Chapter 112

Main text Chapter 113 Fresh Blood

We are now like the terracotta warriors in that mountain cave, hanging upside down on the tree trunk by safety ropes; the morning light in the jungle makes our eyes dizzy, and all we see is a dark red object exposed in the split tree trunk, rectangular, with the top two edges chipped into rounded corners.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the trees and fell on it, casting a faint purple halo. What the hell is this? I struggled to hook my ice axe onto the trunk, climbed back up to the canopy, and then pulled Shirley Yang up as well. Pangzi, who already had a fear of heights, was hanging from the tree trunk ten meters above the ground and dared not make any big moves, trembling all over. I wanted to lower him to the ground with the safety rope, but Pangzi refused, saying: "Lao Hu, just pull me up onto the tree; I need to get a good look at this thing. I'm eighty percent sure it's worth a lot of silver."

I had no choice but to use all my strength with Shirley Yang to pull on the safety rope and help Pangzi climb back into the canopy. By now it was light; standing atop the twenty-plus-meter-high old banyan tree and looking down, I really felt as if standing at the edge of an abyss, treading on thin ice.

This time we learned our lesson, spreading out so we weren't all crowded on the same branch, and gathered around the object revealed in the tree trunk to observe it. Pangzi asked me: "Is this a coffin? Made of jade or crystal? Why is it this strange color? It looks a bit like those pieces of chicken blood stone we dealt with at Panjiayuan."

I didn't answer Pangzi; the situation was unexpected, so I just focused my gaze. In the middle of the old banyan tree, more than half of a translucent coffin resembling jade or crystal was exposed, lustrous like jade, semi‑transparent, with an outer layer as thin as a cicada's wing that was milky white. Inside, the color gradually turned red, growing deeper toward the interior, as if the cavity were filled with fresh bright blood. Most of the outer shell was wrapped with fallen bark and parasitic vines from inside the tree, making it hard to see the full appearance.

We had never seen such a material before; upon closer inspection we found it was a piece of semi‑translucent jade‑stone, wrapped inside with a layer of crystal‑inlaid stone, and further inside contained a large amount of deep‑red liquid. The liquid looked just like fresh blood, and judging by appearance alone, this is a rare jade coffin.

Seeing this strange jade coffin, Shirley Yang also couldn't help but wonder: "This is clearly a container for concentrating the dead. Judging by the material, it's heavenly jade from Tibet, not the Burmese jade produced near Yunnan… but… how could such a large jade coffin be inside a tree? Ah… past Shield Dragon Mountain we're already within the Xian King's Tomb area. This coffin is very likely a subsidiary burial of the main tomb, but why would the coffin have grown inside the tree?"

Pangzi said: "You should ask Lao Hu about this—he's always bragging that he knows every coffin in all of China's graves; let him explain."

I shook my head: "You're making things difficult for me. Since ancient times, when building graves and tombs, there have always been mounds with trees; the tree serves as a marker of the tomb, placed in front of the earth mound. This gives the tomb layout the auspicious sign of flourishing descendants, but I've never seen anyone put a coffin inside a tree trunk—it's just not proper."

Since the Shang and Zhou dynasties, China has had fengshui theory; burying the dead has always followed the principle of 'embracing the yin, backing the yang, leaning on mountains and facing water.' How could there be any sense in suspending a coffin in a tree? Moreover, this old tree stands in the jungle behind Shield Dragon Mountain. Although the mountain's summit is shrouded in clouds and mist, obscuring the dragon vein's course, from the foothills one can see that this great mountain is a single ridge, a solitary peak—a lone dragon. As the 'Sixteen‑Character Yin‑Yang Fengshui Secret Art' says in its dragon‑seeking maxim: 'Dragons dread solitude, graves dread cold; all sides should not be truly perilous; a lone mountain with a solitary dragon cannot be a resting place; to settle there would surely bring hardship and difficulty.'

Although the terrain here is higher in the east and lower in the west, moreover it is overly isolated, its prospects are broken and fallen, a bottomless basin, so this area is absolutely unsuitable for placing a mausoleum.

Furthermore, old trees are the foremost of the five harms of a yin tomb. Around the burial chamber, if there are old trees, isolated mountains, interrupted streams, bald ridges, and scattered stones—all are bad omens and unsuitable for burial: old trees snatch wind and qi; isolated mountains lack protective embrace, leaving the master without cohesion, causing yin and yang to clash; interrupted streams wither the main pulse, cut off the water flow, and cut off vital energy; scattered stones and angry bald ridges make the stone dikes rugged, producing rampant malignant qi that brings misfortune from the land's evil qi; bald ridges are deemed places of slight vitality.

However, these places are not necessarily evil grounds; perhaps building temples or shrines would be more suitable, as they could harmonize the surrounding terrain, but using them as yin tombs for burying the dead is inappropriate.

So there's no point even talking about using a tree as a grave—this completely violates fengshui theory; concepts like qi flow, bright hall, water gate, dragon, lair, sand, water, orientation, etc., all become meaningless. I've never seen such a place, but this transparent coffin is truly rare; what exactly is the liquid inside? Could it really be blood? And whose blood would it be?

