Chapter Seventy-Nine: Haunted by the Spirit of the Artifact

Tiger slapped his thigh. “Hey, isn’t that the truth! Living off the land, I noticed something was off right away. Who would hang a jade cicada from a tomb around their neck?”

“Well, it’s not impossible. These days, many people don’t know the trade; they think the jade cicada symbolizes a sudden rise to fame. But in ancient times, jade cicadas were burial objects placed under the tongue of the deceased. Usually, a jade cicada would be set beneath the tongue, a pearl in the mouth, and other openings of the body plugged with pearls to prevent corpse transformation,” Old Liao explained.

Tiger gave Old Liao a thumbs up. “Hey, Master Liao, you truly are an expert! Let me continue.”

The young man pulled a jade cicada from his cloth bag, startling both the antique shop owner and Tiger—not because it was fake, but rather because it was a high-quality piece of jade, worth a hefty sum. Yet, its ominous aura made the shop owner lose interest instantly.

Tiger, however, wasn’t fazed. As a grave robber, he’d seen plenty of such things. He sent the owner away and quietly asked the young man for the price.

The young man seemed very nervous and hesitantly held up three fingers: Three thousand.

Tiger was overjoyed. “Hey, what a bargain!”

Without hesitation, he handed over three thousand in cash to the hospital worker and began to play with the jade cicada. It felt cold and smooth, its surface flawlessly polished. The craftsmanship was exquisite; the cicada looked almost alive, as if a real one rested in his palm. Sunlight made the jade wings seem to tremble.

When he turned around, the young man had disappeared without a trace.

Tiger found it amusing. Wasn’t this a bit too cautious? It was only an ornament taken from a corpse.

“He’s probably afraid you’d report him?” I chimed in.

Tiger shook his hand with a serious expression. “In our line of work, you ask what’s necessary, ignore what’s not. Offer half, ask three tenths higher—that’s the rule. Honestly, many antiques on the market have dubious origins, so we don’t care much. If someone’s willing to sell and there’s profit, we take it.”

Ah, the antique trade is full of rules. It’s all about sharp eyes and buying low, selling high. If you’re lucky and meet a seller who doesn’t know the trade, you can make a killing.

The antique business is not just a contest of eyesight, but also of knowledge. All the best grave robbers are well-versed in history; they could easily work as museum appraisers. The longer you’re in the trade, the more you realize that antique dealers don’t compete to sell, but buyers fiercely compete to buy. When trading, a third party must remain silent and avoid involvement—these are the unwritten rules passed down among the trade.

Tiger was a strict, seasoned craftsman, and this deal would earn him tens of thousands at least.

“I could tell at a glance that this was a treasure from the Song Dynasty, and of considerable quality.”

Old Liao, intrigued, raised his brows and refilled Tiger’s tea. “How so?”

Old Liao was a fan of curiosities, though he didn’t collect much. He enjoyed the excitement and, influenced by ancestral craftsmanship, was fascinated by extraordinary items.

“There’s a circle of gold wire inside the jade cicada—a golden cicada! Imagine, in ancient times, how skillful the artisans must have been to shape gold wire into a cicada and place it inside the jade!”

Old Liao’s eyes gleamed, amazed by such a rare artifact—one he might never see again in his lifetime.

“Did you bring the jade cicada? Take it out for us to see.”

“Here, take a good look.” Tiger, now a far cry from the desperate man who had begged us for help, was in his element, speaking passionately about his craft. He pulled a worn cloth from his inner pocket and carefully unwrapped a milky white jade stone.

Seeing it up close, I was truly startled. Such a masterpiece!

The milky white jade lay quietly in Tiger’s palm. He opened his hands, exposing the jade cicada under the bright lamp. Through the light, you could see a circle of golden thread inside—astonishingly fine, woven into a tiny cicada, much smaller than the jade shell.

The outer shell was exquisitely carved, clearly the work of a master. The cicada seemed ready to take flight under the lamp’s glow.

“This is... astonishing.” I couldn’t help but exclaim.

But then, the cicada’s eyes glowed.

