Chapter 102

There are two routes marked on the human skin map for entering the Insect Valley. One is to cross the wind gap on Mount Zhelong; the other is to go around Mount Zhelong along the Snake River, a route that requires traversing a primeval forest fraught with danger between the Lancang and Nu Rivers—although the straight-line distance on the map is not great, anyone who has entered such a forest knows that the actual journey is ten or twenty times longer than planned, and some sections contain marshes.

Both routes are difficult, but comparatively, crossing Mount Zhelong, which is over three thousand meters in elevation, is more feasible; however, attempting to cross the snow-capped mountains without a guide is no joke, and one might fail before even beginning, perishing on the mountain.

At this moment, hearing Peacock mention there was a shortcut, I hurriedly asked for details. Peacock only knew a rough outline, so we had to go ask the innkeeper again. The innkeeper told us that Mount Zhelong (locally called Aiteng, meaning "tailless dragon") has many spiderweb-like caves at its base, said to have been dug by ancient peoples; in the past, rebellious bandits occupied them to resist government troops, but due to the complex terrain inside, the officials were helpless and sealed all entrances with stones, trapping the people inside to die alive; ever since, during the Dragon Boat Festival, if you press your ear to the rocks of Mount Zhelong, you can hear intermittent cries of despair from within the mountain.

Of course, this is merely a local folk legend; as to when the caves were built, who built them, what they were used for, who the bandits inside were, whether they were local ethnic minorities rising up against oppression and exploitation, or what exactly happened—today, no one can say for certain.

However, in recent years, someone quarrying stone discovered a cave containing dissolved limestone and an underground stream. This stream runs straight through the mountain, flowing into the Snake River at the other end of Mount Zhelong, deep enough to navigate a bamboo raft, and with this waterway, one need not worry about getting lost in the labyrinthine caves. Due to the gentle terrain, the current is not strong—going downstream, one can drift effortlessly on a raft; returning, one must pole upstream with some effort, but overall it is far more convenient than crossing the mountain.

Finally, the innkeeper warned us that although this is a shortcut, the cave walls on both sides are littered with strange-shaped skeletons, no one knows when they died there, and the faint-hearted may be frightened into illness. Indeed, a few people have tried poling rafts through, but the Insect Valley beyond has many miasmas, and there is no human habitation there, so going there serves no purpose; recently, no one has passed through for a while. If you want to take the shortcut, you must be extra careful.

I said to the innkeeper: "No need to worry—we're going to that valley to catch butterflies for specimens, serving the people; we are all Marxist-Leninists, so why fear the dead? Since there is a shortcut, not taking it would be foolish, especially since someone has successfully passed through before, proving there are no ghosts—possibly just remnants of ancient ancestral tombs."

I recalled seeing the emblem of military martyrs on the gate just now, so I asked the innkeeper again, and learned that Peacock's brother was a martyr who died on the front lines. I then realized that the war in southern Xinjiang continues to this day; coming to Yunnan this time, if the opportunity arises, I should visit the martyrs' cemetery to honor my comrades, not just think of getting rich and forget my roots.

Moreover, I discussed with the innkeeper whether anyone nearby had hunting rifles we could rent for self-defense. The innkeeper had Peacock retrieve from the back room a "Jianwei" air rifle, which fires steel pellets; Peacock's brother used to carry it into the mountains to hunt birds when he was alive. The innkeeper is very kind, and since we helped her, she is willing to lend us the rifle for free, no deposit required—just return it when we come back.

I was somewhat disappointed, having thought we at least needed a double-barreled hunting rifle; this bird-hunting gun is hardly better than a toy. But upon examining it, I found it to be a fine weapon, well-maintained, not a small caliber—it can fire medium-sized steel pellets, has long range, and the barrel is heavy and steady—indeed, it could shoot wolves, not just birds. The only drawback is that it is single-shot; after each discharge, it must be reloaded.

Better than nothing, and we cannot find a better gun nearby for now. So I threw the gun to Pangzi, telling him to familiarize himself with it—the "Jianwei" is temporarily his to use.

After thanking the innkeeper, the three of us spent the night at the Caiyun Inn. That night, Pangzi and I slept soundly, thinking of nothing, completely letting go of the hardships of the journey—truly, a sleep that opened heaven and earth; until the next morning, when the sun was high, Shirley Yang pulled our ears to wake us, and we reluctantly got up.

The tea merchant had already left early in the morning to conduct business. After we washed up, we found the innkeeper had prepared plenty of dry rations and insect-repelling herbs for us, and had Peacock guide us to the cave entrance at the base of Mount Zhelong. There is a sizable bamboo grove there, where we can cut several large bamboos to lash into a raft.

We thanked the innkeeper again, then carried our gear into the woods behind the Caiyun Inn. The trees here are mostly slope-retaining hairy-leaved species, followed by fragrant fruit trees and large azaleas, with a few silver-leaf laurels. Only in a low-lying depression compared to the flat ground does a patch of deep-green bamboo grow, and the water route into Mount Zhelong is not far from here.

