Chapter 136

Main text Chapter 138 Heavenly Palace

Something grabbed my leg tightly, leaving no room to escape; I hadn't even had time to warn Pangzi and Shirley Yang ahead before my body sank quickly into the depths. The only light source on me came from the tactical searchlight on my mountaineering helmet; as soon as the light sank into the dark, cold water, its illumination dropped to near zero, able to reach only a little over a meter. In this pitch‑black underground water, that barely‑one‑and‑a‑half‑meter visibility was almost like being blind.

In the panic, I hastily held my breath, lowered my head and looked underwater. A worm‑combined monster infant, its four‑part mouthparts, had just bitten onto my water‑pouch. Military water pouches all have a sturdy green canvas cover, and inside its 'mouth' (worm) are inward‑pointing flesh spikes; once it grabs something, it's hard to let go unless it swallows it. Right now the monster infant is desperately pulling my thigh with its two forelegs, trying to yank its 'mouth' (worm) off the water‑pouch.

In the dim water, the Zombie Infant's visage grew even more hideous—its whole body wrinkled, its tough skin bearing no resemblance to a newborn; it was essentially an old, ugly soft‑bodied reptile. Seeing it up close underwater instantly filled me with disgust. Fortunately, while I was in the water it had bitten my water pouch; if it had bitten my buttocks instead, I would have been done for.

The Zombie Infant possessed tremendous strength; even before leaving its mother's body it could stir the 'dead drift' inside the egg to dart about quickly. Being constantly dragged downward by it was extremely dangerous—I wished to shake off this ferocious monster at once. My entrenching shovel, mountaineering pick and other handy tools were stashed in the backpack with inflatable air bladders, so I reached into my thigh and drew out the Russian paratrooper knife.

I initially felt a killing urge, wanting to slice the monster's four‑part mouthparts clinging to the water pouch. But then I realized that cutting it would surely release toxic blood, risking my own poisoning; it was safer to cut the water pouch's strap.

I then hooked the Russian paratrooper knife onto the military water pouch's strap and scraped outward with the inner hook of the blade. The water pouch's strap snapped, leaving the Zombie Infant's 'mouth' (worm) still attached to the pouch and unable to move. My chest felt ready to burst, my heart pounding frantically; I urgently needed to surface for air and didn't want to linger tangled with it. I kicked down hard with my free foot on the monster's head, shoved it away, and used the recoil to swim swiftly toward the surface.

As I rose, I saw several 'dead drifts' floating nearby, but their shells that once emitted a cold light had long since fallen off, meaning the worm eggs inside had already left their mothers. Suddenly a white shape flickered to each side—a monster infant the size of a large white fish—lunging at me from the depths. Their movements in the water were agile and swift, rivaling any fish.

I could only think, 'What a miserable fate,' before they surrounded me, each side splitting into four huge, pink‑spiked mouths that opened wide. It was a life‑or‑death struggle; even if they didn't bite me to death, my breath was nearly spent, and any further entanglement would have me choked by water.

I didn't even have time to think—there was no room for thought. As the monster on the left lunged first, opening its four black‑hole mouths to bite, I shrugged my shoulder to dodge, then quickly brought my left hand over from above and seized its neck.

The Zombie Infant on the right lunged in just as quickly. I jerked my left hand, pulling the one I'd grabbed by the neck, using its forward surge to swing it sideways so it collided with the other infant that had just lunged from the right. Their two eight‑spiked mouths locked together and could not be pried apart; they struggled together as they sank to the bottom.

Having escaped death, I immediately kicked to stay afloat, burst onto the surface, and greedily drew the hot, stale air of the Gourd Cave into my lungs, restoring my brain from its half‑oxygen‑deprived blank state.

Looking around, the water surface was a silent sheet of black; I saw no trace of Pangzi and Shirley Yang. The echo of the detonation cord explosion still reverberated in the cavern, and the smell of gunpowder lingered. I shed all my heavy gear, spread my arms, adopted a freestyle posture, and powered toward the glowing Gourd Mouth.

