Chapter 104: Water Depth Thirteen Meters

The sound coming from beneath the river channel had not yet ceased when suddenly I heard from behind a series of "plop-plop-plop..." splashes, one after another, the density of the sounds so great that by the end there was almost no gap between them, as if all the suspended figures I had seen earlier hanging in the river channel had been lowered into the water by bronze chains.

Pangzi muttered to himself: "Damn it, trouble's coming, those fellows are probably turning into water ghosts to capsize our boat." After saying that, he took the "Sword Might" from his back, opened the ammunition chamber, and loaded steel pellets.

I also sensed something abnormal behind us, so I turned my head to look, but the bamboo raft had already drifted past the section where the figures were suspended, and there was no strong searchlight installed behind the raft; the mountain cave ahead was pitch black, and the tactical flashlight on my climbing helmet was useless in such darkness—though theoretically it could illuminate fifteen meters, when focused to its limit it could only reach about six meters.

Because in absolute darkness, a single person's tactical flashlight is of little use, Shirley Yang, sitting at the rear of the bamboo raft, turned back twice but could see nothing clearly, and urgently said to me and Pangzi: "Never mind what's behind us—paddle with all your strength as fast as you can, and try to burst through this river section before we're overtaken."

I replied: "Alright, full speed ahead." I turned on the front searchlight, grabbed a bamboo pole, and prepared to brace it against the rock wall to give the raft maximum forward propulsion.

Unexpectedly, as the intense beam of the searchlight shot out like a solid pillar, it illuminated the straight river channel ahead in full clarity. Over a hundred meters ahead, there was another section where over a hundred figures were suspended by bronze chains; the searchlight's beam was too strong and bright, casting a most horrifying effect on the gray-brown human skin, and moreover, the figures swayed like countless hanged ghosts in the narrow river channel's midair, writhing and twisting—【text corrupted】

The mechanism's sound in the river channel rang out again, echoing in the vast mountain cave; I saw the chains suspending the figures ahead snap one after another, and the figures, like bombs dropped from a bomber, fell one by one with "plunk-plunk" splashes into the river water. In an instant, the area ahead of the searchlight's beam contained only hundreds of dangling, empty chains.

Now I could almost certainly conclude: this river channel, used to transport materials during the construction of the Xian King's Tomb, must have had a mechanism installed in the water after the king's burial, though I still couldn't determine what purpose was served by submerging the figures made as "insect casings" into the water.

Coming to Yunnan's Zhelong Mountain this time has been most inauspicious—we haven't even entered the Snake River valley yet, and we've already taken a wrong turn. This river channel has likely seen no travelers since the Han dynasty, and just as we arrived, heavy rains flooded the area, washing our bamboo raft into this passage, while the relatively safe route we had intended to take slipped through our fingers.

I kept cursing inwardly, yet the bamboo raft continued forward; the water ahead was utterly still, not even a ripple. It was as if the figures that had fallen into the water had sunk to the bottom and remained motionless, with no disturbance whatsoever—even the ripples that should have formed when something entered the water seemed to have vanished entirely.

My wartime experience told me that the calmer the surface, the greater the danger brewing beneath. I instinctively drew my entrenching shovel—a treasure Lao Hu had traded for in Beijing, originally captured by the Volunteer Army during the Korean War from a U. S. Marine Corps First Division unit, preserved in perfect condition, a top-tier tool of the highest quality, even bearing a commemorative mark from the Guadalcanal Campaign. Its value was so high that I hesitated to use it, but now I couldn't afford such qualms; I steeled myself: whatever might rise from the water, I'd first strike it with the shovel and worry about consequences later.

Shirley Yang also drew her pistol, released the safety, and chambered a round. We had made our preparations, and so we let the bamboo raft drift slowly forward. Now caught between forces ahead and behind, we could only remain composed, wait to assess the situation, and then seek to turn the tables—there was no need to blindly charge forward.

Yet we had held our stance for half a day, and the water ahead remained as calm as ever; by now the bamboo raft had drifted into a section where chains hung overhead in midair, thick and mottled with green stains, hanging coldly in the air. I gritted my teeth and thought: Damn it, too quiet—this unnatural stillness must conceal something. What could it be? It seems revolutionary struggle is growing ever more complex.