I walked up close and touched the jade coffin with my finger; it felt icy cool and smooth—truly a rare piece of fine jade, even more remarkable for being flawless throughout and so large that even the imperial palace would struggle to find such fine jade. The coffin lies horizontally set inside the trunk of the old banyan tree; due to the pressure from the intertwined growth of the tree and the partial breakage of its supporting trunk, the coffin that was originally laid flat in the trunk has become slightly tilted.

At the downward‑tilting lid and body, there are several fine cracks—whether caused by the wreckage of a crashed C‑type transport plane or by long‑term pressure from the old tree growing twisted, I don't know. The coffin's abundant, blood‑like liquid seeps slowly out through the cracks, dripping onto the stone tomb bed beneath the jade coffin.

Only then did we suddenly realize: because Pangzi was the first to climb the tree and his weight was too great, the jade coffin inside the tree tilted slightly; the dark‑red, blood‑like liquid inside the coffin seeped out through the cracks and fell onto the lower tomb bed. Since the coffin has three or four cracks at varying distances, and the tree trunk was originally sealed, the dripping sounds varied in length and were dull, so they were actually heard as a string of signal code.

When the red liquid level inside the coffin dropped below the cracks, the signal naturally stopped abruptly. Then the tree trunk broke a second time, and the wreckage of the C‑type transport plane on the canopy fell to the ground. That hard jolt tilted the jade coffin a bit more, causing the red liquid inside to rush out. We had taken it for a signal all along—truly a case of 'seeing a bow in the cup and mistaking it for a snake,' being overly suspicious.

But then my heart sank: could it really be such a coincidence? Even if it just happened to form a string of death‑code by chance, that wouldn't be a good omen. I hope our expedition runs into no major trouble.

Just as I was lost in thought, Shirley Yang used her paratrooper knife to strip the plant roots and stems from the jade coffin lid, put on gloves, and swept it a few times. Immediately, many finely carved patterns appeared on the lid's top—a full layer depicting mandarin ducks, wild geese, rabbits, roe deer, deer, elephants, and other auspicious, spirit‑symbolic exotic birds and beasts, while the four corners bore variously shaped floral motifs arranged in opposing rows.

Around the coffin, the carving is filled with lotus‑petal ground patterns, adorned with lozenge‑shaped honeysuckle reliefs; on the middle of each side sits a lifelike little parrot clutching a sprig of lingzhi in its beak.

After examining it, Shirley Yang raised her head and told me: "The reliefs on this jade coffin are gentle and harmonious in form; although the poses are a bit stiff, the blade work is simple and brisk, splendid yet not lacking depth. This artistic style with high expressive power is very close to the archaic style of the Qin‑Han period; this must be a subsidiary burial of the Xian King's Tomb—there's no mistake."

Pangzi, impatient beside us, rubbed his hands and said: "Never mind whose princely tomb it is—since we've stumbled upon this jade stone coffin, it's our fortune. Let's turn it over and see what funerary objects are inside; it's broad daylight now, so we needn't worry about any corpse transformation."

I stopped Pangzi, saying: "Don't be hasty; a discounted jade coffin is anything but ordinary—it couldn't have ended up in the tree trunk for no reason. Look at all that deep‑red liquid inside, indistinguishable from fresh blood; who can guarantee that opening it won't cause trouble?"

Shirley Yang dipped the tip of her paratrooper knife into the dark‑red liquid seeping from the jade coffin, smelled it with her nose, and told me and Pangzi: "There's no bloody smell, just a strong medicinal‑herb odor. Looking at the coffin itself, there's nothing particularly special about it; the red liquid inside might be a preservative. The strangeness lies in the coffin growing inside a tree…"

Pangzi said: "What's there to make a fuss about? Possibly a tree seed took root beneath the burial chamber; as the tree grew bigger, it eventually broke through the tomb's rammed earth, pushing the coffin upward, so the coffin ended up on top of the tree. It's not that I'm telling you—you've got the brains of a pea, can't even figure out a trivial matter, yet you have the nerve to come all this way to rob graves."

I shook my head: "That possibility Lao Pang mentioned is unlikely. It suddenly occurred to me that this jade coffin doesn't look like a rushed product; perhaps it holds the remains of a Daoist practitioner—those reclusive adepts who consider themselves outside the Five Elements and need not follow ordinary people's rules for choosing a yin tomb. If the coffin has both welcoming and sending aspects, and if all sorts of bolts are secured, then the qi may gather fully in the ape. Maybe he did this intentionally; the two old husband‑and‑wife trees are the coffin's outer shell, and inside lies a sorcerer or someone cultivating immortality and seeking the Dao. The tree hollow we previously found on the trunk I suspect is exactly the 'bright‑hall eye aperture' of this tree coffin—a golden well for drawing heavenly and earthly essence. Legend says the Xian King's Tomb is a one‑of‑a‑kind 'water dragon halo' in the world, like an immortal's cavern dwelling; we haven't seen it with our own eyes yet. If it truly is as the legend says, then this subsidiary burial should be one of the several stellar positions surrounding the main grave, so we cannot judge it solely by the fengshui of the old tree's surroundings."

