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more minutes,” Michael said, as he and Acemgul studied
the second box. Made of teak, floral designs were carved into it. They decided
against attempting to lift it out and instead pried off the lid. Inside, they
found yet a third chest, also teak, about five feet long and two and a half
feet wide.
    “Is this a joke?” Michael muttered.
    Batbaatar climbed down the rest of the way. “What's keeping
you?”
    “This might be like one of those Russian nesting dolls.”
Michael waved his hand dismissively at the find. “One chest inside the other
until you get to the last one which doesn't open or is
empty.”
    The wind whistled ominously.
    “Empty? You're risking your life, and ours, for an empty
crate?” Batbaatar gazed longingly back at the ladder, but didn't go toward it.
    “We don't know for sure it's empty,” Jianjun said, defending
his boss and friend. “That's why we've got to see what's here. The storm will
bury all this. If it’s as worthless as the first coffin, we can let it stay
buried and go home.”
    “Someone or something doesn't want us here,” Acemgul
murmured. His eyes lifted to the ceiling, to the opening that could lead them
out of this tomb.
    Michael peered closer. “There's a design on the chest.”
    The design had faded over the years, but they could make out
two overlapping triangles with two veed lines and a circle in the center. It
wasn't carved, but appeared to have been painted in red dye:

    “What does it mean?” Jianjun asked.
    “It’s not a symbol I recognize,” Michael replied. Batbaatar
and Acemgul were similarly mystified.
    Michael attempted to force open the third chest the way he
had the earlier two. It didn't work. Some kind of wax or substance that
hardened to a granite-like consistency hermetically sealed it.
    The howl of the wind grew loud and commanding.
    Opening the last chest was taking too long. Batbaatar and
Jianjun grew more nervous. Acemgul prepared to take a crowbar to it when
Michael raised a hand to stop him. “I've got it.”
    It took all four of them to lift off the surprisingly heavy
lid.
    They gasped in astonishment at the silk banner inside, as
bright and soft as the day it was created. Silk paintings often served as
burial objects during the Han period.
    Against a vermilion background, the scene depicted heaven at
the top protected by a dragon, with the sun and a crow on the right, and the
moon with a toad and rabbit on the left. In the center, a beautiful woman
leaned on a walking stick while three female attendants helped her on her
journey upward. Below them, the underworld swirled in darker hues of blue and
purple.
    On one side near the end of the box lay a piece of paper
with a map. They all bent low to study it.
    “I am familiar with this,” Batbaatar said with awe on his
face. “Our Buddhism comes from Tibet. This type of map gives
the dead a means to find their way in the bardo .” He gazed with
superiority at Acemgul and explained. “As described in The Book of the Dead ,
the bardo is the transition period in the afterlife.”
    His words confirmed that the chest was a coffin. Acemgul
stepped back as he realized what it must contain.
    A chill crept along Michael's spine as he proceeded to peel
back the silk. Under the banner he found more silk as sheer, fine and soft as
if freshly spun.
    As he peeled the layers back, a shape began to appear. “It's
a woman,” he whispered. “Lady Hsieh. It has to be her. So, she died after all,
and her servants hid her body before they fled so her corpse wouldn't be
desecrated.”
    The sudden pulsating shriek of the wind all but stole his
words.
    He slowly lowered the last layer. First he saw her hair, as
black, shiny and thick as it had been in life, arranged in a high, fashionable
style with coils held with combs of gold and rubies.
    Next, he saw her face.
    She was beautiful with flawless skin, the color of pale
ivory, her cheeks lightly rouged as were her lips. A small stone, a deep but
brilliant blood