Chapter 42: The Soul Repository

The sacrificial pit was rectangular, scattered with human bones. Even at a glance, one could see the bones were severely calcified. Some still maintained the positions they had held at the moment of death, undisturbed for thousands of years.

Sister Hong sighed as she looked at the remains. It was sobering to think that two millennia ago, these had been vibrant lives. Generally, sacrificial pits from the Shang and Zhou dynasties did not contain burial goods, as slaves were not entitled to such luxuries.

But this time was different. Chen Jiansheng, with his sharp eyes, spotted a chicken-headed pottery jar lying horizontally in the pit, half-buried in the dirt. Pottery was of low value, so Sister Hong suggested we move on to find an exit rather than loitering.

Chen Jiansheng shook his head. "Don't be in such a rush. You didn't look closely, Chen Houqin. Take another look at that jar." He pointed down into the pit.

I looked again, this time more carefully. "What is that? Isn't it just a chicken-headed jar?" I could faintly see a small clay figurine on the surface of the jar, with only half of it exposed above the soil.

"Are you daft? Never seen one before?" Chen Jiansheng said brazenly. "Yes, pottery isn't worth much, but it depends on the grade. This one is high-tier. This is a 'Soul Granary,' a first-class antique!"

Soul Granaries were only popular during two dynasties: the Shang-Zhou and the Eastern Han. Han-era granaries were placed beneath coffin lids, filled with grain seeds to ensure the deceased could be self-sufficient in the afterlife and consume food from the living world. These are common in the antique market; ignorant buyers often purchase them for high prices to display in their bedrooms, which is considered highly inauspicious.

Western Zhou Soul Granaries, however, are different. Because of their immense age and the fragility of pottery, they are extremely rare. As the saying goes, rarity increases value; they command a high price. I had once encountered Feng Shui masters from Hong Kong who favored Western Zhou Soul Granaries; whenever they heard one had surfaced, they would pay a fortune to acquire it. Rumor had it that these items could trap the three souls and seven spirits of those who died violently. If a ritual were performed after the seventh day of death, the intact body could be reanimated.

Returning to the present, the pit was not deep—less than two meters. Chen Jiansheng, sensing an opportunity, jumped down, determined to dig it out. He wanted to see if it was intact and if there was a way to take it with him. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen.

This is the nature of a grave robber: they never leave empty-handed. Once they spot something rare, they become obsessed, moving heaven and earth to get it out. To leave it behind would feel like losing a fortune. This profession isn't one you simply walk away from with a commemorative flag and five hundred bucks.

Standing among the bones, Chen Jiansheng muttered, "Pardon me, everyone. Borrowing this for a moment, no offense intended." He reached down and touched the buried jar. "Huh? So heavy?" He tugged at it, his expression one of surprise.

The Soul Granary from the Western Zhou period certainly didn't contain grain. As for what was actually inside, almost no one knew.

"Damn, it's heavy. Is it stuffed with gold bricks?" He used both hands to heave it out, struggling. "Quick, pull me up! I can't climb out on my own."

I scrambled to the edge and pulled him up. The lid was sealed tight, appearing to be an original, unopened piece. Chen Jiansheng brushed the dirt off his knees. "Well? Should we open it now? It's an original, a real rarity. Even the old hands in the business haven't seen one like this."

Sister Hong curled her lip. "What kind of high-class thing could come out of a sacrificial pit? It's probably stuffed with two-thousand-year-old human excrement, dried into balls like fossils."

Chen Jiansheng looked embarrassed after his hard-earned find was compared to a pile of dung. "You’re quite the joker, Sister Hong. Let me ask you a favor—lend me your small dagger. I want to pry this open and see what’s inside."

Watching them, I shook my head. I felt Chen Jiansheng’s attitude toward Sister Hong had improved significantly since we first met. Despite her constantly snapping at him and calling him a "Southern Rat," he mostly just grumbled. I couldn't help but wonder if this old guy had ulterior motives. I let my imagination run wild: *Amazing, is this old earth-mover trying to take over the Alpine steppes?* Rumors in the trade said Sister Hong was quite open-minded; I suspected the old fool didn't even realize what he was getting into.

Taking the dagger, Chen Jiansheng squatted down, steadied the granary, and began to pry. The rim of the pottery was sealed with a yellowish substance, likely a waterproof wax that had hardened like stone over two thousand years. The dagger only left a white mark. Thanks to the blade's sharpness, after ten minutes of grueling work, he finally pried open a small gap.

Instantly, the scent of wine rushed out. Chen Jiansheng’s eyes went wide. "I'll be... the Soul Granary is filled with wine? Two-thousand-year-old wine!" He stepped back, shaking his head. "No, no, that's impossible. They didn't have high-proof distilled spirits back then. This smell..."

Sister Hong’s curiosity was piqued. She looked at the jar and said, "A perfectly preserved celadon plum vase was unearthed from the Han tomb at Dabaotai, and it was filled with wine. It’s rare, but it has happened before."

Hearing this, perhaps to show off, Chen Jiansheng declared, "Today, I, Chen Jiansheng, am in for a treat. Once the lid is open, it will evaporate quickly. I can't let this chance pass; I have to taste this wine and see what it’s like."

"Are you serious, Chen? You're going to drink that?" I hadn't expected him to be so reckless.

He stroked his chin and chuckled. "I’m a drunkard, and I haven't had a drop in six months. Thousand-year-old nectar—the thought alone makes my mouth water. Hey kid, do you know the highest state of drinking?"

I shook my head, saying I didn't drink.

He glanced at Sister Hong and boasted, "The highest state of drinking is to drink until you get liver cancer. Once you reach that, your cultivation is complete."

I almost lost it. *Yeah, right,* I thought. *Complete your cultivation and head straight to the crematorium for a new home.*

Sister Hong rolled her eyes. "You idiot."

"Heh, watch this. I'm going in." He pried open the entire wax seal and reached inside to scoop some out. He smacked his lips, his brow furrowing as his expression soured.

"What’s wrong, Chen? How does it taste?" He didn't answer, and for a moment, I feared he’d been poisoned.

Chen Jiansheng swallowed hard and frowned. "What kind of wine is this? It smells like wine, but it tastes so strange—sweet as sugar water."

Within three minutes, I noticed his face turning red—and then redder still, as if it had been painted with crimson oil. He shook his head violently. "Damn it, what’s going on? Is this fake booze?"