I rubbed my eyes—had I imagined it?

“Did any of you see the jade cicada open its eyes?” I asked, trembling.

“No, you must be seeing things,” Old Liao replied, completely absorbed, gently stroking the cicada, his eyes glued to it.

Then, I saw the cicada’s blood-red eyes open, staring at me, and blink.

I quickly pulled Old Liao away and whispered, “Stop looking. There’s something wrong with this thing.”

“Hm?” Old Liao grunted, puzzled.

I asked Tiger to wrap the cicada, and we sat around the table.

“Tiger, tell us—what strange events has this jade cicada brought you?”

Tiger withdrew from his earlier excitement, his face troubled and conflicted.

“It’s bizarre—more terrifying than the corpses in tombs or mountain spirits.”

He tilted back his cup of tea and continued, “After I acquired the cicada, I didn’t rush to sell it. Since it was a rare and finely made treasure, I decided to keep it close and wear it around my neck for a while before passing it to a knowledgeable buyer.”

Old Liao was shocked. “Tiger, you grave robbers are so reckless, ignoring all the rules. Our ancestors said, ‘Man lights the candle, ghost blows out the lamp.’ You only know brute force, using explosives to retrieve goods. Now, you’ve got this ominous item, and you wear it around your neck—what a sin.”

Tiger, this burly man, was utterly impressed. “Brother Liao, you’re a master! You saw the heart of the problem at once. Could you explain it to me?”

Old Liao chuckled, took out a cigarette, and Tiger obligingly lit it for him.

“This jade cicada has been recorded since the Han Dynasty. Back then, cicada’s transformation symbolized rebirth. Placing a jade cicada in the mouth of the dead was called ‘holding the cicada,’ signifying the spirit’s immortality and resurrection. Wearing it on the body represented purity. So jade cicadas served both as adornments for the living and burial goods for the dead. However, your cicada has been tainted by years in the tomb, becoming a most malignant item.

The chest is where the fire of life burns strongest, and the neck connects that fire to one’s vitality. Regardless of how dangerous the cicada is, you’re essentially extinguishing your own light by placing a dead man’s object on your chest and neck. If you must wear it, I suggest you craft a mold and hang it from your waist—this way, you shield yourself from its malevolence while enjoying it safely.”

Tiger was dumbfounded; he’d never realized there was so much knowledge in wearing jewelry.

“No wonder—no wonder I felt off ever since I started wearing it.”

“What happened next?” I asked.

Tiger’s face twisted as he recalled something deeply unsettling. This rugged man showed genuine fear.

“Ever since the night I wore the cicada, I kept having the same dream.”

“What did you dream?”

“I saw a huge tree, filled with the sound of cicadas chirping—so loud it drove me mad. I approached to see where the noise came from. At the base of the tree, a figure lay on its back. Looking closer, I realized it was me!”

Old Liao nodded. “Dreaming of trees and cicadas isn’t necessarily a bad omen. What happened next?”

Tiger grew agitated. “Brother Liao, you must help me! It’s definitely a bad sign. At first, seeing myself lying there was frightening and confusing. But the second night, the dream started to change.

Once again, I walked to the tree’s base, saw the figure on the ground, and from the tree, black cicadas began to drop one by one, landing on ‘me’ and sticking there, unmoving.

Second time, third, fourth... As I kept having this dream, the cicadas covered more and more of my body. Eventually, they began to gnaw at me!

First my fingers, then my hands, then my chest, then my stomach...

With each recurring dream, more cicadas devoured me, until I was wrapped up like a cocoon. Through the exposed parts, I could see my hands had been gnawed to bare white bones.”

Hearing this, I was convinced the cicada’s filth was at work. Tiger, recalling the nightmare, became frantic, clawing at his hair and muttering, “In the dream, my hands are already gone. If this keeps up, I’ll be eaten completely...”

Just as Tiger’s nerves were about to snap, Hu Ji, who had been quietly sipping milk tea, suddenly spoke. “The young man who gave you the jade cicada must have sold it to you on purpose. He was looking for a scapegoat.”