At that moment, the answer appeared beneath the water: the river suddenly bubbled as if boiling, releasing a string of bubbles. I quickly lowered the angle of the searchlight and shone it into the water; the beam pierced the surface and illuminated a figure half-submerged on the riverbed.

The figure's desiccated skin, soaked by the river water, revealed cracks across its gray-brown surface; the originally blurred face, after immersion, became distinct. Originally, these figures' faces had been coated in mud while alive, and after ingesting the "insect guide," their seven orifices—eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and anus—were sealed with mud, causing them to suffocate to death, which blurred their facial features; the deceased still bore the agonized expression of their final struggle. When illuminated by the light, combined with the water's movement and refraction, the light shifted, making it seem as if the countless figures were being revived in the water—truly horrifying to the extreme; I found my hand trembling even as I tried to steady the searchlight.

The cracks appearing on the figures' bodies gradually widened and swollen into fissures, from which bubbles continuously emerged through the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and ruptures in the skin; many desiccated insect eggs floated out from within.

These insect eggs came alive upon contact with water, like dry sponges absorbing moisture, rapidly swelling into bodies the size of a white paper talisman—"water pigs"—with fin-like protrusions the size of a little fingernail on each side, moving at extreme speed, they darted full-speed toward the bamboo raft.

We were shocked—this was the notorious "water pig wasp" of Yunnan, dreaded by all who hear its name. This aquatic insect species loves to attach itself to floating objects to lay eggs. Sometimes, in the rice paddies of Yunnan, Guangxi, and Vietnam, water buffaloes suddenly go mad, leaping and galloping wildly—this means they've been bitten by "water wasp larvae."

Pangzi had never seen this kind of "water pig wasp," found only in places like Jiangxi; seeing these strange, white, speck-like creatures flying like arrows toward the bamboo raft, he grabbed his bamboo pole and began swatting them, sending up great splashes.

I feared Pangzi would panic and capsize the raft, so I hurriedly said: "Don't worry, no need to be tense—though these water pig wasps deliver a nasty bite, they can't fly out of the water; as long as we stay on the raft and don't fall in, we have nothing to fear."

Watching the white clusters of "water pig wasps" grow denser and denser, layer upon layer clinging to the raft's underside, their number so vast it couldn't be counted, with more constantly joining from afar—though numerous, they posed no real threat to those of us on the raft for now.

Pangzi cursed: "Damn, how can there be so many? Are these crawling out of the human skins? Are they bugs or fish?"

I told Pangzi these were aquatic insects; he relaxed slightly: "Well, that's not so bad—I've always heard how fierce the man-eating fish in rivers are, but if it's just bugs, it's nothing much—no matter how fierce the bugs, they can't eat a person."

Shirley Yang said to Pangzi: "Actually, insects are the most formidable species on Earth. It's only their small size that limits their power; insects possess the greatest strength and vitality on the planet—give them one more trait, and they could kill a human, and some venomous insects alone could fell an elephant."

We kept using the entrenching shovel to knock off the "water pig wasps" clinging to the front of the raft, but there were simply too many, and we could only reach the sides; those underneath we could do nothing about. I reassured Pangzi and Shirley Yang: "As long as we keep the raft balanced, we're fine—these water pig wasps aren't a big deal; back in Vietnam I once ate a whole pot of them, high in protein, tastier than silkworm pupae, like freshwater shrimp—once we float out of this stretch, we'll boil them up and eat them, also as an offering to the Five Spirits Temple."

Pangzi said: "You eat them if you want—these crawled out of dead people's skin; even if they tasted like his mother's lobster, I wouldn't take a single bite."

Shirley Yang said to me: "Still, don't get too optimistic—given the sheer number of these water pig wasps, which were cultivated with great effort using corpse-based insect magic, it's unlikely to be so simple. After recent exposure to various insect magic materials, I've discovered that insect magic shares a single greatest common trait."

I kept swatting the "water pig wasps" near the raft with one hand while paddling forward with the other, trying to escape Zhelong Mountain as fast as possible. Upon hearing Shirley Yang's words, I felt a sudden stir in my mind, recalling the terrain of the coffin shop at Stone Stele Inn, and couldn't help but ask: "You mean the trait is... transformation?"

