’m a gangster*—a quick psychological trick that actually worked. A surge of confidence warmed my feet, and I strode toward the screen with my head high.

Truthfully, I was still nervous. But this wasn’t the same as tomb-raiding jitters. It was more like... uncertainty. I wasn’t used to these kinds of situations. I had no idea how to act, so I defaulted to the "arrogant" persona in my head.

A few steps later, I saw the people behind the screen. The space was large, with a small root-carved tea table where three people sat. My eyes locked onto an elderly woman with snow-white hair, dressed in a purple Tang suit. Her skin was unnaturally pale—not sickly, but the kind of flawless, jade-like whiteness that would be striking on a young girl. On an old woman, though, with not a single age spot, just pure white wrinkles and silver hair, it was unsettling. My first instinct was cold sweat. She looked carve