Chapter 124: Golden Mask

I wondered aloud, "How come these female corpses lie face up, yet their limbs hang at an impossible angle?" But then I recalled the "floating corpse" I had just seen in the water—could there be more of these "floaters" in the cave ahead?

These female corpses are truly bizarre—who were they? Their bodies have been soaked in water for thousands of years, yet they haven't rotted. Moreover, I keep feeling that these "floaters" aren't the ordinary floating corpses we speak of; what is that intense grudge trying to convey? I repeatedly examined the "stone fossil altar," but the carvings preserved on it are too few to discern, leaving no clues.

At that moment, the nearby giant toads all dove back into the water, and the surface instantly grew calm. I looked around; the area near the fossil altar was relatively safe. Having swum too long in the water, we were all feeling a bit fatigued, so we decided to take a brief rest here, eat some high-energy food, and, given our current situation, adjust our plan of action.

I felt a slight hesitation; past experience gave me an ominous premonition, making it hard to decide. I therefore asked Shirley Yang and Pangzi for their opinions. This gourd-shaped ancient cavern, with the Gourd Mouth marking its location, is the inner chamber of the Xian King's Tomb, but the final stretch is fraught with uncertainty—no one can fathom the true visage of the mountain god, nor those "floaters." The most immediate threat we face is the female corpse that intermittently appears and disappears beneath the water. Returning the way we came is certainly possible, but we might not find another entrance to the Xian King's Tomb. The key now is to assess whether it's worth taking the risk.

Shirley Yang said to me, "Actually, the carvings convey more information—you just didn't notice. Look at the figures in the painting: all the natives wear feathered headdresses, but only the chief wears a horned helmet. The composition is overly simple, so this detail is easy to overlook. Earlier we found a mask worn in shamanic rituals inside the jade coffin of the Xian King's Grand Priest; I believe that golden mask is related to this."

In the carving, it's hard to tell whether the native leader's headgear is a helmet or a mask; only the two long, curved horns are unmistakable, indicating his exceptional status. Even if he isn't the supreme chief of all, he is a high priest overseeing important sacrificial rites.

I had Pangzi produce the golden mask for another look. Those ritual implements he never parted with, always kept in his pack. Upon taking it out, I saw the mask's crown bore two forked dragon horns—or perhaps antelope horns—lion's eyes, tiger's mouth, and fish‑shaped ears, combining traits of various beasts into a most bizarre shape. Moreover, the mask's ornamentation featured many protruding eyeballs; at a glance it resembles the totem worshipped by the Jingjue people of the desert ancient city. Comparing it thus, the horned helmet of the native chieftain in the carving indeed bears a resemblance to this golden mask's design.

Shirley Yang said, "The carvings on the fossil altar predate the tomb—at least three thousand years old—while the Xian King's Tomb dates to no more than two thousand years ago. Perhaps this underground secret passage is the only route from the outside world into the Xian King's Tomb, and the so‑called mountain god lurking in the cavern has been an object of worship for the local natives since antiquity. Consequently, the Xian King's subordinates adopted the natives' ancient sacrificial rites here; after the tomb was sealed, to enter the bright hall and offer sacrifices to the Xian King, one need only follow the prescribed rite: present enough giant toads to the cavern's spirit, and passage is granted. At the far end of the burial trench, the Qin‑Han‑style wooden boats and the rotting long poles prove that such rites have been performed at least once since the tomb's closure."

Shirley Yang paused, then continued, "Furthermore, based on my knowledge of animals, the giant toads in the nearby waters are not native to this place; they gather at a moist source somewhere in the valley. Only because the subterranean insects have recently entered their breeding season have they attracted so many large toads."

Having heard Shirley Yang's analysis, I exclaimed, "Well said, thorough and insightful! Chief of Staff Yang, with far‑sighted vision, you've drawn a wealth of information from a mere mask we barely noticed—indeed, as the saying goes, a strong dragon does not overwhelm the local snake, and the Xian King, too, was an outsider."

Pangzi, unconvinced, cut me off before I could finish, saying to Shirley Yang, "I figured out that this gourd cave leads to the Xian King's Tomb even before we entered. Now tell me—what exactly are the mountain god and those female corpses, and what kind of medicine is being sold in this gourd?"

Shirley Yang shook her head. "I'm not a prophet—how could I know those things? I'm merely making inferences from the clues at hand. Without seeing them myself, I can't state the facts with certainty. But I believe the information on the altar is genuine; the mountain god and those female corpses do exist, even if their true forms differ greatly from ancient conceptions. There is definitely something uncanny in that cavern."

