SES Chapter 133 Part 1

Chapter 133

What frustrated the “Shaman” was that after this point, he couldn’t get any more useful information out of Yin Erma. In fact, the more he asked, the more anxious he became.

For example, he asked, “Did Laozi ever say what to do when those stars align into the Big Dipper and stay shining for a long time?”

Yin Erma just stared at him, grinning drunkenly, his cheeks flushed red.

Guessing the man didn’t want to answer, the Shaman changed his question. “So, these bamboo slips—have they been kept in your family for over two thousand years? Has your family always gone to the Bagua Star Observatory every night since ancient times?”

Yin Erma said, “No.”

“No?” The Shaman was stunned. Before he could press further, Yin Erma suddenly slumped forward, his forehead hitting the table with a thud, and started snoring loudly, the smell of alcohol filling the air.

The Shaman sat there in confusion, idly munching on peanuts. After a while, something struck him—he quickly straightened out the bamboo slips, pulled out his phone, and took pictures of each one.

He sent the photos to their group chat, saying the items might be related to the Seven Cursed Slips, and that they were extremely important. He told the others to compare the writing online and figure out what the text said.

Luo Ren and Yan Hongsha were probably busy with other things, and neither replied for a while. Mu Dai had to deal with a construction foreman, so the job ended up falling to 13,000 Yuan (Yiwansan) and Cao Yanhua.

They messaged Luo Ren, asking to borrow his computer.

No reply. So they tried turning it on anyway—luckily, there wasn’t even a password. It booted up easily.

Naturally, they should have gone straight to the browser.

But Cao Yanhua whispered, “Brother Sansan, do you think my buddy Luo’s computer has those kinds of videos?”

He waggled his eyebrows, and Yiwansan grinned knowingly. “Maybe even those kinds of pictures too.”

“Check?”

“This isn’t exactly ethical,” Cao said in mock seriousness, “but for the sake of my little master…”

“Exactly,” said Yiwansan. “And for the sake of the young boss lady. Some men hide things very deep.”

So they searched.

Total disappointment.

Luo Ren’s computer was practically empty—probably left there as a communal one. No downloads, no saved content, no browsing history—completely wiped clean.

After a long silence, Cao Yanhua muttered, “My bro Luo hides way too deep…”

The two exchanged a look, sighed, and reluctantly got to work.

They opened a calligraphy database and a seal-script converter online. Yiwansan compared the ancient characters one by one, while Cao copied the deciphered words onto a sheet of paper.

When people focus on something, time seems to pass quickly. Before they knew it, they’d only translated half, and the nearby construction had already wrapped up—the sound of money being counted and workers heading downstairs drifted through.

By the time they looked up again, dusk had fallen.

Many of the seal characters were impossible to find, so they replaced them with circles. Half the page was dotted with them. Still, between guesswork and deduction, they managed to get a rough idea of the text’s meaning.

The writing described exactly what Yin Erma had told the Shaman: that after Laozi reached “the Place of Rest,” he instructed Yin Xi to build the Bagua Star Observatory. But there were a few extra lines.

The archaic language was hard to interpret, but roughly, Yin Xi asked Laozi, “What should be done if the seven stars stay bright for long?”

In other words, if the situation turns dangerous or dire, what action should be taken?

Laozi pondered for a long time before replying with four words:

“Observe the Bagua, discern the heavens.”

Then he added:

“A Great One may be expected.”

Yin Xi asked, “Who is this Great One?”

Laozi answered, “I do not know.”

And that was it—the rest of the text must have been burned away.

Cao Yanhua dutifully compiled what they had translated, typing up several long paragraphs and sending them to the group chat.

He even added his own theory: The Great One must be a person. Back in the Spring and Autumn and Warring States eras, many people’s names included the word ‘Zi’ (Master).

The phrase ‘A Great One may be expected’ could thus mean that Laozi was predicting the coming of someone named “Juzi.”

But the Shaman quickly replied: Juzi wasn’t a name—it was the title of the leader of the Mohist school, founded by Mozi. Chronologically, though, Mozi was born after Laozi’s death. The Mohist school didn’t even exist yet, so the first Juzi wouldn’t appear for a long time.

Cao Yanhua argued, “Come on, it’s Laozi! Couldn’t he have foreseen the future? Besides, he said ‘I do not know,’ which sounds like he was referring to someone who’d appear generations later.”

That actually made some sense. After thinking it over, the Shaman decided he needed to pry more out of Yin Erma.

But overnight, Yin Erma seemed to have become a different man. No matter how the Shaman coaxed or prodded—whether he talked about academic research or cultural preservation—Yin Erma refused to say another word.

When pressed, he finally said, “Mr. Shen, there are some things we don’t speak of to outsiders. The only reason I told you as much as I did is because you are the second person in my lifetime to ever mention the Seven Cursed Slips to me.”

The Shaman realized he’d hit a wall. There are two kinds of mouths you can’t open: the mouths of the dead, and those who’ve sworn to stay silent.

Guarding a secret without being able to uncover it—that was a truly miserable feeling.

That night, Yin Erma let him stay over. The moonlight streamed through the old lattice window, casting small squares of light across the floor.

The Shaman couldn’t sleep—he tossed and sighed again and again. At some point, he heard Yin Erma mumbling in his sleep.

“…The key… Watch the Four-Arch Pavilion…”

Early the next morning, Uncle Zheng got a call from Luo Ren. He said that Pingting’s condition was stable, but she’d need long-term care.