Shirley Yang thought my words made more sense: "The Xian King revered the heterodox Dao, single‑mindedly pursuing immortality, so his high‑ranking officials were mostly sorcerers. Judging by that, this subsidiary burial likely contains an immortal's coffin, but we don't know whether its occupant has already achieved immortality and the Dao. If true immortals really exist in the world, this jade coffin ought to be empty now, the corpse having undergone immortal liberation."

Lao Hu's subordinate brought up the gear; I'll cut off the tree trunk blocking the other side. Let's see what's inside this coffin—whether immortal or demon, it doesn't matter; the main thing is to find valuable funerary goods. Let's kick off with a lucky start. I've long thought that old clump of the Xian King is no good bird; as that blind man said, this is ill‑gotten wealth, and there's no reason not to take it.

Shirley Yang also nodded: "Inside we might uncover some secrets related to the Xian King's Tomb; that information and those clues would be of great help to us."

I saw they all wanted to open the coffin, so I came down from the tree and took up the Probing Yin Claw and Yin-Yang Mirror used by the Gold-touching Colonel for opening coffins, as well as some other tools; the rule of the Gold-touching Colonel is to work at night and stop at cockcrow, but now it is already broad daylight, so by the rule the funerary objects cannot be moved, yet opening the coffin for investigation is still permissible, so at this time we need to use the Yin-Yang Mirror.

The Yin-Yang Mirror is an antique handed down from the mid-Tang dynasty; it is a copper mirror that is rather badly worn, not a perfect circle but cast in a triangular shape, symbolizing the Three Powers of heaven, earth, and man—the front side is yang, the reverse side is yin; on the back is cast the phrase 'Rise the coffin and bring wealth.' When in use, it is suspended by a red cord in midair, with the front facing the sunlight and the seal script on the back aligned with the coffin opening.

It is said that this Yin-Yang Mirror was specially used to open coffins exposed outside the burial mound's sealed earth; during the Tang dynasty grave-robbing was at its peak, as a poem goes: 'Skulls half out of the ground, white bones lying in disorder.' This describes the grim scene left in the wild graves after the Tang grave robbers swept through; at that time professional grave robbers were most numerous, and their methods varied, the most popular way to overturn a tomb was not to dig a tunnel into the underground palace, but in broad daylight to directly smash the mound with a large shovel, dig out the sealed earth, drag the coffin out of the underground palace with ropes, open it outside, take all the deceased's clothing, and then abandon the bones in the wilderness; the Yin-Yang Mirror was an essential tool used by grave robbers of that era, and it is not the exclusive traditional implement of the Gold-touching Colonel.

This Yin-Yang Mirror is a relic of Elder Liaochen; its specific use and function in the hands of the Gold-touching Colonel have largely been lost to this day, and we only know that in dire circumstances, when one needs to open a coffin in daylight, one can hold the Yin-Yang Mirror against the coffin opening to prevent unclean yin vapors from rushing out and extinguishing the true fire of the three samadhis on a living person's body, causing them to suffer a deviation.

Since we have to work in daylight today, we brought it out to try, whether it works or not; however, after we hung up the Yin-Yang Mirror and prepared to use the Probing Yin Claw to lift the coffin nails, we discovered that this jade coffin had no nails but was of a drawer type, the jade slab serving as the lid having extremely tight grooves on both sides.

We found the jade at the coffin's opening and were about to pull the jade lid out of the coffin when I and Pangzi were about to act, but we noticed that the sunlight pouring down from the sky shone on the crystalline jade coffin, casting inside a tall, dark human shadow; this shadow was extremely heavy and black, with a head and two shoulders, and though it stood out starkly against the dark red hue formed by the reddish liquid in the coffin under the sunlight, the shadow below the shoulders looked strange, very broad, as if there were many other things inside the coffin, but from its shape it was hard to tell what they were; they might be burial objects in the jade coffin.

I thought, since there is a corpse inside, this deceased obviously hasn't become an immortal; in broad daylight I wasn't afraid he'd turn into a zombie, but suddenly a large mass of heavy black clouds drifted from somewhere, blocking the sunlight, and the light around us instantly dimmed; occasional strong thunder rumbled from the sky, and we were drawn by the sudden thunder, all looking up; I cursed the thief: 'Ghostly place, thunder without rain.' I secretly hoped the lightning wouldn't strike that old tree, or we'd all be done for; if worse came to worst, we'd first find shelter somewhere, wait for the thunder to stop, then continue.

Suddenly hearing Shirley Yang say opposite the jade coffin: 'Come look here, only a dead person's hand is pressing down on the coffin; I think that signal may be coming from here, not from the liquid seeping out of the jade coffin.'

I was about to turn around to look, but I realized it had already grown so dark that I could barely make out a person; none of us expected the sky to change so suddenly, and so quickly—in an instant it turned as black as the bottom of a pot, with claps of thunder following one after another……