The farther I swam, the stronger the current became—even without effort I was swept forward. The sloping Gourd Cave was draining its underground water into the outer valley. As the light at the cave mouth grew blinding, a heart‑rending infant wail erupted behind me; presumably the monsters, temporarily scared off by the blast, were returning. These creatures could move swiftly on the rock walls and were even more agile in water, leaving me troubled—even if I emerged from the Gourd Cave, I doubted I could handle them.

But worrying was useless; I told myself, 'Didn't the PLA, while retreating, wear down the enemy and win the final all‑out counteroffensive?' So I gritted my teeth and pressed on. Looking up at the cave mouth, I saw a shadow flash—someone had tossed down a rope. Backlit, I couldn't see the face, but the silhouette suggested Shirley Yang. The current in the Gourd Mouth was too strong; grabbing the rope kept me from being swept downstream. Outside, the water roared, sunlight stung my eyes, and for a moment I couldn't tell where I was. I clung to an old vine hanging at the cave's edge and pulled myself out of the water.

Suspended in mid‑air, I felt vines crisscrossing around me. Shirley Yang asked, 'We only noticed you were missing after leaving the cave and were about to come back for you—how did you fall behind?'

I waved a hand: 'Hard to sum up; I'll explain later. Where's Pangzi?' I rubbed my eyes, began adjusting to the outside sunlight, and looked down—my vision swam. I realized I stood at the edge of the Gourd Mouth, a vast Waterfall Group. In this great basin where three rivers converge and towering peaks rise, every stream flowing out of the Insect Valley has become a series of waterfalls big and small, cascading into the large pool below. The widest of them is nearly twenty meters across with a drop of over forty meters; the water plunges down, spraying everywhere, its roar shaking the emerald valley.

That great water pool is unfathomable in depth, its diameter nearing eight hundred meters. Apart from the waterfall side, everywhere is thick with coarse vine‑like plants, a sea of green like a giant green tube, making the pool beneath look deep and verdantly opaque. The cave we exited is a relatively small waterfall on the outer rim of the waterfall group. Countless vines surround it; otherwise, stepping out would mean being smashed by the torrent into the deep pool. Pangzi and the large backpack full of gear are hanging from the old vines below. Those vines sway uncertainly—I don't know if they can bear the weight.

Here we are over thirty meters above the deep pool. Pangzi's acrophobia flared; he shut his eyes, unwilling even to look. Shirley Yang had already placed a rock bolt in a crevice and lowered a rope to his side; with his eyes closed he felt the rope and clipped it to the safety buckle on his waist.

I saw the old vines were tough and resilient, and a climbing rope was secured to Pangzi as a safety line. For now there seemed no major problem, but I feared the monsters would follow us out; on this cliff face that would be even more perilous. We had to decide immediately—up or down. Climbing the cliff would return us to the end of the Insect Valley; going down leads to the deep pool. Given the situation, Pangzi could never climb up, no matter what. Our only option was to move downward.

I steadied my mind and finally saw the surroundings; if I hadn't looked, it would have been fine, but as soon as I did, I was stunned. The Waterfall Group's immense flow sent up endless mist; because the terrain was too low, the mist lingered, and when sunlight hit it, it turned into seven-colored rainbows. Countless rainbows supported a magnificent golden-and-azure palace in midair, its complex complete with gate towers, divine walls, stele pavilions, corner towers, offering halls, and spirit platforms, jade towers and crystal pavilions—utterly reminiscent of the Great Qin era, with majestic Qin bricks and Han tiles standing amid the rainbow light and mist, like a palace conjured from heaven and earth.

I was dumbfounded by the magnificent mystery displayed by this sky city; Shirley Yang had already seen it when she just came out of the gourd cave, and she tugged my arm beside me, saying: "That's the Xian King's Tomb, but look more carefully—it's not actually in the air."

I steadied my heart and looked again, then realized that this heavenly palace was indeed not built floating in void, but a whole large hip-and-gable style construction, like the famed Hanging Temple, built with unimaginable engineering on the vertical face of a cliff; because the surrounding cliffs are covered in green vegetation, the palace's colors stand out sharply, the halls half-project outward, and together with the seven-colored clouds and rosy light below, they create a special optical phenomenon that makes one feel as if witnessing a sky city, a mirage-like dream.

