Chapter 24: The Auspicious White Camel

Because there were so many of us, we traveled by train. Some supplies and equipment would be bought on arrival, so we rattled along for several days, changing trains midway. Even though we had sleeper berths, the journey left us weary and sore.

Along the way, I observed the archaeology students—each of them was excited, probably their first real expedition. Yet the harshness of the desert, though I’d never experienced it myself, was easy enough to imagine. They would surely suffer once we arrived.

As for the three logistics staff, it was clear they were veterans of archaeological work; they showed no sign of fatigue, seemingly used to this routine. Though technically not formal team members, these workers could earn considerable pay with each mission.

But what puzzled me most was the expedition team. Li Ling had told me these four were recommended by a friend of hers. She didn’t know much about that friend, except he had several antique shops in Hangzhou and was acquainted with her online. When she sent out emails to domestic contacts seeking help for this trip, he replied, saying this expedition team was highly experienced, though their fees were steep. They produced adventure magazines and records, possessed remarkable survival skills, and were proficient in various disciplines. Having them along was considered an asset.

Yet I couldn’t shake off a strange feeling—these four were not as simple as they appeared. One had calluses on his hands; I paid particular attention once and those calluses weren’t from manual labor, but from years of handling knives or guns. Perhaps he was a former soldier? The other three also had the bearing of trained fighters. They were taciturn, rarely speaking except when Li Ling asked about wilderness survival, and most of the answers came from a middle-aged man wearing dark sunglasses, delivered in brief, clipped sentences.

One time, as I passed by them, a short man tilted his head and asked, “Young man, I see you’ve had some training, haven’t you?”

I had studied qigong with my father since childhood, adept at concealing my skills; most people couldn’t tell I’d been trained. The fact that he saw through me meant he had considerable experience himself. I smiled and replied, “Nothing special—just always liked to exercise.”

They didn’t seem to care much, probably thinking I was just another energetic youth, and didn’t pursue the matter further. I continued to act like an ordinary person, so they likely assumed I was nothing more than a fitness enthusiast.

After several days on the train, we finally arrived at our destination—Kashgar. We were to rest here for two days, purchase supplies, and find a guide. The logistics staff set out to locate someone who could lead us into the desert, the four explorers handled the shopping, and the students busied themselves organizing their belongings. I had little to offer, and, truth be told, I wasn’t much for socializing, especially with the students. Our topics rarely overlapped, despite my having only recently graduated from university myself. A few of the girls tried to chat with me, probably intrigued by my background. In this, I had to admire Wang Bowen’s ingenuity; he’d crafted my identity with remarkable skill.

According to Wang Bowen, I was born into a family rich in history and culture, my roots in a prominent Shanxi clan. My father was a master carver, inheritor of a family tradition, and my mother had once been an archaeologist. It was a fabrication, but not far from the truth—only exaggerated in places. Most notably, he claimed I was his last disciple. To be the final pupil of the deputy dean of the Capital Archaeological Institute, a renowned professor, carried weight in the field.

Despite their idle conversations, I never showed impatience, answering whatever they asked.

With everyone busy, I wandered outside, watching for anything novel. Aside from my backpack, I carried my trusty black-gold short blade for self-defense. As I explored the market, I noticed the knife trade was thriving, especially in small stalls. Weapons regulated elsewhere were sold openly here. As an enthusiast, it thrilled me, though I refrained from buying anything—after all, I was with the research team, and carrying obvious weapons wasn’t wise. Beyond knives, there were guns for sale, not even hidden, which shocked me. I made a mental note; who knows when that might come in handy.

Back at the hotel, everyone was prepared. The guide had been found—a local middle-aged man, whose accent was surprisingly standard, a sign that he’d led many teams before. He warned us that the weather lately was erratic; entering the desert now, we might encounter black sandstorms. He suggested we either delay our departure or enter early and finish sooner.

As an official research group, we had local departments assisting us. It was easy to find an experienced guide, a true professional rather than a mere drifter. His name was Zayi, his skin dark from years outdoors. I later learned he owned a camel caravan; anyone with connections sought him for guiding and hiring camels. He was well-known locally, only accepting select jobs and charging high fees.

Money, however, was not an issue for Li Ling. She was sponsoring the entire expedition herself, which was why approval had come so swiftly. Projects requiring no funding are always expedited. With official assistance, there was nothing that couldn’t be arranged.

Since Zayi had spoken, Li Ling consulted the group. No one objected—one day, sooner or later, made little difference, though no one could predict how long we’d be in the desert. Zayi insisted that once inside, we must follow his lead; if we did, even a black sandstorm wouldn’t threaten us. Everyone nodded in agreement.

Indeed, money truly is omnipotent. Originally, Zayi was reluctant to guide anyone into the desert at this time. The Taklamakan, long known as the “Sea of Death,” was perilous, especially now, during the season of frequent black sandstorms. Most guides would never recommend a long journey at this time. Zayi himself was against it until Li Ling increased his pay and hired his camel team. Only then did he relent, promising that with him, the sandstorm would not be so terrible. He even called himself the “White Camel of the Desert.”

The White Camel is a symbol of good fortune in the desert—a legendary creature with a single hump, snow-white, standing out against the yellow sands. Locals say it is sent by Allah as a blessed omen.

We didn’t dwell on it; after all, he was genuinely famous in the area. So preparations began, and we were to set off at dawn. That night, I found it hard to sleep and wandered the hotel corridors. The place was large; with the opening up of China, tourism was booming, drawing more travelers and adventurers to the Taklamakan. Hotels and restaurants flourished, though the season had made things quieter. Aside from our group, there were few guests. With our numbers, we took over the entire second floor. I couldn’t help but marvel at Dr. Li’s wealth—perhaps foreign money is easier to earn.

Lost in idle thoughts and smoking a cigarette, I suddenly heard a sound—a low, crisp “click.” The sound made me instantly alert. Though I’d always been fond of weapons and had some skill, I was especially interested in firearms. At the tomb of the ancient king, I’d found a pistol I’d have kept, had it not been so inconvenient to carry.

The sound was unmistakable—the slide of a gun being cocked. I looked and saw it came from the expedition team’s room. They had a four-person suite and hadn’t left except for dinner.

I quietly stood by their door, glanced about, and pressed my ear to listen. These people had guns—dangerous, and I’d been uneasy about them from the start. My intuition was always reliable.

Inside, voices were low; I had to strain to catch their conversation. They seemed to be discussing routes—perhaps they had their own agenda. Listening was difficult, and just then, I sensed someone approaching from behind. Instinctively, I spun, hand shaped into a claw, eyes following. In that instant, I saw Li Ling’s assistant, the foreign girl, Anna.

My movement was so swift that my hand landed directly on her neck. She stared, wide-eyed, terrified, about to cry out. Realizing the mistake, I quickly shifted my grip, covering her mouth, and gestured for silence. She seemed to understand, nodded, and I slowly eased my hand away.

At that point, I could no longer eavesdrop, so I gestured to Anna to follow me.