That unexpected encounter with the future "discoverer of Tutankhamun," Howard Carter, aboard the Orient Express, ultimately concluded peacefully with scholarly elegance and mutual probing.
Lin Jie did not reveal the slightest trace of his true identity to those two seemingly ordinary Egyptology enthusiasts.
Similarly, Carter and his ntor did not press further about why Lin Jie was interested in the Egyptian Book of the Dead.
The three rely engaged in a purely academic discussion about "the burial customs of the Fourth Dynasty of Ancient Egypt" and "the conceptual distinction between 'ka' and 'ba' in hieroglyphs," just like fellow travelers who happened to et on a journey.
However, Lin Jie's keen intuition caught a sense of dissonance within this seemingly harmonious conversation.
He discovered that although Carter and his ntor tried hard to portray themselves as modern archaeology enthusiasts who believed in science and empirical evidence, when the topic of "the Pharaoh's Curse" ca up, a look of habitual, professional familiarity would flash uncontrollably in the depths of their eyes.
It was like an experienced surgeon discussing death;
his focus wasn't on the grief brought by death itself, but on the specific pathological cause that led to death.
This discovery made Lin Jie intensely curious about the real role this future historical celebrity played in the inner world.
But he did not expose it. So secrets can only be opened at the most opportune mont.
That steel dragon carrying stories and conspiracies, after a long journey spanning seven countries, slowly pulled into the central station of Cairo, the legendary city embraced by the yellow sea of sand and the Nile River.
This ancient Egyptian capital, hailed as the "City of a Thousand Minarets," gave the first impression of "chaos."
It was a grand kind of "chaos," interwoven with vitality, exoticism, and colonial atmosphere.
The peculiar sll in the air was difficult to describe with a single word.
There was the rich fragrance emanating from spice shops, the damp scent brought by felucca sailboats on the Nile.
There was the dry, dusty sll blown in from the vast surrounding desert, and even more, the mysterious, heavy sll from ancient deities and pharaonic ghosts that had seeped into the city's bricks and stones.
The streets were packed with all kinds of people.
There were dark-skinned Egyptian locals wearing traditional white robes and red fezzes.
There were British colonial officials and soldiers in crisp khaki uniforms, their expressions haughty.
There were Bedouin rchants wearing turbans, leading cals, hawking cheap souvenirs to passing Western tourists.
And there were countless explorers, archaeologists, and tomb robbers from all over the world, filled with curiosity and a spirit of adventure.
Horse-drawn carriages, donkey carts, cal caravans, and the new-fangled "Austin" brand steam cars brought by the British all composed a symphony of the tis, a song of "chaos" and "vitality," within this contradictory urban labyrinth ford by ancient Islamic-style architecture and Victorian colonial mansions.
"This, is Cairo." Julian used his silk handkerchief, pre-soaked in Cologne perfu, to disdainfully cover his nose and mouth, blocking that pervasive "infidel" odor.
But in his eyes, an academic fire burned uncontrollably, hotter than Cairo's midday sun.
He understood that beneath this seemingly chaotic and disordered land lay treasures that would drive the entire Western civilized world mad.
They did not linger long at the station.
Following the discreet address provided in Sir Henderson's letter, they hired the most inconspicuous local carriage they could find, passed through several narrow alleys, and finally stopped in front of an "Antiques &
Papyrus" export company.
The shop's facade was dilapidated.
The paint on the wooden shop sign was peeling and mottled from the scorching sun and wind-blown sand.
The display window held a few cheap imitation pharaoh sarcophagi placed crookedly, alongside several rolls of damp, moldy, low-quality papyrus.
The entire shop exuded a strong aura of "decay." Lin Jie could tell at a glance the sll of poverty, despair, and mismanagent.
If not for the small copper plaque by the door, engraved with a tiny Eye of Horus insignia recognizable only to association mbers, he would have thought they had co to the wrong place.
"This is the I.A.R.C.'s... Cairo Branch?" he couldn't help but think sarcastically.
This rundown shop ford a stark contrast, as different as clouds and mud, to the labyrinthine depths of London's Underground City and the orderly, fortress-like factory in Munich.
This place did not look like an outpost belonging to the world's most powerful inner world organization.
It looked more like a "ruin" forgotten by the organization, barely clinging to life.
When Ethan, the elite hunter who prided himself on his noble status, saw this scene of "failure," undisguised disappointnt and contempt appeared on his face.
However, Julian slled a different scent from this deliberate "dilapidation." It was a top-tier disguise.
A perfect protective coloration evolved for survival in a harsh environnt, like a chaleon in the desert.
When they pushed open the old wooden door that creaked at a touch, an elderly man with a thick white beard, dark bronze skin, wearing a traditional Egyptian robe washed nearly white, was sitting behind a worn-out counter, leisurely smoking an Egyptian water pipe.
His sowhat cataract-clouded eyes casually scanned the four uninvited "foreigners."
Finally, his gaze settled on Lin Jie, the only Easterner among them.
"You are five minutes late."