I don't know what principle keeps this sky city so perfectly preserved, its vivid colors undiminished, but there's no time to ponder now; although the water roars incessantly, the soul‑wrenching wailing from inside the cave can already be heard outside, and those freaks will catch up in an instant. I pointed at the tomb's palace and told Shirley Yang, "Let's first find a way to retreat there; the tomb's severed‑insect passage should be able to block them."

Shirley Yang said, "All right, there are several suspended ancient plank roads on the side we can detour via."

I also saw the remains of those plank roads clinging to the cliff; they were built with wooden posts and stone slabs, and in places they were adapted to the terrain, carving steps directly into the rock, winding around the ring‑shaped perilous cliffs; two of the plank roads lead down to the large pool below, and just the scale of these roads is awe‑inspiring—not ordinary folk's plank roads, their sturdiness and width unmatched, every brick and tile of the tomb was hauled up here by slaves.

The more I thought, the colder I felt; this ancient king's tomb is far larger than I imagined, and I have no confidence at all in breaking into it to find the 'Phoenix Gallbladder'—we had underestimated the scale of the Xian King's Tomb.

I shook my head to dispel that discouraging thought, climbed the old vine down to where Pangzi was, then brought Shirley Yang down as well; the nearest plank road was not far to our left, and I told Pangzi and Shirley Yang, "Cut the vines, grab hold and swing onto the plank road."

Although this plan is risky, we have no better option now; on such a high cliff, not only Pangzi, who fears heights, but even Shirley Yang and I feel dizzy, every move here feels like standing on the rainbow mist, water vapor rising beside us, the rocks and plants slick with moisture, each step as if treading on the brink of an abyss, utterly perilous, forcing us to keep our hearts in our throats—let alone having to yank the broken vine and launch ourselves seven or eight meters to the plank‑road remnants; who can guarantee those cliffside planks are still sound? A touch might reduce them to powder.

Pangzi still hesitated, his legs trembling nonstop; I said to him, "Can't you stop shaking? If you keep trembling, you'll shake those vines loose; you might as well throw yourself into a desperate leap—better to die fighting than to die ignominiously wrapped in a bear‑skin bundle."

Pangzi said, "Don't pressure me with words—you jump first, and after you make it across I'll follow; whoever doesn't jump is a grandson."

Shirley Yang had already snagged a long vine with her paratrooper blade and told me and Pangzi, "Stop arguing—those Zombie Infants have already crawled up; if we don't go now we'll be too late."

I looked up and indeed saw four or five slime‑covered humanoid worms crawling down from above; it seemed there were more behind them, and their bodies appeared larger than before, no longer infant‑shaped, with insect traits now more pronounced.

I took the Chicago Typewriter from Pangzi's pack and fired a few shots; three half‑human crawling creatures were hit instantly, tumbling into the emerald Deep Pool, where only two white splashes rose on the surface—no sound was heard, drowned by the thunderous waterfall, and their corpses never surfaced.

The three of us were terrified; Shirley Yang glanced at her wrist altimeter and found the elevation actually lower than that of the famous Meiguo Grand Canyon, exclaiming, "How can this place resemble the Bottomless Ghost Cave in the Zaghlama Mountains?"

I slung the pack onto my back, no longer worrying whether this place resembled the 'ghost cave', thinking that Pangzi, being up high, had less courage than even a rabbit; if we reached the plank road first and left him behind, he surely wouldn't dare jump across, so I had him go first—without further discussion I shoved the old vine into his hand and told him, "Go ahead with confidence, don't forget your waist‑tied safety line; you won't die from a fall." Having said that I immediately cut the vine and kicked him in the rear, hoping he'd jump to the plank road about five meters downhill.

However, my kick met empty air; we were standing on a tangled mass of over ten vines bearing us three and a large pack, the load just barely balanced, when suddenly three or four old vines snapped at once, leaving us hanging mid‑air, swaying on the brink of falling; the sudden drop caught us off guard, and looking up we saw the vines had been bitten through by the monsters chasing up from behind.