Having confirmed the location, I sent Peacock home so her sister-in-law would not wait anxiously. Pangzi asked me: "Lao Hu, why not let this little girl be our guide? She can sing and dance well, and we won't be bored on the way."

I told Pangzi: "Forget it—we're not here for sightseeing. I have a feeling this won't go smoothly; I always sense that the Xian King's Tomb in the Insect Valley hides some great danger, requiring major action. Not only this little girl, but even if we changed guides, we wouldn't need them—the human skin map is sufficient; more people would only cause trouble.

Pangzi nodded: "That makes sense—don't let that old clutz of the Xian King scare the little girl. Moreover, with outsiders present, handling funerary objects would be inconvenient; only us three can go all out. Let's finish this big task early, then we can properly return to Yunnan for another visit."

Shirley Yang said to me and Pangzi: "The clouds in the sky are thickening—looks like a change in weather. Let's hurry and lash the raft, aiming to enter the mountain before the rain."

We delayed no further. Pangzi and I picked up our machetes and went to select thick bamboo to cut, while Shirley Yang was responsible for using her knife to strip the branches and trunks. With divided labor, we progressed extremely quickly.

When I and Pangzi went up the mountains to join the down-to-the-countryside movement in the Greater Khingan Range of Inner Mongolia, we had helped in the lumberyard there—no roads or vehicles for timber transport, so logs were simply placed in the river and floated downstream; in some parts of Fujian with winding waterways and inconvenient transport, rafting is also practiced, so this work is not unfamiliar to us.

If the bamboo raft were to be used long-term, its construction would be quite troublesome, requiring the bamboo to be scalded in hot oil first as raw material, plus other auxiliary techniques. But we only need it for one or two temporary uses, so we can entirely avoid those unnecessary hassles.

Shirley Yang probed the water route in the cave for depth and flow, estimating that to carry us three plus all our gear, only six bamboo stalks as thick as a person's leg are needed.

After this bout of busyness, we finally lashed together a small bamboo raft, pulled it into the cave with ropes—our feet entered, our feet remained outside—when suddenly thunder rumbled and a shower began.

This is a limestone cave; upon entering and walking down a slant for ten or so steps, one sees a stream beneath one's feet. Rather than call it a river, it is better described as a deep creek—nearly a meter below ground level, with water depth about... 【text corrupted】... until the cave floor slopes low enough to reveal it? BR> The cave is quite wide here; I shone my wolf-eye lamp into the dark depths—the elevation varies greatly, wide sections could accommodate a tank, low areas are only just over a meter high. There are many dissolved rock formations over a thousand years old, all strange and wondrous; this is merely near the entrance, and the interior environment will be even more complex. It seems that if we want to pole the raft through the cave, in some sections we will need to lie prone to pass. Aside from the sound of flowing water, the cave is utterly silent—the thunder of the rain outside cannot be heard here at all, as if it were a completely isolated underground world.

We pushed the bamboo raft into the water; I immediately jumped on, using a bamboo pole to thrust forward from the front of the raft into the water to secure it, preventing it from being swept away by the current. Shirley Yang then leapt aboard as well; seeing her up, I walked forward a few steps, while she simultaneously retreated to the raft's stern to maintain balance. Then Pangzi heaved our three fully loaded backpacks and two insect nets one after another onto the raft, and followed by jumping into the center—his coming aboard caused the entire raft to sink slightly—Shirley Yang quickly pulled two of the backpacks to her end of the raft, I pulled the remaining one to my feet—thus, temporarily balancing the weight, we avoided capsizing.

On the raft we made final preparations. Since the cave contains many hanging stalactites and stalagmites, to avoid bumping our heads, we all put on our climbing helmets, which have tactical floodlights that can operate for six to eight hours.

Finally, I set up the powerful searchlight at the front of the raft—this kind of searchlight consumes a great deal of power and cannot be used continuously; I turn it on every one or two minutes to check the condition of the cave ahead.

Pangzi straddled a bamboo pole, sitting in the center to maintain balance, seeing me still fiddling with the searchlight installation after half a day, he could not help but ask: "What's the matter, Lao Hu? Are we still leaving today? I can't wait to go dig up that old Xian King's funerary objects."

I still had two fastening bolts to install; turning to him, I said: "What's the rush? The Xian King's Tomb is inside the Insect Valley—being a few minutes late won't make it grow legs and run away."

At the rear, Shirley Yang said to us: "I say you two stop arguing. I have a suggestion: Americans are used to assigning a code name to each military operation; for our mission to overturn the Xian King's tomb, why not also adopt an operation code name? Of course, doing this is not meaningless—it can make us appear more planned and purposeful."

