Chapter 116

In the relief carving on the Zhen Ling Pu, the highest point is a magnificent, gilded palace. The moon city, corner towers, inner city, burial steles, que towers, spirit walls, stele pavilions, offering halls, and spirit platforms—all structures are present. The mountains behind are distant views. Beneath the palace, there is no hill foundation, but several bands of rosy light and rainbow shadows, floating in midair, with flying dragons coiling around in protection, displaying the transcendent elegance of a celestial pavilion.

Below that, the content shows the spirit way beneath the Xuan Palace. On both sides of the spirit way, mountain ranges stretch continuously, with towering peaks conveying a solemn and majestic presence, enhancing the awe of the aerial pavilions. This spirit way should be the valley known as Chong Gu.

Pangzi laughed after looking and said: "The Xian King old fool wanted to become an immortal so badly he went mad, even building his tomb like the Jade Emperor's heavenly palace, and damn it, he's constructing buildings in heaven—wouldn't it be better to just bury him on the moon?"

Shirley Yang said: "The internal details of the Xian King's Tomb are now unknown to anyone; all clues indicate the tomb lies within the Shu Long Yun. Even if that Shu Long Yun is miraculous, I don't believe there exists in this world a place that defies physical principles. The carving on the back of the Zhen Ling Pu must have undergone artistic alteration, or it refers to something else."

I said to Shirley Yang and Pangzi: "The so-called water dragon merely refers to a large waterfall; that kind of yun is just the neon-like mist produced by rising water vapor—intangible and formless—so the ancients regarded it as an immortal's bridge, impossible to build structures upon. The palace carving we see should not be the tomb, but rather the ground-level sacrificial facility of the tomb, called the Ming Lou. According to Qin and Han systems, the tomb's underground palace should lie beneath this Ming Lou at a depth of ten zhang, a tradition preserved until the late Qing."

Shirley Yang asked me: "If it is the sacrificial facility Ming Lou, then after the Xian King's death, at specific intervals, people would enter the Ming Lou to hold worship rituals. However, according to the records on the human skin map, the area around the tomb is filled with persistent toxic miasma that outsiders cannot penetrate—so how did those who worshipped the Xian King gain entry? Could there be a secret passage that cuts through the poisonous fog?"

The causes of miasma in the valley are limited to two. One is due to topography and geography: deep mountains and secluded valleys with stagnant air, where plant-generated moisture becomes overly concentrated, mixed with the rotting carcasses of various animals that died inside, producing toxic miasma.

Another possibility is that after the tomb's completion and the Xian King's burial, humans deliberately installed the miasma. Using the low-lying terrain of Chong Gu, special poisonous plants were cultivated in poorly ventilated areas—these plants are inherently toxic, thus forming a defensive barrier around the tomb. Alternatively, it may not involve poisonous plants at all; it is said that in Chong Gu's poorly ventilated depths, mercury-refining techniques from cinnabar were already highly mature during the Qin and Han dynasties, so large quantities of mercury might have been placed nearby; over time, mercury vaporized in the air, forming toxic substances. However, this likelihood is low—even if the valley air remains stagnant, it is still an exposed space, unless the tomb builders had other methods.

After discussion, we took out the blind man's human skin map for comparison and found it lacked something compared to the Zhen Ling Pu. The stone carving on the back of the Zhen Ling Pu, at a certain point in the valley, depicts a strangely shaped (upper "four" lower "huo") toad with its mouth wide open; near the Xian King's Tomb, there is also a symmetrical toad (foot + ran), similarly gaping.

In the human skin map, however, only this one toad in the valley appears, and its mouth is closed. The person who drew the human skin map for the Dian King knew nothing of the conditions after the miasma, only roughly marking some external features. Clearly, the internal state of the Xian King's Tomb is an absolute secret, not known to everyone.

This small difference is hard to notice if not paying attention, because both the Zhen Ling Pu and the human skin map feature many rare birds and beasts, which may not actually exist near the tomb—some are merely symbolic depictions. This relates to ancient worldviews, just as some ancient maps used dragons to represent rivers and spirit turtles to symbolize majestic mountains.

However, this toad is so inconspicuous that calling it a toad is hardly accurate; though its shape resembles one, its posture is absolutely not. Its face is utterly hateful, belly round and bulging, hind legs planted on the ground, front legs posed as if pushing a door, held high before the chest, head lifted high, eyes wide and round as if dying with unresolved grievance, nostrils upturned toward the sky, and its grotesque mouth so large it is utterly disproportionate to its body.

I pointed to the toad on the Zhen Ling Pu and said: "These two toads, one inside and one outside, are perfectly symmetrical; in the entire diagram, this is the only place where the valley inside and outside are symmetrical—very likely the passage used during sacrifices to traverse the toxic miasma from underground, and the toad's strange mouth should be the gate. The human skin map marks only one, because the drafter was unaware of the internal conditions. As long as we find this spot in Chong Gu, we can enter the deeper Xian King's Tomb."