The old man said calmly in English with a heavy Egyptian accent.
"Did that Orient Express run into those damned partisans in Belgrade again this ti?"
"I am Abdul." The old man put down his water pipe. "You can call Old Ab. I'm the owner of this shop that's about to go bankrupt. Also, the temporary person in charge of what you call the I.A.R.C. Cairo Branch."
As he spoke, he retrieved a sowhat aged brass key from under the counter, then shakily walked over to the wooden display cabinet in the corner of the shop, which was used to exhibit imitation pharaoh sarcophagi.
He inserted the key into a hidden lock at the bottom of the cabinet and gave it a gentle turn.
With a dull chanical sound from deep underground, the massive cabinet weighing several tons slid silently to the side, revealing a deep underground staircase.
"Welco to Cairo."
Old Ab said in a self-deprecating tone.
"This place cursed by the gods and pharaohs."
The underground of the Cairo Branch was even more "rudintary" than the shop above ground.
There were no superfluous decorations, only a few functional caves roughly carved from stone.
One served as temporary quarters, one stored a small amount of weapons and ammunition, and one was their ultimate destination for this trip—the morgue.
The entire branch exuded a strong scent of "poverty," mixed with the feeling of insufficient funds, personnel shortages, and outdated equipnt.
The lighting here still relied on flickering kerosene lamps.
"Ever since you British people dug that damned Suez Canal, this place has beco a playground for adventurers and hyenas from all over the world." Old Ab led the way ahead, explaining the Cairo Branch's current predicant to everyone in his hoarse voice.
"Countless inner world forces have poured in. There's your European Eternal Serpent, the Brotherhood of Light from the New World, even those Ottoman Sufi orders who worship the 'Black Moon' want to co here for a piece of the pie."
"And our association's influence here has been waning because of your British governnt's increasingly strict colonial policies."
"Every ti we take an action even slightly larger, those know-it-all MI6 agents in your Governor's Mansion treat it as espionage activity 'attempting to subvert imperial rule.'"
"With us weakening and them strengthening, the local occult organizations, especially that Descendants of Apophis who worship the serpent god and have absolutely no bottom line, have beco increasingly rampant."
Old Ab stopped before the morgue door wrapped in sheet iron.
A deep-seated hatred belonging to an old hunter flashed in his cloudy eyes.
"My son died in a conflict with them three years ago."
He said no more, just gently pulled open the door.
A surge of deathly aura rushed out from within.
Old Ab walked to the row of autopsy tables made of iron and palm wood in the center of the morgue.
He lightly tapped the huge object behind him, covered with heavy linen cloth, with his walnut walking stick.
"I think before continuing with vague political and conspiracy discussions, perhaps you all should first see with your own eyes what kind of unreasonable 'monster' your enemy truly is."
Having said that, he reached out and pulled away the large linen cloth. A thick, foul stench erupted from beneath the white cloth, assaulting everyone's sense of sll.
A corpse was revealed before everyone, its original appearance unrecognizable.
The guard uniform on his body had beco like tree bark soaked in wax oil and then dried, clinging morbidly to his withered fra.
The fibers of the uniform and his sallow, shriveled skin were fused together, indistinguishable from each other.
All his flesh, fat, internal organs, and brain matter had disappeared.
It was as if so creature had used an invisible straw to suck out all the moisture-containing and living organic tissue from his body through his seven facial orifices and pores.
In the end, only a layer of translucent, sallow skin and the stark white skeleton beneath it remained.
His entire state was very much like an ancient Egyptian mummy crudely and brutally made within a matter of seconds.
His face was frozen in the disbelief he felt before death, his mouth agape at an exaggerated angle.
"This is one of the seven guard mbers who disappeared along with the diamond that night."
Old Ab sighed.
"Our people found him two days ago in the shadow of the Great Pyramid of Khufu on the Giza Plateau."
"He was just standing there, straight up, in the scorching yellow sand."
Abdul reached out a finger and lightly touched the sandpaper-rough skin on the mummy's arm.
"Rustle—"
A grayish-white powdery substance fell from his fingertip.
"No toxins were found in his body, nor any external injuries. All his vital signs seed to have evaporated."
"As if he was 'eaten' by this desert."
"Wait a mont!" Julian's pupils contracted.
He rushed forward indiscreetly, ignoring the stench, staring at the details of the guard uniform that could still be recognized on the corpse.
"Mr. Abdul, are you certain this corpse was discovered at Giza two days ago?!"
"Absolutely certain." Old Ab nodded calmly.
"But from London to Cairo, even taking the fastest express steamship, plus the dedicated railway line from Alexandria to Cairo, the entire journey takes at least five days!"
"Furthermore!" Julian's gaze swept over the almost perfectly intact uniform on the mummy. "Look at his uniform! Aside from the wrinkles from dehydration, there's no wear and tear or stains."
"This simply doesn't make sense!"
"How could a living man attacked in London, thousands of kiloters away, four days ago, appear in the Egyptian desert two days ago in the form of a mummy that has been dried for at least dozens of hours?"
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