Shirley Yang then asked me, "Old Hu, you're well‑traveled and knowledgeable—what, in your view, is the true nature of this mountain god? Do we have confidence in passing through the gourd cavern?"

I told Shirley Yang and Pangzi, "In my opinion, the black‑faced mountain god has stiff hair on its face and a lifeless countenance—it must be a thousand‑year‑old zombie spirit dwelling in the cavern, laden with corpse poison. The carvings on the altar make it clear: the natives captured giant toads, lowered them on poles into the cavern, not to be eaten, but because the toads possess poison glands; when confronted by a more virulent toxic gas, they expel poison from those glands to counter it, ultimately drained of essence and blood by the corpse poison, turning into dried toad meat. Only by luring the old zombie to release its corpse poison temporarily, then subduing it with the golden mask, could we possibly pass through the gourd cavern. Without this routine, an ignorant outsider entering would surely succumb to the corpse poison. Such a folk tale existed in Yunnan before; my inference is sound, not mere fabrication. However, I truly cannot explain those floating corpses—never heard of, never seen—I don't know what connection those female bodies might have with the thousand‑year‑old zongzi‑like zombie."

Although Pangzi isn't all bluster, hearing me speak of a three‑thousand‑year‑old ancient zombie attaining sentience made him feel a bit stiff—after all, none of us has ever seen such a thing, and who could rely on a black donkey's hoof and glutinous rice to subdue it? He said, "Commissioner Hu, you just said 'a strong dragon does not overwhelm the local snake'—that was excellently put, quite reasonable. No matter how you say it, that old zombie has dwelt here for many years, broken no laws, caused no social disturbance; that shows it's a upstanding citizen, having provoked no one and offended none. If we insist on clashing with it and force our way through here, given our abilities it's not impossible, but it would reveal our lack of sense. I think we should detour, give each other face, and go our separate ways peacefully."

Shirley Yang said, "Using toads to consume the cavern's poison gas is quite plausible, but I doubt there is actually an old zombie that has become a spirit; ancient people would hardly deify a corpse as a mountain god—it's impossible. Rather, the naked corpse appearing underwater, wholly naked and shrouded in a faint netherworld glow, evokes a sudden, inexplicable sorrow, as if bearing a powerful grudge. It seems there may be more like it ahead in the cave; I don't know what significance they hold, but we cannot ignore them."

When Shirley Yang uttered the words "naked corpse," Pangzi and I exclaimed in unison, "Bare‑butt female corpse!" Realizing my slip, I hastily clapped a hand over my mouth—too late. I wondered inwardly, "How does this guy Pangzi echo my words exactly, not a single character different? He's truly a rascal."

Just now I saw a female corpse suddenly rise from the water's depths, then silently vanish. Because it happened abruptly, I didn't check whether she was naked; I only noted that the floater was a young woman, her body enveloped in a chilly white glow. On reflection, she indeed appears to have been naked—why would she wear no clothes? Could the water have rotted them away? Even if she were a genuine zombie, being stark naked would still be alluring; my curiosity flared, and I suddenly felt compelled to take another close look.

I felt embarrassed having uttered that "bare‑butt female corpse" remark, so I feigned a couple of coughs and said to Shirley Yang and Pangzi, "Having come this far, there's no turning back. We ought to move on now—if you're bold enough, follow me wearing gas masks into the final stretch of the gourd cavern. No matter what specters or zombies lurk inside, as long as we don't fear sacrifice and overcome every obstacle, we will surely seize ultimate victory."

Pangzi, who can't keep things to himself, grew excited, slapped his thigh, and declared, "Exactly so—Professor Chen's old father's life hangs in the balance; we can't afford any delay. We must rescue him to the end, see the Buddha off to the west, bear the heavy burden on our shoulders, and cannot halt. Strike while the iron is hot, for this is the final struggle; Internationale will surely triumph. Mountain ferocity and water's wickedness cannot block our lofty ambitions; high skies and thin clouds cannot impede an eagle's flight. Come dawn, when the morning glow rises, we shall return to our long‑lost homeland bearing the joy of victory, recalling those days and nights of battle, our hearts still burning with fervor—we will solemnly report to our motherland for the sake of humanity's happiness……"

Pangzi and I, whose attitude toward pressing on through the final stretch of the gourd cavern had suddenly turned eager, left Shirley Yang bewildered; she regarded us with a curious gaze. Seeing Pangzi ramble on endlessly, I furtively tugged at him and whispered, "Knocking over a chamber pot in the toilet—just your foul‑mouthed nonsense, pretending to be some damned grandson—you just want to see the naked corpse, don't you? Cut the chatter, grab your gear and lead the way."