Shirley Yang agreed with my judgment, while Pangzi didn't understand at all and just followed along listening. We repeatedly checked the map several times; as long as we can locate that valley, we can be confident in finding this toad that may conceal a secret passage. Whether it is a stone statue or something else, we'll know when we reach the place.

We descended from the back of the Jiao Tu, turned around and looked—everywhere was in disarray—two large trees fallen, a shattered jade coffin, wreckage of a C-type transport plane, and that great swan shot into a rag-like tangle by the "Chicago Typewriter," with the most numerous being countless bones within the tree trunks.

Pangzi kicked the swan corpse on the ground with his foot: "Blasted to pieces—otherwise, pluck the feathers and roast it; today's lunch would be taken care of."

I said to him: "Don't worry about that dead bird for now—go check the cabin wreckage again, see if there are any usable firearms and ammunition, gather them all, and we'll bring some when we set out; this forest has too many wild animals, and few bullets won't suffice."

The wreckage of the C-type transport plane had fallen from the trees, already completely shattered apart; Pangzi pried open the damaged aluminum shell inside and rummaged wildly, searching for anything still usable.

Shirley Yang and I went to retrieve the skeleton of the U. S. Air Force pilot from among the various animal bones. I took the double-headed clip from his hand, pinched it a few times—it made a dripping sound—and I thought the blood seeping from the jade coffin onto the jade stone also made a dripping sound; the swan pecking at tree lizards in the cabin produced that signal-like noise, as did the venomous python striking the jade coffin—but the origin of that ghost signal's code may already be impossible to confirm. An event occurring in the pitch-black jungle night, with countless factors affecting human judgment—who in the darkness could explain it clearly? I would rather believe it was the spirit of this American pilot sending us a warning.

However, one particular detail caught our attention: the flight suit worn by this pilot bore markings of a bomber squadron, not a transport unit; moreover, behind him was a piece of already-rotted white cloth inscribed with: "U. S. Air Force, coming to China to assist in the war, military and civilians alike, united in support."

This indicates he was not a member of this C-type transport plane. The climate in this region is complex, due to the extreme elevation difference between high mountains and basins, making air currents and pressure highly unstable—indeed, it can be said to be an aircraft graveyard, and there should be more wreckage nearby. This survivor, upon emerging from the jungle, became the sacrifice of that jade coffin; perhaps in our upcoming journey, we will encounter more aircraft wreckage.

Thus, I used an entrenching shovel to dig a hole in the ground, intending to bury the pilot's body. But I discovered the soil here is too damp—after just a few digs, it was all plant roots and rhizomes, plus insect eggs measured in kilograms, blooming white and utterly nauseating. The environment here is truly special: although located in the subtropical zone, it is actually closer to the tropical rainforest south of the Tropic of Cancer and north of the Tropic of Capricorn. The Lancang and Nujiang river systems continuously scour this low-lying (left side of "si" + yao) land; abundant groundwater and hot, windless conditions have led to massive plant proliferation, with the ground filled with thick, coarse plant roots—utterly unsuitable for burial, no wonder that priest was buried in a tree.

Shirley Yang and I discussed and decided to temporarily use the cabin wreckage of the C-type transport plane as a coffin, to hold the pilot's remains inside, and later notify their people to come retrieve them for repatriation.

By then, Pangzi had already picked up three or four intact Thompson submachine guns, plus over ten magazines and drum magazines; he then helped wrap the American's skeleton in a thin blanket, stuffed it into the cabin, and did his best to seal the cabin's gaps with stones.

Shirley Yang tied a cross from tree branches and erected it before the wreckage of the C-type transport plane. We stood solemnly before the cross; Shirley Yang took out the Bible and silently recited a few verses, hoping this American airman who sacrificed himself for human freedom might rest in peace.

This scene reminded me of facing the bodies of fallen comrades on the front line—suddenly my nose felt a bit sour; I hastily blinked hard, looked up at the sky.

Pangzi suddenly stepped forward two steps and said: "Rest in peace, dear friend—I understand your unfulfilled wish. The glorious task of postwar reconstruction shall be borne by us. Rest in peace, dear friend—white clouds and blue sky shall compose your eulogy, emerald peaks shall bestow floral garlands upon you. The mountains of blooming flowers and blood-red grass tell us: here lies a martyr at eternal rest."

I have always been helpless and amused by Pangzi's words and actions; seeing that the sky was already nearing noon, if we delayed further, we wouldn't reach the valley entrance today, so I called them to move out.