Shirley Yang said: "Exactly—insect magic seems to use the dead person's soul as a medium, transferring resentment onto other living beings, turning harmless creatures into lethal weapons or poisons. Of course, this is only the tip of the iceberg from what we've encountered; these water pig wasps bred in corpses using ancient insect magic are certainly not ordinary water pig wasps—just that our information is limited, and we still can't grasp the true mystery of the Xian King's insect magic, nor do we know what medicine is really being sold in this gourd."

Pangzi, hearing us say this, couldn't help but grow anxious: "Looks like that old Zongzi Xian King just loves playing dirty, likes to beat around the bush when doing things, and when harming people, he won't do it straight—he'd rather use insect magic than a knife; damn, he's really tough to deal with."

As we spoke, the bamboo raft carried us through this straight river channel and into a larger mountain cave, already filled with water. I swept the searchlight around—the vast cavern was as large as two football fields, with only one exit opposite, where water continued to flow. I checked the compass: that direction was southwest, meaning our bearing was correct; letting the raft drift that way, we would surely pass through the great cavern beneath Zhelong Mountain and flow into the Snake River of the Insect Valley.

By now, who knows how many "water pig wasps" had attached themselves beneath the raft, weighing it down so it sat lower in the water; adding more weight might cause the water to rise over our feet—which would be disastrous. Our lack of fear toward the water pig wasps rests entirely on the raft's buoyancy. But if it's true that all these wasps were raised using insect magic here, perhaps their purpose is to increase weight and sink waterborne vehicles like boats—though that seems overly clumsy, and wouldn't even fully sink the raft; the true power of the Xian King's insect magic lies in its unpredictability—what hidden move lies within, we cannot foresee.

Calculating from the time we entered the river channel and began drifting on the raft, we've already covered two-thirds of the route beneath Zhelong Mountain; if we just persevere and get ashore, we'll no longer need to fear what's in the water. Earlier, I had exerted myself poling with the bamboo pole for half a day, my hands sore and legs numb, I could exert myself no further, so I slowed down. Shirley Yang tossed a pressure-equipped buoy into the water to measure depth—it was deep, about thirteen meters, an inauspicious depth.

Seeing this vast mountain cave lay within ancient white limestone strata, belonging to the fourth period of glacial formation, a type of altered limestone layer, the surroundings were filled with clusters of giant mushroom-shaped X (I don't know the character, hard to describe, sorry for the confusion) stone, and some places resembled large coral heads turned up from the water; the scenery was extraordinarily strange, beyond words. We three were all stunned by these rare, primordial martial spirit umbrella-shaped rock formations, greedily gazing at each dreamlike mushroom-cap stone, letting the raft drift toward the outlet, momentarily forgetting to keep fending off the swarming water pig wasps.

The outlet ahead was just like the previous one—a man-made straight water channel; flowing downstream, we shouldn't need much time to exit Zhelong Mountain smoothly.

However, just as the bamboo raft carrying us three had reached the midpoint of this great mushroom-rock cavern, we heard a series of stone noises echoing from a corner of the cave; in the darkness, it seemed as if some colossal creature was rapidly moving through the mushroom rock at the cave's edge.

Shirley Yang warned me: "Lao Hu, quickly swing the searchlight over."

Only then did I remember we still had the searchlight; I hurriedly adjusted its angle and shone it there—the intense beam swept across, the grating sound of rolling stones ceased abruptly, and I saw in the mushroom rock a massive blue-scaled serpent, rearing its head and coiling its body to face us; this snake was enormous—thicker than a large water jar by three coils, essentially a clawless green dragon. Its scales flashed with an ominous gleam in the searchlight's beam; undoubtedly it dwelled in the forests of the Insect Valley, and due to its preference for cool, shady environments, it had made this great cavern its den—normally, aside from going out to hunt, it slept here, but for some reason it had been disturbed by us.

The blue-scaled serpent paused slightly, then suddenly whipped up a foul-smelling whirlwind, gliding down the mushroom rock; its massive, wild-powerful body struck the white mushroom rock along its path, shattering it into countless fine particles, making it seem as if a giant dragon were wrapped in white dust, rushing forward on a gale, racing into the water at extreme speed. After entering the water, the serpent was trailed by the mushroom rock dust it had kicked up, which had not yet fully settled, yet it had already shot from the depths like a gale toward our bamboo raft.