Pangzi said to her: "This is Chinese territory—your American ways won't work here. But since the senior advisor of the American advisory team proposed it, I think we might as well call it the 'Funerary Object Retrieval Operation'—that's direct and honest, no pretense, just straight for the funerary objects."

I had just finished installing the last fastening bolt on the powerful searchlight; turning to Pangzi, I said: "You're being too blunt—it comes across as vulgar. But this suggestion is good—back then, the Allies' Operation Overlord broke through the Third Reich's Atlantic Wall, shortening the course of WWII. We too can think of a pleasant-sounding code name, seek a good omen, and strive for victory at the first blow and success at once. Since we are pretending to enter the Insect Valley to catch butterflies as a cover for our real action, I think we should call it the Butterfly Operation. I declare: the Butterfly Operation begins now!"

Having said that, regardless of whether Shirley Yang and Pangzi agreed, I immediately switched on the powerful searchlight, observed the terrain ahead, reached out, and pulled the bamboo pole inserted in the water. Under the gentle push of the current, the bamboo raft proceeded smoothly, slowly drifting deeper into Mount Zhelong.

When we encountered narrow passages, Pangzi would erect the crosswise pole, and together we used bamboo poles to brace against the riverbed stones to stabilize the raft. A tiny bamboo raft drifted windingly through the cave—alas, all around was pitch black; without the searchlight, we could see nothing in the distance, no beautiful scenery—otherwise we could really belt out a couple of mountain songs.

Unlike the hot, humid weather outside, drifting downstream in the cave, the deeper we went, the more we felt a cool breeze on our faces. Occasionally we would see clusters of ghostly fire flickering faintly in the distance—this indicates animal remains, so this place is not devoid of life.

Sitting on the raft, one could also feel some water snakes and small fish swimming about; I dipped my hand into the water to test—it was so cold it felt almost piercing. In this Yunnan where the seasons are like one, such icy water temperature is truly rare—perhaps meltwater from the summit of Mount Zhelong flows directly down, causing the low temperature here.

Shirley Yang said it was not due to glacial meltwater, but because the temperature difference between the cave and the outside is large, causing the human body to sense an illusion; after adaptation, one would no longer feel so cold. Moreover, the cave shows no signs of artificial excavation—it appears entirely natural.

As we spoke, the water flow changed speed—suddenly it became noticeably faster than before. This made us all tense—any carelessness could capsize this small bamboo raft. Shirley Yang also grabbed a short pole, and together we struggled to maintain balance. The riverbed became more winding than before, with frequent large bends.

I could no longer free a hand to turn the searchlight on and off, so I left it on continuously—unexpectedly, this made everything ahead clearly visible. The scenery in the depths of the cave is beyond imagination; furthermore, the beam of the powerful searchlight sweeps past, and those strange, jagged stalactites only flash into view before vanishing again into darkness, making us feel we have entered a fantastical, dreamlike labyrinth of light and shadow.

Some strange stones, though only glimpsed briefly, leave a deep impression—some resemble the Goddess of Mercy, some like a sleeping child, some like a leisurely crane, others like bull-headed, horse-faced demons or fierce, terrifying beasts. The supernatural craftsmanship of nature in this cave is endless. These unique sights, if not illuminated by a searchlight with extremely long range, might never be seen by humanity. Countless fantastical scenes flash before our eyes like a revolving lantern, dazzling and overwhelming—this stretch of wonder is so beautiful it shocks the senses.

At this moment, the river channel suddenly widened, with several finer tributaries merging in; the water flow slowed, and the ahead searchlight no longer swayed as violently as before.

Only see: under the lamp's light, both sides of the cave wall ahead display row upon row of naturally formed, smooth dissolved-rock terraced fields, layered upon layered like ocean waves—truly like a solidified silver sea. A huge vermilion natural stone bead hangs inverted in the center of the river channel; behind it, the river flows into the mouth of a colossal beast's head. The enormous stone beast resembles a tiger or a lion, as if it were opening its bloody maw wide in a frenzied roar, revealing a mouth full of sharp fangs, wanting to bite and devour that stone bead, while time has frozen at this instant—its posture fixed, perhaps preserved here for thousands or even tens of thousands of years.

The river channel happens to pass right through its great maw—what we face is like a gate to hell; our hearts involuntarily quicken, our breathing grows heavy, and we grip the bamboo pole we use for balance even tighter.

How could such a conspicuous feature not have been mentioned by the Caiyun Inn's innkeeper? Could the river have changed course and veered off? And through the beam of the powerful searchlight, we can see countless ancient human figurines suspended behind the beast gate—just like those seen when riding a long-distance bus, crushed by the vehicle, their stone shells filled with maggots; each time I recall them, my stomach feels queasy—yet I never expected to encounter them here again.

The three on the raft looked at each other in silence, not knowing what Shirley Yang and Pangzi thought of this sight—anyway, I suddenly felt a deep unease. I sensed that once we passed through here, in this dark, profound cave, our hands would touch a thick veil of ancient mist.