Although the Thompson submachine gun is heavy, after this long night, we fully realized its importance in the jungle. Besides Shirley Yang, who is unaccustomed to this typewriter, I and Pangzi each chose one—"Sword Might" and the remaining Type 64 pistol—temporarily for Shirley Yang to use. Bring as many magazines and drums as possible, and also carry those black waterproof plastic bags used to package firearms.

We continued advancing along Zhe Long Shan, eating dry rations to stave off hunger as we walked. This leg of the journey was relatively easy compared to before; having learned from yesterday's lesson, we tried to walk on slopes near the mountain range. Where the mountains meet the forest, vegetation is much sparser than in the deep jungle; due to moderate density, it truly feels like a natural air filter and purifier—no jungle dampness and stuffiness, no mountain-altitude-induced chest-tightening cold; waves of floral fragrance enter the heart and mind, making one instantly feel mentally clear and refreshed, the mind sharpened, and the fatigue of a day and night seemingly not so pronounced.

After walking northwest for four or five hours, we saw a vast expanse of flowering trees—red, white, and yellow blossoms, each as large as a bowl's mouth—with countless butterflies fluttering gracefully. A small stream flowed through the flower tree grove; deeper in, it became a forest above forest—meaning the trees are tall and clustered together, clearly half again taller than surrounding plants, hence called "forest above forest." This winding stream might be what locals call the She Pa Zi River—the She River system in this area concentrates underground, with only this stream visible on the surface.

The stream flows through the flower tree grove, passes through a large expanse of forest above forest, and enters the remote, deep valley. Due to dense vegetation and uneven terrain, even with binoculars one cannot see inside the valley. I took out the human skin map to search for nearby reference points, confirmed it was correct—this is the entrance to Chong Gu. After this stretch, as the terrain lowers, the water flow will gradually increase; there, part of the embankment left from constructing the Xian King's Tomb remains. Moreover, although the ground here is overgrown with weeds, most are completely covered by low plants, yet some brick and tile fragments remain visible—likely remnants of the tomb's spirit way.

Upon seeing we had finally reached Chong Gu, we all felt our spirits lift, quickened our pace, preparing to set up camp and rest near the embankment ruins. We walked leisurely into the flower tree grove; at first, these low flowering trees burst with blossoms of all colors, vying to bloom—five shades, six hues, endless crimson and purple; but deep in the grove, everything was uniformly red flowers and red leaves—gazing out, it looked like immense clouds of fire, with flocks of golden-silk phoenix-tailed butterflies darting through the red blossoms.

This place is truly like a fairyland—compared to the gloomy jungle where we camped not far away, it's like two different worlds. Pangzi said: "Too bad those two insect nets are lost—who knows where they ended up; otherwise, we could catch hundreds of butterflies, take them back to Beijing as specimens to sell, and make a fortune. Looks like there are many ways to make money in this world—just that we haven't seen them; staying in the city, how could we think of such things?"

Shirley Yang said: "These red-flowered, red-leaved trees are called Ying (upper 'ming' lower 'yu') Fern, formed before the Tertiary Period, tens of millions of years ago. Contemporary lifeforms largely vanished in the great vicissitudes—like dinosaurs, long turned to fossils—while this Ying Fern became a relic plant. It mainly grows in dark, cool, dense forests; these rare large butterflies probably exist only hereabouts. If you caught hundreds at once, wouldn't you drive this rare golden butterfly and the Ying Fern to extinction together?"

Pangzi snapped: "Honestly, you just love lecturing people. I was only making casual talk—if Pang Ye were really to catch butterflies, I couldn't stand still with my nature! Butterflies are easily caught and gone—what's the use of catching them by the bushel? One funerary object would suffice for half a lifetime of food, drink, and enjoyment."

The three of us spoke while moving through the flower trees, seeking the remnants of the ancient spirit way, arriving at the junction where the flower trees meet the woodland. This is the entrance to Chong Gu; as we gradually approach the Xian King's Tomb, ancient traces grow more numerous.

The valley mouth appears discordant with its surroundings—two bald stone mountains, glaringly conspicuous up close. Yet this place lies behind the forest above forest; from outside, the view is blocked by tall trees, so the bald stones are completely hidden—only by personally walking into Chong Gu's entrance can one see them. No one expected such dense jungle to harbor two enormous, vegetation-free stone masses, giving a strikingly abrupt impression.

We gazed and felt the two stones resembled something; looking closer, each bore a black-painted eye. However, not the eyeball style of the Chen Dust Pearl, but an eye with eyelids, gaze deep and solemn—though the composition is rough, it is strikingly lifelike. Could this be foreshadowing that the deceased Xian King is watching every daredevil who enters this valley with his two eyes?

Shirley Yang approached the rock, examined it, then turned to us and said: "This is a split meteorite; nearby aircraft crashes are mostly related to it."