Chapter Eleven: The Mysterious Terracotta Warriors

“This has already been prepared for you,” Ren Tianxing said, nodding to his assistant and turning to me. “Brother Changfeng, if you need any other materials, we will provide whatever we can. I hope you won’t let us down!”

I couldn’t help feeling dissatisfied with Ren Tianxing’s posturing and replied coldly, “Director Ren, if you still don’t trust me, perhaps you should find someone else more suitable.”

Old Liu grew anxious and quickly exchanged glances with Dr. Wang, who awkwardly explained, “Brother Ren didn’t mean it that way. Mr. Changfeng, things are urgent now. I hope you can understand everyone’s concerns.”

Ren Tianxing merely smiled, saying nothing. A seasoned figure like him, his mind was sharper than anyone’s.

Yet I could feel the discontent in everyone’s eyes, especially those bearing the title of “scientist.” My aloofness had clearly offended them; their faces brimmed with indignation. They were unaccustomed to such treatment. Even state leaders showed them due respect—when had they ever been so slighted?

A successful scientist must possess an unwavering heart, guarding their convictions. If this incident were to shake their faith, their confidence, drive, and spirit in future research would be hindered and wounded, making their path all the more difficult. It’s like a devout Buddhist dedicating his life to Buddha, only to discover that Buddha is but a minor deity and that there are powers greater still—how could he remain loyal?

Wang Tingting, however, was unfazed. Aside from a trace of surprise and doubt in her eyes, her face maintained that same cooperative smile. I had to admire her composure and wit.

The reason I didn’t want so many to accompany us was, first and foremost, to send those scientists away. They were the country’s pillars, always at the top of their fields—be it electronics, information science, or other disciplines, their insights were extraordinary. Precisely because of their talents, I didn’t want them involved.

Ren Tianxing clearly appreciated my approach. At first, he seemed slightly displeased by my request, but upon reflection, he caught my drift and nodded in approval.

So it was settled: Ren Tianxing, Old Liu, Professor Wang, Wang Tingting and I would visit the Terracotta Warrior. However, a distinguished-looking scholar in his forties insisted on joining us. From Old Liu, I learned this Mr. Du was a lecturer at a metaphysics research institute in Beijing. I hadn’t paid him much attention until he whispered something in my ear:

“In the Northern Song Dynasty, there was Wanyan Wuji—perhaps you know a thing or two about him, Mr. Changfeng. Remarkable indeed.”

There are perhaps only three people alive who know of my ancestor, Wanyan Wuji.

The surname Wanyan has always belonged to the imperial family—countless over the ages. The clan produced luminaries: Wanyan Xiyin, who created the Jurchen script; Wanyan Honglie, a military genius; Wanyan Bupo, famed for martial prowess; and many more. In the Northern Song, the Wanyans were the royal bloodline of Jin. The most famous were Wanyan Honglie, who led a million troops south, and Wanyan Bupo, who fought a hundred foes alone. But few knew of Wanyan Wuji. His life was legendary—so little is recorded in history that even my own knowledge is limited.

Because of this, I regarded Mr. Du with new respect and allowed him to join us. Others were secretly amazed at how a few words from Mr. Du could change my attitude so much.

To say Ren Tianxing’s security measures were thorough would be no exaggeration.

Leaving the conference room, we arrived at the workshop where the Terracotta Warrior had been cut open. Armed police guarded the perimeter, each equipped with night-vision goggles. There were even sentries stationed at vantage points around the institute.

I gave Ren Tianxing a word of praise. Old Liu, delighted, boasted, “This is just standard security. The real protection is the snipers.”

Wang Tingting was so startled her tongue nearly slipped out.

This workshop was different from the one we’d toured earlier—it was at the far end of the complex, backed against a mountain.

Inside, the design was impressive: a circular room, a cutting machine at its heart, surrounded by an arc of desks—perfect for team collaboration.

A storage room inside was shielded by a massive square casing of glass. Wang Tingting rapped her knuckle against it and exclaimed, “Wow, the latest alloy bulletproof glass!”

I couldn’t tell bulletproof glass apart, but the others were amazed by her instant identification of the material. Clearly, the glass was special.

Ren Tianxing explained its origins. Bulletproof glass is usually reserved for confidential sectors—like bank teller windows or armored cars, though those are the most common types. The newest bulletproof glass, once developed, goes straight into military use. This alloy bulletproof glass was the country’s latest innovation, the strongest yet. According to available data, only the United States, Israel, and now China possess this technology. In pressure tests, even an AK-47 firing at close range left it unscathed.

After enlightening us laymen, Ren Tianxing smiled. “Miss Wang’s knowledge is truly impressive—two years overseas, and it shows.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Ren Tianxing, always serious with me, could still make jokes in front of a pretty woman—even using slang. When he realized his slip, he flushed and pretended to cough. Wang Tingting burst out laughing as well—a grown man, blushing! Unintentionally, I glimpsed a shy side of Ren Tianxing.

He used a password and key to open the storage room and led us inside.

I had no interest in the rest—my eyes went straight to the peculiar Terracotta Warrior.

Anyone who’s seen the warriors knows that the charioteers are usually seated on their carriages, both hands gripping the reins. But this one was extraordinary—so much so that a casual glance might miss the difference.

On closer inspection, though, it was astonishing. The warrior’s face was that of a child barely over ten, yet he wore a middle-aged man’s attire. His body and facial expression were entirely mismatched: no middle-aged maturity or skill, only innocent childishness.

His posture was odd as well. Both hands held invisible reins, but his legs were slightly bent—almost like a martial artist practicing internal energy while seated cross-legged. If someone sat that way while driving a carriage, the slightest bump would send them flying. Yet this “person,” as I called the warrior, was sculpted in exactly that pose.

Strangest of all, he was driving with his eyes closed—and there was no sign of a carriage behind him.

Old Du—though out of politeness I called him Mr. Du, I’m not one for formality and preferred “Old Du,” which he didn’t mind and even seemed to like—looked for a moment, his lips moving as if to speak, then stopped. I caught the gesture.

Everyone was studying the strange Terracotta Warrior closely.

It’s true what they say: women are more observant. After a moment, Wang Tingting exclaimed, “This person must have been fond of drink in life!”

At her words, all eyes turned to the warrior. Sure enough, near his right lower back hung a small, pitch-black gourd. If one wasn’t paying attention, it looked like a wrinkle in his robe.

I laughed. “How interesting, truly interesting.”

Pointing at the warrior, I said, “His posture and features are both out of the ordinary!”

“And to think he’s a child, eyes closed as he drives—yet he’s so fond of wine, he carries a flask with him even while working,” Wang Tingting continued.

Old Liu pointed to the warrior’s chest. “The stone box was cut out with a laser, then reassembled after removal.”

He handed me an X-ray image from the file. Looking at it, I saw a black, square box inside the warrior’s chest. Nothing else seemed unusual.

Wang Tingting asked, “The pistol disappeared—what about the box?”

Her question caught everyone off guard. Until then, all attention had been on the pistol inside the box, never the box itself.

I smiled. “The box is in a cabinet.” He signaled for a staff member to fetch it.

Professor Wang couldn’t help but praise us. “Old Liu was right to invite you both—just one look, and you spotted the anomaly. Miss Wang, to have such insight at your age is remarkable. And Mr. Changfeng, with such an outstanding assistant, you are even more impressive.”

I suppose I owed that to Wang Tingting. She demurred, “You flatter me,” but shot me a meaningful look.