Half an hour later, the shop door banged open and a mountain-like figure squeezed through, dragging a wave of hot air in with him.

"Jesus Christ, it's scorching out there," Mike groaned, collapsing into my armchair, which creaked in protest. He snatched my tea mug and drained it in one gulp. "Seriously, Ethan, can't we do something legitimate for once? Hell, even slinging noodles would beat this treasure-hunting bullshit."


"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about," I said, not looking up from the box. "I've got something good this time."

Before Mike could respond, Leo slipped in like a shadow. With his black-framed glasses and scholarly appearance, you'd never guess he harbored an almost maniacal obsession with history. "Ethan, is this what you mentioned on the phone?"

His eyes locked onto the box like it was magnetized. He practically lunged forward, whipping out a magnifying glass and white cotton gloves from his backpack before hunching over the table's edge, his breathing quickening.


"Look at you, getting all worked up like a rookie," Mike snorted. "Meanwhile, I'm cool as a cucumber over here."

But Leo didn't even hear him. His attention was entirely consumed by the box, staring at it with the intensity of a man seeing his lover after years apart.


"Meteorite iron…" Leo whispered, his voice quivering. "Extraterrestrial meteorite iron. Look at these surface markings—it's a 'fire meteorite,' formed during atmospheric entry. The Qin people called this material 'Tears of the Gods'!"

"Gods, my ass," Mike leaned in, jabbing a thick finger toward it. "Can we sell it for gold or what?"

"Don't touch it!" Leo snapped, slapping Mike's hand away like he was defending his firstborn.

He looked up, eyes blazing behind his glasses with an almost religious fervor. "You idiot! This thing is ten thousand times more valuable than gold! This is a 'Celestial Box'—an exclusive possession of Qin Dynasty court magicians!"

He pointed at the patterns, finger trembling with excitement. "See this? It's not just any star chart. These celestial divisions use 'Taiyi' as the pole star—this is the cosmic view from the 'Ganshi Star Scripture'! This knowledge was denounced as heretical once Confucianism became the state doctrine. Good God… we're looking at a living, breathing heretical declaration from over two millennia ago!"

"Yeah, yeah, Professor," Mike said, digging in his ear with his pinky. "Cut the history lesson and tell me what kind of treasure we're talking about here."

"Treasure?" Leo looked like he'd heard the funniest joke ever. He gripped the table edge and let out a series of short, strange laughs. "This box already tells us who the tomb owner was! Not a general, not a chancellor, but a fangshi—a court magician! A genius and madman who embedded his thoughts and fears into his tomb using the most advanced mechanical arts and astronomy of his era! And you expect gold and jewels? Inside will be either deadly traps or mummies!"

"A magician's tomb?" Mike deflated like a punctured balloon. "Forget it. I'm out. Nothing but dusty old scrolls, and I might get my ass killed for the trouble."

"I'm going," I said quietly, my eyes fixed on the box.

"What the hell, Ethan? What's gotten into you? Wouldn't you rather stay home, crack a beer, and watch the game?"

I ignored him. When I first saw this box, something called to me from beyond time itself. I didn't just want to go—I needed to go. Had to go.

"You can't be serious," Mike leaned forward, eyes wide. "There aren't any hot chicks in that tomb, man—just zombies! Big, nasty zombies!"

"We must wait until midnight to open it," Leo muttered, completely lost in his own world. "When the yin energy peaks and the stars align."

Mike flopped back in the armchair with a disgusted snort.

Yet in the hours that followed, Mike still helped us prepare for our journey into the unknown.

Leo locked himself in the back room, poring over ancient texts and rubbings, muttering phrases like "Mars guarding the heart" and "the Seven Mansions of the Azure Dragon."

Mike cursed under his breath as he cleaned his Winchester, loading deer slugs into the chamber one by one. "Another goddamn empty tomb," he grumbled. "If we don't find anything valuable this time, I swear I'll dig up the bastard's bones and use them as drumsticks."

I moved between them, half-listening to Leo's arcane theories while checking that Mike had packed enough protective talismans and sticky rice—the traditional defenses against the undead.